Red Hood wouldn't have spotted her if he hadn't had to ditch his motorcycle. But the runner had taken to the rooftops, and he couldn't abandon the chase. He'd hoped to get more information on the drug ring itself, but getting the guy off the streets—knowing what he'd done to at least three Crime Alley kids under Red Hood's protection—made the beat down and the tip to the commissioner more than worth it. Even though it meant traveling three miles back to his bike. Because that at least meant that he saw her. No one else was going to.

He released his grapple and landed silently across the roof from her.

The girl on the ledge twitched. Her head turned as she glanced back over her shoulder. It was hard to see much in the night's dim light from twenty feet away on a roof, but he froze nonetheless. She had . . . heard him? How the hell—

No, he had to prioritize.

"Hey, kiddo," he called, the softness getting lost in his voice modulator. He glanced quickly around the scene, mentally noting the bags piled only a few feet away from her and the way she was shivering despite the warm and humid June evening weather. She was small. Tiny. Maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, if that. But most importantly, she was standing on the roof's half-wall. The toes of her worn and dirty sneakers were jutting out just past edge, leaving her teetering dangerously above the street five stories below. "Why don't we get down from there? Back where it's safe."

Her shoulders rose up towards her ears, and her arms came up to hug herself tightly. She turned her attention back around, out and away from him. Back at the street below.

Red Hood bit back a swear and started walking towards her. Her fingers fluttered on her arms, and her head turned just barely towards him again. He slowed. "I'm going to come over there," he told her. "Is that okay?"

She shrugged. She dug her fingers into her arms.

"Alright." He closed the distance between them and leaned up against the half-wall. "Stargazing?" he asked casually.

She glanced up at the cloudy sky, any chance of seeing stars drowned out by Gotham's light pollution. He took the opportunity to study her now that he was close up.

He'd been right. She was tiny.

Her face was gaunt, and the arms she had wrapped around herself were bone and skin and nothing else. Her thick, long ponytail was messy and almost undone. Her darker skin had an undercurrent of paleness. The trembling in her body extended to her fingers, which were shaking even as she pressed her nails harshly into her skin. She shifted, and he tensed—ready to leap forward—as her feet hesitated on the edge.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire?" she asked, scowling up at the sky. "I fucking do when I can't see them," she muttered.

Red Hood poorly stifled a snort at the unexpected comment. He didn't stifle the flare of amusement. "Fair," he agreed, tilting his head to the side. She didn't have a strong accent, but there was a slight thick, molasses tone that sounded unfamiliar. Either way, definitely not a native Gothamite. He put up a hand. "Let's get down from there, alright?"

Her gaze yanked down to him, dark and angry and bitter. "I don't know you," she snapped.

"You don't," he agreed. "But I'm here to help, okay? And right now, you bein' up on that ledge has me concerned."

"You don't know me."

"I don't," he agreed again. "Let's start with introductions then, okay?" He kept his hand up in case she decided to take it and get down. Or in case he had to grab her when she fell. "I'm Red Hood."

She stared at him, jaw set. Cheeks sunken. Her nostrils flared, and her stare flicked away. "Alice," she offered up, tripping over the name.

"Okay, Alice," he said, not for a second believing she'd given her real name. "Do you know me well enough to get down from there, now?"

She shrugged. Instead of taking his hand, she crouched down and braced one hand against the concrete as she turned. She hopped down from the wall, swaying for a moment when she landed beside him. He immediately shifted just a touch so that he was between her and the wall.

Alice wrapped her arms back around herself and frowned up at him. God, the dark circles under her eyes could rival Tim's. Her lips pressed into a tight line. "Feel better?" she asked.

"A bit, yeah. Wanna tell me what's going on?"

She turned her head away quickly but not quickly enough for him to miss the glassy sheen to her eyes. "No," she muttered.

"Okay. You hungry?"

Her shoulders tensed. "Why?" she ground out.

