This series is for a lot of Batman angst and fluff and hurt/comfort. This will be a series of one-shots. Prompts are open and accepted if you have a scenario you would like to see played out - just message me! I will do my best to create something along the lines that you envision. This series is for the Batman characters, if you have a different character or theme you would rather see, let me know and I will separate it from this fandom series.
Sending a warning here for all adult themes, references to dark themes throughout, these are intended to be the hurt superhero that we don't always get to see. Some of them will be fluffy, some of them will be dark.
"Are you okay?" He asked matter-of-factly, towering over her in a dark shadow of uncertainty. It was a sly move, this concern of his, and her taut nerves took it for what she perceived it to be. An opening to ask for help without being a total baby about it. Yet she found vaguely that his patient calmness was a soothing balm to the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. A light touch settled around her shoulders and her trembling fingers grasped the softness as if it were her lifeline. The smooth fabric was wrapped around her, her brain deduced, and had she been more alive, a blush would have crossed her face for it was Batman's cape that was resting around her, momentarily as a silent truce for their unspoken feud as caped crusaders. They had always been a bit at odds. On the same side, but fierce competitors and cohorts all in one. Sure, they had each other's backs, but one would not fail to seize the glory before the other, if possible, all in the name of a good challenge, of course.
Right now, she knew she should be glad to see him, but she could not find enough energy inside her nerves to care. She vaguely tried to remember his question and formulate a sane response.
Was she okay? Once the room stopped spinning, she would find out and answer him intelligently. Right now, the vague scent of the mind control cologne that the Joker had worn for the last few weeks of her captivity was still swirling inside her senses and she was not sure she could answer properly or logically. She reached up a hand to touch her aching forehead, and her fingers met the familiar sticky sensation of oozing blood. That was going to be hard to cover up with simply a little foundation and powder. The rambling thoughts addled her brain further and a strange ringing in her ears prevented her from carrying the thoughts too deeply into her mind. She still wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.
The last few weeks were a blur and she found herself rubbing bloodied fingers together absently while trying to figure out how to compartmentalize the feelings and atrocities that she had endured at the Joker's hands. She could let all the pain flitting about her body take over and squeeze bitter salt tears from her blurry eyes, screaming all her pent-up emotions at the tall, dark figure still standing silently over her shaking body, or leap at him and dramatically pound her frustrations in his chest as all the TV heroines did.
Or she could do what she was doing already. Compartmentalize. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh as the Caped Crusader and his faithful sidekick Robin pummeled the faces of those that had leered at her restrained body for days, the faces that laughed at the muffled screams of agony that had nearly strangled her during each waking moment – all had faded into an eerie stillness. The two were not alone; Robin knelt close by on one knee, as if poised to run. He was still young and not quite as used to the carnage of the underworld, but even he could tell that some type of dark hell had been unleashed in the old damp, moldy building. The only light that shone inside the creaking, moldy walls was a battered, flickering dental lamp, perched crookedly beside a rusty, bloody ancient exam table. He did not want to know what had happened on that table where he had found her. His steel-faced silence was evidence of that fact.
He had been gentle, the Boy Wonder, as he was called so famously by Gotham City, leaving her side only to land a punch on a henchman's jugular or give Batman a hand. In between launching his attacks, he managed to get the prisoner untied and off to the safety of the far side of the room, trying to ignore the trail of blood that followed them like a crimson thread. She had leaned heavily on him, sensing that her right leg would not hold the weight she tried to put on it. That wasn't going to help when it came time to escape. She shoved the memory from her mind of the cause of the injury. Amazing what an angry, full-grown man will do when he needed leverage.
"Are you okay?"
There, he was, asking again.
An answer would not come to her lips, because her mind was still too busy shuffling memories away into permanent folders. She could not escape the viewpoint of the last weeks in her life – the touching, the laughing, the leering thieving red lips that gleefully left her no respect or honor for her self-worth in the dark hideout. The red gloved hands had been hovering dangerously closer and closer to her dark purple headgear. Miraculously, he had somehow been so sure of his safety, that he had enjoyed the slow reveal of her identity. He could have ripped off the mask the moment she was restrained. But no. He investigated, he explored, prolonging her identity as the last thing he would take from her. She was slightly relieved at his ghastly arrogance, for if he found out her identity first, Gotham City would have been putty in his hands this whole time. He would have held the key to the commissioner's sanity, and she found, in that slow-motion moment of the nearby waggling fingers, that she would rather die at once than know the chaos that her face would unleash once it was revealed.
