Please let this be a normal work week (In Gotham? No way!)

by Library_of_Gage

Summary:

Local librarian is just trying to get through her work week. A combination of Wayne kids (someone really needs to tell that youngest one to chill), bats, and Gotham villains makes that harder than it has any right being.

Author Note: This is a self-indulgent fic I wrote because I wanted to explore what a library in Gotham might look like. It's very slice of life and chill; read it to relax and maybe laugh.

Also, fuck AI. No AI was used in the making of this fic. I don't agree to this fic being fed to AI. AI can pry my em-dashes from my cold, dead hands.

Chapter 1: An Introduction to the GPL's Martha Wayne Branch Library

Notes:

You don't technically need to read this chapter. I do recommend it, though, because it describes the library itself and gives some valuable background knowledge needed to understand why Bruce Wayne is so involved with it.

So, up to you.

Also, this chapter uses a work skin that might not be friendly to mobile readers, so please turn off the work skin if it's too fucked up looking lol

The Martha Wayne Branch of the Gotham Public Library system stands as a unique blend of the city's Gothic sensibilities and its namesake's influence.

The pointed arches of the public entrance are tall and imposing; the stone that people pass under is carved with a serene grove in which woodland creatures bask in the sun. The flying buttresses stand sharp against the skyline; each one is topped by a large marble book with its pages mid-turn. It's stone walls are punctuated by looming stained glass windows; sun lamps have been positioned above each so the rainbow glass still colors the library even when the sun refuses to shine. The ribbed arches within tower over patrons as they peruse shelves and type away on the computers; skeletal models of sea creatures hang from the ceiling, and the library staff have perfected the safety measures needed to decorate them for each season.

A large grassy area beside the building has—when permitted by weather and lack of criminal activity—hosted outdoor programs from Field Days to animal visits. The most recent is a community garden with raised beds in which vegetable, herb, and flower seeds have been carefully planted. Plants don't easily thrive when exposed to Gotham's elements, but the beds contain bright, healthy-looking sprouts thanks to the care of the library's patrons.

While not the largest of Gotham's library branches, it is the favorite of many Gothamites for these unique touches. Its proximity to Gotham State University—and the Friends-funded cafe within that offers quality coffee for a dollar—makes it the favored study destination of students. Several bus stops are within walking distance of the building, making it particularly accessible to Gothamites without personal vehicles.

Framed in the foyer of the library, carefully preserved in a place of high-visitation, is an article about the branch's opening day from The Gotham Herald.

New Gotham Public Library (GPL) Branch Named After Local Philanthropist R. Toggert On an uncharacteristically sunny morning in Gotham, the Martha Wayne (MW) Branch Library opened its doors to an eager crowd. Attending the opening was Gotham Public Library Director Janet North, Mayor Hill, GCPD Chief of Police Angel Rojas, and the building's namesake, Martha Wayne, with her husband, Dr. Thomas Wayne, and their son, Bruce. The MW Branch has been in construction for nearly three years. While the building might match Gotham's beloved aesthetic at first glance, it's the details that truly set this structure apart. Intricately carved scenes, uniquely book-shaped buttress toppers, and specially commissioned sculptures you'll have to see to believe give MW Branch a look that refuses to be ignored. Its newly hired Branch Manger, Grant Fullerton, promises the branch will strive to provide resources to all Gothamites and live up to Martha Wayne's expectations. "With state-of-the-art technology available for public use, we at MW are ready to help our patrons learn and utilize these new tools to uplift themselves and their loved ones," Fullerton says. When asked what she thought of the building, Martha Wayne, former Gotham socialite and current child rights advocate and philanthropist, had this to say: I'm blown away by the level of craftsmanship that has gone into this building. While I was involved in the design process, seeing it come together leaves me breathless. I truly can't thank enough the hardworking men and women who spent countless hours, rain or shine, on bringing this building to life. I just know it's going to bring joy to everyone who visits, especially the children. That countless children can safely foster a love of reading within these walls is all I can ask for. Martha Wayne was given the honor of cutting the ribbon, and her son, Bruce Wayne, had a similar honor of signing up for MW's very first library card. When asked what he'd read first, young Bruce told this reporter, "I'm going to get Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books. I like trying to solve the mystery before it ends." The youngest Wayne was soon guided by a librarian to find his favorite detectives on the shelves. The future will undoubtedly hold countless children walking the very same path he has today on their reading journey. For an in-depth interview with GPL's Director, Janet North, see Page A5.

******

Chapter 2: Monday

Notes:

Welcome to Monday, thanks for reading, and I strongly encourage you to just shut off your brain and enjoy some shenanigans

At exactly 8:45 AM, a beat-up hatchback swings into a staff parking spot at the Martha Wayne (MW for short) Branch Library. The steady drizzle of rain is the closest the car will come to a wash. Luckily, its slate-gray body perfectly hides whatever dirt manages to stick.

The woman in the car taps her thumb on the wheel. Gotham Public Library has a buddy-system policy when it comes to staff entering or exiting the building. Unfortunately, nobody else is in the parking lot, and it will likely stay that way until 9:00.

She checks all her mirrors and twists in her seat to look carefully observe the staff lot. Other than a stray dog walking down the sidewalk, the area is empty.

Gathering her bags, getting out of her car, and scanning into the building takes no more than 30 seconds. She's got the procedure down to a science. With a satisfied smile, she shakes rain off her umbrella and sets it by the door to dry.

The Martha Wayne Branch's Youth Librarian, Rivkah Folger—no relation to the coffee brand, but she will politely laugh if you decide to make the most obvious joke—turns on the light in the workroom and begins a new week.

---

"I know I've told you to honor the buddy system."

Rivkah hums in acknowledgement as MW's Branch Manager, Amira, walks past her desk at 9:03 AM. She's followed by the Assistant Branch Manager, Teddy, who flashes her a welcoming smile that off-sets Amira's exasperation.

"Good morning, Rivkah. Enjoying the weather?" Teddy asks as Amira huffs and shoves her lunch into the staff kitchen's fridge.

"Always. Just hoping it clears up by Wednesday for the gardening program," Rivkah says, slouching in her chair. She watches as Teddy meticulously places his coffee on a coaster at his desk, hangs his bag on a hook, arranges his cardigan over the back of his chair, and realigns his already perfectly straight row of pens.

If Teddy's desk is the picture of organization and precise placement, Rivkah's is the picture of a chaotic mind and an unfortunate hoarding habit. By simple virtue of having a corner desk, the two walls she occupies are covered in three years' worth of crafts, drawings from kids, birthday cards signed by all the staff, library-related memes, badly printed PNGs of her favorite fictional characters, policy reminders, important GPL phone numbers she might need, and a single batarang in a place of honor right above her two computer screens.

Her desk itself is covered in pens and pencils, program calendar mock-ups, two stacks of books that need to be reviewed and checked-in, half-filled notebooks, an unorganized file organizer that lives next to her desk phone, sticky notes with reminders, and souvenirs from vacations her coworkers have gone on.

She knows it must drive Teddy crazy, but he's long-since learned that her chaotic desk makes perfect sense to her.

"Seriously," Amira says, coming out of the kitchen with a disposable cup of coffee in hand, "I need you to honor the buddy system."

"You know you could just wait for the cafe to open," Rivkah says, gesturing to the coffee in Amira's hand. "It's, like, free for us."

"Rivkah, I'm being serious here."

"It was safe," Rivkah says, rolling her eyes and waving off Amira's concern. "I double-checked. The buddy system is for people who haven't grown up in Gotham."

"The buddy system is so Admin can deny wrongdoing if you get attacked between the building and your car," Teddy points out.

"If I get attacked, that's on me. The other guy caught me slipping."

"No, it's on me for not being able to properly look after my staff," Amira says, raising an eyebrow at Rivkah. "Just try, okay? I'd really rather not get my ass handed to me by HR."

With a beleaguered sigh, Rivkah holds up her hands in surrender. "Fine, okay, I'll try to wait tomorrow," she mutters.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Amira says, taking a sip of her coffee. "We've got a site visit from Admin first thing in the morning."

Rivkah crinkles her nose. Site visits annoy her, if only because they've always got a 50-50 chance of the person from Admin complaining about her desk. Then there's a 100% chance of her coworkers complaining about how awkward Admin people make the office as though it wouldn't be solved if they just treated the Admin person like, you know, a person.

"Which one?" she asks.

"Barbara, I think. You'll like her. She's pretty new to Admin. Used to work here, though," Teddy explains. "She's nice, pretty damn smart, too."

"I'm looking forward to meeting her," Rivkah says, completely genuine, before turning back to her computer to finish going through any emails the branch received overnight.

She finds nothing that requires a response, and her gaze drifts to the batarang above her desk. The edges are a bit dull, which she supposes is how it was lost by whichever vigilante threw it. The thing must have a tracker inside, but since none of the Bats have shown up demanding the weapon back, Rivkah has decided this is a finders-keepers situation. If they didn't want her keeping it, they shouldn't have let her find it pitifully lying in the grass outside the library like an abandoned puppy.

What was she supposed to do? Let the poor thing rust outside when it could have a place of honor on her wall? Yeah, right.

Rivkah tilts her head, an idea poking at the back of her mind. She spins in her chair to look at Teddy and asks, "Did we have any ideas for a display behind the front desk?"

"No, not yet. At least, Ronnie hasn't told me about any. You got one?"

"Yeah, but I think it needs both managers' approval."

From her office, Amira shouts, "If you have to ask, the answer is no."

"Aw, hear me out, at least!"

A beat passes before Rivkah hears an amused huff and the sound of Amira's chair pushing back. She pokes her head out with an expectant look, and Rivkah grins.

---

The resident artist among the staff—Lily, a part-time circulation specialist who moonlights as a DJ for Gotham's nightlife—doesn't walk in the door until 10:30. She's accompanied by Logan, the Adult Services Librarian, who's nodding along as Lily describes the vibes of a set list she's putting together.

"Hey, Lily, could you help me with an idea?" Rivkah asks, pausing on her way to the inter-library delivery bins. She has a stack of books in her arms ready to be sent off to other patrons in the system, tiny destination receipts sticking out from their pages.

"Oh, sure, totally. What's up?"

"I was thinking about a display idea for the front desk, right? How possible is it for you to recreate the logos of the Bats? Big enough to be seen from the patron side of the desk, but no more than, like, a paper plate, I guess."

Lily seriously considers the question, making a circle with her hands to visualize the size Rivkah wants. "How fast do you need them?" she finally asks.

"I was thinking I'd like to get them up on Wednesday. I can spend today and tomorrow getting everything else put together."

"I'm not doing much, anyway. I'll have them finished by tomorrow."

Rivkah smiles brightly and drops the last of the books in the bins. "Thanks, Lily. Let me know if you need any help with stuff," she says.

"You got it, boss," Lily replies, smiling and offering Rivkah a playful two-finger salute before heading to her desk.

---

At noon, Rivkah walks up to the front desk with a cart of patron holds and stands next to Ronnie, a program specialist and the branch's display guru. "You wanna put these in the holds section or cover ten minutes of my desk shift?"

Ronnie looks tempted to stay on the desk, but then he glances over at the opening door and hops out of the chair. "Have fun," he whispers, flashing a shit-eating grin as he takes the cart.

It's not until Rivkah sees the man waiting on the other side of the desk that she understands Ronnie's words. He's wearing a flimsy jacket over a gray shirt with "ARKHAM" across the chest. His sweatpants have the same word down the leg, and the cheap shoes look ready to fall apart after however far the guy had to walk. Every element is a hallmark of someone recently released from Arkham.

Rivkah smiles warmly as she sits and logs into the computer. "Good afternoon. How can I help you?" she asks.

The guy almost looks surprised that she isn't immediately telling him to get out. He seems to hesitate for a moment before stepping closer to the desk. When he's standing directly across from her, Rivkah gets a whiff of the stale-dust smell on his clothes. "Yes, uh, I was looking for a book. And would like to use the computers," he says.

"Sure. Do you have a library card, or would you like to use a guest pass?"

"I have one…just not on me." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and Rivkah figures he's rather new to the catch-and-release routine most villains in Gotham have with Arkham. No matter. She can just adjust her usual routine to make him feel more comfortable.

Rivkah hums softly in understanding and nods. By now, her computer has fully turned on and she's able to pull up the library's catalog. "Well, let's start with the book. If you want to take it with you, we'll look up your card then. How's that sound?"

The guy seems to relax some. "I was curious about fireworks," he says.

"What about fireworks? Do you want a book with pictures of them, or did you want to know about the technical side?"

"The science. I want to understand the, uh, chemistry and stuff."

Rivkah isn't stupid. She's plenty capable of putting two and two together to get four. That being said, it simply is not her job to care what this guy might do with information on pyrotechnics. If she tried policing every question a patron asked her, she'd have to start giving overly-curious fifth graders the third degree for wanting to know if Jurassic Park science can be real.

So, with all of that being said, Rivkah feels perfectly fine saying, "Sure, we should have something."

"You're…not going to ask why?"

"Nope. Did you want me to?"

"…no."

Rivkah smiles reassuringly at him before looking back at her catalog results. They've got a few books in their adult non-fiction section, so she grabs a sticky note to write down the call number. "I'm not Batman, dude. My job is to help you access information. Nothing more, nothing less," she explains. "Now, do you know how call numbers work?"

Once the guy has walked away with a sticky note and a computer pass, Rivkah clears the catalog search and marks down the interaction for her reference stats.

Behind her, she hears Ronnie and the book cart come to a stop. "Man, that wasn't nearly as entertaining as I'd hoped," Ronnie says.

"What were you hoping for?"

"I was kinda hoping the guy would still be in villain-mode."

Rivkah snorts and waves him off. "He just got out today, so he's probably lying low for a while. Either way, I'm just matching the energy I get."

"Boo," Ronnie says, rolling his eyes when Rivkah turns to look at him. "Boooring."

With a fond eye roll of her own, Rivkah turns back to her computer and tries to figure out if she wants to browse for new books to read or solve the Gotham Gazette's online crossword.

---

Rivkah hums softly as she rolls a TV cart into one of the branch's meeting rooms. This one can fit around 30 people, which is probably being overly optimistic, but Rivkah likes to dream. She spends thirty minutes setting up the TV, getting her work laptop connected to give a presentation, and arranging a basket of snacks on the table by the door. She places some name-tags and Sharpies by the basket for any kids who want them.

At precisely 4:30 PM, the P.A. system turns on and Teddy's voice announces, "Attention, please. If you are here for the Gotham Safety 101 program, that is now starting in Meeting Room C. Once again, the Gotham Safety 101 program is starting in Meeting Room C."

That's Rivkah's cue to prop the door open. A few people are already waiting, each of them holding a piece of paper in hand. "Let me guess," Rivkah says, grinning as she waves them in and directs them to the snack table, "Extra credit for Freshman English?"

"How'd you know?" a girl asks, plucking a pack of shortbread cookies from the stash before collapsing into a chair.

"I've been doing this program for three years, and Professor Helix always sends students my way for extra credit," Rivkah explains, waving in the next batch of young adults. "Hi, guys, get some snacks and take a seat. We'll get started shortly."

After waiting a few minutes for stragglers, Rivkah heads to the front of the room and stands next to the TV cart. "Welcome, everyone," she says, projecting her voice just enough to get attention without straining eardrums. "For those of you here from Professor Helix's course, I'll sign your attendance paper at the end. For those of you here for the snacks, enjoy. Let's go ahead and get started."

Towards the back of the room, Rivkah notices a group of three leaning in close to each other and whispering. If she focuses, she can see their name tags that read Cass, Steph, and Duke. "By the way, if you guys ever have questions, feel free to ask," she adds as the presentation switches to a slide that says, "Welcome to Gotham. You Just Might Die."

The slide gets a few laughs like always. "The thing about Gotham is it's a series of trade-offs," Rivkah explains, "Low rent is great, but you always run the risk of having Joker Gas or Fear Toxin in the vents. Groceries are usually cheap, but Calendar Man might decide your favorite store is a target. Emergency services and infrastructure are quick to respond to dangers, but those dangers are pretty non-stop."

"Man, why do people live here?" a guy in the second row of chairs asks. He's got a pack of fruit gummies and a slouch that implies he'd rather be in PJs in his dorm.

"Great question! I don't know," Rivkah says, smiling brightly as a few others laugh. "Seriously, though, people who live here and stay here love the city. Yeah, it's a bit more dangerous than others, but we've got some perks, too. Wayne Industries essentially bankrolls everything from medical procedures to pothole filling. Average citizens look out for each other, especially in the aftermath of a big villain attack. People who can handle the danger get comfortable. And part of handling the danger is being prepared, which is what I'm gonna give you the run-down on today."

