I know it's been a hot sec, so this is a long one. The first part is a fluff bit and the second has that ship I was thinking about... Anyway, more at the end.

"We should've driven a car," I comment when the cashiers finish packing all our purchases into bags. "There's no way we're getting all this home on two motorcycles."

"I called Alfred," Barbara assures me, looking at our mountain of bags with pride. "I really liked that dark blue one. You should wear it tomorrow."

At Barbara's bullying, I'd agreed to not only go shopping but also to try on the countless dresses she came up with. To be honest-though I'd never admit it outloud- it was actually kind of fun. I even came up with a couple of dresses for her that she ended up buying.

But the best part of shopping was when I convinced Barbara to go into a T-shirt store and we picked out several for the guys. They're awesome. Totally worth trying on a kazillion dresses.

With the help of several store employees, we move our mountain outdoors, where a long black car has parked itself on the curb. "Oh, dear," Alfred comments when he exits the car. "I see your trip was... productive."

Barbara smirks as Alfred opens up the trunk. The three employees help us load the parcels and bags, first in the trunk and then the back seat when we ran out of room. Alfred tips them all with a twenty, much to their delight, and they leave with big smiles.

"Might I ask what could possibly be contained in so many parcels?" Alfred drawls, shutting the door on the bags with a sarcastic lift of his eyebrow.

"Let's see… Two formal dresses and one casual for me, and matching shoes and accessories for each… Seven formal dresses and three casual for Dani, plus shoes and accessories and hair stuff and makeup." She grins at me. "And a lot of shirts. You'll find out why when we get back."

I relent a small grin. I can't wait to hand out the shirts.

I wave at Alfred and start walking back to where Barbara and I had left our motorcycles. "We'll see you back at home! Thanks for picking the stuff up!"

"Of course, miss," Alfred responds, rounding the car to get back to the driver's seat. Barbara and I jog to our cycles, not wanting Alfred to beat us home.

Unfortunately, he does. Barbara and I end up in traffic, and since I don't have a car's license, let alone a cyclist's one, we have to follow the laws. I mean, it's not like they could stop me from driving illegally again, but they'd probably get suspicious when they arrested me and I didn't, you know, exist.

When we do get back, Alfred had roped Jason into helping our stuff inside, which is now piled up in the foyer. Jason is looking dumbfounded at the sheer amount of bags and boxes we'd bought, rubbing his neck and frowning.

"Who needs this many clothes?" he asks us when we walk in.

"Dani," Barbara answers matter-of-factly. "She doesn't have any formal wear."

"I don't go to formal events," I mutter.

"What'd you say?" she accuses, putting her hands on her hips.

I immediately surrender. "Nothing. Nope." Jason raises an eyebrow at me. "Want to guess what we got you?" I address him, digging around the bags for the ones with the t-shirt store's logo.

"If I don't ask, will you keep the answer to yourself?"

I laugh, withdrawing the desired bags out of the pile. I rifle around inside one, trying to find my favorite Jason t-shirt.

"I'm scared," Jason mutters at Barbara. In my peripheral vision, I catch her sending him a high-eyebrowed smirk.

I turn to Jason with the shirt displayed, showing him the graphic proudly. It's a simple gray t-shirt with black lettering, reading, "Daddy's Little Monster". "Do you know how hard it is to find this in your size?" I ask him rhetorically as he reads the shirt in confused silence.

"I'm not going to wear that," he states bluntly.

"Or this one? Or this one?" I pull out more as I ask him, all daddy issue t-shirts. "We got you nine."

"Ten," Barbara corrects. "There's that one we got for everyone."

"Oh, yeah." I find one, though I'm pretty sure it's in Dick's size, and show it to Jason. "Why be yourself when you can be Batman?"

I try not to giggle like a schoolgirl when he accepts that one. Instead, I return to my bags. "Okay, I have some for Damian and Tim and Dick and one for Bruce, even though he scares me a little bit."