A gloved hand touched her knee, and the unexpected sensation sent a shock wave of nerve energy through her body, and she jumped involuntarily. He held up the hand comfortingly and spoke, laying it lightly across her knee again.
"I know you are in pain, but we need to get you some help." Confounded calm voice offering a condescending offering. Since when did Batgirl accept help from Batman? She was supposed to jump up and say she was fine, she was alright, she didn't need help. They had faced off in fights before. She had won, he had won. It was always an equal fight. But not today. Today her body betrayed her and refused to move.
Her pride gradually fizzled as her slowly settling consciousness reminded her that the damp air of the hideout was brushing against raw, pale skin, and there was more bruised purple skin showing than purple lycra right now. Again, a blush failed to arrive on her cheeks, and she knew she should be mortified. There was a reason that Batman had offered – no, given – his cape to her, and she refused to comprehend why. She couldn't deal with it right now. The pain was enough for the moment.
All she could offer him was a reluctant simple nod of her head in agreement. Or understanding? Maybe acceptance of his help? She didn't know what it meant herself but realized she had to do something, say something. He was waiting. The motion instantly sent a lightning bolt of burning white shooting through her skull, shutting her eyes instinctively by force, slamming doors against the pain. Blood still trickled slowly down towards her chin, from somewhere higher beneath her mask, and dripped silently onto the back of her hand that clutched the silken cape like a lifeline around her.
The simple nod was all the permission that the Caped Crusader had needed to move closer and kneel beside her. He wasn't sure what she meant, but he took it for what he wanted it to be. A request for help from the bottom of a very deep pit of hell and pain. He nodded at Robin, jerking his head toward the shattered door. This was a silent instruction to watch for invaders and the Boy Wonder answered the command silently with a slight shift of his lanky form to lean closer to the window. This would allow him to hear if there was a movement beyond the walls.
"I - am - sorry Batgirl; I know this is hard for you. But I need to get you to a place where you can receive medical treatment. Is there somewhere you want to be taken? The hospital?"
"Kind of kills the – 'anonymous' side of things, doesn't it?" came immediately to her mind, but she still could not speak to express her usual friendly rebuff. She could only slightly shake her head again.
She was still in shock, he could see that, and of course, he would not have taken her to the hospital without her permission. She too had taken the oath of the hero, by donning her cape, and he would not betray that. He would have to take a chance and take her to the Batcave.
"Leave - me," she finally managed to whisper, wincing as each word throbbed like a nail in her temple. Her voice was gone from screaming her lungs out, and he winced for her. That had to hurt. "Just - leave me – I will make it – home."
"I can't" he replied simply. There was no way that he would willingly leave the bleeding, trembling heap in the old warehouse floor and drive away in his Batmobile to go home and get dinner and a hot bath. "I am taking you to the Batcave."
Confusion knit her brows, but she gave no other response. She supposed she should be glad that he hadn't insisted on traditional medical intervention and dropped her off at the Emergency room doors.
He removed the one hand on her knee, and cautiously slipped his other gloved hand over Batgirl's thin wrist noting it was raw and circled with blood from repeated vain attempts to free her from strong restraints. He reached beyond it, his pointer finger settled in the familiar groove below the joint of the thumb. Her pulse flickered beneath his touch, a vague whisper of life. It was too weak. He could not leave her here any longer.
"Please," she whispered again. "Just go. There is not - much here - anyway. He – he took - everything. I – I can make it home - by m'self."
Her words were muffled and slurred, and he did not want to ask her what she meant by everything. He knew he could not stomach that information right now.
"How far is home," Batman asked gently, pretending to weigh his options. He had already made his decision.
She tried to think, tried to remember, but nothing about how she had gotten to the hideout would come to mind. Only what happened after. She shook her head again. "Don't know."
His face relaxed kindly behind his mask, although she couldn't see it.
"This time," he spoke softly, "Batman wins, okay? Batcave for you." He withdrew a round yellow capsule from his utility belt and held it gently to her lips. "I would prefer you not feel what you are going to feel when I move you, and I don't want you to know how to get where I am taking you. I also do not want to force this into your mouth. Humor me and take it?"
She hesitated for a moment, then rolled weary eyes to look up into his face for the first time. The crystal blue looking back surprised her. They seemed strangely warm and familiar.
