Who: The Bat and the Cat What: Bats comes to the rescue, part 2. Where: Wonder City --> the Batcave. When: Continuation of this. Warnings/Rating: Mention of injuries, I think?
Her mention of the warehouse made him wonder if she had stolen the deeds to that particular one for a predetermined purpose, perhaps a situation very much like this, or if the proximity was simply a coincidence. Regardless, Selina had a point. Traveling with this number of children would not be easy, and the shorter the distance, the better, especially considering her current state. The Bat nodded, his gaze revealing absolutely nothing, and he studied the little girl in question with a tilt of his head. “Yes,” he said finally, “I suppose she is.” Anyone who would be brave enough to attack someone who looked like him with nothing but a lamp, especially considering her small size, could certainly hold their own for a few moments.
“I am not commanding you to sit,” he countered, without missing a beat. He knew what she was trying to do, and it was very much her, the quip and attempt to regain her bravado, in the way the begging and the whimpering hadn’t been. Yet there was more to her than she allowed others to see, and the Bat was beginning to realize that. He had suffered numerous injuries over the years, and a bruised chin was the least of them, which explained his puzzled frown when she asked how bad she’d gotten him; at this point, he barely even felt it. “I’m fine,” he said after a moment, and there was a hint of something like a smile behind the cowl, though one without humor, and he dropped his gaze to her side before nodding. “I believe I’ve stitched myself up enough to become proficient, yes.” Alfred was never very impressed with his work, but most of his wounds only scarred a little, if at all.
The Bat knew very well that Damian was not fine. Guilt, it seemed, was a family trait, and he knew the boy would blame himself. Of course he would, regardless of the fact that he had done a great deal of good, and the casualties likely would have been higher without them. But he was not going to discuss that here, and he only paused briefly in the hall, an acknowledgement of her words, before disappearing into the shadows.
Finding the remaining children was not the true challenge. Coaxing them out, convincing them to come with him, that was what proved to be most time-consuming, though the first child was the most difficult. It was a boy, lanky and floppy-haired, who looked younger than he likely was, and the Bat utilized some of Luke’s knowledge in order to gain the boy’s trust. Once one child followed, the others were more easily convinced, and he reappeared in the doorway after a fair amount of time with numerous small bodies crowded around him. His visage was meant to inspire fear, but only in those deserving of it, and perhaps they saw something else in him, the children, in heavy kevlar and black; a sort of strength which promised protection. The first boy he’d found clung to his hand as though his life depended upon it, and while there was a vague air of discomfort around the Bat, who was most certainly not accustomed to children, he was otherwise as stoic and unflinching as always. “We should go,” he told them, and the little girl gave a nod reminiscent of one far beyond her years. He looked to Selina, a flash of something like concern visible for just a moment before it disappeared. “Can you walk?”
The fact that he countered made her feel better, like the world was shifting back to normal. Lecturing, especially from the Bat, was a regular occurrence for the kitty cat, and she managed a tired grin in return to his small one. "Don't say you're fine like that, Bat. I'll feel obliged to really hurt you next time. I was taking it easy because of your advanced age," she joked, watching his gaze drop to her side. "That makes two of us, but I just don't think my paws would stay still long enough not to do a messy job of it. We don't want the antihero having to deal with an ugly scar, do we?" There was concern in that question, hidden in the teasing. For once, she was honestly concerned she wouldn't be able to come back here. That hadn't happened when Blondie was in jail, and it hadn't happened when Brielle had been arrested. No, but now she was worried that the antihero would keep Blondie from coming back through. He was irrational, after all.
The purposeful acknowledgement about the situation with Damian was all she needed. She couldn't keep an eye on the baby bird like she had before, not with him back in Wayne Manor in order to thwart Feathers. And maybe there were other reasons too - namely Iris. It was like the kitty cat had told Jade; if Iris made Damian happy, then that was all that counted. Selina had never tried to talk to Damian or the Bat about Iris, and she wasn't going to start now, but that didn't change the fact it put distance between her and the baby bird that hadn't been there before.