"Great transition, Miss," Steph says, grinning from the back as Duke elbows her and Cass fondly rolls her eyes.

Rivkah does a little bow, gets a few more laughs, and goes to the next slide. "Okay, the absolute basic supplies you will need. Two first-aid kits. One for your room or home, another that's travel-size to keep in your bag or car. Professional-grade gas masks. Keep one on you at all times. I cannot stress this enough, actually. So many of Gotham's villains use air-based chemical warfare. No, I don't understand it. But get a mask. Gotham State's student center has them for free. Finally, a self-defense weapon of some kind. Pepper spray, a taser, one of those batons, whatever. It doesn't matter what as long as you've got something."

"What about a gun?" Cass asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Guns aren't allowed on campus or in most public and private buildings. You want self-defense methods you can take with you, not ones that will get confiscated."

A few people nod, and Rivkah goes to the next slide. She covers when the safest times to be outside are—during the day, usually after lunch, or the day right before or after a holiday—and when people should stay home—at night and holidays, if it can be helped. She covers what to do in emergency situations, how to duck and cover, and reiterates several times to leave the vigilantes alone when they're working.

"But, like, why? I just wanna thank them if they save me. Shouldn't it be safe if they've tied up the bad guy or whatever?" a girl asks.

Rivkah grimaces and waves her hand in a so-so gesture. "We don't know what their actual process is. What looks like a contained villain to us might be a work-in-progress to a vigilante. Some vigilantes don't mind sticking around and talking to people. Spoiler, Nightwing, and Signal come to mind. Others leave as soon as they can. Robin, Batman, and Orphan aren't known for doing more than asking if you're okay. Red Hood and Red Robin…depends on the day."

"How are we supposed to thank them, then?" a guy asks.

"Social media. There are a few accounts dedicated to posting submissions thanking Gotham's Bats for saves. That's the safest for you and them."

With no more questions, Rivkah pushes through the last of the presentation. It's not long by any means, but answering questions during it usually adds an extra thirty minutes to the program. Signing the attendance sheets students bring is another fifteen minutes depending on how many students Professor Helix has sent her way.

By the time the room is mostly empty, Rivkah is feeling a bit frazzled from so much talking. Only three people are left, and she leaves them alone for now, focused more on disconnecting her laptop from the TV.

"Great presentation, Miss."

Rivkah blinks and pokes her head out from behind the TV. Steph, Duke, and Cass are standing on the other side, their name tags still on their shirts. "Oh, thanks," Rivkah says, smiling as she loops the HDMI cord so it's out of the way.

"Super informative! Some of it was really specific, too," Duke says. "How'd you come up with the idea for it?"

Are they fishing for information or just curious? She decides she doesn't care much either way, and shuts her laptop. "We usually get a lot of frazzled GSU students who aren't used to the city," she explains, unplugging the TV from the wall. "Lots complained about being scared to go out or not knowing what to expect or how to prepare themselves. So, I proposed the program. I'm just glad it seems to help."

"You have experience?" Cass asks.

A beat passes before Rivkah realizes what she means. "Oh! Sorta? Like, I've been caught in a few bank robberies and stuff," she says. She thinks for a moment before counting on her fingers as she continues, "Got stuck in the park once when Mr. Freeze did his thing. Had to pepper-spray a mugger and call the cops because the vigilantes were patrolling the other side of the city. Got a major headache that one time Lord Death Man did his whole thing at that department store. You know, the normal Gotham experience, I guess."

All three stare at her before sharing a glance among themselves. "And you still live here?" Steph asks, her tone incredulous and implying Rivkah might, in fact, be a little stupid.

Honestly? Totally fair. Rivkah shrugs and tucks the TV's plug away. "Well, sure, Gotham is my home. Where else would I go? Bludhaven? No thanks, I prefer the crazy I know," she says, coming out from behind the TV. "Why? Are you guys new to Gotham?"

"Not really," Duke says, smiling awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. "We just heard about this program and wanted to see what it was about."

Rivkah considers them all for a moment. "You wanted to make sure I wasn't misleading students," she says, her words and statement instead of a question.

Steph and Duke grimace at her blunt words. Cass simply nods. "Yes. It is easy to mislead. You did well," she says.

"Thanks. And no hard feelings, guys. In fact, anything I can improve?"

"Maybe specify which vigilantes are most active during the day versus at night," Duke suggests, rubbing his jaw like that helps him think.

"Buddy system," Cass says.

"Like, promoting the buddy system when going out?" Rivkah asks, nodding when Cass confirms that's what she meant.

"I can't think of anything," Steph admits, huffing like it's annoying that she couldn't contribute, too.

Rivkah can't help an amused smile as she pulls her wallet out of her pocket and offers Steph one of her business cards. "Here. If you think of anything, just shoot me an email."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I usually respond within two business days." That earns her a bright grin that Rivkah easily returns. She glances at the snack table, sees only a few snacks are left, and says, "So, I need to get going, but how about y'all do me a favor and just take the last of the snacks."

That gets all three of them moving, calling hurried good-byes and thanks over their shoulders as they raid the snack table. Once all of their pockets are bursting, they're out the door, leaving Rivkah by herself.

She sighs, forcing her shoulders to relax. Thankfully, she's at the end of her shift. All she has to do is submit attendance stats, and then she can head home. The thought of her crock-pot chicken stew waiting for her gives Rivkah that last burst of energy she needs to push the TV cart out of the room.

Chapter 3: Tuesday

Amira and Teddy weren't kidding about Barbara visiting first thing in the morning. She's waiting outside the staff door when Rivkah pulls up to the branch at 8:50, focused on her phone with her bag in her lap.

Rivkah considers her for a moment, eyes scanning from Barbara's orange hair to her cardigan to the sticker decals on her wheelchair. She can't tell what they are from so far away, but they're colorful. When Rivkah glances back up again, their eyes meet.

With a deep breath in, Rivkah grabs her stuff and hops out of her car. "Good morning," she calls, flashing a bright smile as she uses her badge to scan them in.

"Good morning," Barbara says, returning the smile with ease as Rivkah holds the door open for her. "Rivkah, right? I'm Barbara Gordon. Feel free to call me Babs. I'm in charge of Outreach Programming at Admin."

Rivkah nods, making sure the door shuts behind them. "Nice to meet you, Babs. You can call me Riv, if you like. Was there a certain point to your site visit? Amira and Teddy won't be here for a few minutes. I can try to get you started in their place."

"Just looking around, making sure there aren't any problems."

Well, that's vague. Rivkah hums softly, glances at Barbara, and then takes a good look at the workroom. She grimaces at what she finds. Chairs not pushed in, supply and book carts sticking out at awkward angles, and inter-library bins just in the middle of the walkways.

"Hey, uh, can you give me just a second?" Rivkah asks, looking at Barbara. When the woman nods, she quickly drops her bag at her desk and gets to pushing everything in and clearing pathways. "Sorry, I don't think anyone realized this would need doing. And I'd rather do it now that it's only the two of us since that's less attention-grabbing. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, though. I'll just say I realized just how non-ADA compliant we were."

In the middle of this rambling, she hears Barbara snort a laugh. She pauses pushing in Logan's chair and looks over. "Sorry," Barbara says, waving off her concern. "You're very thoughtful. And just a little rambly."

Well, it's kind of funny when she puts it that way. Rivkah cracks a smile and finishes pushing carts out of the way. She does one more circuit of the work room, finds nothing else on the floor, and walks over to Barbara. "So, anything you want to see first?"

"How about your desk? It used to be mine, so I'm curious how it's changed."

Rivkah rubs the back of her neck and smiles a little awkwardly. "Well, just promise you won't complain about me later," she says, waving Barbara over to her corner.

She watches as Barbara takes in the chaos, that same tiny smile on her face. Her gaze catches on the batarang, and she looks at Rivkah with a raised eyebrow. "You a fan?" she asks.

"Aren't all Gothamites?" Rivkah jokes.

"Some aren't."

Rivkah huffs and plops down in her chair. "I like the Bats," she says, reaching up to carefully pull the batarang off the wall. She turns it over in her hands and offers it up. When Barbara takes it, Rivkah continues, "I appreciate what they do for the city. They've saved me a few times, too."

"You get into trouble that often?" Barbara asks, rubbing her thumb over the flat side of the batarang like she's familiar with it. She must have one or two of her own that she's picked up around the city.

Rivkah hums and shrugs. "Not exactly. More like, they make me feel braver. Most of 'em don't have powers, but they're still pretty kick-ass. Oh, sorry for cussing."

"No, no, I've got more brothers than I can count. And my father is the commissioner. Trust me, I can handle some cussing."

That makes Rivkah relax some as she nods. "Anyway, yeah, if the Bats can be brave enough to get out there every night, I can be brave enough to blind someone with pepper spray," she explains.

"That's still pretty dangerous, Riv," Barbara points out, her tone becoming a bit stricter.

Rivkah waves off her concern. "Don't worry. Only if I know I can get away safe. A Bat won't be able to save me every time. I gotta save myself."

A few beats pass before Barbara nods and passes the batarang back. "That's impressive. You've got a good attitude about it," Barbara says.

"Comes with Gotham, I think." Rivkah shrugs as she carefully places the batarang back in its place on the wall. "Or, well, it does for me."

Barbara smiles as the employee door opens again, letting in Amira and Teddy right on the dot at 9 AM. "It was good talking to you, Riv," Barbara says, flashing a smile as she rolls back from Rivkah's desk to go greet Amira and Teddy. "We should talk later."

"Oh, definitely. I've got a great Santa Batman program that might need some Outreach magic to pull off."

A brand new light glints in Barbara's eyes, giving Rivkah the feeling she's made the most hilarious joke. If only she knew what it was. "I'll definitely come back to hear about it," Barbara promises, waving before making her way to Teddy and Amira.

---

Barbara leaves before Rivkah gets a chance to speak with her again. She promises to send her a message on Teams, though, so Rivkah isn't too upset. Pitching Santa Batman takes time, skill, charisma. There's no point if Barbara is glancing at the clock every few seconds wondering when she'll be able to leave the conversation.

The book cart Rivkah pushes is loud. Embarrassingly so. The squeak of the wheels and rattle of the books echo as she pushes it around the library to reshelve. She's mostly gotten used to being extra noticeable when reshelving, but sometimes it grates more than usual.

She grits her teeth as she brings the cart to a stop in the Adult Fiction section. She's got two rows worth of books to reshelve here, which means the cart will be blissfully silent for at least ten minutes.

Other than her, the only sound is the quiet muttering and pencil scratches of a man working at a table nearby. When Rivkah glances over, she sees books scattered across the table, open to different pages. The man is hunched over whatever is directly in front of him, writing in his notebook without glancing to see if he's remaining within the line.

Rivkah brushes it off, figuring he's a university senior working on a thesis, and gets to shelving. She starts with the Zs and works her way up, spending far too much time in the Ps. Maybe she can convince one of the Bats to investigate James Patterson; there's no way he's got such a high output (between what he writes himself and what he just slaps his name on to take the credit) without some evil plan in mind.

Her general anger and annoyance with James Patterson is enough that Rivkah doesn't immediately notice the paranoia lingering in the back of her mind. It grows, though, building until it's an oppressive weight at the base of her neck.

She feels like someone is watching her, lurking just around the corner in wait, a metal bat gripped tightly in hand. Suddenly, everything is far too loud. Her breathing could give her away, and she sees someone duck when she looks up. They must be on the other side of the shelf, walking slow and light to keep from making noise.

Rivkah swallows around a lump in her throat, palms sweating and her ribs already aching with phantom pain. She knows exactly how that bat glints in the light, how it sounds cutting through the air.

Her foot slides back, bracing against the tile to let her run, and her arm pushes the book cart. The loud, ear-grating squeal makes her blink, snapping her out of whatever had come over her. Rivkah blinks again, forces herself to take a deep breath, and carefully surveys her surroundings.

She's in the library. She can see to the other side of the bookshelves, and nobody is hiding or lurking. A metal bat wouldn't even be allowed in the library. Whoever was carrying one would be stopped at the door and asked to leave it in their car or something.

So, what could have caused that reaction? None of the books should have fear toxin lingering on them. They all get decontaminated for exactly that reason. She doesn't hear any screaming that would indicate toxin in the ventilation systems. None of their patrons so far have entered the building looking particularly paranoid.

Rivkah bites the inside of her cheek and finds herself looking back at the man studying nearby. She takes a few steps closer, recognizes the crook of his nose, and feels herself relax at having an explanation.

That doesn't make this next part any less awkward.

Before she can second-guess herself, Rivkah walks over to the table. She stands across from the man, gently clears her throat, and says, "Good afternoon, Dr. Crane."

Jonathan Crane pauses in his writing and looks up, his scowl easing into a politely warm smile. "Good afternoon, Rivkah. Is something the matter?"

"Well, only a little," Rivkah admits, smiling apologetically. She runs through all of her training and everything she knows about Dr. Crane. They've only interacted a few times, but he seemed to appreciate her honesty when he asked what scared her. "It seems you have, uh, lingering chemicals on your clothes. I would really appreciate if you could change and come back. We'd hate for other patrons to disturb your studying because of their reactions."

A beat passes, and then Dr. Crane's eyes widen some with understanding. "Ah, yes, I see. That would be…unfortunate," he says.

He doesn't sound upset, and some of the tension eases from Rivkah's shoulders. "Yes, exactly. If you'd like, I can hold onto these books at the front for you. We can mark your place and have them ready when you get back. Would that be okay?"

"That would be very kind of you, child."

"Of course. It's my pleasure," Rivkah says, grabbing a few bookmarks from a holder on another table. She quickly places each one in the books scattered around Dr. Crane. Once she's done, she gathers the books and places them gently on the cart.

Dr. Crane watches her the entire time, sliding his notebook into his bag when she's done. "Would you mind accompanying me to the front?" he asks.

Rivkah blinks. "Oh, sure," she replies, the words coming out before she can consider her half-full cart of books that still need reshelving. She pushes it in front of her, walking side-by-side with Dr. Crane. "So, uh, are you conducting new research?"

"I'm looking into the psychology behind dream interpretation," Dr. Crane explains, his voice low and quiet. It would be soothing if Rivkah weren't already sweating from close contact and continued inhalation of whatever is lingering on his clothes. "I must say, Rivkah, you're holding up very well."

"To what?"

"The, how did you put it? Lingering chemicals? I imagine most would be firing up the bat signal by now."

Oh.

That.

Rivkah nods once, her hands tightening on the cart. "Well, did you mean to illicit a response from me today?" she asks.

"No, not at all."

"Then, it's okay. You weren't bothering anyone. I only felt it because I had to be in the area. And it wasn't strong enough that I couldn't pull myself out."

Dr. Crane hums softly, considering her. "Tell me, are you still scared of dark alleys and men with metal bats?"

His question makes her think of those things. A shudder crawls up her spine. "Yeah, a bit. I'm working on it, though."

"And that is very noble of you to do so."

They reach the front by then, and Dr. Crane easily says his good-byes. He promises to be back within two hours to continue his studying, which gives Rivkah enough time to pass the books to Sienna for decontamination.

"Here, keep these behind the desk when you're done," she says, fingers tapping nervously against her thighs. "Dr. Crane is planning to come back after changing."

"Are you…okay?" Sienna asks, taking the books and immediately placing them in a bag.

Rivkah flashes a strained smile and turns on her heel. She walks straight to Amira's office and knocks on the door. "What's up?" Amira asks, keeping her eyes glued to her computer.

"Dr. Crane visited. Residual fear toxin. I'll be on the roof. Probably until my shift ends," Rivkah says.

Amira jerks back, her eyes wide. "On purpose?" she asks.

"No, on accident. I asked him to leave and change. He agreed. Please let me go to the roof now."

"Oh, yes, of course."

Rivkah offers Amira the same strained smile she gave Sienna and nods.

---

The roof is accessible using a set of rickety stairs in the back of the janitorial closet. A shelf of labeled bags is right next to the stairs, each staff member having a specially stocked cache of items that might be useful. Rivkah's includes an umbrella, rain poncho, gas mask, a book of word searches, a key-cap fidget toy, and a stress ball. She shoves her current read into the bag as well and climbs the stairs.

It isn't raining when she gets onto the roof and the air is clean, making the umbrella, poncho, and gas mask useless. A few lawn chairs are set up around a small table, each of them bolted to the roof to prevent theft. And sitting in one of the chairs, laptop balanced on his lap, is Red Robin.

