Chapter Text
It’s truly unfortunate to unexpectedly run into someone you went to high school with. Especially when that person is Sofia Maroni, daughter to Gotham’s top mob boss and a girl with a serious attitude problem.
The dank bathroom of a bodega not far from the docks was the last place Nell Little expected to see Sofia, which was why she froze while slipping on a purple pixie boot in one of the two open stalls. Sofia’s telltale, nasally voice had Nell clenching hard enough to shatter.
In the few months since high school ended, she had been fortunate enough not to run into any of her Gotham Academy schoolmates. That, coupled with the annual superhero convention being held just down the street, had made the summer a pretty decent one. But, apparently, Nell’s luck was up, because there she was, trapped in between a rock and a hard place, with nothing but her homemade Batgirl costume on.
It killed at the convention. With Sofia? Doubtful.
“I’m just asking this one, tiny thing, Jen,” Sofia said, checking her makeup in the mirror. She made a face at the healthy layer of dirt obscuring the surface.
Jennifer “Sidekick” Dvorski’s voice trembled slightly. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”
“You know why,” Sofia said. “It’ll take ten minutes. Pick up the shipment at the docks, take it to the address posted on the box.”
Nell guessed Sofia wasn’t accounting for rush hour traffic, which in Gotham started a little before midnight.
Jen mutter something Nell couldn’t hear, and Sofia sighed in aggrivation. “Just head over there now. Get it over with.”
“Can you come with me?”
“Haven’t I already explained--”
The door shut behind them, leaving Nell perched on a toilet seat, thinking hard. She let one bare foot hit the cold floor while she searched around in her backpack for the other boot. Had she just overheard some kind of drug trafficking agreement?
In Gotham? Probably.
She fished her phone out of the utility belt, finger posed to dial her dad, a Gotham Assistant District Attorney. Before Nell could push the send button, however, she paused. Eighteen or not, if her dad found her in this neighborhood at this hour, she’d be grounded until she graduated college.
Nell couldn’t call the police either. Unless they caught Jen red handed, her word wasn’t going to count for much against Sofia. And to catch her red handed, she’d have to call them once her hands touched the merchandise. And to do that, she had to be there.
And Nell Little definitely could not be found at the docks around midnight. Forget grounding, her dad would throw her in jail. Do not pass go; do not collect $200.
In a moment of inspiration, she glanced down at the purple bat on her chest. Maybe Nell Little didn’t have to make an appearance.
When she emerged from the bathroom, the pudgy man with enough mustache for three people eyed her doubtfully. “You’re not one of those supervillains, are you? Look, I don’t keep much money in the register.”
You really could easily pick out the Gotham-newbies.
“In that case, I’ll just pick another store to rob.”
The moon wasn’t visible above the Gotham skyline, the night obscured by purplish grey clouds that rolled and threatened to storm. Nell’s outfit didn’t raise any eyebrows on the street, most people not even looking up as she walked by. This wasn’t the place or the time for people to be real observant.
A shiver went down her spine at the thought.
The docks smell like rotten fish and sea air. There were boats of all sizes and purposes lined up in the marina, all of their lights are out due to the late hour. The dock itself was cluttered with discarded boxes and crates still holding cargo.
A teenager with pixie cut brown hair and designer jeans was talking with a couple burly guys next to a small crate labeled Wayne Enterprises about the size of a large backpack. The crate also had a faded little triangle on the side, but the writing was too decayed to make out. Nell’s hand slipped into her belt to touch her phone in silent reassurance.
She tiptoed slightly closer. The men wore deliberately nondescript clothes, muscles bulging beneath the sturdy clothing. One nodded to the small crate, while another kept an uncomfortably close eye on Jen.
While they talked, Nell continued to creep forward, pixie boots silent against the damp wood. When the man making eyes at Jen grabbed her, Nell knew she had to act. Time to call the police. Nell reached for her cell phone, but her hand stops cold at Jen’s scream.
Can the police get here in time? In this neighborhood, it wasn’t likely.
“Help! Someone, please, help me!”
Nell glanced down at the bat logo on her chest, and without thinking, sprang from behind the crate.
“Boys. Boys. Didn’t your mothers ever tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” she said, raising her voice to be heard over Jess’s screams, and stepping out from behind the crate.
Not her best material, but credit deserved or being plucky when her knees were shaking.
“Who’s that?” the one holding Jessica asked stupidly.
“It’s a bat! Let’s get outta here,” the other said, glancing around wildly, probably looking for Nell’s back-up.
Nell was flattered. He thinks she’s smart enough to bring back-up.
“It’s Batgirl.” The first man- who will now be referred to as Creeper- sneered, and took a step towards Nell, releasing Jessica. “That’s hot.”