"W't is it?" She stammered, her head nodding comically like a chick about to fall asleep standing up. Exhaustion was taking over rapidly, and she would probably be out shortly anyway, but he had to be sure she would not wake up during the transfer.
"It will just make you sleep for a while," he replied softly. "I promise nothing else will happen to you between now and when you wake up."
She considered for a moment. What if he removed her mask and found out who she was? It was such a good opportunity. Rats, what could it hurt? He had his own identity to hide. What could he gain by learning hers? He sure would not be sharing that with the world, would he? Or would he?
She really didn't care. She didn't give a fluff anymore.
Silently, she took the pill from his outstretched hands with her lips, their cracked, seeping skin leaving streaks of crimson on the blue glove. He brushed the back of his forefinger down the tender front of her throat, subconsciously reminding her to swallow the medicine he offered. As intended, her eyes drifted shut, and she slumped forward into his prepared grasp.
Carefully, he shoved himself to his feet as he swept her up in his arms, bundled into the cape that normally rested across his wide shoulders. The Batcave could not come fast enough for him today.
The next time she opened her eyes, she almost wished she had not. The pain that shocked her senses shut down her emotions like a brick wall, and every muscle in her body tensed.
"You can wake up now, dear girl," an older, gentle voice spoke above her. Forcing her eyes to obey the voice, Batgirl looked up into the kindest old face she had ever seen. Alfred, Bruce Wayne's elderly, friendly butler looked down at her, smiling gently. "There now, look, she's awake Batman."
A thousand questions were tumbling around in her head, but none of them would come to the forefront in any sort of sense. She remembered something about the Batmobile, about needing to sleep. She remembered that Alfred knew her identity, but not why or how he came to that knowledge.
"Wh're you?" she managed to say, her unfocused eyes still trying to understand Alfred's presence, and vaguely thinking that she couldn't let Batman see that Alfred knew her identity.
He smiled kindly. "My name is Alfred. I am Bruce Wayne's butler. I happened to be walking down the street and Batman asked me to come along and help. Damsel in distress, what kind of gentleman says no? I must call Mr. Wayne shortly and let him know I am out and may not make it back in time for serving dinner."
The excuse made no sense at all, and they all knew it. But since they were all playing charades anyway, she let it go in the hopes that Batman wouldn't question Alfred and find out what he knew. " 'M I still in one piece?"
There was a shadow of something that crossed the elderly man's face, then left, and she didn't have the courage to question his hesitation. All she knew was that – aside from the blood drying in itchy trails down her face – the room felt cold and white. And everything hurt.
"For now," Alfred replied. "Batman and I have you all wrapped up and pieced together. Except for your face."
His words trailed off at the last sentence, and she sighed. he was saying so much but making no sense. The room was still too tipsy for her to make much use of her surroundings.
Use all of your senses.
Her Batgirl instincts fluttered in the back of her mind, and she tried to calm her thoughts. Listen, feel, don't just think.
The room was clean. Utilitarian almost. A steady pressure in her left elbow seemed to indicate some kind of IV connected to her veins there. The comforting warmth of bandages was wrapped around her right arm, along with a slight stinging from the apparent application of some kind of antiseptic. Various other cuts and bruises ached dully, having been minutely silenced by the same antiseptic, except for one deep ache in the center of her being that sent an ill feeling through to her throat. Realization of her apparent situation gradually dawned on her mind and a trace of bitterness rose in the back of her mouth. But she could not reveal her emotions to the men around her. Clear heads made for successful heroes. Not emotionally clouded ones.
"You have to do something for me," she managed to say, trying to sit up. A swish to her left alerted her to Batman's swift arrival, and both he and Alfred instinctively reached to restrain her.
"You have to remain lying there a little longer, Batgirl, we are still tending to your leg. It appears to be broken or dislocated, we are not sure which yet." Alfred tried to explain gently.
"Just a few more moments," Batman spoke softly, his gloved fingers lingering just a little too long on her shoulder before he removed them. Her throat constricted for just a second, mentally receding from them as grasping gloved hands returned to her memory. The light above her, cool table, pain – perhaps her mind was simply teasing her. She had not been rescued at all. It was a façade. A dream. Fakery to get her to remove her mask. Her broken mind was applying the faces she wanted to see so desperately into the reality of the situation.
