I mean, there are worse places to live, definitely. We have to deal with psychopaths, but at least there are no shape shifting aliens?

Nah, Metropolis is still nicer.

I’m used to it here in Gotham, though. The almost constant rain means I don’t have to deal with hot weather (I just buy the orange juice with extra added vitamin D), the coffee shop near my apartment has INCREDIBLE coffee cake, and we have a whole team of occasionally entertaining superheroes to keep the rogues gallery of villains in check.

The library was mostly empty when I walked in off the metro. Not surprising as it wasn’t actually open for another hour.

“G’mornin’ Anj.”

I dropped my bag behind the desk next to Marco and unzipped my raincoat. “Hey. Isn’t Jared supposed to help open today?”

Marco pointed at the tv silently playing on the counter, where reports of a Joker attack across town showed citizens caught by his laughing gas trashing the area around the Gotham Zoo. Jared sprinted across screen behind the reporter, tearing a stuffed animal snake in half over his head and covering his bright blue hair in cotton fluff. “He hasn’t been buying new gas mask filters since his rent went up, so he’s got caught in the last few attacks on his side of town.”

I winced in sympathy. At least his rent would probably go down again after all the attacks in the north side. “I have an extra I can give him, as long as he promises to save it for when scarecrow breaks out next. Joker’s gas isn’t too bad in comparison.”

“Terrible hangover though, afterwards.”

Short one person, it took until a few minutes after opening to prep the snack area with new napkins and paper cups for the water dispenser (we tried making people bring their own water bottles but then kids started drinking directly from the spout, so like, choose your battles I guess) and pull the holds that were ready.

Marco was sitting at the desk sending emails to Wayne and other donors when the automatic doors slid open and our first visitor of the day walked in. I looked up from shelving books in the nonfiction section to see Red Robin himself wander toward the section I was working in and stop in front of the small selection of law books. I made eye contact with Marco across the room and we shrugged at each other. He started signing something. Neither of us were great at ASL, but we were getting better since our boss Jenny suggested we all learn. In addition to helping deaf library visitors feel more comfortable (which was why we learned it in the first place), we could talk across the library without yelling. I finally understood that he was saying Red Robin had coffee with him.

Were we supposed to enforce library rules with vigilantes?

I didn’t even care if we weren’t. Those law books were all new since Two-face tore all the old copies exactly in half, and they were expensive.

“Excuse me, Mr Red Robin sir, all food and drink has to stay in the designated areas of the library.”

“Hm?” He blinked at me, and I started to wonder whether he was actually awake before that.

“Your coffee sir.”

He looked genuinely confused, and judging by the circles I could see under his eyes—despite the mask—was working on about two hours of sleep for the entire week. “But Bats said coffee wasn’t food?”

I carefully took his arm, not sure what would happen if he was startled, and led him to the snack area. With a little prompting he sat down. “But I have to search for—“

“You have to eat something and take a nap.”

I gave him the goldfish crackers from my lunch (yes, goldfish crackers, I’m 28 but I like them okay?) and an orange from the break room.

Back to shelving, I kept an eye on him as I worked.

After an hour I’d all but forgotten he was there, and when I looked over upon hearing a noise, the table was empty and had been wiped free of crumbs and splatters. The wrapper, peel, and coffee cup were placed carefully in the trash bin and a sheet of paper sat on the table, folded in half.

I opened it and three hundred dollar bills fell out with a note: “for the snacks and the bother. I’m doing better now. Thank you.”

I showed Marco and we both shrugged again. Weirder things had happened in Gotham.

***

Three weeks later, I was already sitting in my usual seat in the coffee shop with a pastry and a grande hot chocolate (I’m trying to cut back on caffeine) when I realized two of Gotham’s villains were seated in the corner of the cafe.

I say “villains” as a loose term, as the people in question, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, were happily chatting with Spoiler rather than being arrested. It was weird I hadn’t seen them when walking in, but Harley, who seemed from her breaking news tv appearances to be the louder one of the two, was face down on the table with a very large coffee in front of her. I checked my watch. It was 7:30, so not THAT early, but I guess if you were up all night doing crime (committing crime? Crimeing? What was the right verb there?) it might be. The dyed ends of her ponytails lay on the table on either side of her, detracting from the drama somewhat, as did her kawaii rain jacket that she’d drawn on with sharpie to make Hello Kitty seem punk rock.

I hunkered down behind my computer and tried to focus on my thesis, but digital accession systems were just not holding my interest, given the givens.

It seemed most of the talking was done by Spoiler, who was waving her hands as she spoke, sending pastry crumbs across their table. She was the only one in costume, mask pulled over her face, but the others were still very recognizable. Poison Ivy, in a smart blazer with books in a tote bag, brushed the crumbs off the table and into a napkin. She mostly just nodded along to whatever Spoiler said, looking long-suffering.

A crash rattled the shop door. Everyone pretty much ignored it (Gotham) until Batman crashed through the window. Spoiler jumped to her feet. “Bats!”

He stood, brushing glass off his shoulders, and tossed an IOU in the form of a printed business card to the shop owner (wow he must do this a lot). “Get to the batcopter. One of Superman’s villains decided to go shopping at the city bank on his Gotham vacation.”

