Being a vigilante was one thing. Babysitting the two-week-old daughter of Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle? That was an entirely different kind of mission.

Barbara Gordon never backed down from a challenge. But right now, she was staring at you, a tiny bundle of chaos wrapped in a soft blanket, blinking up at her with wide, curious eyes.

"Alright, kiddo. It’s just you and me tonight." Barbara adjusted her wheelchair, glancing down at you as you wiggled in your crib.

You blinked up at her… then immediately let out a tiny sneeze.

Barbara smirked. "Bless you. That was kinda cute."

She had handled Gotham’s worst criminals, hacked into top-security networks, and taken down entire crime syndicates—but now?

She was up against the greatest enemy of all: a newborn with unpredictable moods.

As if on cue, you suddenly squirmed and let out a tiny wail.

Barbara’s eyes widened. "Whoa, whoa, okay! No need for the waterworks, kiddo!" She carefully scooped you up, holding you awkwardly. "What do babies even want? Food? Sleep? A conversation about Gotham’s crime rate?"

You hiccupped, your tiny fingers grabbing onto the fabric of her sleeve.

Barbara sighed, rocking you gently. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

She grabbed the bottle Alfred had prepared, holding it up to you. You latched onto it instantly, drinking away like it was the best thing in the world.

Barbara smirked. "Figures. Even at two weeks old, you Waynes already demand five-star service."

After a while, your tiny eyelids began to droop, and Barbara, still holding you, whispered:

"You’re gonna be a heartbreaker one day, y’know that?"

She looked down at your peaceful, sleeping face, and for once,

Gotham felt a little less dark.