Her throat constricted again, and she could not find it in herself to let her lungs expand to breathe. She was trapped. Still hopelessly trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Well, he would not find out her identity now. There was simply no way she could allow it if she was still alive. Batman needed the help, and her city needed her help. And her father – Great. He was probably wondering where she had been the last few weeks. That wasn't going to help her with keeping the disguise. Probably all of Gotham was trying to find out where she was, the publicity would be relentless, and mild excuses would be useless to his prying questions. Perhaps Batgirl's rein was over, almost as fast as it had begun.
The combination of her hallucinated image of Bruce Wayne's butler touching her injured right leg, and the lingering glove at her left side along with the light glaring down at her, intensified the panic in her throat. It suddenly occurred to her addled brain that she was no longer bound. She had one chance. One chance to somehow get free of those that restrained her. This realization of freedom snapped something inside of her and she made her move.
The gloves had to be the first thing to escape from. The mental image of the wide red lips hovering above her face brought adrenaline to her aching muscles and in a quick move, she rolled onto her right side, flipping off the table, landing with her weight on her left leg. Adrenaline numbed any pain she felt right now to a dull ache, other than the stinging of the IV being ripped from her arm. Albert moved toward her, a choreographed movement with the towering figure that had been beside her. The newly trickling blood on her face trickled its way into her right eye, and she found it extremely distracting to try to watch them both with the new irritation. She tried to leap through the narrow space between both of them, vaguely realizing she was dressed in a simple shirt and jeans that she kept in her Batgirl Cycle. How could they have known those were there? The counterweight of her cape was not there to help, and she found that she could not land the jump the way that she wanted to. Halfway into the jump, she turned it into a roll, landing on her feet with the exam table positioned between her and her 'attackers'. The two men were talking to her, their voices a comforting decibel, but the ringing in her ears was intensifying and she couldn't make out what they were saying. But she didn't care. All she knew was that there was an open door to her left and she wasn't going to make it that far.
The adrenaline, so drained from the last few weeks, quickly faded, and she sank to the floor, slightly grateful that she hadn't hit the men. Hopefully – since they were probably tired of letting her get away and then recapturing her like a cat and mouse, they wouldn't punish her this time.
The room began to pixelate in her vision, the stinging blood in her eye taking out the other half of the room. She made out the word Robin as if someone was shouting the word in concern. Why were they shouting about birds? This was the Joker, not the Penguin. And the Joker's henchman wouldn't be bright enough to know a robin from a vulture.
She felt the room tilt, as if inside a snow globe, and at that moment, she knew the floor was going to connect with the back of her head. The gloved hands were back again, catching her as she stumbled backward into a strong chest that broke her fall in a smooth path to the floor. A lanky leg wrapped itself across her middle, trapping her effectively in a backward hug. Her flailing arms were immediately captured again, and a calm voice spoke in her ear.
"Easy, Batgirl. It's Batman. You are safe. I promise you. You are safe."
The words repeated themselves over and over in her ear, as she tried to fill her lungs again with oxygen. She heard a voice across the room saying something about a head injury and a concussion. Maybe that's why her vision was failing.
"G-gloves" she managed to say between wheezing, and although she could not see the face of the man behind her, she could tell by the way his body shifted that he understood.
"I am not him, Batgirl," he spoke softly, collecting one crumpled hand in his. "Close your eyes and tell me, are these his hands?"
She knew they weren't. He knew she knew they weren't. But it was amazing what a pain-crazed mind could conjure up when working at half-mast.
She shook her head no.
"Alfred has to look at your head, Batgirl. You are bleeding, and he must find out why. Are you okay with that?"
Of course, she wasn't. How could he ask that of her?
Weakly, she shook her head no.
The chest behind her fell in a sigh. "We can do this with you awake or asleep, but he has to find out what has happened to your head. You may have a concussion or worse. Would you rather us take you to the hospital?"
Man, he hated saying that, forcing her hand. But he also knew there wasn't another choice. Someone had to be the rational thinker right now.
The mention of the hospital made her stiffen slightly, and she shook her head no, again.
"F'n. G'ahead," she mumbled. Why couldn't her mouth work properly?
She felt the man nod, his grip around her tightening almost imperceptibly. She sensed the shadow of the other man move closer, kneeling beside her on the floor. He began wiping her inner elbow again with something cold and wet, voicing his intention to replace the IV she had removed.
