. (spacecowboys) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-08-16 19:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman, door: dc comics |
Who: The Bat and the Cat
What: The Bat gets tricked into helping with a little JLA assignment (2/2)
Where: S.T.A.R. Labs
When: Just before Bat-mite
Warnings/Rating: None
The Bat could hear what was going on elsewhere, at his back and sides, even if he didn’t always have a line of sight on Selina. Nothing indicated that she was in need of assistance, and he was preoccupied with his men, slimmed down to half their numbers before a bullet lodged itself between layers of kevlar just beneath his shoulderblade. There would be a bruise, little more, but being shot at had always raised his ire, and a second later the man’s next bullet went high, into the ceiling, just before his wrist snapped in multiple different places. Six became five, then four, then three, and the last two attempted some sort of team attack that tested every reflex he possessed, reacting to blows from both sides. He caught a fist and swung the man, grunting with the effort of using a human being as a weapon, into his comrade, and the two went sprawling. One’s skull cracked quietly against the floor and he was still, while the other moaned and twitched but did not rise.
He took that reprieve to look over his shoulder for Selina, but his attention on her didn’t last long. No, the little girl was an effective distraction, and he stared in frozen disbelief at the child who had just emerged from the vault. The Bat had expected weaponry, advanced technology and compounds and things too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands, but a child? The implications of her presence brought nothing good to mind, and he was sorely tempted to bring the entire facility to the ground. He took a step forward before he felt a presence behind him, and he turned to see the man who’d fallen now upright, but his gun was not aimed at the Bat. It was aimed at the girl, the child, and an expression of rage so thunderous came over him that the man actually faltered, gun lowering, and the weapon hit him full in the face with a loud crack no more than two seconds later, flipped onto his back and the ground even faster.
With that the Bat returned his attention to the girl, looking from her to Selina and back again as though that might somehow make things clearer. “Why were they keeping a child in that vault?”
“No,” she replied, no hesitation in that purr of words. Eddie had told her that there was one little constant with her and the Bat, and that was that he would never trust her, once it was all said and done. Once, she’d believed the man in green to be wrong. But it had turned out that she’d been so, so very wrong herself. She’d had seven years to live with that reality, and she wasn’t that silly little kitten who had been so willing to wait for him to decide she wasn’t worth trusting here. She lived in grey places that he couldn’t understand, and all the differences between the young Bat she knew didn’t change that. She couldn’t let herself believe that it did.
As for all that staring he was doing, it just made her smile. The party was far enough removed that she didn’t care what he knew anymore. She’d always been terrible at secrets, if enough time passed. And, anyway, the kitty cat didn’t think he was perceptive enough to read her little secret through the layers of paint. And she liked taunting him. A girl had to have fun somehow, and after the tiny incident with Mrs. Popsicle? Well, she deserved a good time. Especially since she wouldn’t be getting anything shiny out of this particular job. “I hope I was tasty, at least,” she purred, all smug in the knowledge that she’d figured it all out before he had.
She would have liked to watch him take out the room. The kitty cat wasn’t any kind of pacifist, and there was a reason she was attracted to someone as dangerous as him. She appreciated the violence in him, that darkness that he still somehow kept in check. It was like a flame, and she‘d realized that way back at sixteen, when he’d first hit Gotham’s streets and drawn attention to himself. She was too hedonistic to bother pretending she didn’t like what she liked, and she was sorry for the darkness and distraction. Pity.
She almost laughed at the frozen disbelief on what she could see of his features, once all the men had fallen and the little girl had stepped out of the vault. Almost, because the emergence of the man with the gun had left room for nothing but a quick move to block the little girl herself, while the Bat dealt with the threat. Her suit wasn’t kevlar, and it was a selfless little move that she would have avoided in his presence, if at all possible. But it was too late, and the little girl was peeking out from behind her black-clad hip by the time the threat was neutralized.
The little girl babbled in Russian, her toy clutched tight to her throat, and Selina responded to her, before responding to the Bat. “You’ll be back home soon, little one.” Selina’s Russian was street and messy, but she’d grown up in Gotham’s Russian mafia underbelly, and she hadn’t forgotten.