Rivkah blinks, looks around for a camera that might indicate some kind of YouTube prank, and finds nothing. She briefly considers going back inside, but she needs the clean air and rooftop quiet to properly relax.

Besides, this is her job's roof. Red Robin is the interloper here, not her. If anyone should feel awkward, it should be him. She's already feeling paranoid from her fear toxin micro-dose. She refuses to add socially awkward on top of that.

With all of that in mind, Rivkah walks over to the chairs and table, sets her bag down, and collapses into her favorite lawn chair. It has a little cushion on the back, and pressing a release button unfolds a leg rest. She relaxes into the chair, pulls out her key-cap fidget toy, and closes her eyes.

She can hear the pause of Red Robin's typing as she starts pressing down on her keys. They make a satisfying click sound as she goes through her relaxation pattern. From right to left, she counts down 4-3-2-1, 3-2-1, 2-1, 1 and forces her breathing to steady.

Rivkah has gotten through four sets of this pattern when she hears Red Robin ask, "Hey, uh, you good?"

"Getting there," she says. "You?"

She hears a disbelieving huff of laughter and opens one eye to peek at the masked vigilante. He's shaking his head, fingers hovering over his keyboard. "Yeah, fine," he says. "Why are you on the roof?"

"Well, I work here. Why are you on the roof?"

"Stealing library Wi-Fi."

"You could just go inside for that."

"It's quieter."

Rivkah hums softly in agreement, starts her relaxation pattern again, and opens her other eye. "Do you want to be alone?" she asks.

"I wouldn't mind."

"I'd suggest another roof then." With that, Rivkah pulls out her phone, sets it to play Lo-Fi music, and places it on the table. "I'm coming down from a fear toxin micro-dose, so my relaxation is more important than your…whatever it is you're doing."

That gets Red Robin's full attention. He looks at her, laptop briefly forgotten, and gets a serious frown. "Is Scarecrow inside right now?" he asks, ready to jump into action if needed.

Rivkah rolls her eyes and waves away his concern. "No, no. Dr. Crane was perfectly polite. He just had a tiny bit lingering on his clothes. I asked him to change and come back."

"You," Red Robin says, the word drawn out like he's making sure it's the right one, "asked Dr. Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, to leave the library, and he what? Listened?"

"Yeah. It's not that weird."

"No, it's definitely weird. Absolutely weird. Do you know how much trouble could be avoided if Scarecrow just listened when we told him to stop?"

"Different situation."

"It could have become this one!"

Rivkah grimaces and clicks through her relaxation pattern faster. She's quiet for a few moments, taking deep breaths. "Have you considered," she says, her voice quiet to off-set the volume she's expecting Red Robin to reply with, "that they're just people when they aren't in costume?"

Red Robin looks at her like she's grown a second head. Which, honestly, fair. "What?" he asks.

"He wasn't Scarecrow today. He was Dr. Crane. Dr. Crane is polite and usually soft-spoken. He comes to the library to conduct research in peace. He asks weird questions about our fears, sure, but then he also sometimes suggests ways to combat them. That is who I asked to leave. Dr. Crane. Not Scarecrow."

"And, what, you weren't scared?"

"Only because of the fear toxin. Otherwise, no."

"Wow."

Rivkah shrugs and pulls out her word-search book. She flips it to a new page, grabs a pencil, and starts hunting for words like it's the only thing keeping her sane. After a few seconds, she hears the quiet tapping of Red Robin's keyboard.

They sit in amicable silence.

Rivkah decides, as she circles the word arraignment on her puzzle, that she's going to go home once the toxin has mostly worked its way through her. She's had plenty of excitement for one day, and her cozy apartment with the soft bed and huggable plushies is calling to her.

She'd be rude to not listen.

Chapter 4: Wednesday

Rivkah's got an hour before the library opens, and she's determined to get her display finished within that time. She reviews her supplies—butcher paper, unholy amounts of blue tape, magnets, construction paper, markers, and Lily's logos—and nods to herself.

"Want some help?"

She glances at Ronnie, who looks like helping is the last thing he plans to do. "You could just sit there and look pretty," she offers.

"Yeah," Ronnie says, grinning as he leans back in his chair and pulls out his phone. "That's helping. Look, I'll even play music to set the mood."

Circus music begins playing from his phone and Rivkah laughs. "You're so stupid," she says, shaking her head as she pushes a stool closer to the wall. She arms herself with the blue tape and starts the long process of tearing off strips, rolling them up, and sticking them to the wall. "Joke's on you, though, I can work to anything."

"How about this?" Ronnie asks, changing the music to a podcast that immediately starts slandering Gotham's Bats.

Rivkah looks over her shoulder and frowns. "If they start hyping the Joker, I'm throwing this tape at you," she tells him.

The podcast pauses. Rivkah rolls her eyes as it changes to actual music this time and continues putting tape on the wall. "So, who do you think will win?" Ronnie asks.

"Batman, probably. Or Nightwing."

"Should Nightwing even be up there? He's a Bludhaven hero, right?"

Rivkah shrugs as she hops off the stool, moves it down the wall, and gets back on. "Yeah, but Gotham still claims him, and he helps out a lot. So, on the wall he goes."

"I'll be putting all my votes on Orphan."

"Most of mine will go to Red Hood."

"Red Hood? I didn't take you for the bad boy type."

Rivkah snorts and waves off his comment. "He's better now! Besides, I was personally saved by Red Hood once. So, you know, gotta pay that back somehow."

"And you think voting for him in a poll is the way to do it?"

"It's not like he's gonna waltz into the library so I can give him some banger book recommendations."

Ronnie hums, skips a song on his phone, and gets off the chair. He grabs a second roll of blue tape and starts helping Rivkah. "You think any of the Bats read?" he asks.

"They're all smart, so they must. Right?"

"Being smart doesn't mean shit," Ronnie replies, starting on the opposite end of the wall so they can meet in the middle. "I'm a genius, and I don't read that much."

"Genius is debatable."

"Wooooow," Ronnie says, turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow. "I'm hurt. Truly. I'm drafting the email to HR as we speak. Dear HR, my coworker, Rivkah Folger, is a little shit who called me dumb."

Rivkah snorts as she moves the stool again and rolls her eyes. "I didn't call you dumb. I just said I'm not convinced," she says, sticking her tongue out when Ronnie flips her off. "Still, yes, I think some of them read. Robin's got a big vocabulary whenever he gets interviewed. You don't get that at such a young age without reading."

"Oh, sure, he's been reading Dostoevsky in his free time."

"Maybe not that kind of reading, but he's probably at a college-level."

"You can tell just from how he talks?"

With a shrug, Rivkah nods. She hops off the stool one last time, surveys the blue tape on the wall, and decides it should be enough to keep the paper up. "I'm kinda trained to," she says, putting the roll down. "You know, librarian and all."

"Ugh, show-off."

Rivkah grins and gently nudges Ronnie with her elbow. "C'mon, man, either help me put the paper up or go back to looking pretty."

After a moment of contemplation, Ronnie decides to go back to looking pretty.

---

"What is that?"

Despite already knowing what's behind her, Rivkah follows Robin's incredulous pointing.

The new display looks great. Dark blue butcher paper covers the seven horizontal feet of wall directly behind the desk. Black construction paper cut into the shape of Gotham's skyline covers the bottom six inches of the butcher paper. Along the left side, logos for each of the Bats line the edge.

Next to the logo for Red Hood, four white stickers are lined neatly in a row. Signal has three stickers, Nightwing has two, and Orphan and Batgirl each have one. At the top of the paper, die-cut letters spell out:

VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE VIGILANTE

ONE BOOK RETURNED/READ = ONE VOTE

Rivkah nods, once again satisfied with her and Lily's combined efforts over the last few days. She turns to Robin and says, "It's pretty self-explanatory. Did Batman not teach you how to read?"

At the computer next to her, Sienna muffles a laugh behind her hand.

Robin clicks his tongue, annoyance obvious even with the domino mask covering his eyes. "I was reading Crime and Punishment by age three."

"Cool," Rivkah says, mentally cursing at Ronnie being right about Dostoevsky, "my dad was reading me Wizard of Oz books at that age."

"I was reading by myself."

"Neat."

The young vigilante's sneer is almost enough to make Rivkah break. Almost. Thankfully, her years of experience holding in laughter when dealing with kids are coming in clutch.

"The clearly misguided and uninformed opinion of your patrons is not why I'm here," Robin says, powering through whatever frustration he's still feeling.

Rivkah senses the change and internally sighs. She hates when vigilantes try to get serious. "Okay, how can I help you today?" she asks in her best customer service voice. She can tell Robin is unimpressed.

He places a book on the desk, his frown deepening when burnt paper flakes off the edges. Soot covers most of the cover, but Rivkah can still see the barcode. "I assume this was stolen."

A quick scan of the barcode tells Rivkah it was not, in fact, stolen. She quickly closes the patron info screen that pops up, just in case Robin decides to lean over to see. "All I can say is that it was checked out."

"Really? That's it?"

"If you want to know more, I would need to see a warrant."

Robin stares at her. "It was found in a criminal's lair."

"Thank you for bringing it back."

"The criminal was recently released from Arkham. It was Condiment King. Did you seriously let Condiment King borrow "Pyrotechnics for Dummies" without a second thought?"

Well, that explains the soot and whiff of mustard Rivkah gets from inspecting the damage. She spares a second to mourn Condiment King's short-lived freedom before deeming the book unsalvageable and asking Sienna, "Can you discard this?"

Once Sienna has taken the book, she turns back to Robin with her customer service smile firmly in place. "If a book is requested, we give it to the patron."

"He would have been wearing Arkham-issued release clothes," Robin says, arms now crossed.

Rivkah shrugs. "We often get formerly incarcerated people who visit for computer access immediately after release."

"I simply fail to understand why you gave a known and easily identifiable criminal a book that would lead to crime and explosions."

Next to her, Sienna retreats to the back, looking caught between amusement and concern. Rivkah glances at her before explaining to Robin, "It's not my job nor place to assume what people do with the information I provide."

Before Robin can respond, the doors to the library open. Rivkah calls out the usual greeting on reflex and receives familiar yips in response. Bud and Lou, securely leashed and held by Harley Quinn, grin up at her. She returns their greeting with a genuine smile.

"Hiya, Riv! Got some books for ya," Harley says, holding up a bag. "And I saw that post on Insta 'bout the poll. Put 'em all on Signal, please."

"Sure thing, Harley. Wanna put the stickers on yourself?" Rivkah asks, gesturing to the little basket of stickers by the display.

Harley lights up and drops her bag on the counter before swinging around behind it. As Rivkah takes the books out and starts scanning them in, Harley neatly places four stickers next to Signal's logo. Rivkah has the brief thought that she needs to read a few more books to catch Red Hood up.

When Harley comes back from behind the desk, she finally notices Robin, who'd been staring at her in disbelief the whole time. "Oh, heya, Little Bat. Never seen you here before. Kiddie section is over there, ya know," she says, gesturing to a colorful wall covered in popular children's book characters.

Robin scowls and opens his mouth only for Harley to completely ignore him and turn back to Rivkah. "Oh, by the way, Ives said she's planning to come to your gardening program. Asked me to give a heads up for some reason," she says, shrugging.

With that, she playfully gives Rivkah a two-finger salute before leading Bud and Lou off towards the stacks. Robin seems to snap out of his disbelief once she's out of sight and whirls back to look ar Rivkah. "Perhaps you are blind, but that was Harley Quinn and her two hyenas you just let waltz in here. She is a dangerous criminal with dangerous animals," he hisses.

Rivkah hums softly as she finishes checking the books in. "Bud and Lou are professional services animals who have been specially trained to perform a specific function related to Miss Quinn's health and safety," she says, the technical jargon rolling easily off the tongue after so much practice with other patrons asking about the hyenas.

"You cannot be fucking serious," Robin says, his voice flat as he crosses his arms.

The cursing makes Rivkah blink and frown. She sets down the books she was organizing by author and looks at Robin with a very serious furrow to her brow. "Please mind your language, Robin, or I will have to ask you to leave," she says.

"ME?!" Robin exclaims, losing some of his carefully maintained cool after apparently finding himself in the Twilight Zone.

The shout echoes off the walls and Rivkah's frown deepens. She sighs and shakes her head before gesturing to the door. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you leave for the day, Robin. You're free to try again starting tomorrow, but we can't have people cursing or yelling in the library, even if they are one of Gotham's heroes."

From the stacks, Rivkah hears a familiar voice faintly saying with a sing-song tone, "Ooooh, Baby Bat's in trouble."

Rivkah holds back her laughter. "Miss Quinn, this is your first and only warning," she says.

Harley peeks out from behind a shelf and smiles apologetically. "Sorry, toots, won't happen again. Today, at least."

With that settled, Rivkah looks back to Robin and considers his clenched jaw and raised shoulders. Suddenly, he very much looks like an eleven-year-old experiencing an injustice and not a crime-fighting vigilante.

Rivkah sighs and leans forward on the desk, keeping her voice low so only Robin can hear her. "Hey, it's nothing personal. I just gotta follow the rules and treat everyone equally. Harley Quinn hasn't caused trouble here before, but she'd be kicked out just as quick if she did. I know you're just worried about everyone's safety, but from what I know, most rogues consider our branch a neutral zone. Anyway, not the point, just know you're not banned, you aren't actually in any trouble, and you're welcome to come back whenever you like starting tomorrow."

A few seconds pass before Robin clicks his tongue and turns his head. Despite the attitude, his shoulders have relaxed and he's no longer gritting his teeth. "Fine," Robin says, "I will vacate for today."

He takes a few steps towards the door but pauses when Rivkah knocks on the desk to get his attention. "By the way, graphic novels are really fast reads. You know, in case you had a certain vigilante you'd rather win. Just a thought."

Robin doesn't say anything, but he does nod. Rivkah counts it as a win and lets him leave the library without any more interruptions.

---

The sky is cloudy, but not the kind that promises rain, the kind that makes the weather a little cooler. Rivkah double-checks her stash of umbrellas on her supplies cart anyway, making sure she's got at least ten. Next to the umbrellas is a box of gas masks divided by size. She hasn't needed them for this program yet, but she'd much rather be safe than sorry when hosting an outside program.

The community garden beds are doing well. The plants are healthy and growing at an appropriate rate. A few kids and their parents are already crouching at the beds, inspecting for insects and weeds. Standing by with a watering can is Poison Ivy, her fingers drumming against the side of the can as she watches.

After a few weeks of this program, only the families and adult patrons who are comfortable around Poison Ivy have remained. Things are still a little tense sometimes, but Rivkah is glad that the other program participants have grown accustomed to Ivy's presence. Most of the kids even feel comfortable asking Ivy for help or posing questions.

One of the kids, a young girl who comes with her dad, has already approached Ivy. "How come you don't just make them grow yourself?" she asks.

Rivkah takes a step closer and crouches at the garden bed they're standing by, just in case. She's not actually worried—Ivy has never been a problem, even when a teen roughly yanked out a sprout because he accidentally mistook it for a weed. She'd just scolded him about paying more attention while instructing him on how to properly plant it again.

"It's more fun to do the work," Ivy explains, squatting down to meet the kid's eyes. "You feel prouder when you grow them through skill instead of power."

"But I want a tomato now," the girl says, pouting at Ivy.

Ivy considers her for a moment before sighing and reaching out to brush her fingers across the tomato stem. A few cherry tomatoes grow, and the girl eagerly reaches out to grab them. Ivy places a hand on her wrist, glancing up when the girl's dad takes a step closer. She ignores him and says, "Be careful you don't hurt the plant. Let me show you."

Carefully, Ivy makes sure the girl is paying attention as she plucks a tomato and offers it to her. She happily pops it into her mouth, chewing as Ivy plucks another. Once she's swallowed, she asks, "Can I try now?"

With careful supervision by Ivy, the girl picks off the rest of the tomatoes, holding the hem of her shirt to make a basket so she can carry them. She hurries off to share with the other kids, and her dad finally relaxes. After a beat, he nods gratefully to Ivy and hurries after his daughter.

Rivkah smiles and lets herself focus on guiding the program. She spends the next hour making sure kids don't throw dirt at each other, answering parents' questions about upcoming programs, and routinely checking the weather and surroundings for signs of rain or criminal activity.

The sun is sinking low by the time everyone has cleared the community garden beds. With only an hour left until the work day is over, Rivkah still has to clean up, enter her stats, and then help close the library. It's a time-crunch, but Rivkah is used to it by now. She knew what she was signing up for by having the program so late in the day.