Jason has this look of high amusement, trying to keep his mouth shut and answer me at the same time. "What does it say?" he forces out around his grin.

Deciding it would be better if I showed him like I had all the others, I grab it from one of the bags and hold it up to him. He bursts out laughing, no longer able to hold it in.

"I'm not saying I'm Batman, I'm just saying Batman and I have never been in the same room together," reads Dick, who'd probably heard our return when we'd entered the BatCave. He and Damian were doing a thing with sticks, but I guess we're more important. "That's awesome. Did you get one for me?"

I frown. "No, just Bruce. But he probably won't wear it. We got you some other ones though."

Dick looks down at Jason's strewn shirts and tries to contain his smile. "Are you going to wear those?"

"Never."

Yeah, right. What else will he wear when I burn the rest of his shirts? ... Probably walk around without one. I'll have to ask Alfred where the thermostat is.

Barbara takes the honor of showing Dick his t-shirts, which include feelings about sleep, desires to hug people, and Disney princess quotes. What can we say? He's a ball of fluff. My favorites of his are "I'm a Princess. Don't be Surprised When I Randomly Break Out Into Song and Dance" and "Chick Magnet", with lots of baby chicks on it.

Barbara holds out the princess one and tells him to put it on. He laughs and refuses. I stop paying attention when she full-on tackles him, pulling out my cell phone (which remarkably stayed inside my sweatshirt pocket) to send a text to Damian. Tim should be out with the Titans; he had been since yesterday and would be until late tonight.

"What else did you get?" Jason asks, gesturing to the bags and blatantly ignoring the wrestling match Barbara and Dick are in.

I sniff. "Dresses and other stupid things like that."

He nods knowingly.

Damian, who wasted no time at my text, enters the room and surveys the scene with distaste. "What did you need, Dani?"

"I got you shirts," I explain.

He folds his arms and rolls his eyes, annoyed. "I don't wear T-shirts," he states in that haughty, I'm-better-than-you-in-every-way tone.

Still, I show him the "Good Morning, I see the assassins failed". His expression doesn't change. I toss it at him, which he catches with two fingers and holds at an arm's length, and reach for another. They're all the angsty, anti-social ones the store had. Every new one I throw at Damian is dropped into a pile at his feet.

Sigh. Looks like I'm going to be burning his shirts too.

"I'm not wearing these. No one would," Damian insults, folding his arms when I run out of shirt ammo. Jason, in response, takes a step forward, glares, picks up a random shirt off the floor and puts it on over the one he's already wearing. I stifle a laugh. Got Daddy Issues?

Damian rolls his eyes.

Barbara, apparently successful, climbs up from the wrestling match she had started, pushing her hair behind her ear with a grin. Dick groans from the ground and sits up, rubbing his hair. Pulled haphazardly over his chest is the disney princess shirt. I offer a hand to Barbara and she high-fives me.

Meanwhile, Damian and Jason have started arguing.

I smile at Dick, who hesitantly returns it, probably worried about another tackle. "I can't decide if you stop or start more fights," he comments. Barbara sends me another knowing smirk. "I mean, who knew so much drama could start over a couple of t-shirts?"

Barbara barks a laugh as I pick up a bunch of random bags off the floor, intent on bringing them up to my room. "I'll give you one guess, boy wonder."

I throw a smirk over my shoulder.

The afternoon of the party was not as bad as I thought it would be. Barbara decided to go just so she could help me dress up, which basically condemned me into going. She spent hours getting us ready, but her constant conversation kept my boredom and humiliation at bay. Mostly because she was sharing stories of everyone else's humiliations and that's my all-time favorite conversation topic, but please, I'm not a gossip.

The worst part was when she made me shave. Freaking shave. Do you have any idea how long that takes?

After three hours of make-up, hair, accessories and other touch-ups, she declares me fit for Gotham's elite.