She didn't move while the Bat went to find the children. She closed her eyes, and she tipped her head back, and she willed herself to find strength that had been lost along with the blood from the injury to her side. The warehouse was close, but it would still require more walking than she was going to be able to manage, and she worked through plans b, c and d while she waited. The sound of the children returning made her open her eyes and look at the doorway, and she couldn't help the wistful smile that crossed her features, visible even with the goggles and cowl. There hadn't been anyone to come save them when she lived in this hellhole, but something good had come out of tonight. Not that she would ever admit that it mattered to her. No, being a hero wasn't for her. She couldn't help but think of everyone who hadn't been saved, even in conjunction with the children crowding around the man in black. "Aren't you the smart one?" she asked the little girl who nodded, knowing places like this made for precocious children. "I can walk," she assured him. "Maybe not all the way, but I can get out of here, while you get them settled," she said practically. No damsel act for this kitty cat. She looked at that same little girl, and then she nodded to the whip she'd dropped earlier. "Can you bring me that?" she asked, taking it when it when the little girl handed it to her, then pushing away from the wall with a strength she didn't actually feel. "Door's that way, Bat," she said, thoughtlessly ruffling the little girl's hair as she passed her. "There's an alley a block down. I'll wait there. I hope you have wheels nearby."
The Bat gave her a look which might have translated as raised eyebrows behind the cowl, even despite his lingering concern. “You make me sound like an old man,” he told her. “We’ll see about next time.” The bruise would be irritating simply because it would require explanation, but other than that, she hadn’t managed to do any real damage. Her mention of Luke made him frown, because it was no secret that the boy was likely going to react very, very badly to this. Anything that caused Wren harm would undoubtedly elicit such a reaction, and there was no way to hide what had occurred, not when he was bound to see the evidence for himself even if he did somehow keep the knowledge from him. “I suppose a scar would not help matters, but you and I both know how he can be when it comes to the girl.” Irrational was an understatement, at least when it came to her.
Initially, his stubbornness had blinded him, but now, he knew that there was much more to Selina than she was willing to admit. He caught her wistful smile, and the Bat was certain that she cared about these children, that she identified with them, and whatever she might claim, their freedom meant something to her. Instinct made him want to argue that she didn’t look like she was capable of walking, but he held his tongue, aware that insisting was only going to waste valuable time and get them absolutely nowhere. “Very well,” he relented, albeit grudgingly, watching as the little girl brought her the whip. “I won’t be long.” He gave her another look, one which said of course quite clearly when she mentioned a set of wheels; he had gone looking for her with the expectation that, when he found her, she would be in no condition to make the trip back to the cave on foot. On his own, he could cover a great deal of ground quickly, but actual transportation was always faster. In that moment, he needed to trust that she would be fine on her own, and after a moment’s hesitation he gave a nod, gently nudging the closest children in the right direction so the others would follow.
Despite attempting to move quickly, most of the children were not as confident as the little girl who’d smashed a lamp over his head. She led the way, albeit only by a few steps, while the Bat attempted to keep the others together and was constantly ensuring that no one fell behind. They stuck to the shadows, around buildings and alleys, and to their credit they were quiet, the children, though that might have been owed more to fear than anything else. Eventually they reached the warehouse, and after managing to get the children settled--which involved reassuring them multiple times that he would be back--he left them in the care of the little girl, who’d apparently appointed herself their unofficial leader, and informed him that they would be ‘just fine’. He gave her a communicator, just in case, before securing the warehouse and taking his leave.
Minutes later, the Tumbler skidded to a halt at the mouth of the aforementioned alley, the engine rumbling as the vehicle idled and remained in place. The top slid back with a hiss of air, revealing an empty passenger’s side seat next to the Bat, who was, of course, at the controls.
"Do I?" she asked of making him sound like an old man, but his frown made her realize she was right to be worried about the antihero. Wonderful, just what she needed; a fight about getting through the door. "Maybe I should stay here until it's mostly better," she said of the wound at her side, unaware of additional antidote dosage requirements. Stitches would take, what? A week to come out, if everything went well. The antihero needed to work, so Bruce couldn't stay all the time, but Blondie was currently unemployed. Sure, the antihero might get angry if Blondie wasn't allowed to come home, but maybe it was for everyone's good. Anyway, didn't absence make the heart grow fonder?
