Study Buddy

	The Gotham City Public Library was deathly quiet that Monday morning, not even public programs to incentivize reading could drag kids out into the scalding hot streets of Gotham in the middle of summer, especially not with a broken AC system.  No, all that were left of the library’s sparse inhabitants were the oh-so-bored library staff, who did their best to scurry around the spacious halls with their carts of books, and the few older citizens who still loved to drop by and pick out their usual history novels and steamy romances.  On Thursdays they hosted the Woman’s Book Club of Downtown Gotham, but that Monday, those who were left included said workers, said old people, and two deeply unhappy young women.

	Sweating like a pig, 21 year old Barbara Gordon couldn’t help swearing at whatever Gods were out there for her predicament. First, the Gotham University library was shut down after it turns out the place still had asbestos in the walls, go figure. Then her dear old dad discovered rat’s droppings throughout the kitchen of their mediocre apartment and the exterminators quarantined the place. She couldn’t go back to her safe, pleasantly crisp room for another week. Alfred had offered her some space at Wayne Manor but she had to decline. Didn’t need Commissioner Gordon breaking down Wayne’s door thinking he was fiddling with his baby girl.

So that left her staying either at the precinct; which sounded as pleasant as a bullet through the spine, at the hotel she thinks might be owned by Cobblepot, or here. On top of all that, she had a paper due in a few weeks, she had put together the bibliography, sure, only a matter of sitting down and typing it out. Looking at her laptop, Barbara had to congratulate herself, she had managed to actually reach the first paragraph, though her vision was beginning to swim from the heat bearing down on her.

	Leaning back in her seat and wiping some sweat from her forehead, Babs could at least take solace in that she could at least go out on patrol that night. For all of Gotham’s heat during the day, it rarely stayed muggy in the late hours, and the chill of wind over her skin and costume would do wonders to disperse the slight ache in her arms and legs from the patrol two nights ago.

	Her hands were a mess of purple bruising, the knuckles scabbed over from where her gloves ripped during a fight. Her cowl was a tad mussed up as well, and her whole suit probably needed a good wash. Bruce had needed her in a trek through Gotham’s wonderful sewers to track down Killer Croc and for that, she didn’t really want to forgive him, leaping across the rooftops with soggy socks and feet was abjectly miserable.

Taking a long drink from her water bottle, Babs tossed a look towards the other occupant at her table, who was currently scribbling what she could only assume were swear words given how angrily the blonde was muttering to herself.  The girl herself looked no older than Damian really, maybe 13 at best? Babs was considering flipping a coin on whether or not it was Matt Hagen in disguise, she wasn’t sure anymore after the whole ‘Annie’ thing with Clayface a while back.  Even now, Tim could still be a tad awkward around girls his age who weren’t in on the whole...cape thing. Given that she was reading a middle school math textbook however, Babs was going to chalk the chance of it being Hagen to 20%. Actors weren’t paid to be smart of course, but like Bruce, she must be prepared for any outcome. If he was in this situation, Bruce would probably have a bat-capsule of bat-ice ready to be tossed in the girl’s face at a moment’s notice.

Dressed in a garrish shade of pink with a glittering headband, the girl looked like the standard Gotham elite, the girls who go to private school and wear uniforms and must carefully cultivate their image lest they be ripped apart by their fellow bloodsucking classmen. However, the girl’s pack definitely wasn’t new and adorable, a dark grey messenger bag, one strap nearly torn apart, with a definite hole in the bottom, a few random marker scribbles on the side, and three cartoon cat pins stuck in the material. Tipping her seat back to get a look underneath the table, Babs could make out between the girl’s frantic kicking of her legs that her shoes were...ugly, white sneakers long turned a murky black from grass and dirt stains.  She also was stuck at that awkward age of puberty, not having filled out like Barbara had, and most definitely towered over other guys her age, she looked almost 5’7” if not a bit taller.  Ceasing her temper tantrum, the girl turned to Babs as if she hadn’t even noticed she had been there till that exact moment. Looking away in embarrassment, the preteen chewed her lip just a touch before blurting out quickly.

	“Do you know anything about algebra?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, Babs could barely make it out even in the empty library. However, she could see a frustration-laced blush creeping up the girl’s cheeks.

	“What?” On one hand, Babs was a bit insulted, of course she knew algebra, but that didn’t really explain the question, now did it?

	“I said, do you know anything about algebra!” Holy hell, the girl could get loud if she wanted to. One of the clerks from across the room even turned around to shoot the pair a disapproving glare, for all the good the approval of a 40-something balding man in a sweater vest mattered to them.

	Her lips quirking up into a smile, Babs scooted a seat over towards the girl. “So what if I do?” She offered, only to have a worksheet filled to the brim with equations shoved in her face, along with the textbook. The girl’s spirit’s have definitely been lifted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she clapped her hands excitedly.