"You really are gorgeous," she compliments as she straightens her own hair. "And unique. No matter what this household will have you believe, the black-hair-blue-eyes combo is not as common as you'd think."

I peer into the mirror with hesitation. My hair is piled on top of my head in a perfectly-placed messy bun, a single braid wrapped around its base. Two bouncy curls frame my face, constantly swaying in my peripheral vision. The dress Barbara decided on was made of a deep blue, flowy material that hugged my body until flaring out at the hips, falling to my knees in the front and continuing lower to the ground as it got to the back. The neckline is low but not revealing, and to fill the empty space between the dress and my chin, Barbara had clasped a simple black chain and matching blue pendant around my neck.

I feel uncomfortable in the dress, even though it doesn't reveal anything but my shoulders and knees. In an effort to feel more like myself, I add a black leather jacket to cover my arms and shoulder blades. It doesn't quite match the formality of the event or the dress, but it feels familiar. The jacket is useless, though, as it barely falls below my middle back and doesn't even have pockets, but it works for me anyway.

"That doesn't match," Barbara calls from over at the vanity.

"So?"

"Just in case you wanted to know."

Barbara is wearing a purple, empire-waisted gown with gray accents. Like her dress, her hair is long and straight. She wears a purple crystal necklace that follows the dips in her collarbone, accentuating her toned muscles there. I wouldn't think red hair would mix with purple and gray, but she looks no less beautiful in it.

She glances at her phone. "We better get downstairs. The party's about to start." Using a purple clutch, she puts her phone away. I keep mine on my dresser, having no place to put it and finding no need for one in my own house. The watch stays on, though, and it's now hidden underneath my sleeve.

We end up just outside the main room where the party guests are starting to gather, both reluctant to join the mass of very snobby rich people.

"Holy crap, you really are a girl," Dick jests from behind me. I back away from where I'd been peeking out into the ballroom, taking in his tux with a snort. He has completely stepped into the role of the rich and elite, his posture oozing charisma and charm. "You're a miracle worker, Babs."

She rolls her eyes. "I already knew that."

Ignoring both their jabs, I stab a thumb over my shoulder at the gathering party. "This looks awful," I stage-whisper, wide-eyed at the decorations and people. "And I feel like a Barbie doll."

Dick frowns in contemplation, considering me. "You kind of do look like a Barbie doll." Barbara elbows him, frowning. "Hey, it's a good thing!"

"Not really…"

"I'm just saying, your face is perfectly symmetrical and your features are well spaced. Your skin is clean and smooth with uniform coloring."

"Which is geek jargon for you look hot."

"That's brother jargon for I look hot," I mutter, looking back out at the gathering crowd and pretending to miss Dick's proud, beaming smile.

"By the way, some of Tim's friends are here." Dick lowers his voice. "They need to talk to him after this so they came as civilians to enjoy this very fun party."

"Why not just come afterward?" Barbara asks, rolling her eyes.

"Bonding, civilian training, espionage? Who knows." He leans close to my ear. "'Friends' mean Titans."

"Oh my gosh, I can cross them off my list," I gasp. "Which ones?"

"Where's the fun in telling you that?"

After that cryptic comment, Dick melodramatically sweeps out of the room and into the ballroom. A lot less reluctant than before, I follow after him.

Dick is immediately flowered with attention, mostly from the young, female percentage, and I quickly abandon him. The girls do nothing but make snide comments in my direction, even though we both introduce me as a family member.

Instead, I wander around, answering nosy questions about where I came from and who I'm related to, trying to find another familiar face. As I cross the ballroom, which has been decked out in gold decorations, I accidentally bump against a woman talking to a blonde haired man. Stepping sideways, I apologize, quickly examining her for spilled drinks or food.

"It's fine, I wasn't holding anything," she interrupts, waving away my apologies. Now not looking for stains, I notice how gorgeous she is with her flowing blonde hair, sparkling eyes and well-toned body fitting nicely in a sleeveless black dress. "I'm Dinah Lance."

