By Minim Calibre
Notes: Because there’s nothing wrong with fighting like a girl. And because, well, I think it needed to be done. This goes out to ![[livejournal.com profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cereta, and all my old DCU pals. Unbetaed, because I needed to get it out of my head.
She’s seven and a half years old when she moves to Gotham.
In her memory, the move is always surrounded by the hushed voices of adults: “Maybe she’s young enough that she won’t really remember.” and “I can’t believe it myself–Roger and Thelma always seemed so happy.” and “I hear Roger’s brother and his wife will have custody. At least she’ll be with family.”
Uncle Jim has been out to visit them four times. Her family went to Gotham to see his twice, first for his wedding to Aunt Barbara, where she was the flower girl, and then for Cousin Jimmy’s christening. That was two years ago.
Aunt Barbara doesn’t come out for the funeral. “I’m sorry, Babs. Jimmy came down with chicken pox.” Uncle Jim is kneeling beside her bed when he breaks the news. “She sends her love. You know she’d be here if she could.”
All her things get packed away in shipping boxes. Everything else is marked to go. “Anything you want to keep, kiddo?” Tiny droplets of coffee cling to the rough edge of his walrus mustache.
She shakes her head. “No.”
***
When she’s eight, Aunt and Uncle get replaced with Mom and Dad. It’s just easier, all told.
If she still thinks of them by their old titles, well, who’s going to know?
***
She’s nearly eleven and a half the day the police come to the door.
The hollow ache from four years earlier is back. Mom and Jimmy can’t stop crying. Babs feels like she’s been turned to stone.
She doesn’t cry until her dad comes home.
***
She’s not much older when Harvey Dent holds his gun to Jimmy’s head and Batman saves them all. Mom tries to shield her, to cover her eyes, but her fingers leave cracks and peepholes, and Babs sees everything in a disjointed rush of motion.
Harvey Dent’s comatose body is transported to the hospital. He’s not expected to regain consciousness.
Gotham mourns.
Those who know the truth remain silent.
At night, Babs pictures the angles of the jaw beneath the cowl and frowns. There has to be a way to track him down. It becomes her private hobby, scanning each face she sees for signs of the Batman.
***
Dad lets her take self-defense classes after that. It starts with aikido and Krav Maga, moves on to capoeira and whatever else she can fit in a schedule that’s suddenly packed with classes and as many extracurriculars as her school will allow. It keeps her mind off the tension at home.
Aunt Barbara and Jimmy move out shortly after Babs celebrates her thirteenth birthday. Babs thinks she knows the last straw. Two weeks ago, the headlines all said that Harvey Dent opened his eyes and spoke.
***
She excels in math and science, and all her teachers encourage her to take correspondence courses from Gotham State. She excels in those, too. She adds various track and field trophies to her collection of black belts. The first time someone tries to mug her, she sends him to the hospital with a broken nose. After that, her dad stops worrying about letting her walk home alone.
In Gotham City, Batman is spoken of in hushed tones. No one likes him, not since Dent fell. Gotham fears him, and Gotham needs him. Online, there are hundreds of sites with thousands of users, all speculating about who he is and what he’s become. Babs has alerts set up on most of them for any new photos. She’s written programs to analyze them against an ever-growing database of possible suspects.
Dad still talks to him. The signal’s still gone, and no one’s supposed to know, but she’s heard that familiar low rasp more than once in the alley behind their house. Always before something big goes down.
Gotham fears Batman and Gotham needs Batman, and walking through the grey streets Babs wonders if perhaps Gotham doesn’t need something else as well.
***
Halloween in Gotham is a dangerous time. But so is Arbor Day, and Flag Day, and pretty much every day that ends in y. Five years after the Joker’s reign of terror ended in a trip to Arkham, and there are hundreds of “Jokers” running around the town. Hundreds of Batmen, too.
One of them doesn’t make it to the party she’d planned to attend. She stumbles into a carjacking situation instead. A couple of amateurs, hoping to take advantage of the chaos and take home a taxi driver’s night’s haul, as well as whatever his fare has on her. They picked the wrong passenger to mess with. When the dust settles, they’re disarmed, a crowd’s gathered, and the taxi driver is trying to shake her hand.
“Nice job, Batgirl.”
Batgirl. Babs likes the way that sounds.
She flashes him a grin and jogs off to cheers and wolf whistles from the crowd.
***
It’s easy enough to modify the costume with bits and pieces of old equipment that Dad’s left lying around. Babs picks up a wig at a secondhand store, the hair a brighter red than her own, and attaches it to the cowl. She adds padding to the chest to hide the soft body armor below, paints the area around the embossed bat a bright yellow.
Her ambitions aren’t the grand kind. She’s not in it to take down the mob, or put fear into Gotham’s heart of darkness. Babs just wants to take care of the little things that Batman and her dad are too busy to take care of.
Batman tries to warn her off. She should be quaking in fear, but she’s not. Instead, she’s memorizing details, trying to make out the shape of his eyes under the shadows of his cowl. There’s something familiar there, nagging at her.
***
It’s pure luck that she finally figures it out. Luck in the form of winning the Wayne Enterprises full scholarship to Gotham State University, with an internship to follow.
Bruce Wayne shows up late for the photo op, shirt untucked and hair disheveled. He shakes her hand, his palm too calloused, grip too firm for Gotham’s most notorious bachelor. His face shows none of the puffiness she’d expect from a lifetime of debauched spectacle. Thin lips part in a brilliant white and patently artificial smile.
“Mr. Wayne,” she’s careful to gush, eyes fixated on the line of his jaw. “Gosh, this is such an honor.”
***
The computer security at Wayne Enterprises computer systems is difficult to crack. Difficult, but not impossible. She reads over design variations for armor and vehicles, taking notes as she goes and covering her tracks when its time to log out.
When she’s learned as much as she feels she needs to know, Babs meticulously leaves behind just enough breadcrumbs to bring a Fox to her door.
“Miss Gordon,” he says, settling in on the couch. “I believe you left me a message. Before we get down to business, I just want to say to you that I admire your father greatly. I hope you’re not going to disappoint him in his own house. Now what can I do for you?”
Babs smiles, handing him a stack of printouts. “I was hoping you could help me with a development project.”
His eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. “Young lady, you do realize it’s still blackmail, even if the motivation is some misguided notion of helping out?”
“Batman’s just one man. Gotham’s a city of millions, and Gotham could use my help. Gotham can use all of our help.” She stands. “Think about it, Mr. Fox. And if you decide you can’t, I’ll just go back to doing it all by myself.”
“He could stop you, you know.”
Babs smiles again and corrects him. It won’t be the last time. “No. He won’t. He can try, but he won’t.”