A Normal Girl

“I expect you back before the scheduled time. Earlier if you can,” Doctor McGee said, attention still on her data pad as she made a final check on her patients’ vitals before their departure. Wonder Woman nodded, making adjustments to her bracers as she waited for clearance. Then she was dismissed, and Zatanna followed her onto the invisible jet, currently visible in it’s revealed crystalline form. It was like they were carpooling back to Earth, the sorceress wanting to save her magic since her friend was already headed that way. You caught a significant look and a smile from each of them before they were launched into space.

Doctor McGee then dismissed you and Batgirl as well. There was a suggestion that you get to know your new patient better, and that she get to know her donor. Tina had her excuse of more testing to complete so she could stay back in the lab.

The lower decks of the Watchtower weren’t all that interesting to walk through, but the presence of your walking partner more than made up for it. Aside from the fanciful costume, Batgirl really did seem like just a normal person. She carried herself with a straighter back than most people, but was otherwise quite easy to talk to.

“Gotham’s not so bad once you get under all that grime,” she went on. “There is a ton of grime, admittedly…” This was in response to your idle thoughts on her base of operations. How crazy and dangerous a city it was to have to fight crime in, based on what you’d heard on the news and read about in criminal profiles. “And all that Joker toxin stuff and exploding penguins is pretty rare. Most nights I’m just sitting on a rooftop on the Upper East Side waiting for the police scanner to pick up something interesting. I’ll be lucky to find a mugging to stop where it’s not just some skinny kid **** enough to think a blunt kitchen knife can score them a wallet before they accidentally cut themselves.”

Her disappointment in not regularly facing a threat worse than an armed mugger made you smile for some reason. This diminutive hero was an overachiever in a way, or maybe wanted to prove herself. Perhaps because she operated in the shadow of… well … the one who Is The Night. You were reminded of that night when the Batman- no, just Batman, no ‘the’ - paid you a visit and interrogated you while you were still half asleep. You shivered and put it out of your mind to stay in the moment with this bouncy young woman by your side.

You noted a smidge less bounce in the slight lull of conversation. Batgirl had an introspective expression, as if reassessing what she had just said a few seconds ago, about how uninteresting thwarting a mere mugging had become.

“You must be one hell of a fighter,” you said, wanting to distract her from any troubling thoughts. She shot a sidelong smile at you and shrugged a bit theatrically.

“I’ve been known to bust a few heads,” replied the peppy hero. Your tour of the Watchtower had brought you over to the gym area, now past the treadmills into an open space with padded mats on the floor in wide blue squares. Feeling the flexible material under her soles actually made Batgirl start to bounce and you watched with interest as she bobbed on the balls of her feet and stepped around you. Her cape flowed behind her as if a breeze had blown past in this tightly climate controlled room. “What do you think?” she asked you vaguely, to which you could only skew your eyebrows. Batgirl put her hands up in front of her like a fighter might in a cage. “Reckon you could take me?” She threw a couple of quick jabs in the air between you, a blur of yellow but still nowhere near striking her ‘target’.

You still instinctively stepped back, swallowing with surprise. You were under zero illusions that you could fight any superhero! She caught your reaction immediately and dropped her arms. “I’m kidding! Sorry! So sorry!” she said, mildly panicked, almost doubling over she was so contrite. “I’m just all nervous energy right now, I’m sorry Doctor!”

And you immediately felt bad about your overreaction. This would be a reason why you would probably never make a good superhero. Fight or flight, you would most like do the latter if you weren’t frozen.

“It’s okay, I was just surprised,” you tried assuring her with a laugh. It was strange to see a girl who was already a head shorter than you look even tinier in her embarrassment. She recovered enough to straighten and tipped her head with another apology.

“I shouldn’t have come at you like that,” she said, even though all she did was shadowbox in front of you in what was quite frankly an endearingly energetic way. Her crisp, snappy movements were impressive. You sensed real power coming from her slight frame. Right now her shoulders sagged. “I’m not usually this jittery,” she said, vocalizing her worrying thoughts more than trying to explain herself to you. “This whole situation has put me on edge.”