She nudged the little girl forward, encouraging. “She’s an Egorovs. The Falcones grabbed her in exchanged for a pretty little detonator the Egorovs have in their possession. Take her home? I’ll clean up here.” After all, how was she going to get a little girl out of here on her own, safely, without some distraction?
When she responded in the negative, so certain he’d never trusted her, he left it at that. He didn’t argue, didn’t point out that she was wrong. Now wasn’t the time, and the Bat wasn’t going to show weakness by admitting that he had put more trust in her than he’d ever expected to. He had to keep reminding himself that, while it had only been months for him, seven years had passed for her.
His only reaction to her words, a confirmation of what he now already knew, was the appearance of lines around his eyes, not a wince but the start of one. It was quickly brushed aside, however, because he didn’t want to think of how he could still remember what it was like to be a wolf, could still taste paint and tang and feel the loose freedom of limbs that ached in a wonderfully delicious way. Later, he could mull over what her secret might have been. Later, he could think of how to apologize or whether he should at all. Later, because now there was a little girl to contend with, a child who’d just emerged from a vault into a room strewn with unconscious men. Oh, Selina’s selfless act hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it didn’t surprise him in the least that she’d been willing to take a bullet for the girl. She might have lived in grey, but it was a lighter shade than she cared to admit. “How did you know she was here?” He didn’t ask why she’d come, because he knew she would never turn her back on an innocent child caught between two powerful crime families despite what she might claim.
Behind the cowl his expression darkened when she explained why the girl was there, becoming something thunderous before he realized that his appearance alone was enough to frighten a child without him taking steps to make himself even more fearsome. The Bat hesitated, but the girl’s reluctance to go when she was nudged was enough to soften his expression into something that was more man than bat. “I won’t hurt you,” he told the child, his Russian more technically sound than hers. When he was Bruce Wayne he might have played dumb more than once, but the simple truth was that living in Gotham, with the syndicates and the gangs, and only knowing one language would leave one at a severe disadvantage, one he couldn’t afford, not when he spent so much time coming toe to toe with the city’s criminal underbelly. “You’re safe now. I’ll take you home.” He held out a gloved hand, and little by little the girl inched forward until she was close enough to reach out and place her small hand in his. It almost made him smile. Almost, but he caught himself just in time.
Admittedly, he wasn’t all that keen on leaving Selina here, but the girl needed to get out before more reinforcements came and made things difficult. And so he nodded, stooping to pick the little girl up after instructing her to hold on; it would be faster that way. He came close to saying something akin to be careful, but stopped just short, though his gaze gave his intention away.
She didn't expect him to argue with her about trust, and so she wasn't surprised when he didn't. But she caught those lines around his eyes, and she'd known him well enough to remember what his reactions looked like. She hadn't realized that until that very moment. Seven years, and maybe she hadn't forgotten as much as she thought she had. The very concept bothered her, and she had the desire to tell him not to think so hard. Figuring the kitty cat out? It couldn't be such a challenge for a detective like him. She hadn't forgotten what it had felt like to get her throat torn out that night, and she hadn't forgotten how much it had felt like finally being free. It was the being back here part that bothered the kitty cat. The sweet nothingness of death, it should have stayed.
"It's a job," she said of how she'd known the girl was there. Oh, it was a job. Granted, it was a job without anything shiny at the end of it, but he didn't need to know that. After all, she didn't think he'd understand the JLA, even if she explained it. In her world, the JLA was a necessity. Even her Bat had to admit the unchecked powers that Supes and Wondy wielded were excessive, and the Trinity War was something they were trying to avoid here. But this Bat was kinder, and he would have a harder time understanding. Right now, Arrow was the threat. Even she knew how that looked. But like her, the JLA was grey. This job, it was a good job. The little girl wasn't being ferreted away somewhere to be a governmental bargaining chip. She was going home. And if the job was too dangerous for the kitty cat alone? Well, she was expendable, and that had nothing to do with any government agency. "You can hire the kitty cat yourself next time, if you want," she purred, all downplay and distraction.