	“How about you do these problems for me and Daddy can pay you! You look smart enough!” Babs laughed a bit to herself, covering up her childish grin. With the explosion of pink  patting herself on the back, Babs looked back at her unoccupied seat, her laptop sitting pretty, begging for her to turn back to her research paper. Later, she assures herself, she’ll get back to it after giving the kid some pointers.

Gently, she pushed the surprisingly heavy notebook and worksheet back into the teen’s outstretched arms, earning herself an outraged, almost insulted look in return.  “While I appreciate the offer, I doubt your father would want to pay me, so how about no…”

Sniffling in such a way that it was difficult to tell if it was genuine or not, the teen pouted. “Bu-but, I need to pass this class or else I won’t be able to join the cheer squad next year!” Dodging out of the way of a flailing hand, Babs rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “What’s it going to cost for you to help me, you...nerd!”  There it was, the N-word, well, the other N-word.

Immediately Barbara plucked the book out of her hands and slammed it down onto the table, a strained smile on her face as she pushed a finger right up into the drama queen’s face. “First off, I’m not a nerd, I’m a college student and my name is Barbara. Second off, I will not do your homework for you, nor do I want to, you...primped up princess of a girl. Just, hell if I know…” She took a deep breath, her anger leaving her as if she was letting the air out of a tire. “Listen, I’ll show you how to do these equations and you can do your homework on your own, without needing to use people for it, no money involved, deal? Cool, now what’s your name?” Shakily, the girl scooted over towards Barbara and picked up her pencil.

	“My name is Kitten.”  Her newfound partner said, a proud, shaky smile on her face as if that wasn’t one of the most ridiculous names Babs had ever heard, and she lived in Gotham.  Barbara couldn’t stop herself from bursting out laughing.

	“So you just make sure to multiply negatives by negatives and positives by positives to net a positive, but if you multiply a positive by a negative, the result will be negative, understand? There’s a whole bunch of stuff regarding fractions that I should probably go over with you but…” Babs looked out the window. Even with the summer days stretching long into the evening, Barbara had been doing her best to pound some of her makeshift math lesson into the dumb blond’s head. It had taken an insurmountable amount of her own willpower and, looking at her watch, it had also eaten up three hours, with the sun just beginning to drop down towards the horizon. “Hey, so what, are you walking home or something, Kit? Your parents coming and picking you up?”

	“I keep telling you, my name is Kitten!” Despite Barbara’s refusal to call her by that ridiculous name, Kitten huffed, crossing her arms and blowing a loose strand out of her face. “And my daddy is coming to pick me up soon.” Idly, she flicked open her phone, accidentally flashing her lock screen to Barbara in the process.

	“Wait, wait, is your lock-screen...Robin?” Babs tried hard not to giggle like a giddy school girl at the irony, Kitten’s cheeks burning bright enough to light a candle.  The photo was one of Damian Wayne in costume with his first buried deep into another man’s jaw, one of those bizarre little smiles on his face that Bruce tended to chide him for.

	“So what? A lot of people like Robin. I-It’s not that strange! He's rugged!” Kitten began furiously packing away her things, her hands a blur as she sniffled. “Not like you’re probably any different, let me guess, you love Batman or something, you’re weird like that. He’s hunky, right? Right?!” That was almost enough to make Babs gag, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as her laughter began to spill out and fill up the room.

	“Batman? Really? No, never, he’s…” Well, he’s Bruce, and on top of the whole ‘vigilante mentor’ thing, he was also Dick’s adopted dad and that was a whole host of ethical problems in of itself. Sure, she may have a thing for his body type, that broad, muscled look, those eyes that demanded respect, reminded her a bit of a principal in a way.  However, that didn’t mean she was explicitly in love with a moody son of a gun like Bruce.  Not like...him.  Immediately, Barbara’s cheeks turned a brilliant red as she thought back to the only other man that reminded her of a school principal in such a way, that deep, rich voice that carried just enough irritation and disappointment to let you know when you’d been a bad girl. With just a hint of amusement, that man promised care and punishment all in one, to wrap Babs up in those big, strong purple-clad arms just as soon as he was to bend her over his desk.

	Babs clamped her legs together, her laughter dying in her chest as she turned a shade of crimson deeper than even her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear in embarrassment. Her breathing had turned up a pitch, and she could feel just a hint of slickness between her thighs at the myriad of teenage fantasies bubbling to the surface.  Getting called to his office in a uniform straight out of a strip club, thigh highs, skirt, a button-up with a tie. Unf, he’d set one of those broad hands on her shoulder, squeezing just tight enough to let Barbara know he was in charge. As he leaned in, wrapping those lips around hers, a hand running along her thigh, underneath her skirt, Barbara would wrap her toned legs around his waist and, and….and Barbara realised she had gnawed on her lip hard enough to draw blood. Her hands were bunched up in her skirt, knuckles white as bone while Kitten looked at her like she was a freak. Okay, so maybe Babs hadn’t gotten over the fantasies all that well.

