Who: The Cat and the Bat What: A chase (1/2) Where: Gotham Bank → Around Gotham → Wayne Tower When: Recently Warnings/Rating: Bank theft? Banter? Flash bombs?
Gotham still looked like Gotham.
The city was in financial ruin, the streets were lined with people who had lost their homes and their jobs. Storefronts were boarded up, their windows shattered as a result of looting, and lines outside makeshift Red Cross food stations still wound around corners in the most-affected parts of the city. Tents full of the sick and homeless had popped up in empty alleys and lots, and the numbers of little faces peering out from behind dumpsters was higher than ever. It looked like something apocalyptic, dystopian, and yet it still looked like Gotham.
Selina hated being back.
She'd been counting on Blondie and the antihero embargoing everything to do with the hotel after recent events. After all, as close calls went? Selina couldn't imagine anything closer. She still felt sick, and her bones still hurt, and she wanted to crawl into Wayne Manor and curl beneath Bruce's blankets like a cat ignoring the world. But then, some other part of her wanted to scream and claw. She wanted to take everything in her path, and she wanted to bind it all up tight and stash it away, like a cat hiding something shiny. It reminded her of home, that feeling, of her home. But she hadn't felt like that in almost a year, since she'd ended up here.
As much as she meowed about her Gotham, it had been a lonely place. The Bat had just been the Bat. The sex had been great, sure, but he carried a hefty amount of guilt because he couldn't keep his paws off one of Gotham's most wanted. She'd been a full-time thief there, at the beck and call of whatever villain paid her, and she had lots and lots of problems ignoring things, like the kids without food on her streets, and the Talons being wrongly persecuted, and her friends being killed because of some secret ancestry she couldn't stick a claw into. No, her Gotham hadn't been easy, no matter what she said about the place. But here, here, the kitty cat had started caring, and being cared for in return was more tempting than any precious stone.
But where had it gotten her?
Nowhere. Here. Missing things she could never admit she missed, and wanting she could never admit she wanted. And, so, the kitty cat fell back on the familiar. On a catsuit and claws, goggles and a whip. Oh, she knew the Bat would come looking; she knew he would do it for Blondie and the antihero. Or, at least that was what he would tell himself. Maybe he wasn't so unlike her Bat after all, who'd come up with a million reasons why he kept coming back for more, all of them intended to cover the shame he felt for wanting her.
They'd danced this dance long enough, this Bat and her.
She went big, because where was the fun in going small? She hit three high-end jewelry stores in rapid succession, and by the time she hit Gotham's main bank she had diamonds around her throat and at her wrists. There were two night guards tied up in the lobby, hanging from their ankles from the ceiling lights, and there was a three-cop pile up on the way to the safe, the men naked and bound and gagged. Gotham PD's first response unit, and one of the men had been so kind as to call in an all clear to the precinct.
And the vault, the vault stood wide open.
Inside the vault, Selina was replacing the diamond studs in her ears with irreplaceable emeralds from the vault, and she had a bag of green at her feet. But she wasn't in any hurry.
After all, the entire point of a chase was to be chased.
For the past few weeks, during the very worst of Ra’s plague, Gotham had needed Batman. Now, however, in the aftermath, it needed Bruce Wayne, and from the moment Luke had stepped foot through the door he’d been at Wayne Enterprises waging an endlessly frustrating war to bring his city back from the brink despite corporate greed and a disgustingly prevalent sense of apathy amongst the upper class. Under normal circumstances, the billionaire playboy couldn’t be bothered to interfere in such affairs, or to care about the plight of Gotham’s citizens, but without Lucius to ensure the right steps were taken he was left with no other choice than to take up the task himself. He explained away his previous carefree demeanor by claiming that he felt he owed it to his father, as the elder Wayne would have given every last penny if it meant a swift recovery, but he knew it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain his facade of privileged indifference intact.
But that was a concern for later, when the city was no longer in financial ruin, when livelihoods were restored and people no longer huddled together on the streets because they had no shelter, no food, nowhere to turn, when every last sick individual had been cured and Gotham’s most vulnerable were looked after. It was a momentous task, but Bruce had already failed his city by allowing Ra’s plague to spread; he wouldn’t fail them again by leaving them to suffer the repercussions. It would not be easy, nor would it be quick, but being the wealthiest and most powerful man in Gotham came with its fair share of sway in a number of influential circles, and he wasn’t above playing dirty if it meant results.