Selina could tell he didn't much like her plan, but the fact that he let her decide what she was capable of was reminiscent of one of the things she'd always appreciated about her Bat. He'd never coddled her when she didn't need it and, admittedly, she seldom did. But he could tell somehow, her Bat, when she needed help, and when she could tough through it on her own. Would this be easy? No, not feeling lethargic like she still did, and not clammy cold with blood loss. But she could do it; she knew her own limits, and this was well within them. She gripped the whip tightly in her claws, and she let the Bat and the children go ahead of her. Slowing them down would only make things take longer, and she had interest in being around when Renald or Bone returned. Strong enough or not, she wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to take them down, and she was fairly sure she'd lose the fight.
By the time she was outside, she was leaning heavily against the brick at her side, leaving a long streak of blood in her wake against the jagged bricks, the surface tearing at the already shredded black of the suit at her side. But she made it to the alley, and she pressed back against it with a grateful sense of triumph. Enough time to think of everything that went wrong later. Right now, she would take the victory at hand. Wasn't that her motto? Live in the moment? She was somewhere between that thought and the next, in and out of coherency, when she heard the Tumbler approach. It was too loud to be a normal car, even one of Gotham PD's finest, and she didn't rush to move. It was a slow thing now, because there wasn't any need to rush. And she climbed into the passenger's seat with a hiss that had nothing to do with her alias and everything to do with legitimate pain from the brick-scratched skin at her side. "What took you so long? I was starting to think you'd stood me up again," she teased, just managing it, even though the words came out obviously tight. "Let me guess? You're taking me home to your place?" she added, and the relative safety of the Tumbler made it easier for her to close her eyes and stop fighting so hard to stay conscious. "You aren't allowed to hold this against me. There was a flash bomb, and I couldn't see," she informed him, because if there was something the kitty cat hated it was being the damsel in distress. "It was a set up," she added, anger with herself for not realizing it in her voice.
While the Bat knew that Luke would, to put it bluntly, be hell to deal with as a result, he shared Selina’s sentiment that staying on this side of the door until she was healed might be for the best. It would make the administration of the second dose easier, and perhaps it would give the boy time to calm down as well, so that when she did return, he would be less likely to overreact. “Luke won’t like it,” he admitted, “but yes, that would be best. Let her return once you’ve had time to recover.” And once he was certain the antidote would work, and there would be no further relapses. He wanted to monitor her vitals, to test the serums, in order to be absolutely sure that her condition would return to normal.
Contrary to what she wanted, he had absolutely no intention of allowing her to be present when whoever owned that poor excuse for an establishment returned to find that the children were gone, and there was a dead man in one of the bedrooms. Normally, the Bat would have left behind some sign of his presence, but witnesses were better than any bat symbol scrawled on a wall, and he knew those who had escaped and those who would eventually regain consciousness would tell similar tales of the Bat’s vengeance. Let them swear revenge; he would come for them before they could even begin to make their plans. Perhaps it was Selina’s fight, and perhaps she had reason to want to be involved, but she had already been injured once, and he wasn’t going to allow it to happen again. Not on his watch.
But for now, however, the Bat was focused on the present, which involved getting her to the cave and stitching up her wound. With any luck, Alfred would have other supplies prepared as well, and with a real hospital out of the question he would simply have to do what he could. “Children have a tendency to cling,” he told her, deadpan, watching as she eased herself onto the seat with a hiss. “And yes, I am.” He refrained from mentioning his intention to keep an eye on her, at least until he had the second dosage in his possession. As the top slid back into place, he revved the engine, just once, and the Tumbler sped out of the alley in a roar of gravel and tires against cement. He gave her a sidelong look when she closed her eyes, but she was still conscious, and everything might be fine if he could just keep her talking for a little while longer. “I had no intention of holding this against you,” he told her. “Of course it was a set up. The situation with the Joker was as well. They all created impossible circumstances, Selina, and gave us impossible choices.”