"Dani," I reply, accepting her hand in a shake.

She waits for a last name briefly before passing over it and introducing her companion. "This is Oliver Queen."

At a loss for something better to say, I shake his hand and announce, "Charmed."

He laughs. "So am I. Who are you here with?"

I shrug. "I'm just a kid from the streets who snuck in, stole a dress, and is about to rob the Waynes blind."

Oliver laughs again, longer this time. "Good luck with that. They have pretty extensive security."

Dinah slides a look to him, almost imperceptible, and he readjusts his posture in response. I catch their near-nonexistent conversation and stop to examine this couple again. "I know," I continue, voice still light. "The dress alone took eight passwords."

"Only the Waynes." He shakes his head. "Where do they lock up their dresses?"

"In her room," answers Dick, entering the conversation from seemingly nowhere. "Where else?"

He offers me a drink that I accept, trusting it not to be alcoholic. "I'm going to rob you guys blind," I inform him, sipping the pink-tinted drink. It's raspberry lemonade, which I think it strange for a gold-themed ball, but whatever.

His eyes are laughing as he answers, "You can try, but I doubt you could carry enough stuff out of here to even make a dent." He turns to Dinah and Oliver, smiling with familiarity. "Nice to see you two, Dinah, Ollie."

This only confirms my suspicions of their possible superhero persona. I discreetly observe Ollie's shaggy blonde hair and goatee. Where have I seen that before? I block out his eyes; I haven't seen those. With no suit, what would he wear?

"Nice to see you, too, Dick," Dinah answers warmly, taking Ollie's arm. "Now if you'll excuse us, I need to make sure Ollie talks to people. You know how bad he can get at being a CEO."

Dick laughs and Ollie frowns, disgruntled.

OH, YES!

"No, but I-"

Another explosion rocks the ground, sending my already swirling head into a blender. When my vision next focuses, I'm on my forearms, my face barely an inch from the concrete ground. I glance up at my male companion, who's withdrawing another arrow from his quiver. "Stay here, kid," he grunts, notching his arrow into the string of the bow.

"I need to tell you about-" He grunts again and aims, causing my adrenaline to kick in. I struggle to stand. "No, you don't understand, you have to listen to me!"

"Don't move."

He releases the arrow and runs towards where it had gone, leaving me on my knees, pleads still half out of my mouth. "You're going to freaking die!" I cry in frustration, finally standing.

Unsteady from the blow to my head a few moments before, I stumble away, trying to get enough distance away to safely go invisible. It's a trap, why didn't I just say that? He would hear the words "trap" and listen, but no. I needed to say "listen, listen!".

After turning invisible, I hover softly, knowing if I transform and try to fly I'll end up flying into a wall. I'm too unsteady.

Once I start moving, I feel better. My vision steadies and random muscles stop twitching so furiously. I'm glad; that was annoying the crap out of me. Lucky enough for me, Arrow hadn't run directly into the trap. He'd hung back, shooting from a distance. But it won't last. Once he sees Speedy…

I groan as he notches another arrow, aiming at another man. He's wasting his time, and he knows it. The explosions are just a distraction. The real threat has to do with a bio-weapon and Speedy dead. This is personal against Green Arrow, and he was blind to see what is happening before his eyes.

Luckily, I'm not blind, and I see both sides equally. Both are making stupid mistakes, and I can exploit that.

I skirt around the fight, carefully avoiding the ground that's on fire. As soon as Green Arrow reaches the warehouse where Speedy is, the trap will be sprung. I'm not quite sure what it is, but I do know that there's no way Green Arrow will get out of it alive.

An arrow whizzes past my head, burying itself into the stone wall beside me. I still, looking at the arrow and back at where it came from. Heroes like Green Arrow don't miss, so what does the arrow do? I should probably get out of here before…

Mist hisses out of the arrow, and I groan, sprinting through the mist intangibly in order to get outside its range before I have to breathe again. I don't stop running, trying to get to the building before Green Arrow does.