"Linda's is open 24/7. How do you feel about diner food?"

She didn't answer that, but her stomach growled painfully loud.

"My treat."

At that, she eyed him and nodded once. "Fine. But I'm not gonna fuck you, if that's what you're hoping to get out of this."

White hot anger burned in his throat. It tasted suspiciously green. "Absolutely not," he growled out. "If anyone so much as thinks of taking that in exchange for something, let me know. I'll beat the idea out of 'em."

She cocked her head to one side, looking at him head-on for the first time. "What do you want from me, then?"

"Nothing. Crime Alley is under my protection, which makes you one of my kids. I take care of what's mine."

Her face twisted. "I'm not a kid," she snarled. "I'm sixteen. Basically."

"Basically," he echoed.

She stared up at him as if daring him to challenge her on it.

"Look, do you want food or not, Alice?"

Something vulnerable wavered in her gaze. She looked away again, stooping to collect her things. She slung the duffle bag across her chest, pulled the canvas crossbody onto one shoulder and then shrugged on the backpack. "Yes, please," she whispered.

"How 'bout I take us down," he said, taking out his grapnel. "Not sure I trust that rust bucket fire escape with your weight, let alone mine." He put a hand out towards her.

She hesitated visibly.

"It'll be quick. Then it's just a few blocks to Linda's."

She didn't move for a moment, but her stomach growled again, and her hunger seemed to make the decision for her. She stepped a bit closer, shifting nervously.

"Hold on tight," he directed, stooping just a bit to wrap his arm around her firmly. It trapped her crossbody bag between them, and he realized that it was stuffed full. Adjusting his hold on her, he stepped up on the half-wall.

"I thought you didn't want me up here."

"This is different, and you know it." He shifted just a bit, crouching just enough to secure her against his hip. She made a displeased sound at—presumably—being held like a toddler, but he ignored that in favor of sending out his grapple line. "It's going to be a sudden drop. Might scare ya a bit, but you'll be fine. Promise."

She just hunched in response, hands twisting their hold on his leather jacket.

He jumped, swinging down to the sidewalk below. As soon as they were on solid ground and he started retracting his grapnel, she squirmed free. He tried his best to set her down in some kind of controlled manner, but she didn't seem to care if her fall was safe or not. Back on her own two feet, she held the strap of her duffle bag in a white-knuckle grip and glanced down the street. "Which way?"

"Left," he grunted, returning his grapnel to his belt. When she turned, he huffed a laugh. "My left."

Her face reddened, and she shot him a look before stalking in the opposite direction. "I knew that."

"Uh-huh. Need me to carry that?" He gestured to her duffle bag. And then, after a second of thought, to her backpack as well.

"No."

He shrugged. "Alright. Suit yourself. But each of those is more than half the size of you."

"I hadn't noticed."

He snickered, glancing over the bags again. All three looked like they were packed to the brim. If he had to guess, she probably had every one of her worldly possessions on her. Which, actually, that seemed like a decent haul for a homeless kid. He was impressed.

"So, Alice," he started. "What's your favorite color?"

She looked up at him with a frown. "Why?"

"Makin' conversation. Icebreakers. Makin' it so that we're not strangers so you'll fight me less if I catch you up on a rooftop edge again."

"Oh."

"So? Favorite color?"

"Um . . . ." She bit her lip and seemed to seriously consider the question. "Not sure. Haven't thought about it. Red's your favorite, right?"

"Naw. Used to be green, actually. It's blue, now, I think."

She squinted up at him. "You're Red Hood."

"Yep." He put extra emphasis on popping the P, but it just came through as an odd crack in his vocal modulator.

She wrinkled her nose. "That's dumb. Why use a color you don't even like?"

"Hey, I never said I don't like red! Just 'cause it's not my favorite doesn't mean I hate it."

She gave a hum that sounded doubtful.

He scoffed and herded her towards the diner, opening the door. "Brat," he muttered. "Let's get you fed."

