So, this is mostly canon-complaint for Gotham, but not necessarily for the comics, as I don't see the future of the characters in show (as they've been established) completely aligning with their comics counterparts. Also…the batfam just deserves to be happy, okay? This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written, but in the immortal words of Lina Lamont, "If we bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, it makes us feel as though our hard work ain't been in vain for nothin'. Bless you all."

"I think we're dealing with a vigilante."

James Gordon closed his eyes and tried not to sigh at Harvey Bullock's words. Of course they were. But if he was honest with himself, there was a small tinge of relief in his sigh. If there had to be a new player in the circus that was the Gotham underworld, one with any kind of morality—no matter how shaky—had to be better than what usually got dredged up.

"Description?" he asked.

Harvey looked at his notepad. "Female, about 5'7''. Witness says she had dark hair, black mask. Used a crossbow, of all things. Stopped a robbery at a convenience store in minutes." He flipped back the page. "Sounds like the same girl from two nights ago."

"The one who stopped the mugging?"

"Yeah. Both incidents were in the Narrows. Think that gives us a clue?"

"I don't know." The girl, whoever she was, was good. That's what worried him—this wasn't some clumsy do-gooder with more good intentions than skills. The would-be robbers of the convenience store had been incapacitated and handcuffed by the time the GCPD had arrived. The injuries the three men had sustained had only been serious enough to render them helpless, without causing lasting damage.

"Keep an eye out on this one, Harvey. We've already got our hands full with Jerome, but we don't want this to blow up in our faces." He sighed. Honestly, they never could catch a break in this city, could they?

The thing was, she hadn't meant to get back into the crime-fighting business.

At least, not here. Not now. Her very existence was already risky enough. But time spent isolated in the small, one-room hole she'd spent the past couple of days in had posed another risk—that of complete and utter boredom. She'd kept a low profile, lifting the wallets of those who looked like they could afford it in order to pay for her room and other necessities, until she was able to siphon off some funds from Wayne Enterprises. She'd probably get grounded for that in another thirty years, but that didn't seem like too bad of a consequence. At least it meant she'd be back home. At any rate, she hadn't meant to stop the mugging…or the robbery. At least she told herself that, but maybe it was a lie. After all, when she'd seen that old crossbow in that dilapidated store in the Narrows…well, she hadn't been able to help herself. She'd missed holding her own.

And then she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and years of training had kicked in. How could she stand by when someone else was getting hurt? She hadn't been able to help herself after that. She told herself she wouldn't go out every night, that one wrong move could change everything about her life—maybe even the city itself. But until she found a way to get home she was adrift, purposeless. And though a part of her wanted nothing more than to run all the way to Wayne Manor, find the bedroom that would one day be hers, and cry into a pillow, she knew that was impossible.

The whole sorry mess had started when she'd made a stupid decision anyway, and she had no desire to repeat that mistake. She hadn't even been on patrol when it had happened. She'd been out shopping for a present for Jason for his birthday when she'd gotten the alert of an anomaly behind the courthouse- a small spike in radiation. She hadn't thought twice about checking it out, even if it was three o'clock in the afternoon and she was in street clothes. But she was in the area anyway, and when she'd gotten there what she had found hadn't seemed too troubling.

And now she was stuck thirty years in the past, in a Gotham that wasn't her Gotham, spending her days staring at small, broken device and reading outdated books from the library on time travel. So far all information she'd garnered from that source on traveling through time was to not do it.

Not very helpful at this point.

She glanced at the object on the wooden desk in the room. It was the only piece of furniture besides a small lumpy bed and a sunbleached nightstand with a wobbly leg. She still hadn't entirely figured out just what had sent her back. The device was small and round, with a small removable handle on one side not unlike the end of a key, and a larger handle on the other side. At first, she'd thought it was some sort of bomb, judging from the digital clock on the front, with a switch underneath it between two arrows. It was a good thing it hadn't been a bomb, because she'd accidentally joggled the handle.

Two minutes and a pounding migraine later, she'd ended up here.

Since then, she'd taken apart the thing, trying to understand why it hadn't taken her back after she'd toggled the switch to the arrow pointing forward and twisted the handle again. Amidst the tangle of wires, she'd discovered that its power source—a small, glowing purple stone held between metal prongs—had shattered.

She had no idea how to put it together again. She collapsed back onto the bed, deciding that it was time to take riskier moves. When she'd hoped to be here only a few hours—maybe a day or two—at most, the Narrows had seemed low profile enough to keep her out of any trouble. But with no hope in sight, she was going to have to make changes. There was no way she could continue leaving her flat with her crossbow and the device behind. She shuddered to think of the device getting stolen. Heck, it might even be worse if someone got to everything that she'd had in her backpack when she'd gotten sent through. Her laptop. Her wallet and I.D. The creased photo from the Christmas she was eight, when she'd instigated a sword fight among her siblings using empty wrapping paper tubes.

Helena Wayne had always thought of herself as an independent person, but suddenly, being truly alone, she realized how much she had relied on the support of the people in her life. How much she needed them.

But her family, the way she knew them, didn't exist yet.

And attempting to contact them just might ensure that that family never existed at all.