The second man grabbed Creeper’s shoulder, holding him back. “I’m getting outta here before her Daddy shows up. Maroni wants this under the radar.” From the look on Creeper’s face, Nell can tell he’s not going anywhere. Using the fact that they both had let their guard down to argue with the other, she struck.
Leaping into the air, Nell kicked the second man in the chest with all her might. The air left his lungs in a short whoosh, he collapsed to the ground gasping and trying to catch his breath.
Thanks, Mom, for insisting on 15+ years of martial arts and gymnastics.
A sharp blow to the head sent Nell sprawling. She threw out her hands and cartwheel to avoid falling on her face. She spun around to face Creeper. The back of her head throbbed sharply, and she blinked to clear my vision.
Rookie movie, Little. Never take your eyes off your opponent, even when you’re taking down his friend.
Creeper picked up a crowbar that was lying on an open crate. Fear paralyzed Nell for a moment. He made a move for her, and she dove to the side to avoid getting her skull bashed in. He was on her in a second, throwing blow after blow. There was no deflecting them, so she dodged left and right, looking for an opening.
Jen, forgotten, stood to the side, watching the fight with wide-eyed wonder.
“Run! Call the police!” Nell yelled at her.
As if waiting for permission, she stumbled off into the night, only stopping long enough to grab the cargo she’d come for. The GCPD probably wouldn’t be getting a call from her anytime soon.
“Ugh!” Nell grunted as Creeper’s fist collided with her sternum.
He’d luckily given up on the on the crowbar for a more direct approach. She rolled away from the hit, saving herself from some of the force. But not all. Bruises were sure to ensue.
Lurching to the side, Nell grabbed the handle of a heavy metal bucket laying discarded by a crate. Planting her feet firmly on the uneven wooden planks and using all her bodyweight, she swung the bucket at his head. He ducks, but not quickly enough. The metal makes a sickening thud as it clipped his forehead. Creeper swayed slightly before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground.
Nell rested a hand on a light pole, leaning into it, and trying to catch her breath. From behind her, she heard the click of someone turning off the safety on a semi automatic. Her body stiffened, and she turned around slowly.
The second man had risen from where Nell knocked him over. He pointed the gun directly at her chest. A loud roaring went off in her ears. She should run. She should fight.
She should do something.
But her pixie boots don’t deviate an inch.
He smiled. “Sorry about this, Batgirl, but the money’s too good. Good enough to risk killing a Bat.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“Now, we can’t have that,” a voice said from off to the left.
A streak a black distinguished itself against the night sky, and then the gun clattered to the ground. Hunching over, the man swore and held his gun hand in obvious pain.
A Batarang.
Nell and the hired bulk both stared at it for a moment, before he looked up and met her eyes. She couldn’t help it; she gave him a big ol’ grin.
“What was it you were saying about my Daddy showing up?” Nell did a back handspring towards him, picking up the dropped crowbar mid-flip.
Okay, maybe she was showing off a little.
His eyes widened with fear, fixed on a spot behind Nell. He went to shove her out of the way, but she made her move first. Gripping the crowbar with two hands, Nell drove it up and into the man’s jaw. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Nell astutely didn’t turn around. Part of her was scared to. Who am I going to see? Batman? Robin? Batgirl? Unlikely, since she hasn’t been spotted in over a year, and the voice sounded too deep to be female.
“Aren’t you a little old to play dress-up, Miss?”
Nell grit her teeth. His insult gave her the push she needed to turn around and face him.
“You have your fetishes; I have mine.”
The man standing in front of Nell was in all black, except for a blue design on his shoulders. He wore no cape, had a mask similar to mine--domino style, and eye length, messy, black hair. Nightwing.
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Nice moves, for a civilian.”
Nice backhanded compliment, for an asshole.
“Where do you study?”
Nell almost missed the calculating undertone his voice carried.
“No comment.” That would be a dead giveaway to her identity.
Kairi Tanaga ran a small, private dojo behind a fish stall in Chinatown for serious students. Nell’s surprise at being accepted hadn’t dimmed over the years.
The Bat-Signal appeared in the sky. Nightwing’s attention flickered to it, and then back to Nell. “Listen, kid. Let me give you some friendly advice. Go home, put your costume in the trash, and enjoy living a long, happy life.”
Nell nodded, silently fuming at his condescending tone. Nightwing, the original Robin, started crime fighting when he was just a kid. Calling Nell young was a little hypocritical.
He turned away from her, mounting a motorcycle she hadn’t even noticed till that moment. He revved the engine and glanced back at Nell, who was still standing there like an idiot. “Take my advice. Because if he finds you out on these streets again, you’re going to get more than friendly advice. Got it?”
No need to elaborate on who he was.
Without waiting for Nell to respond, he rode off into the night. No doubt to perform some heroic deed of selflessness.
What an ass.