Clearing her throat, Babs gave her makeshift student an apologetic smile, laughing too quickly and haltingly to truly dissipate the terse awkwardness that now sat between them.  “Batman’s a vigilante, and well, he’s just not my type. Wouldn’t touch him with a fifty-foot pole, got it?” Kitten just glared at her before shrugging and beginning to kick her legs again, staring at the clock on the wall across from them. The air moved just as sluggishly as the clock hands did, Barbara not wanting to leave the girl alone until her father got there. Even as they sat in silence, her mind began to drift back to...him. Her first villain.

	Killer Moth hadn’t really impressed her all that much when she first saw him through the plate glass of a skylight, dressed in his garish mix of greens, purples and oranges, with just enough muscle underneath to last maybe a minute or two with Bruce in the ring.  Babs had still been getting used to jumping around rooftops and had fallen down into his lair while he was busy on the phone. His voice was low and dripped like honey, with just enough roughness to make it clear he wasn’t pretending to be a villain, he was a super villain, with an outrageously colorful get-up to match.  When she had fallen down into what he so threateningly called the ‘Mothcave’, she could feel his bafflement, a girl not even out of high school yet dressed in skintight leather and her hair mussed beyond belief, trapped underneath a pile of crates. Moth had even deigned it appropriate to pull her out of the pile, she could still feel just how strong his grip was around her hand, tight enough to leave bruises if he wanted to, and when he asked her if she was alright, all she could do was babble how she was going to stop him in the name of justice and blankly point to her bat symbol. Killer Moth then promptly pushed her back into said pile of crates and took off running. Ah, good times.  She could even remember the last thing he said before he got carted off that night. “Aw Mothballs.” Like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

	The sounds of footsteps woke her out of her trip down memory lane, yawning as wide as she could, stretching her arms out like a cat aching for a belly rub as Kitten hopped off her seat and ran towards the heavy footfall. Closing her eyes, Babs could imagine him already. Some factory worker or working man, maybe a mechanic, probably named Kitten after a stripper he used to bang. She could smell his shampoo from here, a mix of oranges and coconut meant to mask the smell of sweat. Babs should know, it was the exact same brand she used after her patrols. Mindlessly playing with her pen, trying her absolute damnedest to perfectly balance it on one end, Babs didn’t pay much attention as Kitten hurriedly explained who Babs was to her ‘Daddy’, and only perked her head up once the man’s broad fingers poked at her shoulder.

It was hard for Babs to put a finger on the man’s body type, looking him over. On one hand, his face was lean, the beginnings of stubble peaking out along his cheeks. If his torso wasn’t so broad, he’d look almost hawk-like, with a large angular nose and hard edges where a happier man would have smile lines. As it stood, it was hard for Barbara not to drool. The man was absolutely ripped underneath his blue collar shirt and white tank top, the tips of his fingers smudged with engine oil and paint, his sleeves wrapped tight around his biceps like cellophane. He wasn’t gigantic, at best maybe 6’1”, definitely shorter and probably older than Bruce. He looked maybe in his late thirties, early forties, small hints of grey streaked in his curly brown hair. For a few seconds, his oak brown eyes bored holes into her, searching her features like he had seen her before. Meeting his glare, Babs pursed her lips and tried hard not to be intimidated. Standing up, she offered a small, nervous smirk. All of a sudden, the man’s broad hand was thrust forward, offering to shake as his face relaxed just a touch. Barbara gratefully let out a breath, most of her stress disappeared as she shook his hand. The mystery man’s grip wasn’t too strong, nothing like Bruce’s grip, but Babs could feel the tough calluses of a working man on his palm and had to stop herself from rubbing them in appreciation. Babs liked him already, but she knew she probably shouldn’t drool, not yet at least. After a few seconds of awkward hand-shaking, the man pulled out of Babs grip and his lips split into a somewhat uncomfortable smile, like he barely ever bothered to grin.

	“Thanks for taking care of the kid, Kitten says you helped her with her homework when she was getting frustrated.” Pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, the man combed through his bills, unable to notice the dawning look of horror on Babs’ face. She recognized that voice, those sublime tones that send involuntary shivers all the way through her, even made her toes scrunch. Biting her lip and offering her best ‘I am totally not panicking’ smile, Babs immediately took a step back just as Kitten’s father offered her a few wrinkled, pathetic looking bills. This wasn’t at all like in the fantasies, and this wasn’t at all how she expected to meet the man of her all-too-perverted dreams.  “My name’s Drury Walker, kid, what’s yours?”