You gave your most understanding nod and empathetic smile.

“You’ll feel a lot better once we’ve got your treatment plan in place, I promise,” you told the girl, then you took a couple more steps back and started rolling your shoulders. “In the meantime, I don’t think I can take you, but maybe you could give me a few pointers.” You bounced a few times off your toes to limber up. “I don’t even really know how to throw a punch. I wouldn’t mind learning a bit of self-defense.”

This finally won you a grin from the hero again and she brought her fists up in demonstration.

“Well the best defense is a good offense,” she began, the lesson apparently started. “A proper straight punch was one of the first things I learned. Spread your feet a bit more. Yep. Shoulders like this.”

You tried your best to mirror your spunky sensei and at the same time appreciate her compact, but definitely girlish form. Her costume was made of some kind of kevlar, likely similar to what you donned when you had to go help rescue Wonder Woman that first time. Batgirl’s seemed like it might have even been more advanced. It was segmented, thinner and more flexible, clinging to her form tightly but not in a restrictive way. It highlighted her shapeliness, thin waist and narrow hips, but she was muscled just enough to give away her shallow feminine curves. She was fit and lean and would be surprisingly strong, easy to underestimate. “A punch like this is direct. It’s fast. Doesn’t telegraph as much. You want to stretch the muscles on the inside of your arm here,” she explained, a limb extended, then she patted the side of her chest with her other hand and traced two fingers up to her wrist. “From here to here. Straight. So when you load up, you snap out like this and pow! Right in the face.”

You had watched her right hand in one position when her elbow was bent, then it was suddenly an inch from your face. You noticed the detail on the padded knuckles of her gauntlets just before you were able to flinch back. The straightness of her punch from your front on view had made its approach almost undetectable until it was too late. The shock gave way to a grin, adrenaline and surprise mixing in your chest. Batgirl smiled too at your reaction and reaction time. “And when you throw a punch straight, you can follow up with another.” Her left hand shot out then, the speed indicated by the hiss of the material of her sleeve. “If you try to turn your shoulders for more power you go off the line,” she said, demonstrating this in slower movements, slightly exaggerating the lean caused by her fist’s direction. “Your first punch is now in the way, it slows down your next strike. But if you keep it straight, then your follow up is right there.” And there was a flurry, her instruction becoming a brief performance as she threw out a series of lightning jabs. Quick. Direct. Hard. Now you could understand why a run-of-the-mill mugger might not have seemed much of a challenge for her. “You give it a try,” she said then, taking a step back to better observe her new student. You actually felt a tingle of nervous energy roll down your shoulders, muscles keen to attempt what you had just learned. You put your fists up, elbows bent.

“You make it look easy,” you said, with a wary smile that showed you knew it wouldn’t be.

The workout lasted over an hour, you had to guess. It was a lesson in form and how not to create bad habits. Luckily you had next to zero fight experience so there were no old habits to correct. Nor did you expect to ever utilize any of your newly learned skills either. You took a seat on a weight lifting bench and grabbed a towel from a helpful robot guardian that hovered by. Your shirt had come off at some point, sweat from your body now dripping onto your pant legs. Batgirl didn’t seem even slightly out of breath.

“You’ve got a pretty natural movement,” she said kindly, and you gave a thankful nod as you took a long drink from bottle handed by guardian. There was a feeling you couldn’t shake of the girl watching you… which she was. She had been the entire impromptu training session, acting the observant teacher, but her gaze continued to linger on you simply resting.

“So Batman taught you how to fight?” you guessed, trying to not let her hungry look make you blush through your already exercise-heated skin. She seemed to snap out of a present reverie and nodded.

“Well my dad taught me,” she said. “I mean he taught me first. Some self-defence. Then Batman trained me in other martial arts.” That reminded you again of how she was just a normal girl… more or less. She had a dad (who apparently was not Batman, not that you actually thought that, but it was somewhat of a relief to have it confirmed) and you presumed other family. You hoped anyway, but didn’t feel bold enough to get too personal. You decided to make her smile with how pensive she had started looking again.