But she hadn't expected him to speak Russian, and that made the kitty cat forget little games intended to throw him off the scent. Russian was her childhood, and it was how she'd ended up in the suit to begin with. He sounded fluent, like the men and women that had run the orphanage and whorehouses of her youth. He sounded nothing like her street Russian, urchin and hard. She felt the little girl move, rather than saw her. And she remembered herself by the time the little girl's hand slid into his black, gloved one.
She brushed a trace of blood off the corner of her mouth with the back of a gloved hand, and she nodded toward the door behind him. "I'll go first, and drag them in another direction. Good luck, Bat," she said, and despite the little girl's presence, she came close and pressed a kiss to his chin. The red lipstick she left behind made the little girl laugh, and Selina smiled a genuine smile when she glanced over at her. "Hold on tight," she told the little girl, with one last and lingering sway of her hip against unyielding kevlar.
“A job,” the Bat repeated. Vague at best, and it raised the question of who had hired her to retrieve the little girl. The Egorovs, perhaps? Yet they could have sent their own men, for as skilled as Selina was she was only one woman and he wasn’t quite sure how she would have managed had she not lured him along. And there was the simple matter of trust to consider; if this child was one of their own, would they really trust an outsider with her safety? No amount of money could replace a life once it was lost. That answer, simple as it was, didn’t satisfy him, and the look he gave her said as much. “I don’t need to hire you,” he told her, and how he meant the statement was left up to interpretation, as he certainly gave no indication or whether he was teasing or entirely serious.
He knew her history in a way he hadn’t before, and there might have been something like concern in the way he looked at her but it was impossible to tell, there and gone before it had taken root. “Very well.” His agreement was solemn, and before he could return her well-wishes she’d closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to his chin. He covered his momentary surprise smoothly, only a twitch of his lips betraying a reaction, and a hint of exasperated fondness slipped through when the little girl laughed. One arm was around the little girl, but he used the back of his free hand to wipe away the lipstick left behind as he looked down at her. “Good luck,” he echoed, and when instructed the girl’s arms wound tightly around his neck, and she hid her face in his kevlar-covered shoulder. Good. The less the poor child saw, the better.
When the moment of lingering ended, he stepped back, giving her space to move and cause her distraction before making his own escape.
His repetition wasn't a question, and she pretended she didn't see that look in his eyes that said he might have understood that she wasn't being entirely direct with him. But she didn't say anything, knowing that being too smug was a tell sometimes. It could give away all kinds of secrets to a particularly attentive Bat, and it wouldn't do to forget that this Bat wasn't as easy to derail as her Bat. Her Bat was angrier, and it had always been so easy to get him to the point of blows and drawn blood. And it had always worked, that kind of violence. He'd talked to her then, when he was angry and spent and sorry he'd gotten so rough with her. It had always been like that, but she couldn't play that game here. This Bat wouldn't fall for it, and she had a feeling she'd have to work much, much harder to get him to lose his temper with her in that violent a way. She had a feeling, too, that he wouldn't forgive himself for it as quickly.
"No? Shame," she said of him not hiring her. Teasing or not, the kitty cat could interpret his denial however she wanted. And she was feeling beneficent tonight. After all, she knew he'd get the little girl home, which meant she'd dodged the Suicide Squad yet again. And no one needed to know that she would have come her, assignment or not, had she heard about it through Gotham's underbelly grapevine. Not a bad night, all things considered, and Eddie's little pink trophy had set her up with enough green to stay in her Wayne Towers Penthouse for another month at least. Not a bad week for the kitty cat.
When he moved back, after that twitch of lips that had earned him a lush smile and a hint of purr, she waggled her fingers at the little girl. She was gone a second later, flipping through the air and intentionally setting off the overhead alarm as she went, reversing the electric zap that had knocked out the lights in the process. She was deliberate then, setting off as many security triggers as she could and leading the thundering slam of oncoming feet as far away from the vault as possible. It was adrenaline and speed and grace that go her to the dead end that led to the sewer chute, and she waited there, smiling like a cat with her paw in the cream. She could just duck out, but where was the fun of that? After all, she was supposed to be distracting.
She fought until everything hurt, and she fought beyond that, until she was sure he'd had time to get out, and until she could barely execute a kick from her exhaustion. A quick slam of a heeled shoe to the exact spot where drywall lead to the old sewer chute sent the wall crumbling in, and it was nothing for her to dive into the new space, which was too small for any of the men still standing. It was a hard fall, and she groaned and rolled as she landed, the sounds of the wall being broken more widely ringing out over head. No time to linger, the kitty took to the sewers.