Then Selina had crossed, and while his initial intention had merely been to talk to her, he’d somehow managed to get himself roped into a battle of wills, a challenge he had refused to back down from, and now the game was on. Matters were left to tend to themselves, as he’d gotten the ball rolling, and Bruce Wayne was swapped out for the Bat. He was wired in to the police frequency, perpetual background noise, but he didn’t need Gotham’s boys in blue to help him track the Cat. The man he’d been a year ago was just as capable as the man he was now of trailing her on his own, but that man wouldn’t have cared enough to invest the time to go after her. He could tell himself that he was doing it for Wren and Luke, that it was for them and nothing else, but he knew better. Maybe he wasn’t the same man after all. Maybe he was different now, maybe he’d changed.
Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
Had there been alarms left to trigger, the Bat would have disarmed them before anyone thought to suspect a thing. As it was, his entrance was laughably simple, and he cut down the night guards without a sound, the men more than willing to make a hasty exit and let their masked guardian take care of the cat burglar. When he came to the three police officers, however, he paused, regarding them with disappointment while also fighting the urge to, of all things, laugh. Here they were, Gotham’s finest, the men he was supposed to entrust his city with. Please. He cut them free as well in the end, however, and left them to fend for themselves; unfortunately, the Bat didn’t carry spare changes of clothing on his person.
“They match your eyes. The diamonds don’t.” He spoke to announce his presence, stepping into the vault slowly, but she would know better than to assume his easy stride meant he thought he had won. No, the Bat knew it wasn’t going to be this easy. He would have been disappointed if it was.
"My thoughts exactly," she purred, securing the earring in place before lifting her gaze to the Bat in the doorway. Her goggles were pushed back atop her cowl, the golden lenses making the ends of her inky hair spike in tufts, and the earrings did, indeed, match precisely. There were circles beneath her eyes, and she was thinner, but luckily the vault's harsh light did a lot to wash that away, even if it didn't eclipse the unwanted changes entirely. But she was young, and she would stubborn it out and recover, and she tugged the goggles down over her striking green eyes a moment later, and she tucked that errant strand of hair away beneath sleek black. "They're supposed to be invaluable. Recovered off a little boat that sank in 1912," she explained.
She didn't have to map out her escape route, and she didn't need to think through angles or paths. It wasn't that the kitty cat had anything planned. No, she never planned, and that was part of the fun. Thinking on her feet, and not knowing what he was going to do. She was a careless little kitten without a good fence reining her in, and she didn't have a good fence here. And tonight? Tonight she wouldn't have listened if Lola herself had read her a riot act. She laughed a little, all red lush lips and feeling more like a comic book Cat than she had in months. "Do you know, Bat, that I think this is just what the doctor ordered."
She was still a moment longer, watching him greedily behind the safety of those yellow panes. She remembered a dark warehouse, and she remembered coughing blood, and she remembered his hand on her shoulder. She wanted to see his face. But, no. Oh, no, no. Tonight wouldn't be about that; not if she could help it. There was a second of hesitation, a moment of twitch, an almost imperceptible shake of her head. And then the itch was back, and she was grateful. "Let's see what you've got, Bat," she added, just before moving.
The bag at her feet was over her shoulder in a second, secured too quickly for any lingering impression of illness to remain. The disease had made her ill, but the Lazarus Pit had sped up her recovery, and there was nothing sluggish about her when she ran forward, full tilt, as if she was going to run right into him. Inches shy, she jumped and grabbed the vault light, which hung on a electrical cord overhead. The bulb shattered in her safely gloved hand, and the vault was cast into darkness as she used the momentum to swing back, then forward, flipping high in the air, over him, then gracefully landing outside the vault, over his shoulders and on her feet.
She didn't look back before running, and she triggered the netting she'd rigged overhead as she passed the place where the naked guards had been, a dirty trick to slow him down just a little; the kitty cat didn't want him to lose her scent, after all. She was scaling the walls a second later, around the corner, the bag handed off to one of the street kids she'd tucked away during the plague. There were three boys in total, and they all took off in different directions, two decoys and the one with the real wealth headed to the new little perch she'd claimed off Crime Alley.