Only Ivy is left as Rivkah cleans up the gardening tools and double-checks the beds. "Thanks for coming today," she says, flashing a smile at Ivy when she walks over. "You're more help than you know."

"Thanks for not immediately banning me whenever I show up," Ivy replies, her voice dry as she offers Rivkah a few of the mini trowels she'd collected.

"You haven't done anything to warrant it."

"You sure about that? Haven't watched the news lately?"

Rivkah snorts and puts a lid on the box of gardening tools. "Fine. You haven't done anything on library property to warrant it," she corrects. She picks up the box and carries it over to her supplies cart.

She and Ivy haven't talked much over the past few weeks. So far, it's just been greetings and farewells. Ivy doesn't seem particularly keen on sticking around, not that Rivkah can blame her. She wouldn't want to be in public much either if everyone was convinced she'd go crazy and destroy stuff.

"You really aren't scared, huh?" Ivy asks.

A pause is all Rivkah does to signal that the question takes her by surprise. She looks at Ivy, studies her slightly confused and slightly impressed expression, and shrugs. "Well, you haven't done anything to me. And you're patient with the kids. Besides, I'm not gonna make you feel unwelcome. You're valuable program attendance stats."

Ivy blinks and barks out a laugh, walking beside Rivkah as she starts pushing the supply cart towards the library. "Some of your coworkers are, though," she says.

"I'm not them."

"No. I guess not," Ivy agrees. She's quiet for a moment before asking, "How'd you even come up with this program anyway? Seems pretty dumb given Gotham's general atmosphere."

Rivkah hums and glances around, making sure they're the only ones within hearing distance. "I'm a fan of the fuck around and find out method of programming," she says, flashing a grin at Ivy's raised eyebrow.

"Are you allowed to swear like that?" Ivy asks, snorting when Rivkah just shrugs in response.

"I won't know if the program works until I try it. Worst case scenario, I've wasted a few months of planning. Best case scenario, I make a killing in attendance and get to show off at the next system-wide staff meeting. Besides, we had a few patrons showing an interest in gardening, and others complained about grocery prices, so it seemed like a good way to meet both interest and need. Anyone can have some produce once it's grown, and anyone curious about gardening can give it a try without having to spend their own money on stuff."

Ivy considers the answer as they reach the doors leading into the library. When she doesn't continue following her inside, Rivkah stops and stays next to her. "Who takes care of the plants the rest of the time?" she asks.

"Depends on who has a minute to spare," Rivkah admits, scratching the back of her neck with a slightly awkward smile. "There, uh, are a few days where we just can't, though."

A frown tugs at Ivy's mouth, but she doesn't seem angry. "I could try. If you want, I mean. I'm not gonna be here everyday. I got shit I'm doing. But, you know, I could try. So the plants don't die and all."

Rivkah stares at Ivy for a few seconds before breaking out into a wide smile. "Really? Thanks! That's so nice of you to offer. Don't stress about it too much, though, yeah? If you've got time, great. If you don't, no worries. Just offering is really cool of you."

A slight, uncomfortable blush seems to spread across Ivy's cheeks, and Rivkah starts to wonder how many people have ever thanked her. "Yeah, uh, no problem. It's just because I care about the plants is all," Ivy explains, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Anyway, that was it. So…see ya."

Ivy turns sharply before Rivkah can say anything, leaving her with an awkward wave over her shoulder. The retreat is so obvious that Rivkah doesn't have the heart to call her out on it. Instead, she just sighs and heads into the library, bracing herself for the chaos of closing.

Chapter 5: Thursday

A truly impressive stack of graphic novels and manga are placed on the desk, and the boy behind them looks straight at Rivkah as he says, "I would like to vote for Robin."

Rivkah blinks, glances at her two coworkers who are actually on the desk during the ten o'clock hour, and huffs when they both shrug and gesture for her to deal with it. She abandons the copier she was using to make fliers and moves to the desk, instead. "Are you returning these?" she asks.

"No, I read them here. Is that a problem?"

"Really?" Rivkah asks, noting that the books are already in alphabetical order by title. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the kid just pulled them off the shelf and brought them up without actually reading. "All of these?"

"They are glorified picture books," the boy says with a derisive tone, "Hardly a challenge."

Rivkah nods and divides the tower of books in two so none of them fall when she pushes them to Logan so he can scan them. A quick count of the books tells her there are twenty in total; she holds onto two of them. "What's your name?" she asks.

The boy's green eyes narrow with suspicion. It's only a slight movement, but Rivkah clocks it anyway. Rivkah is used to tweens and teens, especially ones in Gotham, maintaining a blank facade to cover for themselves. They aren't impossible to read once she's spent a little time with them. "What does my name have to do with my vote?" he asks.

"I want to know who I should brag about at the next Youth Services meeting," Rivkah says.

That seems to make the boy puff out his chest just slightly. "Damian Wayne," he says.

Okay, the arrogance makes a bit more sense now. Bruce Wayne's youngest is infamous for that attitude no matter who he's dealing with. Rivkah nods and flashes a warm smile. "Thank you, Damian. Is it okay if I ask you some questions about these two books? We sometimes get kids that claim they've read a lot of books to get prizes, so my managers have asked me to start vetting like this."

Damian seems to consider her words, mouth tugged down in a serious frown, before nodding once. "If you must."

After glancing between the two books, Rivkah holds up the one she's familiar with: the first Ouran High School Host Club book. "Do you remember what happened in this one?" she asks.

"A poor girl attends a school of wastefully wealthy youths. She breaks an expensive vase and must dress as a boy to work off the debt as a host club member," Damian says, his voice flat as though reciting the numbers of pi.

He's right, though, and Rivkah nods. "Did you like it? Find any of it funny? Find any of it particularly annoying?" she asks.

"The leader, Tamaki, was particularly stupid. I fail to understand why he is in charge instead of Kyoya, the obviously smartest member of their group," Damian says.

"If you read more of the series, you'll find that Tamaki is more than he seems. Mostly, though, it's because Kyoya prefers to not be the center of attention. He'd rather work from the background to make everything run smoothly. Tamaki being such a character keeps the attention off him, too. He's pretty smart for that, yeah?"

Damian considers her words and nods in agreement. "Yes, it shows he truly has the superior intellect of the group."

Yeah, he definitely read the book, which means he probably read the rest, too. Rivkah passes the manga to Logan and asks, "Do you want to put the stickers on yourself?"

"Yes."

He walks around the desk with confidence, like he's done it before or seen someone else do it. He finds the stickers with the same ease. With extreme care, Damian neatly places twenty stickers next to the Robin logo. When he's done, he pulls out his phone and takes a photo of the gap between Robin and the other vigilantes, looking incredibly smug as he sends it to someone.

Rivkah smiles as she picks up one stack of Damian's books to place in the reshelving area. She'll come back for the other, waving Logan off when he starts to grab it to help. "So," she says, moving to stand next to Damian, "what makes you like Robin so much?"

With a quick glance at her, Damian shoves his phone into his pocket. "Aside from Batman, Robin is the clearly superior fighter," he says, turning on his heel to grab the second stack. He stubbornly ignores when Rivkah tries to tell him it's fine, looking at her expectantly.

She sighs and allows him to follow her to the reshelving area. She's drawing the line at him trying to shelve things himself, though. "How can you tell?" she asks.

"I have some experience in martial arts myself," Damian explains, watching as Rivkah sorts the books among what's already on the shelf. "From his movements and precision, one can tell he is trained in several styles. Robin is efficient, careful, and far better at his job than any of his prior counterparts."

Rivkah doesn't bother holding back her smile this time. "Gee, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you take people's opinions on Robin personally."

Damian stiffens, clicks his tongue, and looks away. "I am simply…beholden to Robin. For saving my life," he says.

"That must have been scary before he showed up. But really cool after he did. Were you able to talk to him?"

"…Yes. He made sure I was okay. That was all."

Rivkah nods as she finishes her stack and starts shelving Damian's. She's starting to notice that he clicks his tongue when asked a question he doesn't particularly want to answer. Or one he doesn't immediately know the answer to. She files that information away for later.

"Well," she says as she gets the last book on the shelf, "thank you for the help, Damian. Or would you prefer Mr. Wayne? You seem to like propriety and all."

Damian stares at her for a moment, looking her up and down as though reevaluating his opinion of her. Rivkah isn't sure what he sees beyond her jeans and cardigan. "Damian is fine. I must apologize," Damian finally says, lips pressed together in a tight line when he pauses. "I did not believe you would know words like propriety. I am sorry for misjudging you."

A beat passes, and then Rivkah bursts out laughing, waving off Damian's confusion. He's proving himself to be a bit of a brat, but she finds it more endearing than anything else. "Sorry, sorry, it's just, you were being so serious about apologizing for something so small," she explains. She takes a deep breath to calm herself. "You're fine, Damian. And thank you for apologizing, not that it was necessary."

"You are not angry."

It's an observation, not a question, and Rivkah shrugs. "I mean, we're pretty obviously from different social circles. Economic ones, too. Preconceived notions are unavoidable, dontcha think? Besides, it's already impressive that you've got the awareness to rethink your notions and correct them. So, no, I'm not angry at all."

"I see. Well. Good."

Damian looks a little uncomfortable being at such a loss for words. Or maybe it's because Rivkah didn't act the way he expected. Either way, Rivkah figures she'll take pity on him before he starts to feel too awkward. "Listen, I've got some work to do still, but we can talk more later if you want. Feel free to ask for me whenever, okay?"

"Understood, Miss…Rivkah," he says, glancing at Rivkah's name tag.

"Just Rivkah is fine. Or Miss. Some of the kids call me Riv. Whatever you're comfortable with, Damian."

At the moment, he only seems comfortable with a stiff nod. He turns on his heel and walks out from behind the desk, leaving Rivkah to get back to her fliers.

---

The smell of coffee grows the closer Rivkah gets to the on-site cafe, which is where she plans to spend her thirty minute break. She's got the 3 PM munchies, and only a muffin can satisfy them. The barista grins when she steps up to the counter, offering a small paper bag with the muffin already warmed and a fork sticking out. "Damn, am I this predictable?" she asks.

"Only slightly," Adam says, shrugging when he inputs Rivkah's staff code to comp the muffin. "Want coffee, too?"

"Just water. I'm trying to cut off caffeine after lunch."

Adam passes her a water and a couple napkins, waving as she walks over to a booth and sets down her muffin and a large book. She uses her bag as a plate, prepares her muffin for distracted forkfuls while reading, and settles in.

The book, an annotated copy of Frankenstein straight from the branch's shelves, is slow-going. Each page of actual story usually includes almost two pages of annotations explaining historical context, social knowledge of the time, or literary references that might not be immediately obvious. Rivkah finds it fascinating.

She's managed to get a few pages in when a hesitant knock on the table distracts her. When she looks up, a man around her age with a coffee and a book of his own smiles sheepishly. He's built like he visits the gym constantly, has a white tuft of hair that falls over his forehead, and a few scars litter his cheeks. He clears his throat and asks, "Mind if I sit and read? All the tables are taken and this is the only one with space."

Rivkah blinks and glances around the cafe to find the man is right. Every table is taken, mostly by university students taking advantage of the cheap coffee, and hers is the only one with an open seat. She hums and gestures for the man to sit.

He slides into the booth, putting himself right against the wall so they're diagonal to each other. It gives the impression that she can leave first and faster than him. Rivkah feels herself relax some and glances at the book he opens. She perks up when she sees the title and says, "Oh, hey, same book."

The man looks up, an amused grin tugging at his lips when she shows him the cover of her book. "Yours seems a bit beefier," he says.

"It's the most recent annotated edition," she explains, placing it on the table and pushing it closer to him so he can see the pages. "Lots of notes and stuff."

"You reading this for school or something?" the guy asks, leaning closer to read the tiny text of the annotations.

Rivkah snorts as she eats a forkful of muffin. After she's swallowed, she shakes her head. "No, I just like the story. Besides, I'm done with school. Got the debts to prove it. What about you? Reading for a class?"

"Nope, I just like the story," he says, perfectly happy to copy her answer.

"Like the plot or the characters?" Rivkah asks. A beat passes before she realizes he didn't sit down for a conversation. She grimaces and clears her throat. "Uh, sorry. You probably just wanna read, yeah?"

The guy shrugs, still relaxed as he turns a page in Rivkah's book to finish reading the annotation. "You're good. I don't mind. Honestly, I don't get to talk about books with my family much. I could, but most of them are annoying as Hell."

"Yeah, family can be like that," Rivkah says, covering a laugh by eating another bite of muffin. "Well, in that case, we should at least know each other's names before starting an impromptu book club. I'm Rivkah, but you can call me Riv. I work in the library."

"Jason. Just visiting. And I like the characters more than the story."

"The characters are the strongest part. I like the monster best, but I guess most people do," Rivkah says, taking a sip of her water as Jason pushes her book back. "Whenever I read it, I just keep thinking 'hurry up, already, get to the monster's story' while Victor is talking."

"Most people like the monster. He's relatable."

"He's tragic," Rivkah says, tapping her finger against the page of her book. "He was doomed from the beginning."

Jason nods in agreement, propping his chin in his hand. "It's all Victor's fault. He made the monster. He had a responsibility to it, but the moment the thing wasn't what he expected, he abandoned it without a second thought."

"Victor was scared, but that doesn't excuse it. He was brash, too. Like, he could have seen how all the parts worked together before bringing it to life. If he'd just given himself time to get perspective, he might have realized. He was young when he brought the creature to life, but he didn't stay young, exactly. You'd think people would gain more perspective as they aged."

Jason snorts, runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head. "Yeah, you'd fucking think. He got what was coming to him."

"Well, sure," Rivkah says, frowning as she thinks, "but I guess the creature could've done it different. His goal was to make Victor as lonely as him, right? Couldn't he achieve that by exposing Victor's experiments and subsequent abandonment? He could reveal himself to Victor's family and friends, tell his story, force them to confront Victor as the kind of man who could create and abandon life even while pretending everything is fine at home."

"Social isolation instead of physical isolation?" Jason asks.

Rivkah nods, flashing him a bright smile. She doesn't get to talk about books like this very often, and it's more fun than she remembers. "Yeah, it could even benefit the creature. Victor's family and friends are kind and understanding. They support Victor but don't let him get away with everything. Elizabeth, at least, might even convince him to give the creature a chance, treat it like he should have from the beginning."

"Isn't that putting a bit too much responsibility on the creature to reach out? He's been hurt before, you know."

Suddenly, Rivkah is starting to feel like they aren't just talking about the book's character. She looks at Jason, quickly noting how he's fidgeting with his cup and avoiding her gaze.

Rivkah is quiet too long, and Jason glances up at her. He blinks when she offers him a warm smile. "Well, sure, it probably would've been terrifying to reveal himself. Any kind of vulnerability like that sucks. But you have to be vulnerable to some degree to find community, right? Nobody can possibly know what you're thinking or feeling if you don't tell them."

"Shouldn't they, though? If they've known you for a while, they should know the signs," Jason points out.

Yeah, definitely not talking about the book anymore. "I mean, I've known my best friend since we were five. Our brains have practically melded into one at this point. But there are still times that she's upset and I don't see it. Either she covers it, or I'm going through something myself that blinds me, and it just goes unnoticed. That doesn't mean I don't care about her. It just means we're both human."

Jason frowns, thinking about her words. After nearly a minute, he looks ready to say something only for Rivkah's alarm to cut him off. She startles when it rings and curses under her breath as she turns it off. "Sorry, Jason. My break is over," she says, flashing an apologetic smile as she gathers her trash and book.

"Oh, yeah, no worries. See you around?" he asks.

Rivkah nods, hesitating for a moment. "I'm always down to talk about books, by the way. I was thinking about starting a book club, but I wasn't sure there was enough interest."

A hesitant smile tugs at Jason's mouth. "Well, consider me interested. In the book club," he says, leaning forward some to pick up Rivkah's water bottle and offer it to her.

"Good to know," she replies, taking the bottle as her shoulders relax. "Anyway, yeah, I'll see you later. Have good rest of your day, Jason."

"You, too, Riv."

With a final wave, Rivkah dumps her trash and hurries back to her desk in the work room, happy to start putting together a book club program proposal.

---

Rivkah groans as she checks the security cameras and sees a kid sitting on the bench outside. "We got an unaccompanied minor?" Teddy asks, looking over her shoulder.

