Why We're Here

I Can't Not Fight

Get me an extra large," Barbara said.
I lifted an eyebrow, "Dude, you already had a cup this morning."
"Yes, but I want another."
I rolled my eyes. Barbara had found herself working from her computer, rather than her old job at the police station, or the more important one she did at night. She had decided to build a network of information that could, perhaps, better the world. Maybe even help the heroes who could go out and do things.
"Fine, but if you get shakey, don't say I didn't warn you," I sighed, "Whipped cream?"
"Yes. And a cookie."
"Chocolate chip?"
"Is there any other king?"
I shrugged, "Personally, I'm partial to rasin."
Barbara looked at me like I just told her I beat a kid with a kitten, "Lucy, how could you?"
"You sound like Dick," I commented.
Barbara laughed. I pushed myself off the doorframe and headed towards the front door. Grabbing my bag and keys, I left.
It was mid-afternoon, and Gotham was bustling. Business men and women ran around every corner, hurrying to different meetings in different buildings. I kept my eyes forward as I pushed through them.
The coffee shop was three blocks down. Normally, it would take all of half an hour to get there and back, but I took much longer. On my way there, I became distracted. Shouts and grunts echoed from an alley, along with the laughter of teenagers. Muggings weren't uncommon in Gotham, but that didn't make them any more ethical.
My reflexes kicked in, and I went to investigate. Turning the corner, I found four burly teenagers standing above a young boy. He cowered behind a dumpster in an effort to get away from them. His lip was split, and a black eye was slowly developing on his left. His ginger hair was dirty with blood and grime. While his face was sturdy, I could tell that he wanted to cry.
"I didn't do anything to you!" he shouted.
He seemed like he was actually using the dumpster as a shield, rather than cowering behind it. That was a smart idea, this kid seemed to be a natural born fighter, or he's had to do it for so long that it just became natural.
"You're breathin', aren't ya?" one teen asked.
The others laughed. The first teen, the one in a green snow hat, pulled the boy from his shield. The other three, one with blonde hair, one with black hair, and another with a backwards cap, all gathered around him. They looked as if they were getting ready to beat the poor boy to death, but I decided they wouldn't get the chance.
"Hey!" I shouted, dropping my pack behind the dumpster, "Don't you four hooligans have community service or something?"
They all turned to glance at me. Each was at least two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier than me, but that didn't phase me. They all laughed.
"Lookie here," the green hat thug laughed, "Girlie wants a fight."
The one with blonde hair placed his hands on his knees, "On your way to the mall, girlie? Get lost?"
"I'm not the lost one here, bub."
"Get lost, before ya get hurt," the first stated, lifting the boy off his feet.
"Sorry," I replied, "I don't like it when anyone beats up kids."
The three thugs looked at the first one. He nodded, and they attacked. All three came at me with flying fists. The very first thing I noticed was that they tucked their thumb in their fist, a simple mistake. They obviously had no idea what they were doing.
I easily dodged, even tripping one. I jumped up and kicked another into the dumpster, where he hit his head and knocked himself out. As I spun around, the blonde on grabbed my head and pushed down. I flipped on my shoulder, but I didn't miss scraping my chin pretty badly. It was definitely noticeable.
"Oh, now you've done it," I growled.
Before they even realized what was happening, I was up and grabbing their hair. Banging their heads together, they fell to the ground, unconscious. I glanced up at the first one who sneered, "If you want somethin' done right, you gotta do it yourself."
"You're an idiot."
He dropped the boy and lunged at me. I dodged, tripping him and pushing his head into the ground. He bounced, and came up with a bleeding eyebrow. His sneer was bloody as well, "You done messed up, girlie."
"Did I mention you're an idiot?"
He came up to punch me, but I placed a firm kick on his chest. As he fell backwards, I grabbed a nearby trashcan lid and slammed it down on his face. The familiar sound of a nose breaking and teeth falling out rattled, followed by him blacking out.
Each thug was down. The boy, hiding behind the trashcan, looked out at me. I spun around to face him.
"Are you going to beat me up too?" he asked.
I lifted an eyebrow, "No? I did that for you."
"I had it handled," he retorted, "They were just where I wanted them."
"Sure, lifting you off the ground was exactly what you wanted."
"It was!"
I rolled my eyes, "What's your name, kid?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I just saved you a beating," I replied, "And I might like to know who I just saved."
The boy hesitated, "Jason. My name's Jason."
"Nice to meet you, Jason, I'm Lucy."
He didn't reply. We stared at each other for a few more minutes. He was obviously nervous, I could see it in his body language. Out of all the kids I had ever met, he did the best job of hiding his emotions. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trained by Batman.
"Are you going to call the cops?" he asked.
I crossed my arms, "Not unless you give me a reason."
"I don't have one."
"Good," I replied, "How about I take you home?"
Jason hesitated, "I live just around the corner."
"Let me walk you."
"No," he quickly said, "I-I'll manage. It's just the next building."
Before I could object, he was sprinting down the alley. He vaulted over the half wall at the end as if it were nothing. In seconds, he was gone.
"Damn," I muttered, "That kid's going to be trouble."
Something told me this wouldn't be the last time I met Jason.
I grabbed my bag and returned to the streets. My chin was bleeding a fair bit, but it wasn't anything a bandaid and some iodine wouldn't heal.
Getting our coffee and returning home took me an hour and a half rather than the normal half an hour. When I returned home, I found Barbara in the same spot. She peered at me over her glasses, "You took awhile."
"Sorry, got distracted," I replied, placing her coffee on the desk.
She lifted an eyebrow, "Does this distraction have anything to do with your chin?"
"Maybe a little," I shrugged, "four thugs were beating a kid up, and I stepped in. No big deal."
Barbara shook her head, "Yep, there's no question."
"What?"
"You were definitely raised by Batman."