“So then your dad’s not Batman. Phew!” you said, pretending to clear your brow of sweat, but you did end up flicking damp droplets off your fingers. She laughed loudly at that, a joyful sound that was punctuated with a short snort which made her even cuter.

“Yeah thank God for that!” she agreed heartedly. She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it and took a seat next to you on the bench. “I know Batman came to see you,” she said, revealing some knowledge that so far you had only shared with Zatanna. She was privy to other side of the equation of course. “I know he can be a bit… Batman,” she noted. She was a perceptive young woman, catching your joke about her mentor as a more than just a joke. “But he said he wanted to make sure you were the right man. Someone that we could trust. I guess you passed the test.”

The part bleary, part heart-stopping night started to take on a different shade of black. A softer grey maybe. Perhaps Batman did see Batgirl as a surrogate daughter. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing for you. “I’m glad I got to meet you too,” she said. “I mean, obviously we would have met, but I’m glad we got a bit of time before … the thing. I do feel like I can trust you.”

Not enough to take off her cowl apparently, but your back straightened on its own and your finally steadied heartbeat was made to skip. You tried to remain cool on the outside, the effect a bit ruined when you had to wipe more sweat from your face.

“I’m here to help,” was the best you could manage.

“And it helps that you’re a hottie,” smiled the pretty girl in the mask. Her stare was a little intense but then she looked away. It was hard to tell, but under the mask there might have been a hint of a flush. You understood why when she spoke again. “So I saw how you … helped… Zatanna and Wonder Woman…”

You swallowed, your own memories of what already seemed like a far off dream rising back to the surface, causing other things to rise. “So that’s what a donor does, huh?”

“Well the method of extraction is dictated by the patient,” you said quickly, the trained response rolling through your mind like a script. Batgirl kept gazing into the middle distance.

“No I mean… there was so much of it. I didn’t know donors were like that, but I guess that makes sense.”

Your eyebrows rose, realising her focus was less on the tandem fellatio she witnessed her two fellow superheroes perform on you and more on the not-so-surprising end result.

“That’s not typical, actually,” you had to say, maybe successfully hiding the pride in your voice. She looked over to you now, interest truly piqued. “My specimen is unique in terms of volume and potency. I’m in the top percentile of donors. Uh… mainly thanks to my genes.” You tried to play it off like you were just lucky, but there had still been years of work involved in your diet and exercise regime to get you to this point. Being able to perform at your level required dedication and focus. It helped that you loved what you did, of course. Batgirl nodded, seemed impressed. She couldn’t help licking her lips.

“It’s good to know I’m getting a top of the line donor then,” she said with a smirk. You had just tried to sell yourself to the patient a bit enthusiastically, but Batgirl didn’t hold that against you. “I mean, if it’s good enough for Wonder Woman then it must be the best,” she added.

You were going to try and downplay her joking praise but caught sight of Doctor McGee hurriedly marching towards you. Her lab coat swept behind her like a cape.

“Doctor Doe, a moment please,” she said on arrival, her brow knitting for a moment seeing you sitting there shirtless with your patient but her expression softened quickly. “I’m sorry Batgirl, would you mind waiting here for a bit? The Doctor is wanted on the upper levels and I’m afraid nobody else is meant to know you’re here.”

“No problemo,” the hero replied energetically. She had no qualms, apparently used to secrecy and protocol, and of course didn’t realise the strangeness of the request for you.

“Upper levels? What for?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. You had been confined to the lower decks of the space station since you first arrived. Save for the odd foray back to Earth.

“I’ll explain on the way,” she said, turning and expecting you to follow. “Batgirl, please, light exercise only. Nothing too strenuous until I’ve got your full report done.” This was her parting advice to the Gotham vigilante as she wandered over to square up with a hanging punching bag.

“Got it, Doc,” the girl called back.

You slipped your thankfully dried shirt back on and Doctor McGee even gave you a lab coat to wear. By the time you were swiped into one of the elevators you were somewhat more presentable. Doctor McGee stood next to you quietly bristling.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, barely feeling the movement of the cab ascending but your excitement was building regardless.

“Everything will be fine,” she assured you in her curt way. Or maybe she was telling herself this. “Everything will be fine.”