Fic: The Thrill Can Kill (DCU, Dick/Stephanie)

[amathela]

Title: The Thrill Can Kill
Fandom: DCU
Pairing(s): Dick/Stephanie
Word Count: 2663
Rating: R

Summary: Steph's used to Batman suddenly appearing in her bedroom.

Notes: Set during Steph's Batgirl run. Written for dudski as a yuletide treat.


Steph's used to Batman suddenly appearing in her bedroom. Or at least, she's as used to it as it's possible to get. Which doesn't mean it doesn't affect her; between the huge black cape, deep voice, and the fact that it's 2am and she's (barely) in her pyjamas, it still comes as a little bit of a surprise. The fact that she's dealing with Batman 2.0 doesn't help; the old one might have arguably been a lot scarier, but she knew him, for better or for worse. She barely knows Dick at all.

So maybe all of that is why she screams when she opens her eyes to find him standing by her bed.

She's already halfway out of bed by the time she recognises him, and she freezes, caught somewhere between embarrassment and curiosity. Smooth, Steph. Real professional. She's doing a bang-up job of proving to him how mature she is, really.

For a second she could almost swear she sees his mouth twitch - if he weren't Batman, she's say he's trying not to smile - and then he says, "Get dressed. I need Batgirl."

It's a sharp reminder that she is, in fact, not dressed at all - unless a ratty old tank top and the Supergirl underwear Kara got her as a joke counts, which she's pretty sure it doesn't - and she can feel herself blushing deeply enough that she's pretty sure he can see it even in the dark. Of course, he is Batman, so he can probably see everything in the dark.

That thought doesn't help.

Okay, so, she needs to focus. And stop thinking about how Batman can see her in her underwear.

And get dressed. She really, really needs to get dressed.

She pulls open her closet, which at least shields her a little bit; when she glances back, he doesn't have his back turned - that wouldn't be very Batman, she supposes - but she could swear he isn't quite looking at her, either. And she only stumbles a couple of times as she's pulling on her Batgirl suit, and doesn't fall on her ass at all, so maybe things are looking up.

And then he says, "We're headed to Devil's Square," so maybe not.

"So," she says, once she's dressed and climbing out her window. It isn't strictly necessary her mom's on night shift, so she's home alone - but old habits die hard, and if it's good enough for Batman, it's good enough for her. "Where's the boy terror?"

"Not here," he says. "We're flying solo on this one."

Right. Not that she isn't super flattered that, of all the (competent) masked crimefighters in Gotham, Batman chose her for the mission, but - of all the masked crimefighters in Gotham, why did Batman choose her for the mission?

"I've been hearing rumours," he says. "Thrill's back out on the streets."

Oh, great.

"Since you're the one who went up against it last time, I thought you might like another shot."

"And Robin?"

He hesitates before answering. "I didn't want any conflict," he says finally, and Steph's pretty sure he means, since the two of you keep fighting like children, I couldn't risk having you on the same team. Which is half fair; Damian is a child. Besides, if one of them had to be benched, she's glad it was him.

"So," she says. "What's the plan?"

"The plan," he says, "is to take down the manufacturing plant. I can sabotage it, but I need someone to watch my back."

Again, Steph wants to ask why me, but she figures she already knows the answer. This is him giving her a shot. Better not to make him rethink it.

"Right," she says. "So I'm bait."

There's that almost smile again, the one he tries to hide. "Let's say you're a distraction."

Yeah, because that's not the same thing at all.

It doesn't take them long to get there, and when they do, Dick heads straight to what she's guessing is the new manufacturing plant. Obviously somebody's done his homework. It's nothing special, not for Devil's Square; a seemingly abandoned building, run down, uninviting. Probably perfect for what's inside.

"You go in first," he says, and Steph nods. "Go in the front door. They won't be expecting you, so use the element of surprise. Keep them busy and away from the back room."

Which is where he'll be doing his stealthy Batman thing, she's guessing. Fine by her; she could stand to beat up some bad guys right about now.

"You'll need this," he says, and hands her a vial. "Inoculation."

"I hope it works as well as last time." Because that was super fun.

"Improved formula."

Yeah, but who -

"Oracle says so."

Well, okay then.