The Bat seemed not even to blink as he watched her, looking for all the world as though he had an endless expanse of time at his feet and was in no hurry at all. Strategy, however, set the gears and cogs in motion, and he recognized that she did better in enclosed spaces than he did, which was why he didn’t immediately attempt to rush her. She might have appeared cornered, but in reality she was far from it. He inclined his head slightly, just enough for the movement to register rather than go unnoticed, when she explained where they’d come from. “You have good taste. I’m not surprised.” He was almost monotone. Almost. “I do hope that doctor wasn’t Crane,” he remarked, without a hint of humor, despite the fact that it wasn’t intended as a legitimate concern.
Had Selina chosen to stand there for hours, he would have done the same. Rather than making the first move, and allowing her to respond, the Bat waited until he had the opportunity to respond to her, and when she ran forward his intent was to meet her before she could get traction and go over him; she didn’t have the bulk to barrel through him, nor could she go around him, so up was the logical conclusion. Unfortunately, the fact that she moved first meant she had speed, and had he been a few seconds sooner he could have caught her; as it was, he just missed her, and he skidded to a halt and turned as her feet hit the ground and she took off again. Fortunately for him, however, the Bat knew how to think on his feet, and he wasted no time in hesitation or pauses. Some feared the darkness, but he had adapted himself to it, and it felt more familiar than the light ever would. No, he reacted swiftly, and even the triggered netting was only a minor inconvenience; he cut through the material in seconds, remaining cool and collected rather than panicking, which would have definitely slowed him down.
Outside was a little tricker. Three boys, all rapidly disappearing in three different directions, and Selina in a fourth. His solution might been cheating, had rules been established, but none had, and so thermal imaging (often much more useful than night vision) provided a clear picture of who had the bag. From there, it was a simple matter of pursuit, but the Bat only got close enough to plant a tracking device on the boy before feigning a misstep and falling back. He’d follow the trail later, to wherever it led, and recover the wealth; for now, his main target was elsewhere.
He doubled back to follow the original path Selina had taken; he’d managed to piece together a rough estimation of her direction from the angle of her wall-scaling, but once he was on the rooftops, the Bat relied more on intuition and a little luck to guide him in the right direction. Not wanting to lose ground, however, he kept moving, eyes and ears on sharp alert.
“I’ve always liked expensive things,” she admitted, and it wasn’t a lie. Ever since she was a kitten, back in the days when she spent her time pickpocketing for a Russian cartel that pretended to be an orphanage, she’d liked the shiny, expensive things. Back then, she tucked as many of them under her tongue and in her cheeks as she could, only to hide them away in her teddy bear later, where she could pull them out and look at them whenever she wanted to. It was an honest appreciation, what she had for the emeralds. And that was nothing like what she felt for Crane. She hadn’t thought about the good doctor since she’d promised to meet him by the docks, and the confusion on her features said as much, before she realized he was just being deadpan. “Look who found his sense of humor,” she taunted, all tease and nothing serious, before the shattering of glass and her escape.
The boy with the money was heading back to the abandoned house near Crime Alley that she’d shuffled all her boys to after the quarantines were raised. There were a few dozen of them, by the time it was all done, and just as many cats. The boys were all between the ages of ten and fifteen, all homeless, and all loyal to the kitty cat. They knew to stash the money until she returned, and they had full bellies and clean faces, and that went an unbelievably long way to ensuring loyalty in Gotham.
But the boys weren’t her concern just then, and she barely registered the delay in pursuit as being longer than it should be. She climbed five balconies, and there her scent disappeared. She’d used her whip to swing to the building across the way, and then it was three rooftops, before she scuttled down, listening for the sound of pursuit all the while.
When she thought she heard it, she smiled, all lush red lips and bright green eyes behind her goggles. She swung, then, onto the balcony of an upper-priced penthouse. She took out the alarm in under ten seconds, and she cut the glass in under seven. She climbed into the round opening her claws had left behind, and she let herself into a slumbering nursery, where she padded through and into the hallway. Everyone in the penthouse was asleep, quiet as mice and with no idea a cat had come to play. She pawed her way into a jewelry box, and she tucked a tiara into her utility belt, before finding a vantage point up against the hallway's ceiling. She could get to the air duct with a flip and no effort, but she wanted to see if the Bat came bounding through the sleeping house first.
