A/N: This story is a hetfic starring Batman and Batgirl (Barbara Gordon). They fight bad guys, they have sex, and they fall in love. Not necessarily in that order. Rated M for Graphic everything. You've been warned. I haven't decided if this is before The Killing Joke or if I'm just going to pretend it never happened. Set after Huntress: Year One.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Chapter 1

"Again."

Barbara swallowed her sigh. This is what she signed up for after all. Bruce was a grueling instructor, but, as tired and sore as she was, Barb knew she needed it. She'd lost a fight to the Huntress a few days ago, and Bruce wasn't about to let it slide. But her mind was wandering, she wasn't focused on the sparring, and when his hand shot out it knocked her off balance. She tripped on his foot, and suddenly Barb was on the ground, pinned by Bruce.

She sucked in her breath and hoped he passed it off as nothing. Was it wrong how much she liked it when he pinned her? Wrong, definitely wrong. But that didn't stop her from letting it happen more than she ought.

He had to know; she was eighteen and he was, well, him. What girl wouldn't like being pinned by the Batman?

"I don't think you should be Batgirl anymore." His deep voice was a bucket of ice water. He rolled off her and to his feet with fluid grace, but Barb stayed on the floor, poleaxed.

"What?" Barb asked quietly after a second.

"You're not here. Wherever you are, whatever you're thinking about, it isn't this. That can get you killed."

"But I-"

"No." He cut her off autocratically. This was the part of him she hated; the part that didn't argue, but controlled.

"I'm here," Barb snapped. "My mind is here. Again."

He looked at her from the edge of the mat, a towel in his hands, and there was no missing the glint in his eyes. Barb knew he was going to come at her with everything. Sinking into a fighting stance she brought her hands up. Fine, two could play.

When he moved it was lightning slicing through the air; she had seen him move like this in battle, but never here, never with her. As she blocked his attacks she realized how much he had been holding back. That pissed her off. Thought she couldn't take it, did he? Thought this would scare her away?

He was pushing her across the mat, keeping her on the defensive, but her anger seemed to sharpen her vision, made the world turn a little slower, and when he came at her with a high kick she made her move. Blocking his foot, she slammed her palm into his chin. He was surprised, obviously, and Barb pushed her advantage. Didn't think she could land one did he?

She was a red tornado, spinning, kicking, and punching-techniques he had shown her, but transformed by her style. He blocked her punch, but she expected that. She drove her left hand into his stomach, then, before he could get his breath back, swung her feet up, caught his head between them, and swung him back down to the mat. Using her momentum, she swung around, and planted on top of him, her hand around his neck.

For a long moment the only sound was their breath sawing in and out. Well, she realized, mostly her breath. He seemed to have barely broke a sweat. Typical.

"Better," he said. He made no move to remove her hand or push her off of him, and then he knew she hadn't beat him. He'd held back after all; that stung.

"You've been holding back with me," she said. She tried to keep her voice even, but irritation made the words sharper.

"Of course I have," he said then, as easily as swatting a fly, knocked her hand off his neck, and dumped her onto the mat before standing back up. "You think you're ready for full speed?"

"You tell me I'm not ready, but whose treating me with kid gloves? I'm out there, fighting those creeps, and you don't even think I can handle a real sparring match?" She was still sitting on the mat. Her hair had come lose, and she yanked the elastic band out as she pushed to her feet. "Did you want me to get hurt? Wait till one of them lands a good one, and I cry all the way home?"

His face went blank, and Barbara knew he was angry. She shouldn't have said that; after Jason he was different-angrier, harder. She knew the guilt he felt was overwhelming, but she was so tired of being treated like, like the girl. Bruce was always trying to make her quit; always so quick to accuse her of not giving it her all.

He spun on his heel and stalked back toward the computer, his silence attacking her. Grabbing her jacket she walked over, but kept a respectable distance.

"I'm sorry Bruce," she said softly. "I just-"

"Go home." He didn't even look at her. He was like some beautiful, cruel, god; in the beginning was the word: his word.

"I'm not quitting," she said softly, but with strength. "I'm not quitting, and you're not going to make me." And with that she left.

Bruce sat at the computer long after she was gone, but he wasn't seeing anything. He was back on the mat, pinned under a warrior with firey red hair. She'd been beautiful when she fought back; she was always beautiful when she fought, all sleek grace and power, but this was different-more passionate maybe. He'd been taken aback by her, not her moves. When she'd gone on the attack part of him didn't want to stop her; he just wanted to give her room to move.

Slamming his hand down, Bruce shot out of the chair and went to the punching bag. She was twenty one. His fists drilled the bag, a rhythm of violence staccatoing across the cave wall. She was twenty one. She was James Gordon's daughter.

She was beautiful.

He punched the bag harder, his breath starting to quicken. She was twenty one. He would not entertain this fantasy. Maybe he did want her to quit. It would take her out of his life; no more sparring matches, no more danger of him feeling her warm flesh beneath him.

His arms were burning as he pummeled; what was wrong with him? When had this, attraction, started? She was twenty one.

God she was beautiful.