She looked about curiously as they entered, craning her neck side to side and slowing so she could look around. The diner only had a few people inside—two customers sitting separately, a waitress, and the cook. It looked like it had been hours since any of the tables had been cleaned, and the lights over at least three booths were out. Nevertheless, Red Hood knew the food would not disappoint. He put a hand on her shoulder to start steering her towards one of the less dirty tables.

She flinched. Hard.

Red Hood lifted his hand and motioned instead. She glanced sideways at him, not meeting his eyes, and moved towards the booth he'd pointed out. "Hungry for anything specific?" he asked as they sat.

She shook her head, looking around still. After a bit, she turned to stare out the window at the street, tracking cars as they passed. When the waitress finally gathered menus and started around the counter for them, Alice whipped around to stare at her instead.

The waitress didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she didn't care. She tossed the menus down in front of them and flipped open her notebook, pen in hand. "Drinks?"

"I'm good," he said. He nodded to her. "Juice, kiddo?"

She looked away from the waitress just long enough to scowl at him. But she still nodded. "Apple."

"Great. Milkshake, too?"

Her eyes widened, and she looked back up at the waitress. "Is there— Do you have strawberry?"

"Sure do, hun."

"And pancakes," Red Hood said, glancing over the menu. He looked up at Alice. "Sound good?"

She swallowed visibly at the suggestion and nodded.

"Great. Chocolate chip?" When her eyes just widened further, he nodded to the waitress. "Plate of chocolate chip pancakes."

"Got it." She collected the menus she'd given them.

As she left, Red Hood looked back at Alice. "Strawberry, huh?"

"Strawberries are my favorite," she admitted. "I haven't had any for a long time."

Huh. Well, at least she was offering up information herself, now. "How long?"

Her nose scrunched up as she thought. "Dunno," she finally said. "Couple years, I think?"

So back when she was thirteen or younger, then, because he didn't believe for a second that she'd been fully honest about being sixteen. "Favorite food, then?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "What's yours?"

"Chili dogs." He cocked his head. "And my," —he paused, selecting his words carefully— "grandfather makes a killer raspberry tart."

She leaned forward eagerly. "I've never—" Her voice had risen, and she seemed to catch herself. She sat back and, in a more subdued tone, said, "I've never had a tart before."

"Just means you've got it to look forward to. Anything else you want to try?"

She stared at him blankly for a long moment. Then she turned to look out the window again, brow furrowing as she thought. After a full two minutes of silence, during which her juice arrived, she decided, "Sushi. And onion rings. And . . . cheesecake?"

He nodded. "Good choices, kid."

She made a face but was interrupted by the waitress returning before she could criticize him calling her that. She was quickly distracted by the plate of pancakes and the pink milkshake set in front of her. While Red Hood give the waitress his thanks with a wave, Alice stared at the food like she'd never seen it before.

"Well?" he asked.

Like a spell had been broken, she picked up her fork and dug in. The pancakes were gone within a minute, as was the apple juice. Then she took the milkshake in both hands as she started sucking it down through the straw. Red Hood grinned at the swipe of whipped cream it left on her nose that she didn't even seem to notice. To keep himself from laughing and drawing her attention to it, he redirected with, "So where am I taking you after this?"

Her gaze, suspicious and scared, rose to meet his.

"Do you have a safe place to stay?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes."

He'd never heard a more obvious lie in his life. "There's a shelter 'bout a mile 'n' a half from here. Good place."

She was starting to hunch in on herself again, abandoning her shake with it only half done.

"Free muffins in the morning."

She perked up at that.

"It's safe. I promise. I'll even check in tomorrow. Make sure you're okay." When she continued to hesitate, he said, "I'll speak to them when we get there. If you're that concerned, I can get them to back off about CPP for the time being."

She was staring down at her glass. Then she started on her shake again in silence. When she'd finished it, she sat back and fiddled with her hands in her lap. "Muffins?"