There was something about her teasing words that lingered even after she was gone, a marked difference from the heavy gloom and guilt which had weighed upon him for nearly a month, and would likely stay for many more. No matter how much damage control he did now, the Bat had failed Gotham, failed all those who had been buried and would be, and it was not a failure borne easily. But tonight, now, that wasn’t his focus. This was a distraction, he realized, as much for himself as it was for her, but this time he didn’t fight it, nor did he overthink it as he usually did.
Instead, he accepted it.
The Bat’s method of tracking was a combination of skill and technology, with a dash of uncanny estimation thrown in. Following her trail up to the rooftop was simple enough, but from there he had to determine direction, since up was no longer an option. A minute, give or take a few seconds. Another minute to scale the appropriate rooftops. He went one too far, doubled back, a sharp circular curve that cut through the air with a hiss, and his feet only met hard ground for a moment before he was airborne again. The penthouse balcony supported his weight, and he had long ago learned to balance in places where physics should have defied him.
There, he paused. He’d missed her by a few seconds, the circle of cut-out glass simultaneously telling a story and pointing him in the right direction, but he did not follow. Oh, he could have, but the Bat knew that he would simply be left inside a penthouse full of sleeping people while Selina made her escape with the goods, and he would just have to double back to follow her all over again. No, he wasn’t putting himself in that position, nor was he risking walking into a potential trap and being surrounded by suddenly awakened, angry homeowners. He could see the headlines now. Instead, the Bat slipped off the edge, out of sight, and scaled around the building to wait her out on the roof.
The fact that he didn't follow made the kitty cat smile. Most people would have opened the window and stormed in, and that would have given her a screaming family as a distraction. And, oh, she knew he was outside. That balcony might support his weight, but it still squealed just the tiniest bit in protest. In the penthouse, someone turned over in their sleep, and the kitty cat climbed into the air duct, where there was just one sharp curve before the roof.
But she didn't climb out.
No, she pulled a tiny flash bomb from her utility belt, and she threw it, jamming it in the exit grate and crawling as quickly as she could to get away from the harmless blast, flash and smoke. Oh, it would be enough to wake anyone on the upper floors, and it would certainly catch the Bat's attention, but the kitty cat had no intention of being there to enjoy it herself.
By the time the explosion reached her ears, she was back in the penthouse, and by the time the family within woke up screaming, she was lost in the bustle of doors opening in hallways and sirens sounding (lots of them, within seconds, because Gotham had priorities). Slipping out in a "borrowed" mink, cowl pushed back and the tiara atop her head was like taking kibble from a kitten, and Selina found herself on the sidewalk, looking up, along with all of the other building's residence for just a second.
Then she was moving again, leaving a trail of mink and tiara, breadcrumbs that ended at the front door to Wayne Enterprises. Beating the Bat on his own turf would be a challenge, even on a good day, and the kitty cat didn't stop to think about the brash choice. Suction cups on her knees and palms, and she scaled the flat glass as if the drop wouldn't kill her. She was, admittedly, curious whether he would follow, or meet her up top, because she fully expected him to do one of the two. But she knew she wouldn't get the pleasure of finding out.
Just shy of the roof, she cut the window, and she climbed into his office. Oh, the kitty cat knew she wouldn't sound an alarm when she did it; she was counting on him to have disabled any alarms before she climbed in.
Seconds ticked by, and the Bat waited, a coiled spring prepared to strike at the right moment. But the silence continued with no sign of Selina to interrupt it, and just as he began to think that perhaps he’d underestimated her, the explosion reached his ears and had him over the edge and back on the balcony faster than anyone had a right to move. Then the screaming started, and from the darkness he watched, just another shadow, as frantic bodies fought to move towards the door and out into the hallway, where more panic and chaos prevailed. Had he thought the explosion posed a threat, he would undoubtedly have acted, but the Bat had his own arsenal of distraction techniques and knew the sound of a flash bomb when he heard it. And so, the Bat merely turned and looked down, a crowd quickly gathering on the sidewalk, and caught sight of her in the midst of curious citizens, mink coat, tiara and all.
So she had done the unexpected and gone down. He didn’t smile, but his lips twitched, imperceptible enough that even he didn’t recognize it for what it was.