It isn't quite as easy to find a place to stick the needle this time; it's pretty much the first drawback to having her own, brand new, state of the art costume instead of Cass' torn hand-me-downs she's run into. She's too chicken to jab it into her neck the way Dick does, so she ends up blushing as she unzips her suit, rolls it down just low enough to stick it in her arm instead. It's hardly showing a lot of skin - especially compared to the way she was dressed, or not, in her bedroom - but she can feel his eyes on her anyway, and it makes her prickly all over. He's definitely got that intense Batman gaze down.

That done, they split up, Steph moving for the front entrance while Dick vanishes towards some dark alley. Show off. She only has a few seconds to think about his superior night-blending skills, though, before she slams through the door and reaches her first target; goons one and two, standing just inside the entrance, looking like they have no idea what just hit them. Which is her, for the record. And the door.

Which bounced when she opened it. Potentially surprise-ruining, but fortunately, these two look about as smart as the crumbling bricks surrounding them. Thank god for small favours. (For example, that Batman wasn't there to see her slightly less than impressive entrance.)

So instead of being ready for her, they're still standing there, only just starting to reach for their weapons, by the time she's right in front of them. Which gives her enough time to roundhouse kick one of them and elbow the other before they're even reacting, and from there, she's pretty much golden.

Which isn't to say one of them doesn't get in a pretty good punch to her jaw before they're done. She's good; she's not Batman.

Two down, who knows how many to go. Steph's always liked surprises. She figures she made enough noise with her entrance that they'll be coming to her, so she stays still and waits.

She doesn't have to wait for long.

A few seconds later three more goons come rushing towards her. They're slightly more prepared than the first two, which is to say, they have their guns out and firing, and Steph retreats behind a nearby barrel. Which is not great news for her ears - the sound of bullet ricocheting off metal is loud, it turns out, especially when it's happening right in front of you - but it turns out the barrel is a) thick enough to stop bullets, and b) not filled with explosive gas or liquid or something else that's going to kill her instantly, so overall, it's a win.

She waits until the gunfire dies down - it's a ruse, she knows, to draw her out, but it's not like she can hide here forever, so that probably doesn't matter so much. Taking a deep breath, she rolls out, dives at the last place she saw the goons. It's a lucky shot; she hits one square in the stomach, which doesn't take him down for long, but it does bring her too close to the others for them to keep shooting at her. Which just means they start swinging at her with their oversized fists instead, but she can live with that. A gunshot wound, not so much.

It's harder to take down three guys who are ready for her than two who aren't. Well, obviously. In other breaking news, Devil's Quarter is kind of a bad neighbourhood, as she's not quite as skilled a fighter as Cass was. But this is what she signed up for, what she's been training for, and she can pretty much hold her own. So she's not surprised when she's able to take them down, but also not completely surprised when she takes a few good hits in the process.

She breathes out. Bruised, but not broken. She's going to feel this in the morning, though.

"Are you scared yet?"

Scarecrow. Steph wasn't sure he'd show up, though she hadn't counted on his absence; more like just really, really hoped for it.

"I'm not afraid of you," she says. It's partly a challenge, partly an effort to convince herself.

"Let's fix that."

Steph can't help breathing in the toxin; she could swear she can feel it seeping in through her pores. The important thing now is not to panic. Somehow. She can already feel her heart rate speeding up.

"I hope you saved some for me," Dick says, swooping in. He's more talkative than Batman ever was, but the swooping, at least, is the same. She's never loved the swooping more than she does right now.

"I had this," she says, but she moves on instinct, falling into a loose formation with him as they face the Scarecrow.

"I know," he says, and they move together.

"Well, then," she says, ducking to sweep the Scarecrow's legs as Dick goes in high. "I guess I don't mind sharing."

"Good to know," he says, circling around. The move clears Steph's field of vision a little; enough for her to see, a split second before he does, two more goons advancing on them.

She moves to intercept them before they can attack, knocking the first off balance and rounding on the second. Because what they really needed right now was more company.

"At least I'm not fighting myself this time," she says. Yet. Oracle's inoculation seems to be holding up so far. "I was way tougher than these guys."

"Spoiler got in your way?" Dicks asks, flipping over the Scarecrow. Damn acrobats. "Welcome to being a bat."

"Ouch," she says. Oddly, it doesn't actually hurt at all. "You ever been dosed before?"

He laughs. Actually laughs; she swears she isn't making this up. Steph ducks a blow as she waits, retaliates with a left cross.

"A lot," he says.

"And?"