"I'll talk to him," she said of the antihero, once she was settled in the Tumbler, some humor in her voice, despite the fingers she was now pressing to her side, even as her eyes remained shut. "He adores me," she added, and there was no doubt the statement was sarcastic. Selina knew precisely what the antihero thought of her, but at least if he had the chance to get angry at her, he would know Blondie was still alive. It might calm him down. It might not, but it wasn't like he could storm into Gotham and drag her out. All she needed to do was turn around whenever she got kicked out. Piece of cake, and the antihero would just have to be patient. A scar would be much better than seeing Blondie now, and that was for sure.
She didn't realize he had ulterior motives, but she wouldn't have argued with him if she did realize it. The kitty cat hadn't survived this long without knowing when it was time to go to ground and lick her wounds. "You could have just invited me over, Bat," she teased, turning her head and shoving the goggles up against her cowl, inky black hair messily tangling over them. Her eyes were dull, nothing like their normal bright green, but there was a fair amount of teasing in them, regardless. "I might have agreed. After all, kitty cats like shiny things, and billionaires tend to have lots of them." There was something reassuring about falling back into that lightheartedness, even if it only lasted a second before she closed her eyes again. "I won't be on my feet for a few days at least. I hope you don't mind a cat sleeping in your bed." Because she knew she was fighting to stay lucid, and that meant he knew, and there was no point in pretending otherwise.
The mention of the Joker brought her back to the present, and she sighed as she pulled her gloves off, her skin pale, pale white as she pressed her fingers back to her side. The interior of the Tumbler smelled of blood and copper, and she suspected that was nothing new for this particular vehicle. "What did he do? What did Riddler do? How did Jason hold up?" she asked, the questions all asked without pause, even as she shifted to take some of the pressure off the exit wound at her back. "Crane knew I would be there, Bruce. It was intentional." She sighed. "Let's not even talk about the odds, and he's been working on new drugs." She paused then, forcing herself to open her eyes again. "You caught him?" she asked, knowledge finally filtering through the pain and clammy blood loss. "You got the antidote, which means you caught him." It was a statement, but there was a question there too.
The Bat made a sound behind the cowl that might have been a laugh, but came off more like something guttural and rough, if amused. "I'm sure he does," he said, of the boy adoring her. "At least you can reassure him that she will be fine, as long as he's patient and gives it time." That might get through to him. At the very least, Gus would keep him in check, and he was still living with the Corvus man as well, his own issues notwithstanding. He shook his head, gaze switching between the road ahead and her, and while he took note of the dullness in her eyes, it was to be expected. "I was certain Lois would have extended an invitation by now," he remarked dryly. "You hardly need my consent when it comes to the shiny things in my possession." This dynamic, the lighthearted teasing, was something he'd not had in his Gotham, and he was still accustoming himself to the fact that he was capable of it. Humor was not something he'd ever placed much importance upon. "No," he said, returning his focus to the road as the vehicle took a sharp turn. "I don't mind." In fact, he was relieved, A few days gave him time to get the antidote without being questioned.
Blood was as familiar to him as the sound of a gunshot and the smell of smoke and metal in the aftermath; death and loss were old companions. "Riddler kidnapped three nurses, and set some sort of trap for Batgirl, I believe," he explained grimly. "The Joker took babies as hostages, and gave me the choice of allowing them to die in exchange for capturing him. Jason handled himself better than I expected," he admitted, and there was a heavy sort of guilt there, that he seemed incapable of crossing the chasm which separated them.
As for Crane, his jaw clenched at the very thought of him. New drugs-- was that what he had unleashed upon Arkham? But no, he told himself, it would be fine. Once he had the second dosage, Crane would be taken care of. "Yes," was his response, one word, intentionally not forthcoming. Let her think he'd captured him; it would be true enough soon.
