What am I doing to this kid? It's not the first time I've asked myself that question, but knowing that a) she's stayed up until I came home and b) is more concerned about me and my safety than any kid her age should, is sending my mind in places I'd rather it not go. Christ, she already had the first aid kit out? Kids her age shouldn't need to do that kind of thing, I'm supposed to be taking care of her, right?

I shudder, thinking of the number of times Jason or Dick must have done the same for Bruce. Or Alfred, needing to patch all of them up. That's not what I want for Aggie, she's already suffered enough.

What am I doing with my life? What am I doing with hers?

Peeling off my body armor, I examine the bruises. There's layers of them after the last couple of weeks, my knuckles have split again, I'm probably lucky I didn't break my hand the way I was... never mind.

"You should go to bed, Aggie, you didn't need to wait up. You have school, remember?"