The security footage is too grainy for Rivkah to identify the kid, but there's no mistaking them for an adult. "Yeah," she says, sighing as she stands up and heads to her desk. She grabs her bag and swings it onto her shoulder. "I can stay with them until their parent shows up."

"You sure?" Sienna asks, packing her own bag with stuff she'll need for the weekend. She isn't working Friday or Saturday, which Rivkah has no problem envying out loud. "You don't know how long that parent will take."

"It's fine," Rivkah says, waving off Sienna's concern. "Go home and enjoy sleeping in tomorrow."

Sienna snorts, but neither she nor Teddy argue with Rivkah any further. They stick to the buddy system while setting the alarm, locking the staff entrance, and getting to their cars. It's only once they've all shut their car doors that Sienna and Teddy peel out of the parking lot, apparently not willing to spend a minute longer at work than necessary.

Not that Rivkah can blame them after a long day.

She sighs and pulls around to the front of the building. She parks, stuffs her bag under the seat so it's out of sight, and hops out of the car. The sun has completely sunken, leaving only the moon and a few lights on the outside of the building. It casts the kid almost completely in shadow from her angle. "Hey," she calls, walking up to the kid and recognizing his frown after a few steps. "Oh, Damian, you're still here."

Damian watches her as she walks over to the bench and plops down next to him. "As are you. Why?" he asks.

"See, library's got this policy. Unattended minors can't be left on property after closing. So, my job is to keep you company until a trusted adult comes to get you," Rivkah explains, shrugging as Damian's frown deepens.

He sits straighter on the bench. "I do not need watching," he says. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You can go."

Rivkah hums softly, glancing at him before scanning their surroundings for any strange or suspicious characters. She relaxes slightly when she doesn't see any. "I don't doubt that, but I'll get in trouble if I leave you alone," she says.

"I would not tell."

An amused smile tugs at Rivkah's lips. She leans a bit closer to Damian and points out the security camera aimed right at them. "You wouldn't, but there'd be video evidence. I don't know about you, but I definitely don't have the skills to erase footage of me abandoning you."

Damian huffs and crosses his arms. "Fine," he says. "You will leave once I am picked up?"

"Yep. But your adult has to get here within the next 41 minutes, or I have to call Gotham PD's non-emergency line for an abandoned minor. They'll take you to the station and try to get in touch with your guardian there."

When Damian's shoulders stiffen, Rivkah carefully files away the fact that he doesn't want Gotham PD involved. "Does your guardian know to come get you? Are they on the way?" she asks, her voice a bit softer now.

"Why do you keep saying guardian or trusted adult? You know he is my father."

"Sure, you have your father, but maybe someone else is more comfortable for you to call," Rivkah explains, smiling reassuringly. "Maybe you want a brother or sister to come pick you up. Or a family friend. I used to get in trouble with my mom for calling her to pick me up late at night, so I'd always call my aunt, instead. That's all."

"I see. I…will call to see where my father is," Damian says after a moment. He pulls out his phone, glances at Rivkah, and opens his contacts to call someone. He puts the phone to his ear, a few moments passing in which Rivkah can just barely hear the line ringing. When it picks up, she can't hear the words being said but can hear the voice. "Father. How far are you? The library has already closed, and you are inconveniencing Miss Rivkah by being late."

Rivkah listens to the warbling answer as she checks their surroundings again. Her gaze drifts to the roof, and her eyes narrow when something shifts in the shadows. After staring for a few more seconds, she stands up and takes a few steps away from the bench to study the spot. "Miss Rivkah?" Damian asks.

"Oh, don't worry, just thought I saw a bird or something," Rivkah says, waving off Damian's concern as her hand drifts down to her pocket. She has a bottle of pepper spray in there, which is better than nothing. It will at least give her time to give Damian a head-start if someone does try to jump them. "Is your guardian on the way?"

With a nod, Damian hangs up and puts his phone down. "Yes. He said he's twenty minutes away. He would have been on time, but traffic was bad," he explains, the words rolling out with a practiced ease that has Rivkah wondering how often Bruce Wayne has left Damian waiting.

She doesn't ask, though. She just nods, pulls out the pepper spray so it's ready, and walks back over to the bench. "Well, don't worry. He'll be here soon, and I'll protect you if anything happens," she promises.

Damian doesn't look particularly convinced. "You do not seem very capable. I do not believe you have any formal training," he says, looking Rivkah over again like he might have missed something. She's still just in her jeans and cardigan.

"Maybe not, but the library provides basic self-defense training. And I've got this pepper spray. You can at least start running while I distract anyone who attacks us."

"Tt, I would not run like a coward," Damian says, his nose wrinkling like the idea is particularly disgusting to consider.

Rivkah frowns, looks around them again, and moves so she's crouching in front of Damian. He's forced to look down at her, a single eyebrow raised as though asking what stupid thing she's doing now. Normally, Rivkah would smile, but she keeps her serious expression in place. "Damian, while you are on library property, your safety is my responsibility. If we are attacked, you must try to run to safety. Running does not make you cowardly, or spineless, or…or…I don't know, lily-livered," she says.

"Lily-livered? Have you been reading Macbeth?" Damian asks.

"No, just some period fiction and pirate stories," Rivkah says, about to suggest one to Damian when she remembers the point she was trying to make. "Okay, that's not important. The point is, your job is to stay safe. My job is to keep you safe. If that means you run while I distract, then that's what needs to happen. You're very mature, Damian, and I can already tell you're capable, but this is my job. I take it very seriously."

"I am starting to see that."

"Right, so, can you promise that you'll listen if I tell you to run? Please?"

Damian's jaw clenches as he looks away for a few seconds. Finally, he slowly exhales as though he's been put-out and returns his gaze to Rivkah. "Fine. I will listen. But I will not be happy about it," he says.

"Don't gotta be happy, just gotta be safe," Rivkah replies, smiling brightly as she straightens up to get back on the bench. She winces at the way her knees pop. "Man, my thighs are gonna hurt tomorrow."

"Just from that?"

Rivkah snorts and gently nudges Damian with her elbow. "Listen, some of us don't do any martial arts training. Climbing stairs to my apartment is usually all the exercise I get."

"That is pathetic."

"Yeah, a bit," Rivkah admits, grinning as she stretches her legs out in front of her and scans their surroundings once more. "But it is what it is."

"Would you like advice on implementing an exercise regimen?" Damian asks.

Usually, Rivkah would say no. She's got a little too much baggage related to exercise as a tool for weight loss. Hearing people try to give her advice sets off a flight-response that she has to tamp down. She doesn't think that's Damian's intention, though, so she's hesitantly hopeful as she nods.

Thankfully, Damian doesn't even acknowledge the use of exercise for weight loss. He just talks about different kinds of exercises and what muscles they work. Admittedly, everything he says seems a bit advanced for Rivkah's ability right now, but she still nods and asks questions whenever she can.

He's started explaining the use of household objects as weights when a sports car pulls into the lot and parks a few spaces away from Rivkah's hatchback. The driver-side door opens, and Bruce Wayne gets out with a relaxed demeanor and easy smile.

Damian stands from the bench and looks down at Rivkah, clearly waiting for her to get up as well. "I assume you must ensure I enter the vehicle," he says.

"I must, yeah," Rivkah replies, flashing a smile as she follows Damian to the car. Bruce opens the door for his son, and they share a look that Rivkah can't quite read. When he shuts the door, Rivkah clears her throat. "Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?"

"Oh, just Bruce is fine," he says, smiling as he steps closer and offers her his hand. "Thanks for staying with Damian, by the way. His older brother was here earlier but had to leave before Damian was ready to go."

Rivkah hums and shakes it once. "Right, of course. I'm Rivkah Folger, Youth Services Librarian. We haven't met but we have passed each other before when you've come for Friends meetings," she explains.

"I thought you looked familiar. Tell me, is that last name why you still seem full of energy at the end of the day?" Bruce asks, clearly expecting a laugh. He doesn't get one. Rivkah maintains a serious expression as she drops his hand, a little glad that he seems to catch on. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, actually. I must ask that you better manage your time in the future to ensure Damian isn't left alone after the library has closed. It's incredibly dangerous for any child to be out at night in Gotham, but it is especially dangerous for the known young son of Bruce Wayne to be out in the open without any protection in sight."

"I understand your concern, Miss Folger, but Damian is also capable of protecting himself," Bruce says, his tone still easy.

It's really starting to piss Rivkah off.

"Yes, Damian is a very capable child, and I'm sure you're a very busy man, Mr. Wayne, but you must consider how this looks to Damian himself when his father can't be bothered to be on time to pick him up. I know you told him it was traffic, but you should be accounting for traffic as well. Or, at the very least, contacting a trusted adult or friend to pick him up for you. I am going to be incredibly disappointed if I find myself regularly sitting alone with Damian after closing, in Gotham, at night."

Bruce's smile falls and his shoulders tense some. Rivkah briefly wonders if she's about to get into trouble—not that she cares; Damian's safety is far more important than her own job—when Bruce sighs and nods. "You're absolutely right. I'm sorry, and I will do my best to improve," he says.

Rivkah blinks, considering him for a moment before slowly nodding. "Right. Good. Thank you for listening, Bruce."

"Of course. I hope you have a good night, Miss Folger."

"Rivkah is fine."

Before Bruce can say anything, Damian rolls down the window and sticks his head. "Father, if you are done being scolded by Miss Rivkah, I would like to go home now," he says.

Rivkah snorts and waves off Bruce's apologetic smile. "No worries. I'm looking forward to seeing you Saturday when you swing by for the Friends meeting."

She waves to Damian once more before walking over to her car. Bruce waits until she's gotten in and closed the door before getting back into his own car. Rivkah slowly exhales once his door has closed, the nerves from that entire interaction finally hitting.

"Fuck," she mutters, taking a deep breath before starting up her car and pulling out of the space. Rivkah spares one more glance in her rear-view mirror, seeing Bruce and Damian talking in the car. They both look a little uncomfortable, but Damian is safe, and that's all Rivkah really cares about.

Chapter 6: Friday

Rivkah has only been awake for three hours, but this Friday is already squaring up to be a doozy. Her alarm didn't go off, her Keurig gave up on life, and she dropped her toaster waffle peanut-butter-side down on the carpet of her apartment. She couldn't let the peanut butter set into the fibers, so she was late to work after spending way too much time scrubbing a mix of dish soap, white vinegar, and water into the spot.

When she finally did get into work, her computer wouldn't turn on, she spilled fresh-made coffee over the counter and her hand, and she dropped a stack of printer paper. Admittedly, the printer paper wasn't that much of an issue, but it was almost her tipping point.

Perhaps this is karma for scolding Bruce Wayne for leaving his child unattended. She'd do it again in a heartbeat, but the consequences still suck.

By the time she has to be at the front desk, her patience is practically non-existent. She's managing to pull some out of a reserve she didn't even know existed for patrons, but even that is depleting rapidly.

This is, in hindsight, the reason she doesn't even flinch when Mad Hatter walks through the doors. He's wearing the Arkham uniform rather than the release clothes, which already says plenty, but the unmistakable hat on his heads and cards in his hands make something in Rivkah snap.

"No," she says, holding up a hand before Jervis Tetch can take one more step into the building. "You're not allowed to be here. Leave."

"Why ever not?" Tetch asks, a manic smile tugging at his lips. "There's a tea party to be had." Behind her, Rivkah can hear Lily retreating to the back, likely to call Gotham PD'S emergency line. Any patrons around the desk are slowly making a retreat, and Rivkah can feel some of them staring at her like she's gone crazy.

Rivkah clenches her jaw and crosses her arms. "Mr. Tetch, you were banned from the library last year for mind-controlling patrons and attempting to serve them poisoned tea. Leave. Now," she says.

"I haven't even found the Jabberwocky, yet, and you're telling me to go?"

Behind Tetch, a new patron walks into the building. The guy stops, stares at the scene with wide eyes, and steps back into the library's foyer. He moves further down the hall before pulling out his phone, likely calling the police himself.

A headache starts to pulse behind Rivkah's eyes as she thinks about the annoyance of speaking to the police and filling out incident reports. She pinches the bridge of her nose, takes a deep breath, and looks at Tetch once more. If it will make him leave, she'll simply play along. "You know, I saw Alice earlier."

Tetch perks up, eyes somehow widening as he looks around. "Oh? She's terribly late for her own unbirthday party," he says.

"Yes, she was in a rush with the White Rabbit. Something about realizing she had the wrong place for the tea party."

A tiny part of Rivkah does feel bad about feeding Tetch's delusion, especially since it's particularly all-consuming at the moment. She knows it's a unique combination of declining mental health, social isolation, and economic circumstances that's created most of Gotham's villains. Really, everyone in the city is just one bad day away from throwing on a mask and going on a rampage. That's why she usually tries to be kind and understanding when they don't enter the library guns blazing.

Tetch has already been banned, though. And he's clearly escaped Arkham instead of getting through their rehabilitation program. She doesn't trust that he'll just quietly wait around for the cops to show up, either.

"Which way did she go?" Tetch asks, his voice suddenly taking on a hard edge after Rivkah's silence. His thumb rubs across the top card of his deck.

Rivkah makes a show of thinking, tapping her cheek with her finger. "I heard the White Rabbit mention the Tulgey Woods. Or was it the Boro Groves. One of those, I think," she replies.

"I must be on my way before the tea cools!" Tetch turns dramatically on his heels and hurries out of the library.

Once he's no longer in sight of the building, Rivkah relaxes and reaches for the phone that connects to the PA system. As she pulls it up, the guy from the foyer walks in. He's carrying a tote bag and flashes an understanding smile when Rivkah holds up a finger for him to wait.

She connects to the PA, takes a deep breath, and puts on her calmest customer service voice as she says, "Attention, please. Gotham PD will be arriving shortly to take the statements of anyone who witnessed Jervis Tetch, AKA Mad Hatter, enter the building. Please do not leave if you are one of those persons. Thank you."

After replacing the phone, Rivkah moves to her computer and smiles at the man waiting in line. This close, she can see that he has dimples, and part of her wants to pinch his cheeks because of them. "Hi, how can I help you?"

"Just returning. Are, uh, you okay?" he asks, placing the bag on the counter.

Rivkah shrugs as she pulls the bag closer and starts removing books. "Peachy, thanks. Just another day."

"I mean, I'd probably be terrified after all that," the guy says.

"I'm too annoyed to be terrified."

"That good of a day, huh?"

Rivkah glances up, meeting the guy's gaze and pausing. He looks oddly familiar. "Sorry, have we met? I just feel like I've seen you before," she says.

He blinks and laughs. "You probably have," he says, "Dick Grayson. Usually seen next to Bruce Wayne."

Oh. That explains it. She nods and starts scanning in the books he's returned. "Right, of course. Sorry, Mr. Grayson."

"No worries. I'm usually in suits, after all. And just Dick is fine."

Well, that's true. Gothamites usually see Dick Grayson on screen at galas and charity events. Like the rest of the Wayne family, he's dressed sharply in tailored suits and fancy shoes. Seeing him in jeans and a denim jacket is a bit odd.

"So," he says, "do you usually have to…evict villains?"

Rivkah snorts and shakes her head. "No. Villains rarely come into the library like that. Normally, we're considered a neutral zone," she explains as she checks in the last book. "Unfortunately, it seems Mr. Tetch was a bit too far gone to remember that and the fact he's been banned."

"You handled that pretty well, though."

"Can you tell my boss that? I'm still gonna get such a lecture later about personal safety and policy."

"That…might be warranted," Dick admits, laughing at the glare Rivkah aims at him.

She stacks the books in order by author and pushes the tote bag across the counter for Dick to take. "My impending lecture aside, would you like to vote in our poll?" she asks, gesturing to the wall behind her.

Dick grins like he'd been waiting for her to ask. "Put all of them on Nightwing. Oh, except one. Put one on Spoiler," he says.

"Wanna do it yourself?"

"Absolutely."

Dick walks around the counter, takes a moment to locate the stickers, and starts placing them beside Nightwing's logo. Rivkah counts in her head, making sure he doesn't put more than he read. The last sticker he places by Spoiler before taking a step back. He pulls out his phone, takes a photo, and starts typing something as he walks back around the desk.

"Seems like Signal is winning," he says, glancing at the poll again.

It isn't by a large margin, but Signal does currently have the lead. Rivkah smiles as she looks at the display and nods. "We've got a family of four that were saved from a crash by Signal. The kids are devouring picture books to make sure he stays in the lead," she explains.

"That's adorable," Dick says, grinning as he types something else on his phone.