And then, just as the shadowed figure began to draw some stares, the Bat disappeared, intentionally breaking the line of sight in order to follow Selina to wherever she was headed next. Which, it seemed, was Wayne Enterprises; his turf. A risky move. Aside from the Manor, there was nowhere else in Gotham he knew better. Every entrance, all the security and weak spots and hallways, he might as well have constructed it all himself, and he still had distant memories of his father’s voice droning on above as he was shown around, when he was too small to really grasp the significance. Regardless, he now had an advantage, and he chose to enter his company building from above rather than follow behind. As soon as he was inside, the Bat patched himself into Wayne security, and it was no trouble at all to move about as easily as he would have had he been in a very different suit.
As expected, no alarms were triggered when Selina entered his office, no security was called, and the sirens remained in the distance. But if there was one place in which all her movements would be known, it was here. Dead silence for a few seconds, eerily so, before there was a metallic click and the Bat quite literally dropped from the ceiling. He landed heavily, but no less steady for it, and rose with surprising fluidity as he regarded her from behind the cowl.
"I thought you'd make it in here before I did," she said when he dropped from the ceiling. It was a purred thing, as if a Bat dropping from the sky was the most normal thing in all the world. And it had been, once, for this particular Cat. "I think you get a points deduction for not anticipating my destination," she said, pushing the goggles up as she moved, making sure to keep out of his reach.
She'd considered laying traps first, before the bank and the vault, that itch to tie him up and steal him away like some prized diamond still bright green in her veins, but she'd refrained. There would have been too big a chance of him catching on, of him waiting here and denying her the chase that had her cheeks flushed with something other than regret or anger or grief for the first time since Blondie had forced her back through the door. It had been worth waiting, she thought, just for that alone.
Oh, and she knew there would be a little camera somewhere in this office. One that recorded every single movement, one that he wouldn't risk any of his board members or employees getting their little paws on. No, wherever the camera was, this one would feed somewhere only he could see. She was counting on that; it's why she'd picked this location for the end of their little romp.
Her Bat always did his best to forget; she knew this one well enough that he wouldn't be able to.
She was smooth grace and a sway of hips as she walked toward the big desk that served as the room's centerpiece. Her claws screeched as she dragged them along the edge of that expensive mahogany, leaving reminders in their wake, and she slid up on the wood and sat, black-sheathed legs crossed at the knee, and her fingers moving idly to her utility belt.
He'd take it as an offensive move, she knew. He could either come take the bolas - which weren't yet visible - from her, and risk getting close, or he would have to deal with the traps thrown expertly at his ankles.
Bat's choice.
“You assume I didn’t know you were here beforehand.” The Bat followed her movements with his gaze alone, not yet choosing to act. “Are you keeping score?” Despite being aware of how the Lazarus Pit’s effects had manifested in her, he had no reason to think that it extended beyond material goods, trinkets, much like what she had stolen already. As for him, well, he was the prize lured into a chase, or so she thought, but he had no inkling of any desire she might have to possess him. This was a game, a distraction. Even if its end was unclear, he intended to emerge the victor; he would catch her, not the other way around.
And he was close. Close enough to be wary of premature success, yet impatient at the same time, and caught between the two. Of course his office had the sort of extra surveillance lacking in the rest of the building, very much off the record, but he didn’t think of it then, transmitting to no one since he was here, and not there. No, his attention was focused entirely on her, and while Bruce Wayne the CEO sighed when her claws scratched the mahogany desk it remained silent, not passing beyond the cape and cowl. He knew better than to think she would just sit there, however, and when she reached for her belt, he had a decision to make in a very short amount of time; wait to see how she acted, and react, or make the first move.
As the Bat had no desire to allow her the upper hand, he chose the latter.
Despite all that armor, he could still move fairly quickly when he wanted to. Now was one of those occasions. The Bat’s strides were long, his pace fast, and he caught both her wrists in gloves hands, acutely aware that he had gotten closer than he’d originally intended. “I think this constitutes catching you,” he told her, but even then, he didn’t count it as a victory yet; no, she wouldn’t be Selina if she capitulated so easily.
"I just expected you in the office before me. Calm down, Bat, I'm not insulting you, not yet," she purred. And of course she was keeping score. Maybe it wasn't the same score he was keeping, but it was still keeping score, even if he didn't know what game she was actually playing. There was one thing she did expect, and that was his desire to win. Oh, the kitty cat knew what determination looked like in the lines around his mouth, and he wasn't willing to just give up. She appreciated that, even if she didn't say it. She didn't want him talking to her like she was Pit-crazy, even if she was, and she didn't want him to let her win on account of it either.