She was going to take the longest bath ever once she got home. Who said kitty cats didn't like water?
The Bat remained out of sight as Selina led the guards on a chase, counting each second that ticked by as alarm after alarm sounded in her wake. It was all a matter of timing, knowing when to move, and when the moment was right he did not hesitate to act; a zip of his line and a swift execution got him out, and from there he simply had to retrace his steps in order to make his exit. The girl, small as she was, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and held on tight, whispered Russian the only sounds she made. Their path was clear until he rounded a corner, the hallway which led to the air vent he’d dropped down from, but he didn’t waste time physically attacking the two guards who reached for their weapons as soon as they saw the pair. Instructing the child to not look, he reached for his belt and a small remote-like device, finding the button with his thumb, and watched as the triggers were pulled with little more than a click to show for it. With their weapons neutralized he took a threatening step forward, eyes narrowed dangerously behind the cowl. “You have thirty seconds. Either get out of my way or this is the last the time the two of you will ever take another step.”
It took ten seconds, not the full thirty, before the hallway was clear and the Bat was free to make his escape. With the attention focused inside, on wherever Selina had gone, he managed to slip back out of the facility unnoticed; he was gone by the time anyone realized their mistake. The little girl began to babble about home as soon as they were back on the streets, sticking to back alleys and rooftops, and it didn’t take much digging to discover where, exactly, that was. Home was a mansion, fences and security that posed no trouble at all; mob families were so predictable. He got in without drawing attention to himself, but once the girl was safely inside (and goodbyes were exchanged) he purposely triggered one of the alarms and slipped back out the window as the cavalry came running.
She would be fine, now. Regardless of the family she belonged to the girl was innocent, and that the Falcones had kidnapped her at all suggested she wasn’t just a pawn; she had to have been cared about to have value. He could have gone back to the facility, or he could have called it a night, but instead he went to the penthouse Selina had under her false name. Breaking into buildings was never usually trouble but when it was his building, well, the Bat could practically stroll right in through the front door. If she wasn’t there he’d wait; half an hour at the most, he decided, and if she hadn’t returned by then he’d go looking.
Selina showed up twenty-five minutes later. She wasn't actually expecting a visit. She wasn't actually aware that he'd bothered to figure out where she was staying. She scaled, instead of using the entrance that she had every right to use as Irena. But she looked like something the cat had dragged in, and that kind of thing drew unwanted attention in prestigious Wayne Towers. So, instead, she climbed onto the balcony outside her window, and she let herself in and checked the traps there, the ones that would let her know if anyone had used that window. Clear, and she silenced the alarm next.
The Penthouse was vast, creams and cool marble, and it was strewn with discarded clothes, shoes, and jewelry of different shapes and sizes. It was the kind of chaos that a truly wealthy person wouldn't feel comfortable with, but Selina liked excess, and she didn't like to be careful with her toys. Nothing was tucked into jewelry boxes, and half of the designer dresses that littered the couch still had five digit price tags on them. Oh, she'd burn through the money from dear Mrs. Popsicle in no time at the rate she was going, but she always lived it up after a job. What did she want with banks or permanence, when she never stayed anywhere for very long? Better to enjoy things while she could, because who knew when she'd burn through the last of her nine lives?
But she was sore just then, a cracked lip and aching shoulders from her impact at the bottom of the escape duct. She was maybe just a little careless as she walked through the room, unzipping the suit to reveal a myriad of red splotches that would become bruises by morning, and crossing into the luxurious bathroom and tucking her comm in her ear. "She's safe, Stevie," she said, and she listened as she drew water in the tub. "No trouble. Now, can I take a bath, or do I need government approval for that too?" she asked, sounding weary. The comm clattered onto the bathroom counter a second later, and she made a pleased sound as she slid beneath the luxury suds in the hot water and closed her eyes.