"If I can be annoying, then it means she'll be fine," she reasoned of what she intended to tell Luke. The mention of Lois made her smile a lazy smile. "She invited me, but that isn't what I meant, and you know it," she told him. As for not needing his permission to take his things, well, that just earned him a sound of affirmation, pleased and feline, because he was right. She'd take whatever he wanted and, moreover, she was fairly sure he wouldn't stop her. He might get annoyed, but that was another story entirely. She liked annoying him. No one got a rise out of him often enough, in her opinion. She noticed the relief in his voice when he said he didn't mind her taking his bed, but she was starting to get too lethargic to notice the fact that she should be worried about it.
She listened while he recounted what the other villains had done, and she groaned as she shifted, the painful movement intentionally meant to help her keep awake for a few seconds longer. "Wonderful. They're playing cat and mouse with us now." She loved cat and mouse, but not with these men, and she hated being the mouse in the equation. The guilt that peppered his voice when he spoke of Jason made her reach out blood stained fingers and rest them on the solid, black that covered his forearm. She didn't say anything, but the touch was solid and cool and reassuring, even if she only managed to keep her hand there for a moment before it fell away.
The fact that he'd caught Crane made her take a deep, satisfied breath, and she had no idea that it was a lie; she had no reason to think it was. If he had the antidote, then he had to have Crane. At least that was as far as her reasoning went. "Make sure you stitch straight," she finally said, after a very long stretch of silence. "I like wearing open-back dresses." That statement came with a smile, one that was satisfied, despite chapped lips and a laziness in the corners of her mouth, another indication that she wouldn't be awake much longer.
“Do you mean that I should have been the one to ask you to sleep over and talk about boys and hair and whatever else it is one does at such a thing instead?” Only the Bat could say all of that with a straight face, though the cowl helped with hiding his expression, and only the faintest thread of humor lurking somewhere in his voice. He knew just as well as Luke did that she could certainly be an annoyance, but the way the two viewed her was different; with him, it was more of a fond sort of irritation, while the boy had far less patience for her antics. In truth, he was simply pleased that she didn’t question his relief concerning how long she would be off her feet or where she would be forced to recover.
He was no more a fan of cat and mouse than she was, and he scowled at the thought. “For now,” he corrected. “This is not a game they will win.” The Bat had never been fond of games, particularly not ones orchestrated by madmen and villains, and at the very least Crane would soon be removed from the equation. Joker would be more difficult, and as for Riddler, well, he simply hadn’t had the chance to come face-to-face with him yet in order to give him a proper assessment. The touch to his forearm came as a surprise, and the way he looked at her said as much. Jason was always going to be complicated, as the situation was not one that could be fixed as easily as his relationship with Damian had been, and the fact that Jason was less willing to make amends also had an effect. Still, he took a certain amount of reassurance from that brief touch, and while he would never admit it, he appreciated it nonetheless.
The lie was one he felt guilty about, particularly since it was clear she believed him, but the Bat let none of that show. She didn’t need to know the price he’d paid to save her, and that was his burden to bear, not hers. For all the power and speed the Tumbler had, it was not exactly a smooth ride, and he kept glancing over in order to ensure she wasn’t being jolted about too badly. It wasn’t too much farther now, and he veered off the roads and back streets, onto grass and dirt and the forest which surrounded Wayne Manor. “I’ll do my best,” he told her, a grave promise in response to stitching straight. “I would hate to be the one to deprive Gotham of you in an open-backed dress.”
"Is that what you'd want to do with me if I slept over? I'm disappointed, Bruce," she teased. "Here I thought you had better things to do with all that adrenaline. Didn't we discuss you living it up a little?" she asked. Oh, his fake playboy life didn't count. He played at that, nothing more, and they both knew it. Not that her Bat had been a celibate saint - far from it, and no one knew that better than her. "You should let go sometime. You might like it. It might make you purr."
She didn't comment about whether or not the villains would win. It had been complicated in her Gotham. More complicated than here, at least for her. She didn't have a fence in Penguin's pocket here, and Dollhouse was nowhere to be seen, and she wasn't actively defending the Talons. For her, at least, this was more straightforward. Ivy was her only nebulous connection, and she hadn't seen the other woman since the incident with Brielle's husband. Oh, the kitty cat knew she'd earned herself an enemy that day, but she still had expectations of keeping that problem at bay. Still, it wasn't easy for the cat to balance on the fence between good and bad, and she was too tired and sick for it just then. So she held her tongue. Instead, she grinned at his grave promise. "Maybe you should offer to take me somewhere with an open-backed dress this time, so I don't have to invite myself."
