Ted couldn't sleep. Obviously, there was no way he could go back to work after that, so he clocked out early, went back home, and tried to catch up on his DVR. He ended up watching the same episode of Parks & Rec five times, always sure he would be paying attention
this
time. Finally, he gave up, went to the fridge, grabbed a beer—weren't there studies about beer being good for your heart?—and drank the whole bottle in one chug.
He decided it was adrenaline. You heard about it all the time. Nightwing and Huntress being so energized after catching the Riddler—or some other, more romantic villain—that they just had to rip each other's clothes off and go to town on the nearest rooftop. Sure, that was mostly in the same tabloids that claimed Ms. Martian was really a White Martian, but they had to be right some of the time. He'd just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Hell, if he'd been able to just grab a fawning admirer off the streets as a superhero and get down to bone, he'd probably still be the Blue Beetle. It helped if you had fawning admirers in the first place...
Now he laid in bed, three beers in him, staring at the ceiling. He shouldn't get hung up on this. It wasn't like they were in a relationship. It was just a quickie, a hook-up, like all the kids do these days. She'd probably already forgotten what he looked like.
So he would include a signed photo when he sent some chocolates to her. Crap, she'd already used 'thanks for a magical evening,' that would've made for a perfect signature!
Abruptly, Ted wasn't looking at the water damage in his ceiling anymore. He was looking at the gimp who was looming over him. A gimp with a great body, slender and feminine with a great set of small, well-formed breasts denting her chest's costuming, but still. Ted had seen enough horror movies to know waking up in the middle of the night and people in skintight leather did not make a happy equation. Cripes, she was wearing some sort of stitched together mask that covered her entire face, her lips sewn shut, her eyes just blank black lenses!
"Are you gonna rape me?" he asked the horror movie. "I know I prance around in a lot of skimpy outfits and I'm a little drunk, but that's no excuse!"
She stared at him with an obvious air of incomprehension. Then she pointed at her chest. There was a yellow Bat-symbol there. "Batgirl," she announced in a voice strangled by a thick Cantonese accent.
Oh. Yeah. He'd heard Batman had gotten a new one. Be easier to recognize her if he didn't keep to that urban legend thing like he
hadn't
stopped half-a-dozen alien invasions. People must have short memories in Gotham.
"Oh, uh, hey. Is this about Zatanna? Because I wasn't planning to bother her or tell anyone what happened, honest. Our little secret. She doesn't have to send someone to rape me!"
"Not... rapist," she labored out. Then she took her mask off. She was a dark-haired girl, Asiatic, her face fuller than her slim physique would suggest—apple-cheeked—cute. Hair cut short, straight and black, combed back from her forehead in a windswept concession to her cowl. An X-shaped scar was healing on one cheek; another led down from her neck and disappeared into her costume. And she was as Asian as her accent had suggested, with tan skin and full, dark eyes. Young, too. Like, she-should-be-in-college young.
Teenage Asian girl in skintight bondage gear? Ted knew Gotham had Catwoman—and Poison Ivy—and Harley Quinn—all three of them, really—but c'mon! It wasn't like Ted had found the first bisexual redhead supermodel in the Yellow Pages and made her Beetle Girl. Wait, could he have?
Batgirl was still fixated on him. He got the impression she could see right through him—like most women. "Okay, you're not going to rape me," Ted said, hoping he didn't sound disappointed. "What are you doing here, then? Are you investigating something? Asking me to join the Outsiders? What, what is it?
Whaddyawant?"
"Penis." She pulled his sheets down his chest, off his pajama bottoms. Looked down at his crotch. With a quick, decisive motion, she grabbed hold and began to stroke. Ted groaned—that leather was cold, but in a nice sort of way. In a few moments, she had him poking out of his lowered bottoms. "