Five minutes left on the clock, with more than a little concern brewing beneath the surface, and the Bat’s attention was finally caught by attention outside the window. He had, admittedly, been expecting the front door, but he realized it made sense that she would prefer to avoid the more public route lest she draw unwanted attention to himself. He was hidden out of sight, unconcerned about her being alerted to his presence prematurely as he knew better than to leave behind evidence of his entrance. Quiet, unmoving, he was invisible in the shadows cast within the Penthouse, and he’d already done a customary sweep of her current living space in the twenty-five minutes preceding her arrival. He waited for her to turn on the lights, perhaps, to explore, but she did neither, and it worked in his favor. He watched her cross the room, watched as the suit was discarded, and only when she’d disappeared into the bathroom did his limbs shift into movement and he followed, not a sound made as he crossed the floor in her wake.
He stopped short when she began to speak, having expected something similar; it was a job, after all, which meant someone had hired her. He filed away that Stevie for later, but it was the mention of the government which caught his attention, held it, and momentarily froze him in place. Seconds ticked by, during which the comm clattered onto the floor and the sound of sloshing water came from beyond the doorway. There was a brief moment in which the Bat considered leaving without making his presence known, but it was a fleeting consideration, and one he decided against.
One second, two, and then the Bat’s form filled the doorway as he looked down at her, as though standing in someone else’s bathroom while they bathed was nothing out of the ordinary. And maybe it was difficult to stay focused, but he wasn’t some teenage boy with raging hormones he couldn’t control. He didn’t say anything; he just waited.
Selina didn't actually hear him, so much as she sensed him. Gut instincts might not be high on some people's list of survival skills, but she spent enough time jumping from roof to roof to know to trust hers. She smiled before she opened her eyes, red gone from her lips thanks to the water and only the crack from a solid hit there lending her mouth any additional color. But the smile was entertained, pleased, uninjured. She hadn't sustained anything worse than normal wear and tear that evening, and that made her a very happy kitty cat. After all, her odds hadn't been anything to purr about. "Did you come all the way here to stand in my doorway while I bathe, Mr. Wayne?"
She knew he wouldn't be in a business suit, even before she opened her eyes, but the use of his given name (almost) was intentional, and she dragged open mossy green eyes and looked him up and down. The slow perusal was intentional, deliberate, and she didn't hide the pleasure she felt when she looked at him. Wrong suit or not, she'd always liked how this particular man pulled it off. Her knees swayed over the edge of the water, and she flicked some sudsy droplets at him with red-tipped fingernails. "I know you aren't speechless," she continued, all purr and chastity, slipping a little further beneath the water so that only her swaying knees showed. "I have it on good authority that you've been with women." There was an old knowledge in that purr. Maybe not as old for him as for her, but it was knowledge all the same. And then there the was the matter of the basement. But, oddly enough, she didn't feel like poking him about that just then.
And she didn't feel vulnerable, naked while he was covered up from cowl to boot. The little birds might make her feel old, and his disinterest in her body might make her feel unwanted, but she was too confident in what she could do - in or out of the catsuit - to feel at a disadvantage by their uneven level of protection. She shifted, and the water sloshed. "Thank you for your help," she finally said. It was an honest thanks, no purring or meowing, and it was something that probably wouldn't have come out of his little kitten's mouth. But she'd learned a lot of things in seven years, and she knew she wouldn't have managed this job without his help. There was no point in pretending otherwise. "She's home safe?" she asked. Because, oh, no, the kitty cat hadn't actually confirmed that in any way before contacting Stevie. She'd just taken it for granted, because regardless of which Bat he was, she trusted him to do whatever he put his mind to. That faith, if anything, had just grown over the years.
Like this, it was much easier to hide his true thoughts and feelings. It was a stark contrast, her exposed and him the exact opposite, and yet the Bat didn’t think his suit gave him the upper hand in this situation. With someone else, perhaps. But not with Selina Kyle. “No,” he said, as her eyes opened and she looked up at him. “That wasn’t my intention.” Only a blind man could have remained oblivious to her slow perusal and the pleasure that followed, but while it suddenly became uncomfortably hot within the suit he gave no outward sign of any such reaction. Little crinkles appearance around his eyes, however, when she flicked the sudsy water his way, and his mouth twitched, something familiar and fond in the subtle gestures that he either didn’t hide quickly enough or simply couldn’t be bothered to. No, he wasn’t speechless; he had too many years of self-control and too much age to ever become tongue-tied, whether it was warranted or not. “You have it on good authority?” He tipped his head to the side. “Contrary to what seems to be popular belief, you’re right.” He was, admittedly, glad that she didn’t outright reference the encounter in the basement. It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to talk about, and certainly not with her.