"Yep."

The waitress returned with the check, too distracted by the phone in her hand to do anything more than nod when Red Hood said thank you. He got to his feet, pulling a couple twenties out of his wallet and leaving them on the table. "C'mon, Al. I can carry you if you don't wanna walk."

The look she gave him as she pulled on her bags was pure poison. "Absolutely not." Despite her words, she wobbled a touch as they moved for the door. Once they were outside and heading down the street, her expression grew pinched.

"Hey, kid, are you—"

He got no warning further before she was hitting her knees on the edge of the sidewalk and retching onto the street. He dropped down next to her, already pulling her bags to the side to keep them clear. She had a moment of reprieve, during which she tried to shove his hands away with her own trembling ones. And then the vomiting was back, forcing her to empty herself of the food she'd just had. Red Hood settled for trying to pull her hair back from her face. It was loose from her ponytail and plastered to her skin with sweat.

"Okay. That's okay," he said as she stopped throwing up and was left quivering and sobbing. "You're gonna be okay."

Her hands slapped weakly at his. He backed off, watching as she pulled up the hem of her t-shirt to wipe at her mouth. She winced at the stain it left behind. She wrapped her arms tight around herself again and looked everywhere but at him.

"I should have known your stomach couldn't handle that. That's on me. I'm sorry."

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened. She didn't say anything, just staring at him. Finally, she closed her mouth and swallowed. She looked away.

"Think you can walk? There's a bodega on the way. Some water and crackers are probably going to settle much better."

"'kay," she muttered, struggling up to her feet. When he reached out to steady her, she flinched away.

"Four blocks that way," he said instead, pointing.

She nodded and stumbled after him once he'd started walking.

They managed to make it to the bodega without her collapsing. As they stepped inside, she stared at the cashier with an unsettling amount of intensity, turning her head to continue looking at him even as she followed Red Hood down one of the aisles. Only once the cashier was blocked from her sight did she look around. She stared at the large bottle of water and box of saltines he'd already gathered in his arms. When he started back for the counter, she switched to staring at the cashier again. She stopped several feet away as he checked out, not getting any closer.

It was as they stepped back outside that she said, "He was gonna pull a gun on you."

"Yeah?" Red Hood asked, opening the box and one of the sleeves before passing it to her. He'd noticed the cashier reaching under the counter, of course, and it wasn't that uncommon. Most of Crime Alley trusted him somewhat by now, but he couldn't blame them for still being cautious. "Eat up, Al."

She took the crackers and studied them cautiously. Then she picked one up and started nibbling on it, eating much slower than she had at the diner.

"Where you from?" he finally asked.

She glanced at him askance.

"You don't sound like you're from Gotham," he pointed out.

She shrugged, picking up a second cracker. But she didn't answer his question.

Red Hood settled for silence as they walked the rest of the way. Silence except for the sound of her eating saltines or drinking from the water he'd given her. They were a half mile away when Red Hood stopped and turned to look at the girl that had halted three steps behind. "What is it?"

She didn't look away from the alley she was staring down. Instead, she said, "You're a hero, right?" When he didn't answer right away—was he? sometimes he wondered—she said, "A vigilante?"

"Yeah. Why?"

She pointed down the alley with her water bottle. "Someone's getting mugged."

He swore and started for the alley only to hesitate. "Listen, stay here, okay? I'll be back."

"Uh-huh," she said, looking doubtful.

"Don't move!" And then he was off down the alley.

The mugging she was talking about, it turned out, was happening two streets over. Not even properly visible through the twisting alleys he had to comb through. Maybe not a mugging, then. Maybe the victim—a young woman in jeans and a mud-splattered t-shirt—had been caught and dragged. At least Alice had seen it. He didn't want to think about what a kidnapping like that might have ended in otherwise.

