An inconvenience at best. Lethal, at worst.

Cold was manageable. Fleece and silk lined the winter suit, and heavy pads buffered the winds. Snow, though, hardened into ice. Slicked the jumplines. Made navigating Gotham by rooftop nigh impossible.

The city loomed, bleak and frozen, its perpetual grime trapped under the slick of dirty ice. The buildings were predominantly darkened, the streets empty as the wind chased away stragglers.

Movement caught in his peripheral vision prompted him to turn his face into the easterly wind.

She was an inkier black than the night, swirling toward him like a particularly deadly force of nature. She balanced her slight weight, perfectly, naturally, with every shift. The jumpline she held was identical to his own, yet she held it confidently, certain of its reliability. She moved like poetry, each sweep and dive and shift of weight chosen to complement the others, to get herself to the rooftop rendezvous without injury.

He lost her behind the cathedral and before he could turn, he felt a splash of wet snow against the back of his head. He spun on one heel to see Batgirl standing behind him, smirk firmly affixed to her face.

"You're It."

Author's Note: There is no Author's Note. I lacked any sort of continuity to add in.