Catch Me If I Fall || R.Grayson ||

Break In:

"What good will that do?" Her mother demanded. "You can't expect me to believe that she'll be able to fight off a full grown assailant, Jim, she's barely even seven!"

"Barbara, you're not listening," her father argued softly. "What I mean is that she needs to start learning some sort of self defence sooner or later."

"Why, Jim? This is more than you just being a paranoid father, because you scare at nothing unless it has something to do with your work!"

"I've seen Gotham, Barbara," Jim said. "I—I've seen what hides in its shadows ... I know what kind of people are here. And I'm the one that serves out the justice. I don't expect anything to happen just about yet, but I know something will eventually, and by then I hope both of the children know how to defend themselves."

"What do you have in mind? Abduction?"

"Hopefully that's all,"

"No," Mrs.Gordon said. "No, Jim, this is too much."

"If we put Babs in a martial art, she'll be decent by the time she's old enough to be without supervision! I don't know why you're so against this!"

"I'm against you!" Mrs.Gordon cried. "You and — and your job! I have to live every day just wondering if you're going to make it home that night. Hoping that you weren't shot, or beaten to death by a crook! And now you're telling me that it's not only placing your life in danger, but our children's as well?!" Her voice broke. "No, Jim. No."

Her father murmured something inaudible in response, and after that, neither of them spoke again.

Barbara rolled over under her covers, fingering her ballerina doll's hair as she blinked back tears. She didn't know why her parents argued all the time. Especially over her. She was smart for her age, but she was virtually still a six year old. For all she knew, it was because of her. Every time they argued, her name would come up sooner or later.

The house was quiet after that. Barbara could hear the wind howling against the house as she stared up at the dark ceiling. Rain beat against the window. The furnace died down, leaving her in an empty silence that had her ears ringing.

The shadows around the her room loomed taller. The closet door stood slightly ajar, and a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes locked onto a suspiciously shaped blob tucked nicely inside. Her stomach froze over in fear, and she found she couldn't move. She didn't want to move. What if something was in there? What if it was waiting for her to climb out of bed? 

A loud crash rang through the house, followed closely by the sound of shattering glass. Barbara tensed. Her heart picked up. Her eyes and ears strained to make out anything else in the overbearing darkness.

Shouting from downstairs.

A cry of pain.

Barbara's father shouted something inaudible, and then there was a gunshot. Heavy footfalls came thundering up the stairs, and down the hall towards the bedrooms. Something told her to run. To hide. But she was scared that if she moved, the blob in the closet would move as well.

The footsteps were at James's room. The door was slammed open, and a deep voice called for her mother. It wasn't a voice she recognized.

Her room was next.

Barbara sucked in a sharp breath, and rolled out of bed, landing on the carpet with a soft thump before pulling herself under her bed. The ballerina doll was held close to her chest, pressed firmly over her racing heart.