A/N: I'm so sorry to all the NCIS fans out there who are following me as an author, for this not being NCIS fic. But anyone that knows Batman knows there can never be enough sexy time fic where he is concerned!

A Huntress' Dream Chapter 1: Sometime after the events of No Man's Land

There were too many of them. She knew as soon the fight started. If she were lucky, they would leave it at a beating. If she weren't lucky, well, she'd faced worse. There had only been five when she dropped into the alley behind them. Five medium sized frat boys harassing two teenaged girls. Helena didn't know if they were going to take it past harassment, but she wasn't going to stay on the roof and find out. The girls would recover from a scary threat; they wouldn't from sexual assault.

She dropped down silently behind them, crossbow in one hand, bolo in the other. Stalking up behind them, she dropped the first one with a single blow-spinning she kicked the second in the chest, knocking him back into the third. Keeping her eye on the fourth and fifth she told the girls to run. They didn't hesitate. Lifting up her crossbow she pinned the last two in her sights.

"Bad news boys," Helena said, "it's time for a lesson in manners."

"Who are you supposed to be?" the one farther back sneered. "Huntress or something?"

"Or something," she said mockingly, dropping into a battle stance and preparing to attack. That was when the rest of the gang came up behind her.

Stupid. She was trained better than that. You always checked for doors, stairs, shadows, anything that could hide someone. But it was late, and she was tired. And now there were well over fifteen young men swinging at her with fists, planks of wood, and at least one hammer. She would be lucky if they just beat her.

And she'd turned off her com link. She had just wanted some quiet. Some time without Barbara watching silently. This was how superheroes died.

The hammer connected with her back, just to the left of her spine; definitely some broken ribs from that swing. A fist caught her jaw and her teeth slammed together and as her head flew to the side. Someone kicked out her knees and then she was on the ground, more kicks breaking more ribs, her arms trying to shield her head.

She could smell the stink of the alley-urine, vomit, and garbage. She could hear the men panting above her, laughing with each other and jeering as each took turns kicking her as hard as they could; they cheered every time someone landed a particularly solid blow. Then she was being rolled over, she couldn't move, could barely breathe, did she have any solid ribs left? And someone was straddling her, pushing her hands away from her face-pinning them to either side of her head.

There were too many of them. Please let them just laugh at her and leave. Please don't let them do anything else.

The man on top of her left her arms free while he reached down for her chest. His mistake. Helena now knew they weren't going to stop at a beating, so it was time to go out fighting. Who cared what they did to her when she was dead, but she cared a lot what they did to her while she could still fight. She jabbed one finger into his eye and would have grinned if she still could when he screamed. She hoped he never used that eye again.

He reared back in pain and she pushed him off of her. She tried to hop up, but the broken ribs wouldn't let her. She had enough time, though, while the rest were stunned by their friend's screams to slowly push herself to her feet. While he kept screaming, she used the distraction to break the jaw on the guy closest to her, and crack the sternum of second. The rest caught on, then, and that damn hammer landed on her thigh, nearly knocking her leg out from under her.

She just had to get away, she just had to get far enough away that it wasn't worth their trouble.

They grabbed her cape, though, and yanked her back, someone punched her in the face and she saw stars but maintained consciousness. She could see the hammer, swinging back for a strike to her head. She hoped those girls were worth it.

Something shot into the hand holding the hammer, and the man dropped it as he screamed. The three men pining her against he wall craned around, looking into the shadows with the rest of the pack. There were only seven or eight left now. She had thinned the pack by half at least. They never would have beat her if she hadn't put her back to that door. Stupid.

More black shrapnel flew from the shadows and three more men dropped cold. Helena's lips twitched beneath the swelling. He had found her. Somehow, he had found her just in time. Damn him. She would never live this down.

The last few huddled together at the back of the alley, the three holding her up letting her drop like a sack of potatoes as they regrouped with what was left of their crew. When the Batman unveiled himself from the shadows they scattered like children running from their worst nightmare. It was over in seconds.

Then he was there, very carefully rolling her over, checking her injuries, taking assessment of her broken bones.

"Huntress," he said in a low voice, "we need to go. Can you walk?"

"For the world's greatest detective," she pushed out, "you're not very bright are you?" And then everything went black.