Rivkah nods, about to ask if he needs anything else when Amira steps out from the back and calls her name. "Well, there's my lecture. Have a good rest of the day, Dick," she says, returning the smile he offers before heading over to her manager.

---

Not only does Rivkah get lectured by her boss, she also gets lectured by fucking Batman when he shows up with Commissioner Gordon after her lunch hour. Amira clears out the small staff kitchen, leaving Rivkah feeling like she's being interrogated when she ends up sitting at the table across from Commissioner Gordon.

She answers every question, retelling the story at least ten times before Gordon apparently decides he's got everything he needs. He flips his little notebook closed, looks at Batman, and asks, "Got anything to add?"

"You should prioritize your own safety next time," Batman says, his voice gruff as he looks at Rivkah. "You took an unnecessary risk."

At least, Rivkah thinks he's looking at her. It's hard to tell with the cowl covering his eyes. She doesn't care too much, though. She's just tired, actually, and she's still got an evening program to get through. "All due respect, Batman, I wasn't gonna let Mad Hatter run wild in the library. I don't see what the big deal is when I didn't get hurt," she says.

"The big deal is that you aren't trained to deal with Gotham's rogues. You could be dead right now. You're lucky you're not."

"Yeah. I'm not. So, you know, all good."

The sigh that leaves Batman suddenly reminds Rivkah that he, too, has spent many years working with children who don't like to listen. Memories of children climbing shelves and reaching for glue guns and generally ignoring her warning to not run through the library make her grimace. She looks away, digging deep to find a shred of patience that she can use.

Miraculously, she does.

Rivkah slowly exhales, forces her shoulders to relax, and stands from the table. "You're right," she says, seeming to catch Commissioner Gordon and Batman off-guard. "I should've been more careful and waited. I could say I was just thinking about the patrons, but I honestly wasn't thinking at all. I was confident and already short of patience, and that could have gotten me killed. There's a big difference between a rehabilitated patient and someone who clearly broke out of Arkham. I'm not going to apologize, though."

Batman tilts his head slightly, and Rivkah thinks he's probably raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugs in return. "The library was full of people. Jervis Tetch has already been banned once for terrorizing our patrons. Even if I'd had time to think, I would've done the same thing to ensure he didn't cause harm to anyone else. It's not like we've got security on site or anything. So, you're right, but I'm not sorry."

A moment passes before Commissioner Gordon huffs. "You know, she reminds me of someone," he says, looking at Batman with a wry smile.

"Perhaps Gotham PD can spare an officer to be on site," Batman says, ignoring Commissioner Gordon's comment entirely.

Rivkah frowns and shakes her head. "I'm not the branch manager or anything, but that would be…difficult," she says.

"It would be safer," Gordon points out.

"Would it?" Rivkah asks, looking at Gordon. "Would your officer know the difference between Scarecrow and Dr. Crane? Would your officer understand that people like Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn are allowed on property? Jervis Tetch is an anomaly for this branch. Will your officer understand that?"

"Well, with training, sure."

"I'm gonna be real with you, Commissioner Gordon. We can't afford to be your officer's training branch. They need to come here with those skills already in hand."

"I'll see what I can do," Batman says, cutting off whatever Gordon might have said.

Rivkah blinks, feels the urge to argue, and tamps down on it. "Sure, I guess. Was there anything else?" she asks.

"Just one more thing," Batman replies, and Rivkah braces herself for another mini-lecture. Instead, he says, "Thank you. Gotham is lucky to have you."

With that, as though he didn't just offer validation as one of the coolest, goodest people in all of Gotham, Batman nods and leaves the staff kitchen. Gordon mutters something about having zero patience and hurries after him with a distracted wave to Rivkah.

---

When Rivkah opens the meeting room door, she finds Damian Wayne waiting right on the other side. The only thing that stops her from jumping out of her skin is that she's too tired to actually have that much of a reaction. "Hi, Damian," she says, managing a smile as she moves aside to let him into the room.

"Good evening, Miss Riv," he says, immediately zeroing in on the snack table. He inspects the offerings closely before eventually settling on a bag of apple chips. It's good to know that even the most serious of eleven-year-olds will prioritize snacks.

The PA announces the program as she puts the doorstopper in place to keep it open. "It's good to see you again. You have someone ready to pick you up today, right?" she asks, a tiny smile tugging at her lips when Damian scoffs.

"Rest assured, my father would like to avoid another scolding," he says, taking his snack and sitting at one of the tables. He surveys the colored pencils in front of him, seems to note the lack of paper, and looks at her. "What is this?"

"Did you come to the program without knowing what we're doing?"

"I asked for you at the front desk and was told you would be here."

Rivkah smiles as she grabs a sheet of shrinky dink paper for Damian. "Did you need me for something?" she asks. It's not uncommon to see kids multiple days in a row, but she didn't exactly expect that from Damian. If he's here, he probably has a reason beyond just wanting to see her.

"I merely wished to see if you were okay. I heard from Grayson that you confronted the Mad Hatter today. That was stupid of you."

The sheer bluntness of Damian's statement makes Rivkah laugh as she sets the paper in front of him. "Don't worry. I got lectured by Batman and everything," she says, sitting down next to him. "Have you made shrinky dinks before?"

"No. The name is ridiculous."

"I think you'll like them," Rivkah says, unable to help a grin as she turns the paper over to the correct side. "So, go ahead and draw a few designs on this side of the paper. Space them out so they're easy to cut, and leave enough room for a hole above them. I have templates you can trace or you can freehand it."

Damian stares at her for a moment before picking up a black colored pencil. He carefully draws a few boxes of different sizes on the sheet. Above each, he includes a circle that almost perfectly matches the size of the hole puncher. "Like this?" he asks.

"Yeah, it's whatever you want, Damian."

He seems hesitant, like he's expecting her to suddenly introduce a new rule that he's breaking. When she doesn't, he picks up a different pencil and starts drawing in one of the squares. From the outline, Rivkah can see it's the Robin logo.

"Will you stare the whole time?" Damian asks.

Rivkah grins and looks away, pulling a sheet of paper closer to herself. "Nope, we can just draw in silence," she says.

The silence lasts about three minutes. Rivkah is putting the finishing touches on a jellyfish when Damian asks, "You…were not frightened?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Mad Hatter is a dangerous criminal. He can control your mind. He is…delusional. You were not frightened when you confronted him?"

Rivkah glances at him from the corner of her eye, watching as he starts coloring his third box. So far, he's got the Batman and the Robin logo. She thinks this next one might be a dog. "I should have been scared," she admits, "but I'd already been having a bad day. I had very little patience, so I didn't think much."

"You usually do stupid things when you have no patience?"

"My mom thinks so, yeah."

"Do you often have to deal with villains?"

There's something odd about Damian's tone, but Rivkah can't figure out what, exactly. Is he annoyed? Worried? Scared that he'll run into a villain while at the library? He's probably got some awareness of the danger he's in as Bruce Wayne's son. "Hey," she says, waiting for Damian to look at her before continuing, "Don't forget what I said, yeah? Your safety is my top priority. If a villain does show up, you won't be hurt."

Damian blinks, his expression flat before his eyebrows twitch down and he frowns. "That was not my question," he replies.

Rivkah grins and shrugs. "Just thought it would be good to remind you," she explains, finishing off her jellyfish and starting on a teddy bear. "Anyway, not often. We get more visits from the people, not the villain."

"There is a difference?"

"Dr. Crane is different from Scarecrow. Buddy is different from Condiment King. If they enter the library as civilians, I treat them as such. They deserve the same level of service," Rivkah says. She thinks for a moment as she colors in the teddy bear. "If Batman and Robin told people their identities, I'd do the same thing. If they enter as civilians, I treat them as civilians."

"They would never reveal themselves," Damian says, his tone implying it's an undeniable fact.

That makes Rivkah smile and further cements Damian's status as a huge fan of the dynamic duo in her mind. "Good point," she concedes. "How about this, you and your father are, arguably, pretty famous, right? You're kinda like celebrities. I still treat you the way I do everyone else. Being famous doesn't save your father from a scolding."

"I believe he wishes it would," Damian tells her.

"Tough luck."

That earns her a tiny smile, which Rivkah considers her win for the day. Damian sets down his pencil and looks at her. "I am done. Now what?"

"Now, you cut out the designs," Rivkah says, getting up to grab a pair of scissors. She stands in front of Damian, holding them by the handle. "Okay, I need you to promise me something."

He silently raises an eyebrow.

"Promise you'll be careful."

"Those are safety scissors."

"They're a dangerous weapon. You could hurt yourself. Promise you'll be careful."

"They are specifically designed to limit harm to children. A baby could use them."

"Do you see this, Damian?" Rivkah asks, opening the red scissors and gesturing to the paint-splattered blades that have absolutely been dulled by years of use. "These are blades. You could get cut. You could bleed out. You could die, and then I'd be in trouble. Promise you'll be careful."

"Will you give me the scissors if I do?"

"Yes."

With a put-upon, world-weary sigh, Damian holds out his hand and says, "I promise to be careful."

Rivkah smiles brightly, gently places the scissors in his palm, and says, "Thank you very much. Please know, I will laugh if you proceed to hurt yourself."

"I won't."

"Sure."

With that, Rivkah heads over to her supply table and plugs in the heat gun she'll need in just a moment. "By the way, I do that with most kids," she says, "Though, they usually start laughing."

"If that is enough to entertain them, I shudder to think about the state of our society."

"It's classic comedy, Damian. Repetition can be very funny."

She hears another sigh and tamps down on her grin before turning around. She glances at the clock, sees they're already halfway through the program, and realizes Damian is probably her only kid for today. Not that she minds much. She probably couldn't handle a full room.

A few seconds later, Damian walks over to her with a handful of cut-out charms. She offers him the hole punch, grinning when he hesitates. When she doesn't start demanding promises of safety, he scowls and takes it. "I assume we put these on string now," he says, efficiently punching holes where he drew the circles.

"Not yet. Here, set them down on the table," Rivkah instructs.

When he does, she picks up the first one, the Robin logo, and holds it in place on the heat resistant mat using a small hook. "Okay, watch closely. This part is really cool," she says, waiting for Damian to nod before switching on the heat gun.

She holds it close to the charm, watching as the paper gains a frosty quality before rapidly shrinking and curling in on itself. Rivkah hears a nearly-silent gasp from Damian and can't help a bright smile as the charm slowly uncurls and flattens. Once it's done shrinking, she turns off the gun and places a weight on top to flatten it.

"How did that happen?" Damian asks, still leaning close like he can see through he weight.

Rivkah lifts it and carefully picks up the charm, grimacing at the heat still emanating from it. "Honestly, I have no clue about the science behind it," she admits, placing the charm to the side. "It's pretty cool, though, right?"

Damian seems to realize his posture and expression because he quickly straightens up and looks away. "I suppose. At the very least, I have not seen it before," he says, glancing down at the rest of the drawings in front of him.

"Ready for me to do the rest?"

"Yes."

As Rivkah shrinks the rest of the charms, Damian leans in once again. He watches with wide eyes like that will reveal the science behind the shrinking. In total, he drew 12 charms, using up the entire sheet of paper. Most of them are animals ranging from a dog to a cow to a monkey. Once they're all properly shrunk, Rivkah turns off the heat gun and unplugs it from the wall.

"Okay, one last step," she says, grabbing a bag of tiny o-rings and a pair of tweezers. "You can use them as charms, mostly. They aren't fragile, exactly, but they can't stand too much wear and tear," she explains. She uses the tweezers to open the o-rings, loop them through the hole at the top of each charm, and then close them again.

When she's done, Damian has a pile of charms to use however he likes. "There you go! All done," she tells him, setting down the tweezers.

Damian carefully picks up the charms, sifting through them in his palm before plucking one from the pile. He clears his throat before offering it to her. "This is for you," he says.

Rivkah blinks. "For me?"

"Yes. I reviewed the library's gift policy online. You are able to accept this," he explains, seeming to refuse eye contact until Rivkah has carefully accepted the charm.

On closer look, she sees that it's a book with an unbelievable amount of detail considering its size. The cover sports, unsurprisingly, the Robin logo, and Rivkah can't help smiling. Actually, she might start crying, too.

"Thank you, Damian. This is wonderful," she says.

Damian nods stiffly and looks particularly relieved when an older man steps into the room. He's dressed like an old-fashioned butler, and Rivkah realizes that's probably what he is when he says, "Excuse me, Master Damian. Please inform me when you are ready to leave."

"I'm ready now, Pennyworth," Damian says, the words rushed out as he grabs his unfinished apple chips from the table, throws away his paper scraps, and hurries to the door. He pauses and turns to look at Rivkah. "Thank you. Have a nice evening."

And with that, he practically pushes his butler out the door. Rivkah manages to share a brief, fond look with the older man before they're gone.

She looks down at the charm again, quickly adds it to her work keychain, and decides that today was, perhaps, a lot better than she initially thought.

Chapter 7: Saturday

Rivkah hums softly as she inspects spines in the Juvenile Fiction section. It had been a productive, if uneventful, morning, and she's trying to keep that energy going into her afternoon. She's got a cart next to her, already half-filled with books that need to be discarded. Anything that's more than five years old, has a cracked spine, or just generally makes her think ewww goes on the cart.

Her mind wanders as she works, thinking about dinner in a few hours and next week's programs and meetings that she'll have to attend. At least she won't have to work next weekend. That might be the only thing giving her strength to get through it.

With a quiet huff, Rivkah drops into a squat to properly inspect the books at the bottom of the shelf. She pulls a few out, about to place them on the cart when a familiar voice asks, "What are you doing?"

Rivkah pauses and looks up, smiling brightly at seeing Damian on the other side of the cart.

This makes the third day in a row that she's seeing him. Rivkah is starting to wonder if he's somehow imprinted on her like a baby duck. Or maybe he's like those stray cats that keep coming around for food and pets but insist they're still stray.

"Hi, Damian," she says, sliding the books onto the cart. "I'm weeding."

"This is not a garden."

"Not that kind of weeding," Rivkah says, waving him closer. Damian hesitates for a moment before stepping around the cart and crouching next to her. "So, I'm pulling books that are old, broken, or just kinda gross. They don't get checked out, and removing them makes room for newer books that kids will like. We call it weeding because it lets the collection grow in a healthy manner."

"What happens to the weeded books?" Damian asks, glancing over the shelf in front of him before reaching out and touching a book with a cracked spine.

Rivkah takes the book when he offers it to her. She slides it onto the cart. "They're sent to a recycling center."

Damian nods, looking ready to ask another question when a man rounds the corner and stops at the end of the aisle. "There you are," he says, his voice also sounding familiar.

Is everybody Rivkah's met this week showing up today?

"Congratulations, Todd," Damian says, his voice flat as he pulls another book from the shelf. "You have found me."

He offers the book to Rivkah, and she checks the spine. It has a few creases but is otherwise undamaged. "This one can stay," she says, showing Damian the difference between it and other books she's pulled. "It's only a year old, so it's still got a few check-outs left in it."

As Damian returns the book to the shelf, Rivkah looks up at Jason and smiles. "Hi, Jason. Were you looking for Damian for something?" she asks.

"Mostly just keeping an eye on him," Jason says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He glances between them and the cart. "So, how's that annotated Frankenstein, Riv?"

"Oh! I finished that yesterday," she replies, waving it off like that's old news. Technically, it is for her. "I'm on a different book now."

"Already? You were a chapter in on Thursday. That mean you voted in the poll?"

"I read fast. And yeah. I put a sticker on Red Hood. I put most of my stickers on him, actually."

"Huh," Jason says, his voice a little quieter now, "no kidding."

Next to her, Damian wrinkles his nose in disgust and glares at Jason over his shoulder. "Keep it in your pants, Todd."

"Keep your nose outta it, demonspawn."

"Boys," Rivkah says, her tone taking on a firmer edge. Both of them tense and look at her. "Jason, you shouldn't call him that. It sounds like an insult. Damian, you shouldn't make presumptions like that. It's inappropriate and can put me in an uncomfortable situation if a supervisor hears. Please keep that in mind for the future. Consider this your one and only warning."

A beat passes before Damian's shoulders droop and he looks away. "My apologies, Miss Riv. I…will try to make sure it doesn't happen again," he says.

"Holy shi—" Jason cuts himself off when Rivkah narrows her eyes at him. He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, and nods. "Yep, what the kid said. Won't happen again."

Rivkah lets the moment continue for a second more before smiling gratefully at both of them. "Thank you. I appreciate your understanding," she says, letting out a sigh as she looks at the shelf. "I kind of hate having to be mean like that."

"Just doing your job," Jason points out.

