When Jim showed up on the Wayne front porch later that night, Selina was curled up, her arms around her knees, beside Bruce, who looked delightfully out of his element.

"She can stay," Bruce announced firmly. "We have room."

Alfred emerged onto the porch behind the two children, nodding to Jim in greeting.

"Selina will be staying with Barbara and me until we figure out the safest place for her," Jim said, and Bruce folded his arms.

"I want her to stay here," Bruce said, his voice sharpening, and Jim rolled his eyes.

Cat smirked. "The rich boy always gets his way, Detective. That's how it works. You know that."

"It's not because I'm rich"— Bruce began, his voice dangerously close to a whine.

"I'm taking her back to my apartment," Jim said firmly. "Barbara is fixing up a room for her right now. Cat, get your things. And leave that vase here."

"What vase?" she looked up at him, all innocence.

"The little blue one tucked in your jacket," Jim said dismissively. "And your black market contact wouldn't buy it anyway. It's been in the Wayne family for centuries. Everyone knows that."

It was Selina's turn to pout as she pulled the small vase from her pocket and shoved it unceremoniously into Bruce's arms.

"Thank you, Alfred," Jim said crisply, his hand closing over the girl's arm. "Cat and I will be going. Bruce, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Bruce opened his mouth and then shut it again, and Alfred took the vase from his hands with a faint look of exasperation. "I'll see you tomorrow," Bruce said reluctantly, and Selina's lips tipped up in her trademark smirk.

Once they were in the car and on their way, Jim turned to her.

"So tell me," he said. "Did you spend the whole day driving the kid crazy or did you just do it for my benefit?"

"Whole day," she said shamelessly. "He's so easy to string along."

Jim sighed, but before he had the chance to say anything, she spoke up again.

"So why'd you run off earlier today?" she asked, her gaze sharp.

"I'm guessing you already know," he said, not looking up from the road. "You have sharper ears than most. Why are you asking?"

"What did Fish Mooney want?"

He let out his breath in an exasperated rush. "I didn't even tell Alfred that. How the hell"—

"It was a good guess," Cat said, smiling in satisfaction. "Did she want to know about Oswald Cobblepot?"

"Why?" Jim asked shortly.

"You didn't kill him."

"Why do you think that?" Jim snapped, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

"Because you're not desperate enough yet," she said matter-of-factly. "And you'd like to think you didn't kill him because you're a good man, but you'll figure it out. There are no good men in Gotham, Detective."

Jim looked over at her for a long moment. The girl wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Or maybe," he said slowly as they pulled into the parking garage below his apartment. "In Gotham, all the good men are afraid."

Selina rolled her eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she said. "But I want to know how you convinced Fish Mooney today. Did you have to bribe"—

"Enough," Jim growled, pulling open her door and helping her out.

"I can walk," she said irritably when he continued holding onto her elbow.

"You make a habit of running off," he said curtly. "It doesn't matter if you can walk."

"You don't trust me."

"Should I?"

"No."

A few minutes later, Jim pulled the door open to the apartment.

Barbara looked up from the kitchen table, her smile warm and her eyes bright as if nothing had happened.

"Is Fish gone?" Cat asked bluntly, skipping past introductions and staring at Barbara with open hostility. "Or does she still think he killed Cobblepot?"

Barbara blinked in surprise, and then a small smile crossed her lips. "Yes," she said. "She's gone."

"How?"

"Selina"—Jim began.

"It's okay," Barbara said, standing and crossing the room to greet the girl. "I told her I could show her Cobblepot's blood on my clothes."

Cat frowned in confusion. "How"—

"It wasn't too difficult," Barbara said casually, and an understanding grin spread across the girl's face.

"Barbara, right?"

"Yes. And you're Selina?"

The girl nodded, almost shyly, and Jim stared at Barbara in astonishment for the second time that evening.

"I made some supper," Barbara said, putting a gentle hand on the girl's arm. "You hungry?"

"Starving. Apparently Bruce Wayne doesn't eat supper"—

"He better," Jim said irritably. "Did he tell Alfred he wasn't eating?"

