Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC related. I only own the OC.

Vulnerable

Chapter One – Rodent Problem

I had a commanding officer once who told me that a cop should never be afraid. He said that people rely on us. People need us to stay strong, stay brave. If we let fear take over us, make decisions for us, we let those people down. In a way, I suppose that's true. I've seen great cops make bad decisions because they got scared. Career or life-altering mistakes. Maybe their hands shake a little and the gun goes off before it should. Maybe fear grabs ahold of them and twists all the prejudice and uncertainty and doubt until anger comes ringing out of it in buckets. I don't know. But I sure as hell know we can't avoid it.

Jim Gordon always understood. Every time I asked him, he was honest about it. He told me on countless patrols how he felt about Gotham City. It scared the shit out of him. That night, as we drove home, I asked again.

"We're human." He said. Smoke curled out the driver's side window from the cigarette in his hand. "And this is Gotham. We can't avoid being afraid, not here."

I gazed over at him. His eyes were fixated on the road but his mind was clearly elsewhere. It often was with Jim. He'd spent the better part of his life as a cop in Gotham. The last five years he'd been commissioner, which he informed me had turned his hair grey faster than you could snap your fingers. He'd seen a lot, and on quiet nights it played like a film in front of his eyes.

He continued. "Some of the greatest officers and people I've known are built from fear. Born out of it." He took another drag on his cigarette before turning to face me, the dim street lights reflecting at me through his thick glasses. "Let yourself be afraid, fear is motivating. Just don't let the city get to you. It can be taxing, especially for a cop. We all watch out for each other, us good guys."

I scoffed. "Determined I'm one of them, are you?"

"I have a good feeling." He got a fatherly glint in his eye. Maybe he even felt paternal, because he turned away from me again. He didn't talk about his kids much. I think his wife ran off with them. He'd accidentally called me Barbara a few times. It was either his wife or his daughter's name. I didn't look anything like them, and I think he knew that he was doing it. I think he just liked to say it every once and awhile, to keep in practice. To see if he could still bring himself to.

"When you say us good guys are looking out for each other, you mean the Bat, don't you?"

"Him too." He sighed. "He's good."

"You sure about that?" I caught sight of my hair in one of the side windows of the patrol car and cursed. It was working its way out of the confines of the strict bun I forced on it in the morning. I reached into the glove compartment in search of an elastic. It was my squad car, after all. Gordon just liked to drive. I found a tie and started to strangle my long black hair with it while he spoke.

"Hell, I can't be sure about anything in Gotham. I can't even be sure the damn sun will rise tomorrow, but I trust him."

I snorted. "Wish I did."

"You of all people should trust him. He saved your skin, didn't he?"

"Looked awfully high and mighty doing it." I grumbled.

My first week living in the city I'd been singled out by a pack of idiots with knives and a strong desire for the contents of my wallet. I'd been blindsided and shoved into the alleyway next to my apartment. I stumbled into a wall, my palms splitting open against the bricks. Wheeling to face them, I evaluated the situation. There were three of them. Two bigger ones and a wiry one. Oddly enough, he seemed to be in charge, because he spoke first.

"Give us your wallet and you won't get hurt."

"I'm not giving you fucking anything." I spat, wishing I had my gun on me. That would show them.

The skinny one laughed. He blinked hard, swiped at his nose. Fuck. He looked coked out, which would make him more dangerous. A knife blade glinted in his hand. My eyes travelled to the other two and landed on the similar weapons they had removed.

"Try again, bitch."

I swallowed thickly. There wasn't much chance of me making it out unscathed, but I wasn't about to forfeit my wallet and my pride along with it. "Yeah, answer's still no."

He lunged then, and in a flash I was on the ground, blood trickling from a cut on my arm. I looked up, panicked, ready to run if I had to, but there was a dark figure standing between me and the would-be thieves. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. Batman.