And even if he didn't give her a reaction to the scored wood of the desk, she knew he noticed, and she knew he wouldn't replace it. She would bet her favorite diamonds (stolen from him) that the desk would still be there next week, even if he managed to get the claw marks covered. Because covering them wouldn't really make them go away, would they?
When he moved, she just smiled, a tip of lips and a kitty cat grin that let him know he'd just given her just what she wanted. She could tell, too, that he'd gotten closer than expected, and her green eyes brightened with something sweet and smug. She looked down at his gloves, and the gauntlets on his wrists, on the grip on her own wrists, gone thin with illness that was a little harder to miss in that moment. "Does it?" she asked, her legs winding low around his hips, beneath the cape and unforgivingly tight. Thinner, yes, but no weaker for it.
She dropped the bolas, the metal round ends weighing them down as they fell between them to the floor harmlessly. "I don't think so, Bruce," she purred, stretching against him wantonly, slick black to hard kevlar, and her mouth against his jaw. "This is me catching you," she explained, lips dragging hard along his jaw, even as she turned her wrists and sunk her metal claws beneath his gauntlets, hard enough to sting and bruise and grip.
"Do you know what I want?" she asked, lips brushing back along that hard line of jaw. "Do you know what the Pit makes me want?" she asked, and it sounded like danger, that purred inquiry.
“Not yet,” he repeated. “So I still have something to look forward to.” There it was again, that deadpan humor, which made it difficult to discern whether he was being serious or making an attempt at a joke on any given day. Oh, the Bat was aware that this was largely motivated by leftover Lazarus Pit in her system, but it was easy to forget that little detail, and even so he had no intentions of letting her win. Maybe he wasn’t quite sure what game she was playing, or what her end goal was, but he’d never done well with failure and he’d had enough of it to last him a lifetime in the past few weeks, thank you very much. Ra’s had made a fool of him; Selina wasn’t going to do the same.
As for the desk, he was rather fond of it, and getting a new one was simply extra effort he didn’t have time for. A few claw marks on wood paled in comparison to a city still struggling to regain its footing.
The Bat knew she wanted him close. Even without her telling, smug smile, he would have known, but he didn’t count it as a loss on his part. With so little space between them, the impact of the virus was even more visible, harder to ignore, and it brought back the knowledge that he shouldn’t be doing this. No, he should be furious with her, just as he’d been with Nigma, for violating every single right Dick had and resurrecting him without his consent. But his anger, which was so simple to maintain when she was gone, wouldn’t come when she was here, in front of him, and he actually had the opportunity to yell, to berate, to lecture. He was making an exception for her, and he knew it, and he was angry at himself for it, for being unable to stay angry at her. And, too, maybe he was angry at himself for why he was making an exception in the first place.
The feel of her legs winding around his hips, even through armor and kevlar, effectively wrenched him out of his thoughts, and he would have pulled his hands back if she hadn’t chosen that moment to dig her claws in, beneath his gauntlets. His jaw tightened, but aside from that, there was no outward reaction to the sharp sting. “No,” he said, tensing, but making no attempt to pull away. “This is not you catching me. You’ll never know how that feels.” He thought he’d known what urges the Pit had awakened within her, but now, he wasn’t so sure. There was no panic; he never panicked, never felt fear for himself, even if she had been enough of a threat to warrant it. No, it was simply a feeling of having misjudged a situation and realizing it just a second too late.
“Why don’t you tell me?” With her legs around him, claws dug in deep, the Bat couldn’t exactly pull free. But if he moved, she moved with him, and he flexed his fingers before centering his weight and stepping back, away from the desk, the movement too sudden to be predicted.
Oh, he could deadpan at her all he wanted; it didn't change anything. And that tiny little thing he felt about being made a fool out of? The kitty cat felt that in spades. Helping Damian had ended her up with her shoulders weighed down with more guilt than she knew how to carry, and Ra's had used her too, in the end, sending her a dirty suit and expecting her to carry the virus home to the Bat like a good little kitten. And all for what? The baby bird wanted apologies for things she didn't even remember. And, to be honest, even if she did remember every single second, she probably wouldn't give him what he wanted. Because what he really wanted was someone to be angry at? Fine, here she was. And she was willing to let the Bat play the same game, as long as she got what she wanted out of it in the end.