"Yes," Cat said, taking the glass of milk Barbara handed her and gulping it down with astonishing speed. "And he ordered Alfred not to tell you. Why do you care if the kid's an idiot?"

"I'm worried about the kid," Jim said, pulling back his seat and dropping into it. His while his whole body sagged with exhaustion, and despite the stress and intensity of the evening, Barbara sat across from him, head high and face calm as if nothing had happened.

"I have a futon I set up in the small bedroom," Barbara said brightly. "And I didn't know if you brought things with you or not, so I just laid out a toothbrush and some towels if you wanted to shower tonight. It's up to you, of course, and if there's anything else I can get you"—

"I don't"—Cat began sharply, and then she stopped abruptly, staring down at her already-half-empty plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. "Maybe," she began again, her voice smaller and shakier than Jim had ever heard. "Could I use a—a hairbrush? I have a comb, but I haven't been able to really brush my hair in…in months."

Her face reddened in embarrassment as she spoke, and she stood quickly, nearly knocking over her chair. "I'm—I'm finished. Do you want me to put the dishes in the dishwasher or just leave them in the sink?"

"In the sink is fine," Barbara said, but Cat was already walking away quickly, swaying just slightly on her feet.

Jim caught up with her as she reached the sink. He took the dish from her shaking hand, and placed his free hand on her arm.

"You okay, kid?"

"Fine," she said. "I shouldn't be here. I have to go"—

"Not in this condition," he said quietly. "Come on. You need to sit down. You just got out of the hospital today."

"I'll give you the information you need and then you need to just let me go," she argued, trying and failing to shake off his supporting hand.

"Not tonight you won't," he said. "I'm not asking any questions and you're not giving any answers. Tonight you're going to take care of yourself and let Barbara and I worry about the rest." He guided her back to the kitchen table, and the child looked up at him strangely.

"I thought people like you just did this kind of thing for the rich kids," she said, staggering a little again.

"This 'kind of thing?' What do you mean?" Jim asked, trying to keep her talking as he guided her to a seat on the couch. He exchanged a look with Barbara, who headed for the kitchen.

"You know what I mean," Selina said vaguely, and he could tell her head injury was bothering her far more than she was trying to let on. "That thing where you try to save everyone. Everyone but yourself."

Barbara reappeared with an ice pack wrapped in a towel, which she placed on the girl's head. "This will help with the swelling," she said firmly when Selina tried to push her hand away. She turned to Jim. "She have a concussion?"

"Sam didn't think so," Jim answered. "She has mostly surface wounds. I think she's dizzy because she lost a lot of blood."

"How'd it happen?" Barbara asked softly.

"Working on a case," Selina answered, eyes closed as she leaned against Barbara's shoulder.

Jim rolled her eyes. "She used herself to bait a killer," he said. "And she's not going to do it again."

He could tell Barbara was actively trying to suppress her look of horror.

"Alright," she said finally. "Selina, let's go. You need some rest. Jim, can you find some Neosporin for these scratches and meet us in her room?"

Jim did as she had asked, but when he made it back to the room, he paused in his footsteps.

Selina was curled into Barbara's side, nearly asleep, as Barbara's gentle hands—hands that had been so fierce and firm when they needed to be this evening—brushed slowly through the tangles in Selina's hair.

Jim's cell rang, and he stepped out of the room—which felt like some sort of inner sanctum in which he was an outsider anyway—and answered it.

"Gordon speaking."

"It's Harvey. You get everything sorted out?"

"Sort of."

"Turns out the Russian girl was also a thief," Bullock said fondly. "No idea where my wallet is. But that rack, Jim. Anyway, what's going on?"

"A hell of a lot," Jim said wearily. "But most recently? I think my fiancé just adopted a street kid."

AN: Alright lovelies, first an apology: uni has been crazy, I have three jobs, 20 credits in school, a research proposal to work on, and a thesis to start. So in other words, I have had no time for extra writing, and I am so sorry! Hopefully I should be able to update a bit more over break. Second, a clarification: thanks for the feedback about the crossover story. I don't have time to go into the depth I would need for a crossover, so that won't be happening with this story. And as always, thanks for your likes/comments/reviews!