Unfortunately, Green Arrow's anxiousness to rescue Speedy is worth more than my desire to get there first. He's already there by the time I round the corner from one street down. Arrow notched in his bow, he aims high in the sky. I fly faster, still low to the ground, and snatch the arrow from his bow before he can shoot it.

He lets the string fly and it vibrates violently as its power is wasted on empty air. Twirling the arrow mockingly, I gain his attention. "Hey!" he shouts to the invisible me, snatching at the arrow. I dance out of reach. He pulls out another, aiming it where I'm holding the arrow. Then he aims higher, towards the roofs, and turns in a slow circle, searching.

Dangerous to assume I'm telekinetic, but when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, right? I drop the arrow, finding no use in keeping it and approach silently again. This time, I take another arrow from his quiver and stick it through one of his straps. Surprised, his arrow launches, landing somewhere out of sight.

I need something he has to have. I can feel the danger growing the longer we stand inside the trap.

Without another second of hesitation, I snatch his bow. He holds fast, grunting as I yank on it with both hands. Ugggggh let goooo… Ending the tug of war with one pull, he holds his bow closer to his chest, scanning the area again. "Ha!" he shouts.

My anxiety spikes, hair rising along the back of my neck, chills running up and down my arms. Too loud. We've been too loud, too long.

I grab the bow, turn it intangible, and take off towards the fire escape. For some reason, I know we have to get higher.

Green Arrow probably has a backup bow, but he's not one to let a perfectly good one get taken by an unseen force. He takes off after me, thankfully choosing my trap over the one down here. I skim the fire escape, and I think this is when he realizes I'm not telekinetic. "Hey, wait! Why do you want my bow?"

I pause on the rooftop, clutching the bow in my hands. My ears are straining for the trap, desperately hoping it had sprung without us. Green Arrow approaches, but I'm too preoccupied with trying to inch my way to the edge of the roof to notice him until he's wrenched the bow rather painfully away from me. "Ouch," I mutter, rubbing my hands. His ears perk at my small noise and he has an arrow aimed at me before I can blink.

"Show yourself," he commands. I take his arrow again, annoyed, and toss it over the side of the roof. Now close enough to the edge, I can see the ground… Or rather, I can't.

Green Arrow looks to where I'd thrown his arrow and notices the thick gray mist. "I see," he murmurs.

"Go through the side servers entrance. The west one. It's boarded up, but unguarded." I keep my voice a mutter, trying not to create a connection between the girl he'd heard minutes before and the invisible entity speaking to him now. "And watch out for traps. You're really good at falling into them."

He looks right at me, and though he can't do the same to me, I study his face. Shaggy, lighter hair. A little goatee and mustache. A dark mask with white lens. Smile creases. "Thanks."

Though he can't see me, I duck my head in a silent nod. #17, Green Arrow. A-check.

I grin at their retreating backs. Leaning close to Dick, I mutter in his ear, "Green Arrow, Black Canary." It's obvious. Who else would she be?

Dick chuckles. "Drink your lemonade, Dani."

I sip it as he leaves my side to greet someone else. This one is hardly a challenge; Donna Troy. She doesn't wear a mask, and glasses have never been something to fool me. Dick turns to introduce me, but I decide against meeting her and instead wander off in search of another brother.

After rounding the three of them, with only Tim talking to another superhero, I find a window seat away from the heat and crush of the people and collapse on the cushion with my half-full glass. I search the mass of people as they pass by, mentally tracking their movements for signs of hidden grace.

Even if I don't name any more other than a red-headed boy I'm ultra sure is some kind of Flash (he has little movements of speed and fantastic reflexes that aren't natural), I name a number of suspects. A girl with long red hair in a green dress, a sparkly blond girl with a smile brighter than the crystals on her dress and a pair of boys, one with dark hair and one with red, both uncomfortably in suits and not-so-subtly stalking either Dick or Tim.