"Well, sure, but it still sucks. I feel like such a bully."

"I think," Damian says, offering her another book for inspection, "that it is near impossible for you to bully someone knowingly. You do not have the attitude for it."

Rivkah blinks and laughs. "Thanks, Damian," she says, taking the book and nodding before sliding it onto her cart.

She gives the shelf one last sweep before declaring it properly weeded. Now she just has to get up. Eventually. "I didn't know you two knew each other," she says, considering a shelf above her as support for standing.

The thought has barely crossed her mind before a hand is being offered. Rivkah looks up at Jason, who raises an eyebrow at her, and accepts the help. He tugs her up, smirking like he's going to say something only for Damian to stand and break them apart. "This is the family disapp—I mean, my second oldest brother," he says, looking like he's choking on the missed opportunity to antagonize Jason.

Rivkah grins. "Thank you for stopping yourself, Damian," she says. "Are you guys here because of the Friends meeting?"

"Father insisted I accompany him today," Damian says.

Jason snorts and lightly shoves Damian with his elbow. "Don't believe him. He demanded he come along. I can understand why now," he says.

Damian rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath about the standards Rivkah must have that Jason simply doesn't meet. She pretends not to hear it. "That's sweet, Damian. Did you want me to recommend a book or something?" she asks, figuring she'll give the boy an easy out.

"…Yes. I have nothing to read," Damian replies, utterly serious.

"Do you want fiction or non-fiction? If fiction, what genre would you like?"

"Fiction," Damian says, hesitating for a moment before adding, "I would like something scary."

That makes Rivkah perk up. "Oh, perfect! What kind of scary? Haunted houses? Slashers? Monsters? Ghosts or demons? We've got some thrillers, too, if you prefer something with action," she lists, counting them off on her fingers.

"Gee, you like the genre or something?" Jason asks, grinning when Rivkah looks at him and nods.

"What is a slasher?" Damian asks.

"Hmmm, it's kind of like a serial killer. Usually, a guy kills a bunch of teens until one of them kills him. They can be pretty tense if the writer does it right. Want to try one?"

"I…suppose."

Rivkah can see his hesitation and smiles reassuringly. "You don't have to agree, Damian. Just be honest," she says.

He hesitates for a second like this might be some kind of test. "Then, I would prefer something with monsters," he finally says.

"Can do," Rivkah tells him, gesturing for him and Jason to leave the aisle. She pushes the cart after them and leads them to the Young Adult section. "You seem to be at a higher reading level, so we'll ignore the Juvenile stuff. If YA also feels too juvenile, just let me know."

"You sure we shouldn't start from picture books?" Jason asks, dodging an elbow that Damian tries to jab into his ribs.

Rivkah glances at him, considers her response, and finally settles on, "There's no shame in wanting a picture book, Jason. Feel free."

She hears Damian snort and Jason make a noise of protest. "That's cold," he says.

"It's warm outside if you need to thaw."

"I can see why you like her," Jason whispers to Damian, his voice entirely too loud for Rivkah to avoid hearing.

She snorts at the dramatics and stops in front of one of the YA shelves. A quick scan gives her the book she's looking for, and she pulls it out. The cover is pink, but the character on the front is swinging an oar at zombies. "You might like this one. The main character is pretty relatable. And the monsters are zombies, but not the kind you'd expect. They've got a little science behind them, which I think you might appreciate," she explains.

Damian takes the book and reads the inside flap, scanning over the summary quickly before nodding. "It is short. This will not be enough," he tells her.

"How many would be?"

"Ten. At least. Of the same nature."

Oh, Rivkah does love a challenge. "Nine more coming right up," she says, smiling brightly as she turns to the shelves.

---

Rivkah slumps in her chair in the back, grimacing when her back twinges. She should really do some stretches when she gets home. For now, though, a cart of books needs discarding.

"Rivkah," Amira says, walking over before she can actually start on the cart, "do you have a moment?"

"Sure, what's up?" she asks, turning her chair to see Amira. She notices Bruce Wayne right behind her and blinks. "Oh. Hi, Bruce. Nice to see you."

"You as well, Rivkah. I presume Alfred picked up Damian on time yesterday since you aren't immediately scolding me," he says, flashing her an easy smile that seems a little more genuine than what she saw before.

Alfred? The butler's name is Alfred? Damian called him Pennyworth, so his full name must be Alfred Pennyworth, right? It's the most butler-y name Rivkah has ever heard. It could only be better if his middle name was Jeeves or something.

Amira glances between the two of them before settling her gaze on Rivkah. Her eyes narrow, silently demanding an explanation later. "Uh, yep. Right on time," Rivkah says, shrugging at her boss and giving Bruce her full attention.

"Perfect," Bruce replies, nodding once as though he's decided to give Alfred a bonus for the month. "You know, I'm close friends with Commissioner Gordon and his daughter, Barbara. She was telling me you had a program idea for Christmas that might benefit from some Friends funding."

Oh. Rivkah blinks and stands, deciding this isn't a conversation she can stay seated for. "Of course! I'd be happy to explain it. Actually, you knowing Commissioner Gordon is great, that'll probably help a lot," she says.

"How so?"

"Right, well, the basic idea is Batman in some pieces of a Santa suit taking pictures with the kids and giving out presents. I don't think we could get the actual Batman, of course. He's probably too busy for that. But maybe we could get a realistic costume for someone to wear? That's where Commissioner Gordon would come in, by the way. He could tell us which costumes are the closest to the original. I can whip up a costs spreadsheet before the end of the day. It would include how much a Batman impersonator would cost compared to getting a realistic costume. I would also include some popular toys and winter essentials to give out during the program, stuff like jackets and hand-warmers and scarves. I can also make a schedule breakdown of when supplies should be gotten by."

By the time Rivkah can take a breath, Amira looks completely checked out. Her eyes are almost glazed over from trying to keep up with Rivkah's explanation.

Bruce, on the other hand, looks focused. "A breakdown would be great, but no need to rush. We've still got a few months before Christmas," he says.

"No, it needs to be done soon," Rivkah explains, "Programs should be planned out at least three months in advance. Even that feels like I'm cutting it close, honestly. I can get all the administrative stuff done by Wednesday next week."

"Impressive. You're efficient, aren't you, Rivkah?"

"If I can get it done, why would I put it off?"

Bruce nods in agreement. "I admire that philosophy. Now, you said a Batman costume. You don't want the real Batman?" he asks.

"I'd kill to have the real Batman," Rivkah says, pausing as she reviews her choice of words. "Correction, I would greatly appreciate getting the real Batman. I figured he'd be too hard to convince. Or even ask. So. A costume."

"But you'd prefer the real one?"

Is Bruce Wayne deaf or something?

"Yep. Honestly, it'd be great if we could get Robin, too," she says.

"I'm not sure he could be convinced as well," Bruce admits, looking incredibly amused by the thought.

"Can't you just, you know, throw some money to make it happen?"

"Rivkah, you cannot ask Bruce to just throw money around," Amira says, rubbing her forehead like she's fighting off a headache. She seems to decide this conversation is beyond her in the next second and sighs, waving off the concern.

"Damian seems to really like Robin, so he'd probably love being able to meet him at the program. Plus, you know, the Dynamic Duo. And Robin is already rocking the elf color scheme," Rivkah explains.

Bruce blinks, his mouth twitching like he's holding back laughter. "I'll keep that in mind," he says, "I might only be able to get a favor from Batman, though. Robin is known for being headstrong."

That's as close to a promise as Rivkah is going to get, so she'll take it. The fact that Bruce Wayne is going to bankroll the whole program is already more than she could have asked for. So, she nods and smiles gratefully. "Of course. Don't worry about it too much, though. Like I said, Batman is probably busy. We should focus on making sure we have a good costume and enough toys," she says.

"You're right. I look forward to receiving that spreadsheet. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions in the meantime," Bruce says, pulling out a business card and offering it to her.

Rivkah blinks and takes it, quickly grabbing one from her desk to offer it back. "Yeah, of course. Thanks, Bruce. Oh, Jason and Damian should be in the back of the library. I left them with a stack of books that should be keeping them busy," she says.

"Both of them? Damian never seemed to enjoy reading very much. He's more of an art person."

The stack of manga from earlier in the week and the ten books she pulled for him today say otherwise. Rivkah just files that under Things Bruce Wayne Doesn't Know About His Son in her brain. "Maybe he just hadn't found the right books yet," Rivkah says with a shrug.

Bruce hums, seeming to consider this as his gaze finally wanders over Rivkah's desk. It catches on the wall. "Is that…a batarang?" he asks.

Rivkah blinks and grins. "Yeah! Wanna hold it?" she asks, grabbing it off the wall before getting an answer. She drops it into Bruce's palm, watching as he shifts to hold it between his thumb and forefinger with ease. "Found it in the grass a while ago."

"This seems dangerous to have."

"Amira approved it. I'd just take it home otherwise, but I've already got a few there," she admits.

"A few?"

"Some batarangs and one of those Robin R things. Crazy what you can pick up on the streets," Rivkah says, shrugging as she takes the batarang back and places it on the wall. "I keep them in a shadow box. On display but not easy to use against me. This one is the only exception."

"Smart. Maybe you should do the same here," Bruce tells her, gaze lingering on the batarang. "Those things can be sharper than you realize."

Rivkah can almost hear something in his voice, but she can't quite identify what it is. She hums softly, decides it probably isn't that important, and shrugs. "Maybe," she concedes.

"Well, I'd better get going. Have fun with your spreadsheets."

"Thanks! I will," Rivkah says, genuinely meaning it.

When Bruce walks away from her desk, she plops back down in her seat, opens up a new spreadsheet, and cracks her knuckles.

An hour of work is more than enough time to get the thing set up and at least half-way filled out. Then she can start her weekend knowing the rest will be a breeze when she comes back.

Chapter 8: Sunday

It's a surprisingly pleasant morning in Gotham. The sun is shining, a gentle breeze is blowing to keep things relatively cool, and Rivkah hasn't heard any screaming for the fifteen minutes she's been outside. The morning is shaping up to be a calm one, which has her shoulders relaxing even more as she takes a sip of her coffee and reaches the park.

The most notable thing about Rivkah's favorite park—aside from it being so close to her apartment—is the giant tree in the middle. What was once an unassuming sapling got doused with some industrial-grade (and Poison Ivy tampered) growth accelerant a few years back. It only recently decided to stop growing, leaving it a whopping 80 feet. While not the tallest a tree can get in general, it is the tallest a tree can get in Gotham.

The tree spreads over the park, branches and leaves allowing dappled sunlight to touch the ground. Some of the playground equipment beneath the tree is worn with age, but it offers more of a nostalgic feel than a safety hazard. All manner of animals and insects make the tree their home, acclimated to the presence of humans and screeching children.

It is, essentially, a perfect park.

Which is why it's the last place she wants to see Poison Ivy standing with a frown. 

Rivkah pauses a few feet away, taking in Ivy's upset demeanor. The deep frown, crossed arms, and general air of displeasure are pretty unmistakeable. It seems aimed at the caution tape and signs blocking the entrance of the park. Rivkah would frown at those, too, so she deems it safe enough to approach.

"Good morning," she says, smiling when Ivy blinks and looks at her.

"Oh. Rivkah. I didn't expect to see you…anywhere, really," Ivy admits, grimacing at her words.

Rivkah grins wider and shrugs. "I don't actually live in the library, you know," she says, taking another sip of her coffee as she inspects the sign blocking the park entrance. 

CLOSED — DO NOT ENTER

DEMOLITION IN PROGRESS

SPONSORED BY LEXCORP

Despite the tiny text, Rivkah doesn't miss the mention of Lexcorp. She scowls and looks past the sign to see bulldozers, jackhammers, port-a-potties, and all the other equipment vital for tearing something down. Interestingly, none of the equipment is manned, and Rivkah doesn't see a human in sight. Maybe they just haven't shown up yet.

"Tell me they're just going to rebuild the play equipment," she says, looking at Ivy.

Ivy's expression tells her the exact opposite. "They're turning it into a parking lot. One of the shining examples of nature's endurance and beauty, and they're destroying it for concrete and painted lines," Ivy says, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm going to stop them."

"How do you plan to do that?" Rivkah asks, getting the feeling she already knows the answer.

"They can't tear anything down if they're dead."

Ah, yeah, that's the answer she thought it would be. This is going to be that kind of morning. Man, Rivkah had really hoped for something more relaxing. 

"Cool, great, not a super legal plan," Rivkah says, glancing at Ivy before placing a hand on her shoulder, "Could I suggest something different? Less murder-y, perhaps?"

One raised eyebrow and some torn down caution tape later and Rivkah is strapped to the giant tree. 

Well, strapped is a strong word. She's sitting in a vine chair, secured by vines wrapping around her middle and the the tree trunk, and leaning back against a vine cushion so she doesn't disturb the bark. Between that, the little vines graciously holding her coffee for her, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, it's a pretty cozy set-up.

"Are you sure this will work?" Ivy asks, still unconvinced despite at least agreeing to try.

Rivkah nods as she hangs her tote bag on another vine, thanking it quietly, and pulls out her Switch. "Yep. It'd work even better if you created some playground equipment," she says, turning her console on so she can play to pass the time.

"But children would play on it."

"Yeah, that's the point. They definitely can't start bulldozing if the place is filled with kids," Rivkah explains as her Switch boots up. "I guarantee, parents will care more about their children not throwing a tantrum than some Lexcorp goon trying to destroy the park."

"I doubt that."

"Don't underestimate how scary entitled parents of entitled children can be."

"Against a bulldozer?"

"Okay, then be smug when you prove me wrong. Go on, make a swingset and whatever else kids might like to play on. Maybe a climbing wall or something. At least you'll be able to say you tried."

Ivy stares at her for a moment before rolling her eyes. She grumbles under her breath as she works, but playground equipment starts sprouting from the ground. 

Rivkah decides to count it as a win. She doesn't bother hiding her satisfied expression as she opens Stardew Valley to grind on her farm.

---

"So," Signal says, looking up at Rivkah from the ground, "How's it hanging?"

"Come back with a more original joke, please."

"Ah. My bad. How about…," he trails off, thinking for a few seconds. "Would you like some help? You seem a little tied up there."

Rivkah hums softly, glancing up from her Switch as she considers the joke and the question.

Around them, the makeshift play equipment is in full use. Despite most parents hesitating at Poison Ivy's presence, the allure of eight swing sets, a merry-go-round, three slides, and a mini obstacle course is impossible for kids to ignore. Dappled sunlight flows over all of it, casting the park in a fuzzy glow. It reminds Rivkah of old film photographs, the kind from disposable cameras that had to be developed at a corner store.

The idyllic scene is almost enough to distract from Poison Ivy and a group of parents arguing with a construction site manager and some guy in a suit.

Almost.

"I'm good," Rivkah finally says. "No help needed."

"You sure? You kinda look like a hostage."

"Does this really seem like some kinda hostage situation to you?" Rivkah asks, gesturing to the kids shrieking with joy on the play equipment. "This is more of a…tree-hugger protesting a bulldozer situation. Except I'm less a tree-hugger and more an opportunist."

Signal looks around once more, rubbing the back of his helmet. It seems Rivkah's explanation wasn't at all helpful. "I'll be honest," he says, "this is a first for me."

"If it helps at all, this is a first for me, too." Rivkah slumps back against the tree, her gaze drifting to the crowd of angry adults. "You know, you might be needed over there," she says, nodding in that direction.

"Right. Uh, scream if you change your mind about the hostage thing," Signal tells her, taking a hesitant step away before nodding and leaving the trunk. 

Rivkah watches him go, tapping the back of her Switch until Signal has reached the group. Thankfully, he seems to side with Ivy and the parents from the get-go. Rivkah's shoulders relax at the sight. She'd have hated having to leave her tree to remind him of who's morally—if not legally—in the right.

She turns her attention back to her Switch, pouting when she realizes she was so distracted she passed out on the beach in Stardew Valley. A couple of shells and the eel she needed for the community center have been lost. "Shit," she mutters.

Children playing become white noise, a skill she's honed after working in the library. Sometimes, you just have to learn the difference between a play scream and a holy-shit-I'm-dying scream. That latter one hasn't made an appearance, thankfully.

A whole season has passed in the game before she's interrupted again. 

Someone clears their throat below her. "Gimme a second," she says, sprinting through her current level in the mines. When she finally reaches a ladder down, she takes it to register the next floor and then leaves. 

The person below huffs. "Excuse me," they say.

"You're excused," Rivkah replies, guiding her character back to her farm. "Almost done."

