Barbara Gordon/Batgirl<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Oh great.  I can't leave him alone for a second.</span>No sooner had he finished off the last of the Joker's goons when the GCPD showed up.  Now he was in a standoff with them because he wouldn't drop his guns.  What macho BS!<span style="font-style: italic">Appears I'll have to get him out of another mess.</span>Sighing, she started over when who should arrive but Commissioner Gordon!<span style="font-style: italic">S h i t!</span>The LAST thing she needed was Dad showing up!<br/><br/>Oh $#@!!  Jason was pointing her out to Dad.  There was a sudden flash as the red-masked bad boy threw a couple smoke grenades on the ground and made his getaway.  She could have talked to the cops for him but at least he had made his exit without getting in a shootout.  She wondered if she would see him again.  Part of her hoped that she wouldn't but a very small part of her did.<br/><br/>She didn't have time to dwell on her longing or not-longing for the dark-haired antihero as Dad started walking over.  She took a deep breath and girded herself.  She could never tell if Dad knew her secret or not.  She had never told him and if he did know, he had never let on.  But in all their Commissioner/Masked Vigilante interactions, she always got the niggling feeling that, good detective he was, that deep down he knew full well that his little baby girl was Batgirl.<br/><br/>"Joker?" he asked, approaching her.<br/><br/>"I don't think so," she began.  "No sign of either him or Harley.  Plus, the whole thing lacks a certain...flair.  If I had to guess, I'd said that he sent his goons on a simple money grab.  You'll find the cash and the rest of his gang over by the convertible.  What about the victims?"<br/><br/>"They're already recovering.  Whatever gas they used was a weak concoction.  Are you alright?" he asked, concern in his voice, noticing the bandages around her thigh and shoulder."<br/><br/>"It's nothing, Commissioner.  Just a minor stab wound.  The bleeding's already stopped."<br/><br/>Gordon's expression tightened.  It looked like he wanted to say something but stayed quiet.<br/><br/>"Really, it's nothing," she did her best to reassure her Dad, even going as far as offering a small smile.<br/><br/>"You're sure.  I mean, you could have an EMT..."<br/><br/>"I'm fine," she told him.<br/><br/>"Working with Red Hood now?"  Gordon asked, changing the subject.<br/><br/>"More like keeping an eye on him," she clarified.<br/><br/>"Should I be worried?"<br/><br/>She shook her head.  "I'll make sure he doesn't get in trouble.  If you can, let your people know.  Red Hood can be a little...hot headed, heh," she smirked at the small joke.<br/><br/>"Sure thing, Batgirl.  Anything else?"<br/><br/>"No.  Not unless you know a good masseur.  I'm going home."<br/><br/><br/>***************************************************<br/><br/><br/>One of the advantages of owning your own building in a bad part of town is that no cares when a costumed crimefighter comes back home, racing her cycle up a hidden ramp and climbing through the skylight.  After turning on the hot water and dropping bath salts into the tub, she walked into her bedroom and started peeling off her costume.  Cape.  Cowl and wig.  She unbuckled her utility belt and tossed it on the bed.  The boots came next.  Gingerly peeling off her tights, she winced.  Getting her med kit, she carefully unraveled the bandages.  Fifteen stitches later, her thigh was as good as new.  Removing her compression top, she took a look at her shoulder wound.  Luckily, no stitches needed there, just a fresh patch which she slapped on.  Shrugging out of her bra and briefs, she sauntered back to the bathroom.  "Ahhhhh..." she  sighed softly as she slipped into the tub.  A relaxing half hour later, she changed into a long tee and shorts.  Stowing her costume and equipment in her safe room, she headed to the kitchen.  Leftover chicken and potato salad.  And after that, bed.  As soon as her head hit the pillow, she already felt herself drifting off.  A good thing about living where you work is that you don't have to worry about the commute...<br/><br/>*********************************************************<br/><br/>The Next Morning<br/><br/>Marci turned the key in the lock and entered the office.  Barb wouldn't be in unto noon...as usual.  Her sleepy-head boss had left a message on her phone saying she had a loooong night.  Marci never pegged Barbara Gordon as a party girl.  Not like Marci.  Last night, the punk-haired paralegal had been rocking out to this awesome new alt-rock band at the Ottobar.  Yet, here she was, bright and early, ready for work!  Who said that Marci Summers wasn't responsible!  Now, she just had to hold the fort until Babs decided to wake up and come downstairs.  Not that she expected any clients to come walking through the door...