I twirl the empty glass in my hand, still searching the crowd, until I notice another presence has entered the little bubble of space the window had created. He notices me at the same time, relief fading into wariness. "Sorry," he mutters, glancing back out at the ballroom. "I didn't realize there was someone here."

"There are people everywhere," I reply, grinning at him.

He glares out at the ballroom. "Right."

I do him a customary once-over, noting how his suit is pristine and perfectly form-fitting though by the way he's standing I guess it's because its new and not because he takes care of his tuxes. His hair is cropped close to his head almost army-style, making it hard to recognize the color as red. It makes all the other features that much more prominent; the jawline, the shape of his nose, the crease between his eyes. I notice him analyzing me reproachfully, probably comparing me to every other girl in this ballroom.

I certainly look the part, though my slouched posture, half-off shoes and leather jacket off-set my image.

"Aren't you hot?" he asks finally, settling into his stance. I take that to mean he's not going back out in the crush of people, and I sit up straighter to allow him room to sit.

"Kinda, but not enough to take off the jacket. Besides, you're wearing one." He gives me another once-over before perching on the edge of the seat, leaning sideways to keep me in full view. I almost tease his wariness but decide against it. "Who are you here with?"

"Friends."

"You must have really mean friends."

A small smirk pulls at the edge of his mouth. "Yeah, they're annoying. What about you?"

"Depends on my mood and your patience level."

His smile grows a couple of millimeters. "I meant who are you here with?"

I sigh. "My family."

"And they left you alone?"

I tilt my head in confusion. "I'm not ten," I reproach, defensive. "I can take care of myself."

He shrugs, nonchalant. "It is Gotham."

"True." I wave off into the crowd, not caring to continue the conversation about myself. People who are reluctant to smile are usually the most interesting, despite how strange that might sound. "They're doing business or whatever. I'd rather sit here than be ignored in conversation."

Which is true. The Wayne boys are supposed to socialize, and after an introduction, people could care less about me. "There isn't anyone here I want to have a conversation with," he responds, more exasperated than directed at me. "Or at least not a public one."

"I'm going to bypass that obvious hint and introduce myself," I smile, extending my hand. "I'm Dani."

He hesitates only for a moment before extending his right hand and giving me a firm shake. "Roy."

"A pleasure. For you, mostly. I'm an incredibly interesting person."

"Wow, that arrogance came out of nowhere." His good-natured sarcasm thrills me. He's not being brusque anymore, so maybe now we can have some interesting conversation!

I laugh. "Yeah, it surprised me, too."

He leans back against the wall, turning him almost completely towards me. "Well, then, what's so interesting about you?"

I shrug, wearing a pleased smile. "I already know what's interesting about me. I want to know what's interesting about you."

"So that's how this is going to be?"

"Got a problem with it?"

We both challenge each other with our eyes, though we maintain good-natured smiles. As we stare each other down, another couple enters our little space, coming uncomfortably close to my head and chatting loudly.

"Only with the location," Roy answers finally, looking at the couple with distaste. "Want to explore?"

"This place? Yes."

He stands and I follow, shoving my feet back in my shoes. We weave through the crowd, him in the lead, until we reach the double doors leading into the next hallway. Bruce hired guards to be posted at all doors except for bathrooms and exits, trying to minimize the destruction to the manor. We walk down the hall, passing guards who eye us suspiciously as we pass by. I lean back and mutter in his ear, "Stairs."

He inclines his head slightly in a nod. There's no reason for there to be guards upstairs, as they are manning the stairways. We stop a ways from the East stairwell, both brainstorming ways to get the two guards to leave their station for enough time to get us upstairs. I could always give them the password Dick told me before the party started, but that would give away the fact that I live here, and I'd rather "explore".