It was telling, the fact that even the rough ride in the Tumbler couldn't help her maintain consciousness after a time, despite her considerable will to do so. Whether he was taking her to the cave or the manor, she would have preferred to arrive on her own steam. But that just wasn't in the cards. She managed to drag her eyes open once more, but it was obviously considerable effort, and she only managed a heavy lidded gaze as she looked over at him in the glow of the console. She had intended to say something, but she couldn't remember what and, instead, she said the only thing that came to mind just then. "I'm sorry about your parents."
Oh, this Bruce was certainly no celibate saint either, but there was a reason it had been so easy for his future self to slip into the life of a recluse for eight years. His life as a playboy was very much an act, discarded once he was out of the limelight, and he’d always had a natural tendency to gravitate towards solitude. He had never given much thought as to why, preferring to avoid that sort of introspection, but it likely had something to do with safety in something familiar, something he’d known from a young age. It probably didn’t help that restraint and discipline were old lessons, ones instilled within him years ago. “I suppose we did,” he agreed, intentionally vague, which masked a controlled effort to keep his mind away from what he would want to do with her if she slept over; none of it had anything to do with hair or talking about boys. “I doubt anything could make me purr, but once things settle down, I’ll try to... let go.” And maybe it worried him a little, as irrational as that was; for someone who fought to maintain control, a loss of it was almost intimidating.
Regardless of what she might think, the Bat didn’t see Selina as a villain. She inhabited a grey area which was difficult to label, not quite where he put himself and the others, save for Jason, but close enough. He didn’t expect her to actively take a side, however, and he knew she wasn’t going to be out fighting crime alongside him or Damian anytime soon, but he had seen the way she was with the children, and he knew she cared more than she was willing to admit. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “If you stay off your feet and rest until the stitches have healed, I’ll take you somewhere with an open backed dress, no self-invite necessary.”
There were a great many advantages to having the Batcave beneath Wayne Manor, and in this case, easy access between the two worked in his favor. The Bat had all but expected her to have lost consciousness by now, and he wasn’t really paying enough attention to catch her heavily lidded gaze, too focused on getting out of the open (though it really wasn’t very open at all) and to safety. The trip there was already indicative of just how difficult the entrance to the cave was, especially in darkness, though it was a testament to the Tumbler’s workmanship that the short distance between land and cave, over rushing water, was felt as merely another jolt along the way. Lights came to life as the vehicle rumbled to a stop, motion activated, and he was in the process of turning towards her to see if she was still awake when she spoke.
It wasn’t at all what he was expecting, that mention of his parents, and the Bat stared for a long, long moment before he moved again. As a child, nearly every adult in his life had told him his parents’ death was something he would get over one day, but each and every one had been wrong. Maybe it was unhealthy, to still dwell upon it after all this time, but the loss was felt almost as strongly as it had been when he was a child of eight. “Thank you,” he said, and the words were awkward, forced, but he didn’t know what to say to that. He sought to head off any further discussion off the topic by hauling himself out of the Tumbler as soon as the top had slid back, circling around to the passenger side, just in case she needed a helping hand this time around.
She scoffed when he refused to directly address her question, but she wasn't surprised. She didn't actually expect him to be direct. For all his logic and plain thinking, the man was never direct. That went for her Bat and this one. "We did," she agreed with him, but it was with a still-lazy smile, one that said she was letting him get away with not answering, one that let him know he hadn't pulled a fast one on her. "Growl," she amended. "You're more of a growler." She said it with an absolute, perfect knowledge of the fact, even through the closed eyes and exhaustion. "Things never settle down in Gotham, Bruce. You have to grab what you can, when you can, or you'll never do anything. No point in waiting for tomorrow all the time, not in a city that can never guarantee you that tomorrow." That was just life. If either of them wanted a different kind of life, they needed to move to Metropolis.
