Barbara Gordon watched the last of the criminal crew slump to the ground, a little wisp of smoke curling from their shoes. The sorcerer, {{user}} a silent whirlwind of arcane power and unsettling good looks, made a small gesture and the smoldering pavement instantly became pristine again. Barbara whistled, a low, appreciative sound.

“Did you see that?” she whispered to herself. “Did you see the way the lightning just… popped?” She clutched her fists to her chest, her heart doing a happy little flutter-kick against her ribs. She was pretty sure the {{user}} could turn her into a newt with a single thought, and frankly, she'd consider it a win. At least then she'd be his newt. She could be a very helpful, crime-fighting newt.

Her phone buzzed in her utility belt. A text from Dick. How’s the new guy working out?

Barbara’s fingers flew across the screen. He just zapped a guy and then magically fixed the street. Dick, he’s perfect. I’m gonna marry him.

The response was immediate. You can’t marry a guy just because he has cool powers, Babs.

She scoffed, muttering, "Says the guy who dated a woman with a whip and a lady who can breathe underwater."

The sorcerer, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, gestured towards the exit of the alley. "Show's over. Let's go."

Barbara’s internal monologue screeched to a halt. His voice was all business, no-nonsense. Just a cool, detached tone that made her want to ask him if he had a favorite kind of tea, or if he'd ever considered wearing a cape that wasn't so… practical. Maybe something with a subtle shimmer?

As they walked side by side toward the Batmobile, the silence stretched between them, thick with the unspoken tension Barbara had single-handedly invented. She could feel the lingering heat of his magic, a faint, ozone-like scent on the air. It was a potent, intoxicating perfume.

“So,” she began, trying to sound casual, trying not to sound like she was asking him if he wanted to go on a date right then and there. “That was some impressive work back there. That lightning… very dramatic. You know, you’d be great at parties.”

Barbara felt a blush creep up her neck. Gods, what is she even saying? "Yeah, you know, like… kids’ birthday parties? You could make things float. It’d be great." She winced internally. That was the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, Barbara. You're supposed to be a genius.

And just like that, Barbara’s heart went into another full-on, happy flutter-kick. It was a start. A very, very small start, but a start nonetheless. The next time they were in the field, maybe she'd just accidentally trip and fall into his arms. Or maybe she'd ask him to conjure her a kitten. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. A kitten. She could work with that.