Roy leans closer to my ear, his breath rustling strands of my hair that tickle my skin. "I have a plan. You're going to hold your breath until you're really pale, then we're going to approach them and say that the Waynes told us we could lay you down upstairs, but you know the password-" Huh. He knows about the password thing. Was I the only one who didn't? "And you can't breathe. Then-"

"Shh," I interrupt when I spot a man stumbling down the hall. "I have another one." I hurry over to the man, who's barreling down the hall towards us, and stop him just before the passageway leading to our goal. "Sir, sir!"

"Yes, ma'am'am," he slurs, stopping abruptly and almost tipping over. "Do you know where my wife is?"

He's drunker than I thought. Perfect. "Those guards over there do. If they say they don't, they're lying."

His eyes widen and he looks to them around the corner. "Are they Russian?"

"Are Russians bad?" I, personally, have many friends in Russia, and they're wonderful people. But having wonderful friends in a foreign country doesn't really help get past two guards, does it?

"They started the Cold War," he stutters as seriously as he can manage. "Bay of pigs and cows and horses…"

"Shh, they could hear you," I shush hurriedly. "Are you prepared to serve your country?"

He looks at me in confusion, eyeing my dress. "You don't look like a soooldier."

"That's what makes me a good one, sir. Besides, this is Gotham. How old is Robin, ten?"

I hope Damian didn't hear me, because he's thirteen and he'll kill anyone who refuses to acknowledge it. The man nods, offering me a sloppy salute. "I'm prepared for my country and my wife."

"Then get them to take you to her! Don't take no for an answer! Don't leave either alone until you and your wife and your country is safe!"

"Huzzah!" he cries, charging around the corner in a drunken stupor. I grin maniacally at Roy, who's giving me an impressed look with folded arms. Down the hall, the sounds of the man shouting at the guards to release his wife and the guards shouting back are at full-volume. We hear the sounds drawing near so we start walking down the hallway, leisurely talking about the ball as the guards wrestle the celebrating man down the opposite way.

As soon as they round the corner, we sprint back the way we'd come, entering the stairwell and darting up the steps in case they checked it once they returned.

At the top of the steps, we burst out laughing, though Roy's is a lot softer and less forceful than mine. He composes himself quickly and asks, "That was impressive, how you manipulated that guy."

"If there's one thing I get," I lecture, a ridiculous smile on my face, "it's drunk logic."

His smile sobers and his eyes furrow in concern, looking at me with a new light.

Annoyed at his jumped conclusion, I wave him off. "Not because I know alcoholics. My logic is the same as a grown man's drunk logic."

He pauses and I take the opportunity to take off my shoes. "Oh, I see," he concedes, back in good humor. I toss my shoes down the darkened hallway. It's dim but not pitch, so I see the question in Roy's face.

"They belong in the trash; this is a kindness!" I growl in resolute anger, jabbing my finger in the direction I'd thrown them. "Besides, if I lose them I won't have to wear them again."

He chuckles and we explore in silence for a while before he brings up our previous conversation topic from before. "So, about why you're so interesting…"

"I call this the 'mutual revelation' game," I announce, waving my hands out dramatically. His look gives me pause, and I quickly amend, "The name is in the works. Basically, question," I point to myself "answer" I point to him "answer" back to me "and question." I point back at him. "Maybe it should be called the QAAQ."

"That sounds like a terrorist group," he jokes. I smile, loving his sarcasm.

"Chosen vehicle," I begin.

"Motorcycle," he replies instantly.

"We have that in common." We go up the stairs again to the third floor, finding the dull thump of the music through the ground to be annoying. "Except I don't have a license, so."

He waves that off with a grin. "Good drivers don't need traffic laws to keep them safe."

"Exactly!"

He ponders his question for a moment before settling on, "Music."

"Alan Walker, at the moment. But Evanescence, Lorde and Black Coast are close seconds."

"Alan Walker? The country singer?"

"NO!"

