'Dick confessed me his undying love tonight,' I say with a mouthful of chocolate.

Bruce almost choked on his coffee. 'What? When? What did you say?'

'Today, after practise. I told him no, of course.' Actually, I had told him to try again in five years. Robin had come up to me just when I was about to take a shower. He told me he had liked me for a long time. The boy barely reached my shoulders. He had been quiet all through dinner and had vanished to his room immediately after.

'Why?'

I lifted my head from his lap and sat up straight. 'What do you mean why?' I put my head back on his outstretched legs and pulled my blanket tighter around me. My face was a mask of disbelief as I looked up at him.

His features were lit up with an orange glow from the fireplace and the flames cast a dance of shadows over his face. It was a chilly autumn night, so we sat on the floor to be closer to the fire. Well he was sitting, I, as previously mentioned, was laying on my back with my head on his lap, snugly packed in a soft blanket.

I had told my dad I was staying over at a friend's house, in case we needed to go on patrol tonight, but the Bats had given us a night off after a hard training session. He had an emergency beeper with him in case of… well, in case of emergency, but the night had been calm thus far.

'Well, he's a nice kid. And you guys have a lot in common, right?'

The look of disbelief on my face only grew. 'Are you kidding me? He's thirteen years old. I'd be a frigging paedophile.'

He looked at me with a puzzling expression.

I raised my hand to touch his jawline, momentarily distracted by the stubble on his chin. 'Jeez, when's the last time you shaved, last Christmas? It's starting to become a full grown beard.'

'I'm thinking of growing it out,' he said, stroking his imaginary beard.

I laughed and hit his chest. 'But anyway,' I concluded, 'I'm going to be seventeen in two months, as you may remember.' I rolled my eyes. The guy was a genius, but he couldn't remember something as simple as a birthday. Or even someone's age, apparently. 'You can't exactly call me a kid anymore.' I gestured at my body.

He frowned. 'I guess not…' I had meant it as a joke, but there was no trace of a smile to be found on his face.

His eyes locked with mine, and couldn't really place what I read in there. And I didn't like the feeling it gave me in my stomach. It was nothing like butterflies. More like angry moths swarming around inside me, looking for a way out.

'Your hand is cupping my breast,' I finally breathed out. The feeling in my stomach was moving downwards.

He instantly let go of me and looked away.

I gulped. 'I think it's time to go to bed.' Alone.

I felt a pang of disappointment as I retreated to my suite on the first floor, like I actually expected something to happen. His hand had left a burning sensation on my skin. I blushed like a teenager in love. I still was a teenager, I guess, but I didn't normally feel like one.

The days after, weeks even, were awkward. I only trained with Robin for days, because touching Bruce sent weird tingly feelings through my nerves, and the only person I really talked to was Alfred, since that was awkward with both of my boys.

'I want to fight you,' I said one night.

Bruce looked up from his screen. 'What?'

'I want to fight you,' I repeated. 'Now. Fighting is the only thing that gets my thoughts in line. I need this. Please?'

The first part of our fight was as awkward as the past two weeks. I flinched under every touch, and I noticed that he wasn't able to fully concentrate either. But as our techniques deepened and our moves sped up, that was all over. Until finally, as we were circling around and throwing ourselves on top of one another, clawed, scratched, hit and kicked each other, I actually heard myself laughing.

Our fight was a game. A wonderful game that I had missed so much. Things were finally going back to normal.