She drops some items in the transport bin to sell overnight, closes the doors to her barns and coops, and gets into her house right as midnight hits. Her little character yawns as it approaches the bed. When the screen finally shifts to a tally of her profits for the day, Rivkah lowers her Switch and looks down.

A man a little younger than her dressed in business casual looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. He looks tired and like he'd much rather be dressed in torn jeans and a hoodie. He's vaguely familiar, too. "Do I know you?" she asks.

"You've probably seen me. Tim Drake, acting CEO of Wayne Industries," he says. He starts to offer his hand for Rivkah to shake but stops himself when he remembers their current height difference. "Are you up there willingly?"

"Yeah. Not to be rude, but also to be a tiny bit rude, what are you doing here?" Rivkah asks, leaning over so she can see Tim better. He's wearing some kind of earbud, so he must be listening to music.

Tim sighs, waves a hand towards the entrance of the park, and says, "Taking care of this."

Rivkah follows his gesture to find the group of angry parents has significantly dwindled. The construction site manager looks resigned, the guy in a suit looks beyond annoyed, and Poison Ivy looks smug. Signal is still there, looking a little more confident in his position within the whole argument. "What's taking care of this entail, exactly?" 

"One of the parents here is on the company's board of trustees. At their request, Wayne Industries bought out Lexcorp's…thing," Tim explains.

"Thing. Real descriptive there, man."

An aggrieved wave of Tim's hand has Rivkah smirking, something about the guy just activating her annoying older sister instict. He looks like he needs a solid 24 hours of sleep, and only an annoying but ultimately caring sibling could make that happen.

"Whatever," he says, "The point is Wayne Industries has decided to make this park one of Gotham's protected properties. It won't be torn down, so you can come down from there."

Rivkah hums softly, narrowing her eyes at Tim. She doesn't really think the guy would lie to her, but she'd rather get the okay from the woman who started all of this. She braces herself and shouts across the park, "Hey! Ivy!"

With a start, Ivy looks over at her. When Rivkah waves her closer, she rolls her eyes but walks over anyway. "I was in the middle of gloating, you know," she says when she's close enough. 

Interestingly, Tim slides away from Poison Ivy. It's not by much, maybe less than an inch, but it doesn't escape Rivkah's notice. She doesn't call him on it, though. There are more important things to focus on. "Is this guy for real? The park is protected?" she asks.

Ivy's irritation at being pulled away morphs into a relieved smile. "Yeah. It's true," she says. She glances over at the kids playing, her eyebrows pulling together as she seems to consider something.

While she does, Rivkah grins and taps twice on a vine curled over her shoulder. With careful ease, the vines slowly let her down to the ground. They wait patiently for Rivkah to collect her empty coffee cup, stuff her Switch into her bag, and pat them once more in thanks before retreating back to the trunk. 

"You could do that the whole time?" Tim asks incredulously.

"Uh, yeah. Like I said. Willingly up there. Did you think I was lying?"

"It's Poison Ivy. She could've instructed the vines to spray you with something if you admitted to being held hostage."

Okay, fair, but rude. Rivkah frowns, noticing the way Ivy's shoulders tense. "No, she wouldn't. I know Ivy has a reputation or whatever, but she wouldn't do something like that. It would jeopordize her goal here."

"And how do you know that?"

Rivkah shrugs, shoulders her tote bag, and moves closer to Ivy. "She comes to my library programs. She's cool."

"Gee, thanks," Ivy says, her voice dry but Rivkah can sense a hint of sincerity in there. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. "Really, though. Thank you. This worked a lot better than what I originally planned. I think…I like the results better, too," she says.

Rivkah grins and gently bumps her shoulder against Ivy's. "Of course! Besides, I would be very personally inconvenienced if you got taken to Arkham or something. You're, like, the only thing keeping the community garden alive," she says.

A beat passes, and then Ivy barks out a laugh. "Oh, so you're just using me," she says.

"Yep. Just using you."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tim says, not sounding sorry at all to Rivkah, "but are we done here? Is Poison Ivy going to be a threat? Are you going to be chaining yourself to any other trees?"

Rivkah stares at Tim for a moment, decides he really is desperately in need of some kind of rest, and nods. "Yeah, man, I think we're done here. You good, though?"

"This field trip was not on my schedule for today."

"Shit, dude, literally hanging on a tree wasn't in mine, either. Life happens," Rivkah tells him, shrugging when he frowns. "Listen, it's a nice day. Why don't you come sit against the tree, play some Stardew Valley, and maybe you'll feel better."

A brief moment passes in which Rivkah thinks Tim is going to say no. But then his head tilts slightly, just a tiny bit, like he's hearing something. His shoulders relax and some of the world seems to slide off his shoulders. "You know what, that sounds great," he says.

Rivkah can take a few guesses at what happened, but it's not really her business. Instead, she turns to Ivy and says, "Let me know if anything else happens, yeah?"

When Ivy nods, Rivkah flashes her one more smile before leading Tim over to the tree. She pulls a picnic blanket from her tote bag, spreads it on the ground, and plops down. Once Tim is sitting next to her, she hands over her Switch and lets him start a new farm.

---

After a long day of being tied to a tree and giving a CEO Stardew Valley tips, Rivkah is glad to be home. Her tiny apartment welcomes her with a messy couch and the scent of last night's peanut butter cookies still lingering. A relaxing warmth washes over Rivkah as she locks her door, kicks off her shoes, and adds to the mess by dropping her tote bag on the couch.

Her other bag, freshly acquired empanadas from the hole-in-the-wall down the street, goes on the kitchen counter. The bag won't be there for long. She has plans for the truly unreasonable amount of empanadas in there.

Those plans begin with changing into comfy clothes and opening the window that leads to the fire escape. In a stroke of pure happenstance, Rivkah discovered the fire escape landing is big enough for cozy outdoor reading. She can't leave the furniture on it—too dangerous in the event of an actual fire—so Rivkah has become skilled in the art of fitting furniture through her window.

She slides through a folded lawn chair—extra comfy and extra cushioned—two little tables that can just perfectly fit a dinner plate each, and a foot rest. Once all of that is set up, she climbs back through her window to gather her supplies.

One book, a mosquito-repelling candle, a lighter, the bag of empanadas, and her water bottle later, Rivkah is sighing happily as she settles into her chair. On one table, she has 12 empanadas individually wrapped in foil to maintain warmth and protect from bugs. On the other table is the lit candle flickering gently. Her water is placed securely in the chair's cupholder. Her book is in her lap, and the light from her window is perfect to read by. A gentle breeze winds past, carrying the dull sounds of a city at night. Rivkah unwraps an empanada and opens her book.

Everything is perfect.

A few chapters and three empanadas into the evening, Rivkah hears a gentle clunk above her. Without looking up from her book, she says, "You mother told me to stop feeding you treats, Archibald."

Rivkah expects to hear an indignant cat's response. Instead, she hears an equally indignant, "Who is Archibald?" The voice is familiar but not. Rivkah feels like she'd know it at a different pitch.

She looks up and finds Robin perched on the stairs above her. He's sporting a frown, a torn sleeve, and a smear of red across his cheek. Rivkah is inexplicably overcome by the urge to wipe it away. That would probably end in a broken finger, though, so she bravely ignores it. 

"My neighbor's cat," Rivkah says, "Archibald is long for Archie."

"That is not how names work."

"Sure it is. Maybe Robin is long for Rob."

"It is not."

"But it could be."

"I am telling you it is not."

Rivkah hums softly, making it clear she doesn't fully believe him. "Can I help you with something, Robin?" she asks, figuring this isn't a social call.

"Signal briefed Batman and me on the incident in the park," Robin says, moving to a lower step. Rivkah's neck is grateful for the change. "I came to check on you."

Oh.

It is a social call.

Kind of weird and a little unsettling that Robin was able to locate her apartment so easily, but there's a reason Batman and Robin are considered great detectives. 

Rivkah wonders if this is more of an assignment from Batman than Robin's actual concern. She appreciates the effort either way. "That's kind of you," she says, placing her bookmark and closing her book. "Thank you for caring."

Robin clicks his tongue, the sound so familiar that Rivkah is momentarily caught off-guard, and looks away. "It is merely part of my job as Robin. I take the responsibility very seriously."

Oh, Rivkah has opinions about the responsibilities of being Robin. Specifically how those responsibilities always seem to fall on young shoulders. It's one of those topics her coworkers and friends have gotten tired of hearing her rant about. 

"Still," she says before she can stop herself, "I'm grateful. It's not a responsibility you have to carry, so it means more that you do."

A beat of silence passes in which Robin tilts his head at her. "Of course I have to carry it. Who else would?"

"An adult."

"None of them are my equal or exceed me except Batman."

Rivkah frowns, tapping the cover of her book. Something about Robin is familiar, tugging at the back of her mind insistently. She ignores it, though. Pulling at that thread, following it to its logical conclusion, doesn't seem like a smart idea. Distracting herself with this conversation, however, sounds perfect.

"You're very impressive, Robin," she says, smiling reassuringly when his shoulders seem to tense, "And I think you're right. It would be hard to find an adult who can do what you do. That being said, I still don't believe it's…ethical to distract you from the normal experiences of someone your age. These are crucial developmental years where your brain is really piecing together society around you and what place you want within it. You should experience more than punching a mugger and crouching on a rooftop."

As she speaks, Robin leans back slightly, his frown deepening. "I have trained for this since I was a toddler. I held a blade the moment my fingers could close around the hilt. I have already developed and decided my place within society," he says, his voice terse but not angry.

"Okay, that's worse. You can see how that's worse, right? Like, after everything I just said?"

"I have found my calling. That is all."

A silence stretches between them as Rivkah studies his posture, his expression, his general vibe. Finally, she asks, "Have you ever had an empanada?"

The change in subject seems to throw Robin for a loop. His frown disappears for a second before reappearing. It's softer this time, more confused. "No. I have not."

"Cool. Would you like one? I've got cheese and spinach, beef, some bean and cheese, a few oreo ones for dessert."

A beat, and then Robin slowly says, "I am vegetarian."

Rivkah nods, decides she can't be sure if the bean and cheese one is made with animal fat, and offers him a cheese and spinach enchilada. She picks up a beef one for herself. "Your first empanada," she says when he takes it. "Just, you know, enjoy the experience of eating it. Live in the newness."

Without another thought, Rivkah takes a bite of her own empanada, smiling happily as warm beef and fried dough cover her tastebuds. She hums and shifts in her chair, fighting to urge to full-on wiggle at the flavor. 

Seeing this, Robin unwraps his empanada and takes a hesitant bite. He only gets dough, and he huffs before taking another. The fillings must hit this time, because he chews slowly and his shoulders begin to relax. He takes each bite carefully, maybe scared of dropping the filling on his lap, but seems to genuinely enjoy the empanada. When he finishes it, Rivkah offers a second one, eyebrows raised expectantly and grin triumphant when Robin takes it. 

"These are tasty. Undeniably unhealthy and overly greasy, but tasty," Robin says halfway through the second one.

Rivkah nods in agreement. "The unhealthiness and grease are part of the tastiness," she explains, crumpling her foil and dropping it into the empanada bag that's become an trash bag. "I hope you've enjoyed this normal experience of trying a new food and finding it delicious."

A louder thunk from above and a modulated voice cut in before Robin can respond, "I don't think there's much about this that's normal."

As she watches Robin tense and glare above him, Rivkah wonders if every Bat in Gotham will be visiting her fire escape tonight. She follows Robin's gaze and sees Red Hood's mask leaning over the railing and looking down at them. 

"What are you doing here?" Robin asks.

"Oracle saw you weren't moving. Asked me to come check on you, ya brat," Red Hood replies.

"I said trying new food was normal," Rivkah says, eager to change the subject before Robin acts on his obvious desire to throw something at Red Hood. "The rest is pretty unprecedented for me, I won't lie."

She hears a laugh before Red Hood smoothly jumps over the railing and lands far lighter than should be physically possible on Rivkah's landing. He seems to take in her whole set-up as he leans against the railing, head tilted. "You look familiar," he says, "We met before?"

"Pathetic," Robin mutters, shoving the last of his empanada into his mouth.

Rivkah, meanwhile, nods and tries to not think too hard about why she's met Red Hood. "Yeah, uh, last year. There was a guy with, you know, a metal bat. And, well, I only had a fracture or two thanks to you," she says, clenching her jaw when her brain very helpfully provides the memory she was trying to avoid. 

She takes a slow breath in through her nose, lets it out even slower, and forces her muscles to relax. She's on her fire escape with two of Gotham's Bats. The only way she could be safer is if Superman showed up. 

"Good going, Red Hoodie," Robin says, his voice dripping with disdain.

For his part, Red Hood does look a bit uncomfortable. He clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Shit, sorry for bringing that up," he says, and Rivkah can tell he thinks the words are too little too late, but she appreciates the emotion behind them nonetheless.

She waves her hand. "No, it's cool. I'm sure you save lots of people. I was probably just a run-of-the-mill blip on your night. Nothing too memorable," she says, hoping to lessen how guilty he might feel.

"You're definitely memorable," Red Hood says, his words still coming across as genuine even with the voice modulator.

Rivkah would overthink that statement if not for Robin immediately making a disgusted noise and saying, "Keep it in your pants, Hood."

Red Hood scoffs, immediately replying, "Keep your nose outta it, demonspawn."

To wrap the whole exchange up with a neat bow, Rivkah doesn't even think before saying, "Boys," in a stern tone.

And they all freeze, a beat of awkward silence passing over them as that thread in Rivkah's brain that she refused to pull yanks itself along anyway. She tries to get ahead of the revelation by laughing, relieved that it doesn't sound strained. "Sorry! Geez, I'm so sorry. Half of my job is stopping arguments like that. Seems like it followed me home," she says, keeping her shoulders relaxed as she leans back in her chair.

"No worries," Red Hood says with a shrug, "jobs can do that."

Robin nods in agreement, turning his attention back to her. "Yes, it is understandable. Besides, this is all Hood's fault anyway," he tells her.

"Oh, fuck you," Red Hood says only to pause and look back at Rivkah.

For her part, Rivkah grins and holds up her hands. "No worries. I've been known to curse like a sailor. Maybe don't cuss out Robin, though," she says.

"Only when he deserves it," Red Hood says.

"I don't think you're an unbiased judge in that regard."

"Oh, I'm totally unbiased. Never been less biased about anything."

Rivkah hums and looks at Robin. "The lady doth protest too much, I think," she says.

"Indeed," Robin replies, nodding once.

"You can't just use Hamlet to win an argument," Red Hood tells them.

"Sure, I can. But if it makes you feel better, I can use The Winter's Tale, too. Would you like to exit normally or pursued by a bear?" Rivkah asks.

Almost as though it was waiting for its cue, her sentence is punctuated by the appearance of the Bat Signal against Gotham's cloudy skies. The mood on the fire escape plummets, and Rivkah sighs. "Here, take an empanada to go," she says, gesturing at the table.

Robin moves first, grabbing the last cheese and spinach empanada along with an oreo one. "Thank you," he says, pulling out a grappling hook and shooting it towards the roof of Rivkah's apartment building. "Have a good evening."

"Maybe get inside," Red Hood says as he accepts the empanadas Rivkah hands him. He seems to do so without thinking. "Don't know what the emergency is, but you're better safe than sorry."

"Yeah, will do," Rivkah promises, moving to stand from her chair. She pauses when Red Hood offers a hand, considering for a moment before taking it. "Be careful," she says as he pulls her to her feet. 

"No promises," he says, and Rivkah can hear the grin tugging at his lips before he follows Robin's lead.

Rivkah's mind wants to start racing now that she's alone, but she refuses to let it. First, she packs everything up, efficiently getting it all through her apartment window. She climbs through after picking up stray foil wrappers to throw away, tosses them into the trash, and shuts her window. Only once it's locked does Rivkah finally allow her brain to finish with that thread.

Robin is Damian Wayne.

Or, at least, Rivkah is pretty damn sure he's Damian. She's also pretty damn sure that she's not supposed to know this secret. It seems like the kind of thing people get kidnapped or killed over. 

So, actually Rivkah doesn't know anything. She doesn't know any secrets. She doesn't let her brain think about those secrets she doesn't know. And she definitely doesn't let her brain follow the logical train of thought that if Robin is Damian Wayne then Batman is probably…

Nope. 

No.

She doesn't know.

Rivkah takes a deep breath, turns on her heel, and starts her nighttime routine. She's got work tomorrow, after all, and she needs rest to properly start the week ahead.