She had no idea about his musings over her potential villainy. One of the things that came with living in the grey was a lack of concern for labels. She wasn't concerned about what Gotham labeled her as, no. She was concerned about where she fit in the equation, where was safe. Selina's life had always been about surviving, and she'd always managed it on her own, without ties, and with enough allies in Gotham's alleys and warehouses that she wasn't in any danger from any fish that was too big. Now things were getting complicated, and it reminded her of the Cat in that movie about that other Gotham. Complications were bad, and she was pawing her way deeper and deeper with every passing day. His agreement to take her somewhere jogged her from those thoughts, though, and she grinned. "I'll try not to steal anything while we're out," she told him, but her smile said that might not actually be feasible - but she'd try. "You'll just have to make sure the kitty cat has enough toys to play with, Mister Wayne."
She sighed heavily when the Tumbler came to a stop, the only indication that she hadn't enjoyed that particular ride, and she waited through his awkward thank you before saying anything else herself. She let him have his distance, his distractions - the top sliding back and his movement around the not-car. By the time he was at the passenger's door, the quiet stretch of lull had almost done what the bumpy ride had prevented. Her breathing was slow and heavy, heavier than sleep and with a shaking kind of depth that indicated more effort than should be required to breathe. Beneath the lights of the cave it became obvious just how pale she was, and just how much blood was on skin and black. Still, she dragged her eyes open just slightly when she heard his footfalls at her side. "Saw a memory," she explained, trying to tie back the sentiment with a reason for it, but even those words were a challenge to get out. She gave up, and she exhaled slowly. "Thank you, Bruce," she managed, before her eyelids shuttered closed once more.
Somehow, the Bat knew this wasn’t the end of their conversation about ‘living it up’. Anyone who read a newspaper or watched the news would think that Bruce Wayne was the last person on earth who needed instruction on such matters, but that was all a facade, and it was likely only Selina’s blood loss that kept the matter from being pursued. “Growling does seem more fitting,” he agreed. “Purring would be better suited to someone like you.” She did have a point, however, about things not settling down in Gotham, and he thought that might have been his future self’s mistake. He spent too much time waiting for the day when Batman would no longer be needed, and by the time that day came he’d lost all the hope he once had for a normal life. Then, eight years of more waiting had followed, waiting for the city to need Batman again, and he’d nearly died as a result. Yes, he thought, she did have a point. “You might be right,” he conceded, aware that she would likely be proud of herself for managing to get him to admit as much.
There was a time before sides, before black and white and grey, but he’d been young then, and a part of him thought that, perhaps, his path had always been laid out for him from the moment his parents died in front of him. It had simply taken a while for him to realize that. The Bat knew where he stood, and there was safety in numbers for those who chose to stand alongside him. “All I ask is that you try,” he remarked dryly. If he was being honest with himself, he expected as much. There would always be a thrill in it for her, the art of theft, but if he was with her, it was less of a genuine concern. “As for the toys, I’ll try as well, Miss Kyle.”
Every bit of the concern he’d fought to keep at bay came flooding forth once he got a good look at her beneath the lights, all pale skin and slick blood layered atop too-deep breathing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel Luke’s anguish, but he forced himself to ignore it; the boy was not his priority just then. “A memory. I understand. Just rest,” he told her, seeing how much of a physical struggle it was just to get the words out. The Bat moved closer as her eyes closed, pulling off the cowl and letting it fall as he did so; there was no need for it here. “You don’t have to thank me.” His voice was quiet, a throaty whisper in the silence of the cave, and despite the weight of kevlar and black he was surprisingly gentle as he eased her out of the Tumbler and into his arms. Alfred had, he saw, set up a makeshift medical area, complete with a bed, supplies, and an IV drip, and he felt a rush of relief mingled with fondness for the older man. First, the wound would need to be cleaned and stitched, and then he could concern himself with keeping her vitals steady.
All he had to do was secure the second antidote. Just that, and then Crane would be taken care of, and Selina would be fine.