The bedroom was still, the city's faint hum muted by thick curtains. Pamela lay nestled against Barbara's chest, her head tucked beneath her chin, Barbara's steady breaths brushing over her hair. For a long moment she didn't move, savoring the warmth and closeness. Then she slowly shifted, easing Barbara down onto the pillow. She sat up, the sheets sliding down her bare skin as she swung her legs off the bed. Her knees buckled and she caught herself against the wall, her face flushing.
"You little minx…" Pamela muttered, half-laughing, half-blushing. "You got carried away with that electricity last night. You made me feel passion like I've never felt before. I'm only twenty years old, and I've never been intimate with anyone before. Oh my god…"
Behind her, Barbara cracked one eye open—she'd been awake the whole time. A spark danced across her fingers before she flicked it through the air. The jolt zapped Pamela lightly, making her yelp, her body jerking as a soft moan escaped.
"Oh—!" Pamela straightened suddenly, clutching her chest. "Barbara, now's not the time for that. I can barely stand already."
Barbara stretched lazily, the sheet sliding as she pulled it around herself like a robe. "What? You think you're the only one who knows how to give pleasure? I'll have you know I'm highly capable of short-circuiting more than just electronics."
Pamela narrowed her eyes, trying to suppress the heat rising in her cheeks. "That's enough, you little minx."
She stalked off barefoot, her muttered words trailing as she shut the bathroom door behind her. Hot water steamed against her skin a moment later, washing over her as she leaned into the spray, eyes closing. Her chest rose and fell, memories of the night before clinging stubbornly to her mind. When she finally stepped out, she wrapped herself in a modest robe, toweling her damp hair back. The scent of soap and steam followed her into the kitchen.
She busied herself with breakfast—eggs cracking into a pan, bread slipping into the toaster, fruit lined across the counter. The domesticity calmed her, grounding her in the quiet morning.
Then came the knock. Sharp, deliberate, echoing through the apartment.
Barbara padded out of the bedroom, now in a long plush robe, the sash tied hastily as she rubbed at her eyes. "Who is it?" she called, her voice still heavy with sleep.
From the other side came a gruff, familiar tone. "It's me. The officer on patrol last night mentioned you came home with someone, but she never left. I just wanted to make sure everything's okay up here."
Pamela froze mid-turn, spatula hovering above the eggs. Her face went pale. "Are you going to answer it?"
Barbara sighed, pulling herself upright. "Yeah… just be calm, okay? If he asks what's going on, we need to be honest. My father's surprisingly open-minded."
Pamela's voice dripped with dry disbelief. "Of course he is."
Barbara pulled the door open, pasting a practiced smile across her face. "Hi, Father. What are you doing here?"
Commissioner Gordon stood in the hallway, his presence filling the doorway. His eyes swept past her shoulder into the apartment, scanning with a serious edge. "The report said you weren't alone last night, and that no one left. I came to check in… make sure you're okay."
Pamela set the spatula down and walked over, her damp hair brushed back, the robe cinched tightly at her waist. She stopped at Barbara's side, meeting his gaze steadily. "Hello, sir. I don't know if you remember me from the other night—you rescued us from Professor Woodrue. I came home with Barbara and… well, one thing led to another."
Barbara reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Father… I'm together with Pamela. I didn't know how to tell you, but I think you should know. We've been intimate… and I hope you can understand, and maybe even approve of our relationship."
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