"Holy shit." I scrambled backwards, bashing my head against the dumpster so hard I saw stars. I climbed to my feet shakily. A fight had broken out. The three knife wielding idiots were really stupid enough to try and take down a man who - as far as I'd been told - seldom lost a fight with common street rats. I slipped past them, ducking under blows and stepping over an already unconscious body. I booked it down the block, feeling relief wash over me when my apartment building came into view.

I didn't want to cause a stir going in the front, so I headed for the fire escape around the side. I was ten feet away when a dark figure dropped to the pavement in front of me. A string of profanity blew past my lips.

"Jesus Fucking Christ." I breathed. "What are you after me for? I didn't start that shit"-

"You should get to the hospital, get that knife wound looked at." He spoke in a low voice, rumbling up from his chest. It was a practiced growl, intended to be menacing and intimidating. His mask tilted downward in a perpetual snarl. I tilted my chin up defiantly, determined to not be afraid of him, or at least not to let it show.

"I have medical experience. I'll handle it." I shocked myself with the firmness in my voice.

He inclined his head slightly, a fraction of nod. I didn't like the way I felt like I'd been rescued, like I was just another damsel. Had he followed me because he wanted a thank you or something? I headed up the fire escape and by the time I looked back he was gone, but I still felt uneasy, like he was watching me from the darkness.

"You don't know him like I do." Gordon sighed, drawing me back from the memory.

"You don't know him, not without the costume."

He chuckled. "So what, you want me to invite him to the precinct for coffee or something? Can't you just have faith in the man? At the very least, have some faith in your commissioner."

"That's not fair. You know I trust you, you're not jumping around in a mask beating the shit out of bad guys."

He chuckled. "Thank God. Could you imagine?"

I shook my head, laughing. "I trust you, Jim, but not that guy. He's too untouchable, too invulnerable. 'You can't trust a person you can't grab ahold of.'" I snuck a glance at him, wondering if he'd caught on to who I was quoting. "The commissioner I have so much faith in said that to me once."

He laughed again. "He sounds wise."

"He likes to think so." While I appreciated Gordon's respectful relationship with the Bat, I had no intention of trusting a man in a cape and a mask. I had no intention of ever meeting him again. I wanted nothing to do with the guy. He freaked me out. But the universe, as it turns out, had a sense of humour that night.

I dropped the commissioner and the car off at the precinct and headed back in the dark towards my apartment.

It was a shitty place, crappy and small. I couldn't open the oven all the way or it would smack into the fridge, and vice versa. The selling point for me had been the view. I'd probably live at the top of a lightning rod for a good shot of the skyline. I was at the final floor of the building, and the Gotham out my window looked like it belonged in a picture frame.

I got the inexpensive apartment extra cheap because of a rodent problem, which had prompted me to make the trip out to the shelter and pick up the first cat to glare in my direction. I needed a ruthless one. When I got home that night, she was perched on the window watching the lights move down below. I scratched her behind the ears affectionately. She lunged to bite my fingers.

"Dammit, cat." I tsked, yanking my hand back. "Still not warming to me, huh?" It had been five months, and she still hated my guts. I left her alone and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The door clanged jarringly against the oven. I ignored it.

I had one more can of Budweiser. I popped it open and stood in the doorway to the living room and drank it. I watched the cat's tail flick with interest. I wondered what she was so interested by, a bird probably. Or a bat, but we didn't have too many of those in the downtown area. Not unless you were counting the vigilante population. I reached up and touched the turquoise pendant that hung at my collarbone. Soothing cold against my skin.

A couple years ago, I'd been a cop working out of Delaware. Because I was Indigenous, I was delegated to issues on the reservation. My superiors wouldn't let me work anything else, they didn't have an ounce of respect for an 'Indian', and they'd proved it so many times. I put out my resume on a whim. I was shocked – to say the least – to get an email from a commissioner. Especially one in Gotham city. Jim Gordon needed honest cops, and I was happy to oblige. I was in desperate need of some change, a new start. Maybe I needed the job a touch more than I'd let on when I first met with Gordon.