"Good, that would've been bad." He contemplates his own answer as we stroll leisurely down the dim hallway of the third floor, pausing periodically to examine rooms or decor. "I like rock and alternative." He rattles off a bunch of singers/bands I don't know and a couple I do, and we discuss music for a while before continuing with our game.

The back and forth stays in relatively casual topics, ranging from likes, dislikes, experiences and opinions. Neither of us broach childhoods or families, which I'm sure happens through our combined effort. I find he's traveled almost as extensively as I have, though he doesn't say why.

Our game dies down a little as we both share stories of our travels, including my excursion on the radioactive train in Lenin Prospekt, Russia, leaving him equal parts amused and concerned.

In return, he tells me about his time in Japan, where he accidentally ended up in a mafia meeting and had to pretend he was one of them, even though he only had a rudimentary understanding of the language.

"They didn't realize you weren't Japanese?"

"They thought I was part of the European division, because of my hair." He chuckles, rubbing his head with his left hand.

"Well, if hair color is all someone needs to earn the trust of a global mafia…" I leave the comment hanging, unsure how to finish it.

Luckily, Roy just laughs again. "Seriously. You'd think the CIA would have an easier time."

"Ugh, I hate the CIA. They're so rude and they suck at covers. You have to maintain cover all the time. Hotel rooms are always bugged."

He raises an eyebrow at this.

I shrug at his nonverbal prompt to go on. "I was on the next floor. Might've caught the guy."

"With those arms?"

I flex, my thin muscles barely straining against my leather jacket. "Excuse me, that's all muscle right there." I drop my arms. "But if you insist, I'll tell you more. There was a bunch of yelling above me, so I opened the window to listen better. When I heard them threaten to throw the agent out the window, I tied the sheets together. They were already on the floor because I was about to check out, so it didn't take too long. Then I tied one end to the bed and hung the rest out the window. If they shot him, I couldn't really do anything, but might as well try, right?

They did end up throwing him out the window, and he flipped in the air so his hands were pretty close to the sheets. He grabbed them, which threw the bed, but it still held, and then I helped him in through the window. I'm surprised he held onto the sheet. I tied a knot at the end, but still."

"What happened after that?"

"I helped him out of the room and went with him because I didn't want to get jacked, you know, so then he yelled at me to stop pretending that I was a spy and ditched me just outside the hotel. I lifted his badge, for that. Rude agent."

"Do you still have that badge?" His eyes are glimmering in laughter and respect, a humored smile lightening his face.

"Nah, I waited until the mobs left and returned it to his room. Put it in the toilet. Ha, loser."

His mouth turns up again. "Yeah, loser."

I realize now that he's much closer than when I started my story, grinning with an easier smile. He's a little bit taller than I am, and I find myself taking a step back instinctually, trying to level my gaze again. He almost unconsciously follows me, and I find my head tilting up so I can see his eyes better.

Suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of the moment, I let out a breathy laugh. "I, uh…"

His watch starts buzzing and flashing, startling us both. He steps back, turning slightly and pulling up his sleeve. We both check our watches, him for the messages and me for the time. It'd been almost two hours… Wow, it only felt like a half hour.

I glance back at Roy, who's recovering his watch with his sleeve. He swears, glancing at me and down the hall. "I have to go," he explains, his expression flashing in regret. Before I can ask him for a way to contact him, or even his last name, he's taking off down the hall.

I'm surprised by the dejection I feel with his sudden disappearance. "Nice to meet you, too," I say to the empty hallway, turning around and making my way back to my room.

I'm so done with today.

A little bittersweet, but they shall meet again! Anyway, things are going to start picking up; not in the next chapter but the one after that. It might be a couple of weeks, though, because I don't have it done and it's the end of school so things are kind of hectic. Anyway, let's do some responses, shall we?

She has met Wulf, but I haven't put that in yet. I know it's a lot of languages, but I'm going with the whole "Danny's a genius so Dani is too" thing.

And that's about it, because the last chapter was a bit more sparse than I would like. Hopefully this one was better!