"Pr'mse me s'mthing," she whispered through rough lips, wincing as the sting of the needle alerted her to its replacement.
She felt Batman lean his head closer to hers. "Promise you what?"
"Pr'mse me you w'nt tell m'father wh'I am."
The Caped Crusader nodded once. "It's a deal." His arm wrapped across her chest put his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezed it ever so slightly in comfort. Imagine if this were the other way around. He was slightly concerned that he might regret the promise but right now he would promiser her anything to get that head injury looked at without a fight.
"Close your eyes," Alfred admonished slightly. "I am going to pour saline here where the blood is trickling to make sure the cloth is not adhering to the wound."
She nodded once, allowing him to turn her head to the side, jerking slightly as the motion set off more fireworks inside her skull. Something was definitely wrong.
The cold water ran down her face and trickled off her chin in pink rivulets. The salt offered a different kind of pain to focus on, and a small whine that she was unable to contain escaped her reddened lips.
The hands that restrained her were gentle. It was like being held in a cocoon. Perhaps everything would be okay if this Batman knew who she was. She knew Alfred could be trusted. To this point, he had not indicated that he ever knew who she was. Batman knew what it was like to have a hidden identity, so he should know the value of secrets.
"I'm going to remove this mask now," she barely heard Alfred say. Clinging to the ragged edges of consciousness, she nodded once. Her whole body was beginning to tremble from the collapse of the adrenaline rush, and her teeth were set firmly together. What a stupid thing to have launched off the table like that, she scolded herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The cool air of the room met her scalp, cooling the heat she had not noticed before that had gathered along her brow beneath the mask. Her hair, damp with sweat, fell from beneath the mask in familiar copper ringlets.
"Barbara," Batman spoke softly behind her, but he did not sound surprised. Had he known? There was no way he could have, yet there was a slight change in his demeanor, the tension in his arms around her. He was no longer restraining her; he was protecting her.
Had she been able to see the look on the Caped Crusader's face, she might have misinterpreted it as anger. But it was more frustration and righteous anger toward the Joker. He was justifiably angry that Barbara Gordon had put herself in harm's way but no angrier than he would be at Robin. As sure as the sun rose in the east, there would be hell to pay if he ever got his hands on that red-lipped fiend again.
She couldn't find enough strength in her body to answer his call of her name, her fingernail grasp on reality slipping away rapidly. She hadn't known what the Crusader's reaction would be and the slight lack of one concerned her. Maybe he didn't believe she was Batgirl. Maybe he disapproved. Maybe he was angry that he had risked his life to rescue a silly girl who should have stayed home and read books. Her head lolled back against his chest, and she fought the blackness to try to explain the reason for her foray into the underworld.
"Tr'd to 'help", she mumbled softly. Batman's chin rested softly close to her ear.
"I know." His voice was steady, abrupt.
"Di'n't work."
"No," he replied simply.
"M'sorry." She winced as Alfred continued cleaning the mess on her face, jerking away when he hit a particularly sensitive place, sending the shooting pain through her head again.
She felt the gloved finger again, another tiny tablet pressed against her lips. She tried to shake her head no, but the resulting agony left her heaving for breath through her nose in an attempt to avoid going to sleep again.
"Barbara," Batman spoke directly to her this time. "You need to rest. I will get the Batsleep spray can if I have to, but I was hoping to give you the choice to take this of your own free will."
Stinging tears burned her eyes as she miserably relented. He hadn't approved of her identity. She felt embarrassed, not only at her condition, but the fact that the Caped Crusader has not seemed to be happy with her. How could he be happy? Her interference had put her in a messy situation for both of them. Forcing her lips to accept the offered drug, she let the frustrated tears escape, blending with the saline Alfred was still sporadically pouring over her head wounds. She waited as the darkness came again, the butler's searching hands returned to her leg, crumpled beneath her. One touch of the injured limb was all it took, along with the Batsleep tablet, to send her tumbling outside of consciousness.
Instead of darkness, a glaring light shone down at her. Red lips without a face danced above her, the table's cool surface seeping through the thin cloth of her Batgirl outfit – or what remained of it, anyway.
"You are all mine," the disembodied voice leered, a white finger dragging slowly down her thigh suggestively. "If you think I'm going to enjoy this – enjoy you - then you would be right. I want some excitement. I want to hear you scream."