What I'd experienced in Delaware that had finally pushed me over the edge was bad. A better word would be terrifying. I had thought I was going to die.

I realized my chest was heaving, my heart was beating franticly against my ribs. My breath came in panicked gasps. I leaned heavily on the doorframe and slid down to the floor, my legs having wobbled underneath me. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down.

I don't know how long it was before I opened my eyes again. It might have been hours. The beer was leaning precariously up against the wall, having slipped out of my hands. Shakily, I put the can to my lips and took a long sip of it. It was warm, and it spilled down my chin.

"Fuck." I breathed. "Not again."

Weren't cats supposed to be therapeutic? I glanced over to see her still sitting on the windowsill, ignoring my breakdown completely.

"Thanks for nothing." I grumbled. Her head whipped around, eyes trained on the ceiling. Her whole body tensed, she stared up at the space above us. I frowned. "What's gotten into you?"

The cat made a low sound in her throat, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. I scoffed and climbed hastily to my feet. I started back into the kitchen when a sound came from above me. It was loud enough for me to hear it through my ceiling, which meant something intense had happened up there. It sounded like someone had fallen over. I groaned. Not poor Morello.

My landlord was ancient. A nice man, he could be a little sexist, but he gave me a good deal on a crappy place. He was old though, with a cough that buzzed like a chainsaw. I'd seen him headed for the roof numerous times running his mouth about the pigeons that roosted up there year round. Of course I expected it to be him. I would have expected it to be a fucking STOMP rehearsal before the reality I faced as I climbed out my window on to the fire escape and began the rickety ascent to the roof.

"Mr. Morello?" I called, hauling myself over the edge. "It's Lin. Lin Harper. Is everything okay?"

A groan answered me. In the darkness, I squinted to see anything, but couldn't. There were no lights on, and the rooftop was cloaked in a heavy darkness. The neighbouring apartment buildings stood a few floors taller than mine, with windows that looked out onto our roof. No one would be able to make out poor Mr. Morello in the dim glow the city cast. It was lucky I heard him.

"Mr. Morello, I'll call an ambulance, okay?"

"No." The response shocked me. It was then that I realized whoever was up there was not my landlord. The voice had been low, more of a growl. Whoever it was, they were obviously in some amount of pain. I tentatively followed the sound. "No ambulance."

"Whoever you are, if you're hurt you'll need medical attention."

He didn't answer again, but I could hear him gasping. I stepped over an air vent and immediately tripped over something solid and landed hard against the rough surface of the rooftop. The solid thing groaned.

"Shit." I muttered. "Sorry." My eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and I gasped. The man in front of me wore all black, his face obscured by a mask with pointed ears and narrow eyes. It was him. It was the Bat again. Splayed out on my rooftop like a bug on a windshield, and unmoving. For a few moments I just sat next to him, nursing my scraped-up knee, until he turned and looked directly at me. His blue eyes cleared momentarily.

"He's nearby." He rasped.

"Who is?"

"You-you're a medic."

I was both annoyed and slightly impressed that he'd remembered. Then it dawned on me. "Wait. Did you come here on purpose? To my building?"

I didn't get a response to that either. Instead, he pointed upwards.

I followed his gesture and gasped. Standing on top of the neighbouring building looking down at us was a dark figure. I couldn't quite make it out fully, but there was something ragged about its face, warped. It turned and disappeared.

"What the fuck was that?" I hissed, but got no reply. Whatever or whoever it was, it had seen us. If it had sent the Bat hurtling over the side of a building, I doubted I wanted to meet it personally. I needed to move, but what about Gotham's debated hero?

The Bat was mumbling incoherently. Behind his mask, I watched his eyes dart back and forth. His breath was rapid and fearful. He was seeing something I was not. I reached out to touch him and he jerked away.

"Woah, calm down. I'm trying to help."

"Gas." He murmured.

"What, you on drugs or something?"