"And what?" he asks, aiming a precise blow to the Scarecrow's gut.

"And," she says, "I showed you mine."

He turns towards her as she elbows one of the goons in the solar plexus. And, okay, so she can't actually see his face, but she could swear he raises an eyebrow under the cowl.

"My hallucinations," she clarifies. It doesn't mean she isn't thinking about standing in front of him in little more than her underwear, though.

(It feels really good to put the goons down, hard. Who cares about emotional transference?)

Dick's still watching her, though, which means he isn't watching the Scarecrow, creeping up on him. Steph jumps, grabs an exposed pipe hanging from the ceiling - thank god for crappy architecture - and swings to kick the Scarecrow in the face. He doesn't go down, but he does stop short of attacking Dick, hesitating as he looks between them.

And then Steph's heart practically stops as she sees Black Mask in the doorway.

Dick's saying something, she's pretty sure, but she can't hear him. She can't move, either, even though her entire body is screaming for her to; fight or flight, and this time, she wants to run.

"Come on," he says, close to her ear, and that snaps her out of it. "Mission's done. We're out of here."

So much for the inoculation, she thinks. Stupid, Steph; she could have been killed back there because of a stupid hallucination. She could have got them both killed.

"You're shaking," Dick says, once they're a few blocks away, in some Bat-hideout or other. He probably has one on every street. At least they haven't been followed, and probably aren't likely to be; she thinks they probably took out most, if not all, of the support staff the Scarecrow had to hand.

"Adrenaline," she says. She can still feel it coursing through her, setting her nerves on edge. "Hallucinations. I saw -"

"Black Mask," he says, and she stares. Okay. Not a hallucination, then.

Because that's better.

"Are you okay?" he asks, laying a hand on her shoulder; it sends a shock through her. Adrenaline, she tells herself. She's hyper aware of his touch, of how close he's standing, of the friction of her suit as it rubs against her skin. Of her breathing speeding up, her heart rate increasing.

"Steph," he says. His voice sounds rough, deeper than usual. Did he move closer to her? She could swear he's standing closer now.

"I'm fine," she says. She doesn't sound it, even to her own ears. She sounds breathless, tense.

Turned on.

This time she knows she's standing closer, because he pulls her closer. She can feel his hands on her waist, hot even through her suit. This is crazy. Ridiculous. He's Batman, for crying out loud.

Except Batman probably wouldn't let her push him backwards, until his ass hits the floor. Wouldn't pull her down on top of him, grab the back of her neck, pull her in to kiss her.

Dick does, though, so maybe she's wrong. She's used to being wrong about stuff.

His hands are still on her waist, pulling her against him. Her nerve endings feel like they're electrocuted, everything firing at once; she presses against him as his grip on her tightens. Can't get close enough. Can't get enough.

She can feel her suit rubbing against her, feel him rubbing against her, and it's not enough, but it's close. This, she can't help thinking, would have been so much easier in her pyjamas. She presses harder, riding him in tight circles, throwing her hair back as he bites at her neck. Bat-hickey, she thinks. It's not quite enough to break the mood.

Especially not when he's rising up below her, providing the friction she needs, and she comes, hard, barely catching her breath before he stiffens underneath her. And then he's panting against her neck, hands still heavy on her hips as she struggles to bring herself back into focus. She feels hot, sticky all over, sweat-slick inside her suit, and it's an effort to get to her feet.

Dick follows, but only after a few moments, which makes her oddly proud.

"So," she says. She's still out of breath; she wonders if that kind of thing could be bad for the structural integrity of the batsuit. (Probably not, but still. It can't be great for it.) "That was ..."

"Adrenaline," he says. Right. Obviously. She doesn't usually make a habit out of making out with Batman. Or anyone, for that matter; it's been kind of a dry year.

Well. Relatively speaking.

"You okay?" he asks, and she can't help smiling; she is way, way better than okay.

"Amazing," she says, and then wonders if that's too much. He looks please, though - well, she'd probably be put out if he didn't - so maybe not. "So what now?"

And then he smiles. Actually smiles, like, if she needed any more proof that he isn't the same Batman she's used to - which she doesn't, obviously, that's been proven pretty conclusively by now - that would seal it.

"Now," he says, and at least she's not the only one a little out of breath, "we go stop some more bad guys. You up for it?"

"Absolutely," she says.

Right now, she feels like she's up for anything.