He made quick work of it, leaving the would-be kidnapper with a bullet hole in his foot and the police on their way. He consoled the sobbing woman even as she used her phone to call a friend. He waited with her until he heard the sound of approaching sirens and couldn't ignore the anxiety thrumming in his chest about leaving a little kid—even if she was a teen, she was tiny—alone on a Gotham street. He murmured to the woman that she would be okay and hurried back to Alice. All in all, he'd been gone for almost a half hour. Far too long.

When he made it back to the street, the sidewalk was empty, and he bit out enough vulgarities that he made a mental note to put a fifty in the swear jar later. Lest Alfred read his guilty conscience.

"Oh, you came back."

He whipped around. The girl was up against the brick front of a smoke shop, sitting on top of her duffle bag with a book open in her hands. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, he realized. Yeah, Alice was definitely not her real name. But that didn't matter so much as the absolute surprise in her voice.

"Said I would, didn't I?" he asked, stepped over to her. The bottle of water was by her feet and mostly empty, he was glad to see. The saltines sleeve in her lap was half-done. "Ready? We're almost there."

She studied him for a moment as if she was looking for something. Whatever it was, she seemed to have found it because she shrugged and got to her feet. She crouched and opened her duffle bag. He got a glimpse of its contents—was that a tea kettle?—before she had quickly wrapped the book in what looked like a microfiber cloth and zipped it up in the bag.

"Smart."

Alice looked at him. "What?" she asked, defense rising in her tone.

"Using that fabric," he said by way of explanation, waving at her bag. "Keeps the book dry just in case. Right?"

She didn't answer that. She didn't answer a lot of his questions. Instead, she momentarily slipped off her backpack so she could pull on her duffle bag. "How much longer?"

"Almost there. We've gone most of the way."

"Do terms of distance mean nothing to you?"

He huffed a laugh. "Half mile, half-pint."

"Don't call me that," she muttered as they started walking again. "Did you shoot the mugger?"

He didn't really want to explain that it probably hadn't been a mugging after all. "A bit. Police should have 'im by now."

"Good."

He cast a glance over her and how satisfied she'd seemed by his answer. "Good job waiting for me."

She shrugged. "Nothing better to do."

"Seemed pretty happy with your book."

"And?" she asked sharply. "I like reading."

"Not criticizing. Trust me. I've got a decent book collection myself. You?"

"I have a few," she confessed slowly.

A few books was a lot when she clearly had to carry everything she owned on her back. Most kids would ditch the weight completely or swap it for something more practical for street-living. But he'd carried a copy of Pride and Prejudice for months when he was homeless up until it got stolen with the rest of his bag. He eyed the way she'd carefully layered her bags so that no one could easily grab them off of her. She was experienced enough to know to do that. Almost instinctively, it seemed. He wondered how long she'd been alone and where she was even from in the first place. He doubted she'd come to Gotham through traditional trafficking; she had too much stuff for that.

"Is that it?" she suddenly asked.

He looked up at the building they were approaching. The well-lit sign read Martha's Home, and the only window to inside was the glass door. Despite it being just past midnight, there was a light on inside. "That's it," he confirmed. He held open the door and waved her in ahead of him. After hesitating for a long few seconds, she stepped inside.

The person at the counter looked up, and Red Hood recognized him. "Aaron," he greeted. "Got a bed for this one?"

Aaron glanced at the girl, his smile coming easy. "Sure do. Name's Aaron Romero."

"Alice."

Aaron didn't even blink at the lack of a last name as he clicked a pen and started writing on his clipboard. "Everyone that comes through gets a bag. Basics, ya know? Soap, band-aids, toothbrush, the like. And shower's open, too, if you want it before sleeping."

Interest flickered in her gaze. "Sure," she said carefully.

"Great!" Aaron turned away, unlocking a cabinet. He pulled a backpack out from inside and turned, holding it out to her. When she made no move to take it, he said, "It won't bite you."