His eyes closed suddenly. They didn't open again. He was still breathing, but unconscious. I sighed, glancing one last time up at the building before grabbing one of his arms. Whatever or whoever that was, it was probably still after him. Hero or not, he was unfortunately in need of help. Since he'd made it clear there was to be no ambulance involved, that left me in a slight predicament.

"Gordon better be right about you." I muttered, before hauling him back the way I'd come. He drifted in and out. The fire escape was a nightmare. He was able to lean heavily on me, but something was up with his leg, and he couldn't put much weight on it. Probably from the fall. There were several times we nearly went pitching over the side, he was so heavy and out of it. Blissfully, after what felt like ages, he managed to make it back down the stairs and back through my open window before collapsing on to my sofa. The cat mewed inquisitively as I stared at him.

"Not a clue." I muttered in response.

I pulled up my torn up red recliner – claw marks courtesy of my miserable feline – and parked myself in front of the couch. I waited for him to stir. I didn't sleep. I hardly even blinked. My gaze shifted from him for a few minutes once; to watch the sun peek over the city skyline. Then they flicked immediately back to the unconscious form in front of me.

He was huge, he'd been ridiculously heavy. I understood why some of the thugs we picked up thought he wasn't human. Something about the costume made him seem larger, and I'd seen first hand that he was damn frightening at night and when he wasn't knocked out on someone's couch.

I will admit, there was an urge to peel the mask off. Who wouldn't be tempted? I'm only human, after all. You sit and stare at a man enough and you get an idea of what he's like from his movements, his eyes, the way he talks. But in front of me was an unmoving costumed guy in a mask. There was nothing to know, and I didn't like that idea.

The very second he showed signs of consciousness I was on my feet. I don't know why. A fight or flight reaction, I guess. I froze somewhere between the two.

He groaned, I saw eyes move behind the mask and they locked with mine.

"Who are you?" He asked suddenly. I was taken aback by the tone, as if I was a criminal that he was interrogating

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Where am I?"

"My apartment. Since it's my apartment by the way, I think I'll be asking the questions." He nodded, gestured to me to continue. "You fell on to my roof last night. What happened?"

"I jumped for it. Or maybe I was pushed. I don't remember. I was being attacked."

"You're lucky you survived. Although your leg's pretty messed up. I think you may have broken something."

"Feels that way."

There was a silence while he worked his way into a sitting position. It was nearly comical, the sight of Gotham's protector slumped on my ratty couch.

"Who pushed you?" I couldn't help a smirk. "You going to press charges?"

"I'm not exactly able to testify." He grimaced. I noted that it wasn't quite an answer to my question, but continued.

"Do the drugs make you stronger or something?"

"What?"

"Last night you were on something strong. You were seeing things."

His eyes met mine behind the mask. That electric blue. "It's a fear gas. A neuro-toxin."

"So not something you'd take willingly then. You were drugged?"

"Yeah."

"Wyo drugged you? That nutcase that pushed you?"

"Yeah." He stretched out his injured leg and groaned.

"Don't do that. Hold on." I knelt next to the sofa and pulled out my first aid kit. "Let me see to it."

"It's fine."

I scoffed. "You're in no shape to go anywhere. Someone was after you last night. Seems like we're stuck with each other for a little while, like it or not. If that leg is broken, you'll be out for weeks. I'm sort of your only option here."

His jaw tensed. He wasn't going to let me treat him. He was going to rot and die in my stupid apartment before he accepted my help, and that made me angry.

"You can either limp home in broad daylight or stay and let me look at your leg. Like it or not, I saved your life last night and for some reason I've decided to continue to do so."

"I don't need your help."

"Really? I could have easily left you on that rooftop at the mercy of the creep that pushed you. I chose not to. And now, even though I'm not really that fond of you, I-I guess you can stay here as long as you need."

"I remember you. You're the medic from the alley. What's your name?"

"Linnet Harper. I'm not a medic. I'm a friend of Jim Gordon's."

"Okay." He reached for his mask, grasping it at the bottom and preparing to pull it off.

Thanks for reading! I will be continuing this. Please review!