Spoiler vaulted the table and was halfway to the door when a mumbled voice caught the attention of most everyone in the shop. Poison Ivy turned to Harley. “What was that, Harls?”

Looking marginally more awake than when I’d entered the shop, Harley Quinn lifted her head off the table, took a drag of coffee, and repeated her mumbled words. “Bat-pter. Or helicobat. That’s where the word helicopter splits etymologically, not before copter.”

Other than the crashing outside on the street and the quiet whirr of the espresso machine, the shop was silent. All the supers and random coffee drinkers stared at Harley. After a few moments she looked around and folded her arms, sinking back into the booth. “What?” Her Jersey accent was stronger in her defensiveness. “I spent 5 years in the prison of a phd program! You should all be calling me *Doctor *Crazy!”

Poison Ivy next to her at the table laughed. “She read it on tumblr.”

Harley scrunched her nose. “Shut up, Red. I’m a highly intelligent woman with a diversified higher education.”

Batman was now dragging Spoiler out the door. “Ooh, what’s your blog called Harley?”

“She’s not allowed a tumblr because she’d break the internet. She scrolls on mine when she’s bored. Likes the blogs with fan art of the Gotham heroes.”

“Shut UP, Pam!”

***

The next day, when Superman’s villain of the week was still causing problems for Batman and co., Superman himself showed up to take care of the problem. His villains tend to make a much bigger mess in the realm of knocked over buildings, so the library was closed. I probably (read: definitely) should have stayed in my apartment and out of danger, but the sky was actually sunny for once, as if the Boy Scout himself dragged it over from Metropolis. There’s something about perpetual clouds that makes you forget how amazing the sun is, so I wasn’t gonna let this chance go.

The small park near my apartment (which was a decent size due to the tanked Gotham housing market) had a nice bench set perfectly in the sun. I set my shoulder bag next to me and had just closed my eyes when an alien crashed into a tree on the other side of the park.

I should have expected something like that, honestly.

Superman was close on the villains heels, having been the one that threw them, and was quick to place some sort of restraining cuffs on, keeping the alien from flying off or something. So sue me, I don’t know what aliens can do, that’s not my city’s problem. Usually.

The park was pretty small, so I could hear when a kid, seeing the danger was gone, ran up to the superhero and asked for an autograph. Nightwing, in a rare daytime sighting, dropped down next to Superman and waved at the kid, who got his autograph too before running off.

Nightwing turned to Superman with a brow raised. “The Cool S? You sign your signature with a Cool S at the beginning of Superman?”

They definitely didn’t notice me here.

Superman seemed to blush a little in embarrassment. “Listen, I may technically be kryptonian, but culturally, I was raised American.”

Hm. That’s news. And something I definitely wasn’t supposed to hear. Maybe I should make a list so I don’t forget what not to tell people:

List of Anj’s super-secrets:

Red Robin has insomnia and a caffeine addiction

Poison Ivy had a tumblr

Harley Quinn liked batfam fanart

Superman was raised in the USA, not on his own planet as everyone thought.

One of those things was probably a bigger secret than the others.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep in case they noticed me. It took a while before the absurdity of how Superman signed his autographs hit. Maybe someone should tell him to pretend the Cool S was intergalactic so he didn’t blow his cover. Maybe it was intergalactic. Like I said, aliens aren’t in my wheelhouse.

***

It was a constant annoyance that the fastest way to get from the department of records where I’d been doing my latest research back to my apartment went right by Gotham U’s on-campus housing. There was always some drunk undergrad vomiting at a bus stop, or a frat party that was just getting started, or something like that.

The past few days had been interesting though. One of the dorms facing the road seemed to be accumulating a line outside, one that had gotten longer each night over the past week. Today I finally slowed down to see what was going on, and somehow ended up in the line? It looked as I got closer that people were buying food.

The person in front of me in line scooted up to the window and I could finally see clearly what was going on. A young man with a shock of white in his dark hair was leaning over the window sill, which had a sloppy handwritten sign that just read “grilled cheese.” It even had the period on the end. Talking to the kid who’d just walked up (who couldn’t possibly be older than 19) he had a disinterested drawl to his tone. “So, you want a sandwich or what? It’s $5 unless you want to pay more.”

The kid looked at the sign. “Do you have any gluten and lactose free options?”

The look on the grilled cheese guy’s face was priceless. He stared at the kid for a solid few seconds before a look of exasperation spread across his face, and he held up a block of cheese to gesture with. “Why are you here?”

When I was finally at the window, I could look in and see that the young man was cooking on a bunch of hot plates in a dorm. I looked back up and made eye contact with him. “Is this even allowed?”

He snorted. “Not in the least. My little brother is busy studying for a test and I wanted to annoy him.”

“Is the food at least safe?”

He shrugged. “I mean, yeah?”

A shadow suddenly dropped down from the roof above, the figure of Black Bat sticking a photograph on printer paper to the window. It was a grainy photo of another food truck’s food safety certification. Even had “don’s tacos” written on the bottom. She gave a thumbs up and melted into the shadows. The grilled cheese guy pointed at the paper without breaking eye contact.

I shrugged and pulled out a $5 bill. “Sure, I’ll take a sandwich. Is it halal?”

“What do you take me for, of course it is. Y’want black pepper on top?”