Her nostrils flared, and she snatched the bag from him. She held it in a tight grip, pulling it close. "Where're the showers?"

"Right this way!" Aaron said, opening the door to the rest of the building with a flourish. "Beds are that way," he said, gesturing to the right. "Shower's this way." He pointed to the left. He propped open the door and motioned to the sitting area straight ahead. "We'll hang here in the lounge. When you're done, I'll show you where you can sleep."

She glanced between the two of them before settling on staring at Red Hood. He waved for her to go. "Shower will help you feel better, Al."

With yet another huff, she scrambled off down the hall, all four bags in tow. Aaron leaned against the door frame, and Red Hood dropped onto one of the couches with a grunt. "No CPP," he started with.

Aaron's brow furrowed. "You can't just bring a toddler here and—"

"Teenager," Red Hood interrupted. "Says she's sixteen, but I don't buy it. I'd believe fourteen, though. Maybe fifteen."

Aaron startled. "She's . . . ."

"It's been a while since she's eaten much of anything substantial, I think," Red Hood sighed. "Threw up what I got her originally, so we settled for some saltines and water instead."

Aaron let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't just not call, Hood. She looks like she's ten and hasn't had a roof over her head in years. She needs help."

"Yeah," he agreed easily. "But I'm also positive she's a runner. You call, and she's gone. There wouldn't be any helping her then." He leaned back with a heavy groan. "I'll swing by in the morning. See if I can get her to talk some more. If I can get her to work with me, then I can get her some real help. Without her running."

"Fine," Aaron conceded. He glanced down the hall at the doors that led to the showers. "Where'd you find her?"

"Harrow and Stoke. 'bout to jump off a roof."

He jerked around. "What? Shouldn't she be at—"

"Runner," Red Hood reminded him firmly. "See how much crap she has on 'er? She's been doin' this for a while."

Aaron was about to respond, clearly worried and panicked, when one of the doors to the showers opened. He switched to a smile instead, visibly relaxing his shoulders. "Hey, Alice. Feel better?"

"Yeah," she said, voice small. She stopped at the end of the hall and glanced around nervously. Some of the tension—but far from all of it—disappeared when she spotted Red Hood. Her skin was bright red as if she'd scrubbed it harshly, and her wet hair was pulled into long twin braids. Instead of the damaged jeans and stained red t-shirt she'd been wearing earlier, she was now wearing green cargo pants and a grey top, both of which looked surprisingly clean. She'd even put her sneakers back on. She had the bottle of water he'd given her in hand and had clearly filled it back up. In the proper lighting, he could see a smattering of days-old bruises down her left arm, almost healed.

As Red Hood shoved himself up to his feet, Aaron turned. He kept his voice quiet as he led the way. "Breakfast is available from six to eight. You can get to the cafeteria through the double doors in the lounge. We don't serve lunch or dinner, but there's fruit and granola bars available at any time. We do have a three-day limit on stays. At that point, you have to be somewhere else for forty-eight hours before you can come back."

"Makes sense," she murmured as they came to one of the open doorways. It led to a room with four bunk beds, six of the mattresses occupied. She stopped just at the threshold, not moving an inch farther.

"And no CPP," Red Hood grunted. When she looked up at him doubtfully, he repeated himself. After a moment, Aaron echoed him.

"Good," she said with a single nod.

"I'll be by during breakfast," he said, shoving down the urge to put a hand on her shoulder. Instead, he rapped his knuckles against the door frame. "Get some sleep, Al."

She didn't say anything. Instead, she shuffled inside. He and Aaron watched as she scrambled up one of the ladders to an empty top bunk, still laden with all of her things. She laid down, carefully situating her bags around herself without taking any of them off. Then she yanked the provided blanket up over her head and stopped moving.

The two of them withdrew and started quietly down the hallway. As they reached the front office, Red Hood gave him a nod. "Thanks." Then he left before Aaron could say anything else. He really wanted to get back to his bike.