When she woke again, it was in a warm, quiet room. The cold table was gone, and only softness surrounded her. She waited for a moment, willing her senses to get it together and give her some data. The red lips were fading, into the blackness, and damp tears were still trickling down her neck. The instant replay that the dream had given her rested uneasily in her stomach, and the reality of the situation finally dawned. She would forever be changed from this day forward.
Maybe Batman wouldn't let her go out anymore.
She shoved the thought aside and continued listening and feeling the room around her. She sensed the ticking of the clock on the bedside table. There was a window to the right of the table, and it was slightly cracked, the cool night air rustling the long drapes. A cricket chirped somewhere close beyond the glass. The doorway was to the left, the glimmering crack of amber at its base indicating the household was awake beyond its boundary. She looked back to the right, realizing slowly that a tall figure stood solemnly by the window, the black outline barely visible now as her eyes adjusted to the overwhelming darkness. Her sharp intake of breath alerted the figure to his discovery and he shifted slightly.
"Barbara." The now-familiar voice filled the room and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Batman.
She heard him step closer, and a chill ran through her spine. Here was the part where he scolded her.
"You have a concussion," he began simply. She reached to feel her head, and his gloved hand closed on her wrist.
"Leave it be. Your leg is also fractured. Alfred, Mr. Wayne's butler has been sworn to secrecy on pain of death to keep your identity. You are at the Wayne Manor. He assured me that you will be safe in this room and that no one comes up here. I will check on you from time to time, and he also assures me that Mr. Wayne will not know you are here, as he is away on a trip to Vegas. I have told your father that you are on a trip to California for a book fair. I have been telling your father this since you went missing, and having postcards sent to keep him happy."
"You - you - knew? You knew who I was and that I was in trouble?" She asked in confusion, still trying to see his face in the darkness. The outline of his cape was visible against the slight light of dawn through the window, but his features were obscured completely by his mask.
"Of course," he replied simply.
"But how? I never let myself be seen and I always made sure both Batgirl and Barbara had alibis."
"You will completely recover, physically." the tall man continued in his deep voice, ignoring her question. "Barbara, bad things happened to you in that hell hole. Give yourself time to heal."
The fatherly tone that crept into his voice at the last sentence was undeniable, and she nodded, although he could probably not see her. "I - I will try. But, Batman, how did you know it was me?"
"Easy," he shrugged slightly, his cape rustling in the darkness. "I was tracking the Joker, and then you disappeared. At the same time, he also disappeared. A couple of weeks went by without a trace of either of you and it wasn't hard to put together. Your father started asking questions, and I made up an alibi for you, and he believed me."
Carefully, the sheet was pulled up to her chin, cool and damp from the tears of her nightmare. "Now rest," he commanded, his tone clearly not to be taken lightly. "Alfred will be here when you wake up. Just push this," he tucked a small, round button into her hand. "Alfred will come immediately. I must go."
She found his presence comforting, and as he moved away toward the open window, desperation welled up inside, as she desperately wanted company. She couldn't face sleeping again with the red lips just a shadow away from consciousness. He was waiting right there, so realistic, so tangible, just waiting to break her over and over and over again.
"Batman," she pleaded suddenly, interrupting his escape through the window. He froze in place, balancing on the window sill. "Don't - please stay."
He was silent for a moment. Then he slipped back into the room, quiet as a mouse. "Barbara, I have to go. I can't be seen here."
She was silent for a moment as he waited to see what she would do. His heart warmed at her response.
"Do you think Dick can be trusted?"
"He appears to be a good lad," Batman replied, non-committedly. "I will speak to him and explain the gravity of the situation."
"Please," she asked again, reaching a hand into the darkness. He took it, although how he saw it in the blackness she could not understand. "Please do, and tell him that I am here. I- I do not want to be alone."
"As you ask," Batman replied, tucking her hand back under the covers. "I will send Mr. Grayson up shortly."
"Thank you."
The Caped Crusader swung onto the windowsill again, ready to disappear into the night.
"Wait, one more thing," she called into the darkness and he paused again, his voice this time carrying the frustrated tone of a father who could not get his kid to go to bed and had already fetched a snack, stuffed animal, and two glasses of water.
"What is it, Batgirl."
She blushed slightly at his familial use of her identity and quietly asked. "Can I ask who you are?"
"That's easy." He replied flatly. "I'm Batman." With that cryptic announcement, the caped shadow vanished into the night without another word.
The dark night keeps her secrets well.