The honest thanks was a surprise. He wasn’t expecting it, at least not like that, not without some sort of her usual tease in it. He blinked down at her before responding. “You’re welcome,” was his response, and he nodded when she asked if the girl was home safe. “She is, yes. Scared, but unharmed. I assume whoever hired you for this job will be pleased?” For now, at least, the Bat intended to feign ignorance.
She hadn't seen that mouth twitch in seven long years, and she stared for a few seconds too long, eyes oddly bright. And then the lazy indifference was back, and she stretched her arms out along the rim of the tub, as if this opulence was normal for her, as if this was her right and not something she'd stolen away. "Pity," she said of watching her not being his intention, and that smile was back, lush and confident and all kitty cat. As for having it on good authority, she gave him a look, all curve of a black brow and a knowing look that danced along his middle. Seven years, but she still remembered. He was different than her Bat, even in bed, and she wondered how many of her memories were reality. Time did funny things, and she'd known a lot less about everything back when she'd been a kitten in his arms. "I've heard a few rumors." And her Bat, unlike this one, slept with plenty of women, and there were plenty of rumors. But maybe this Bat got around now too. After all, there was the basement to consider.
The smile she gave him when he asked about the job was so good, and she had no idea he'd heard her on the comm. It was a perfect falsehood, that quirk of her lips as she kicked the stopper on the bath and let the water begin to flow. "Oh, I'll be able to afford another two months in nirvana at least with my paycheck," she lied, the purr a sweet, sweet thing that came with her unabashedly standing and stepping out of the tub. Water dripped along skin and to the marble floor, and she slid a lush, green robe on with slow grace. It clung damply to her wet skin, and the ends of her long hair dripped water behind her as she approached him. "Did you come to lecture, Bruce?" she asked, fingers keeping the robe closed and the tip of her chin as she looked up at him defiant. "Because the kitty cat might need to take a raincheck. It's been a long night, and I need my beauty rest." The words were right, and the smile was right, and the sway of her body against all that kevlar was right. Confident, sure and all Cat. But it didn't reach her eyes, that pleasured purr. One of her hands let go of the robe, and she brushed a finger along his chin. "I owe you a favor," she told him, and then she stepped back. "Let me know when you want to cash it in." Back in her world, he'd hired her for all kinds of things. It was all under false pretense, but still. It was only right, and the kitty cat might have had a skewed sense of morality, but it was her skewed sense of morality, and she wanted to be able to sleep at night.
There were a great many things in his past that he felt shame towards, but being with her wasn’t one of them. Unlike her Bat he didn’t hate himself for giving in, which might have meant that he thought more of her than he did, or perhaps it was the simple fact that they were two men who’d followed paths that, while similar, were different in a lot of ways. And so he returned her knowing look with a steady gaze, refusing to look away or falter. “Surely you know better than to rely too heavily on rumors, Miss Kyle,” he remarked dryly. Bruce Wayne certainly gave the appearance of sleeping with numerous women, and it was widely assumed that the models and actresses and others seen in his company eventually found their way into his bed. There was more fiction than truth to the facade, however. He wouldn’t say he was repressed or celibate by any means, but few women genuinely interested him and he was a busy man, to say the least. He didn’t have the time to carry on multiple affairs like everyone believed he did.
His intention was to see what, if anything, she’d tell him about who hired her. Once, he thought she might have told him the truth. But now there was no mention of the comm call, of Stevie or the government, and while he wasn’t all that surprised he did feel a slight twinge of disappointment that he immediately sought to shove down, down, where he could pretend it didn’t exist. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, giving no indication that he knew she was lying. Seven years, he reminded himself. He had to be honest and admit that he didn’t know what she was doing these days. What the government cared for a little girl wasn’t clear, but he couldn’t rely on Selina to connect the dots; he’d have to dig deeper into this himself. And if he stumbled upon her ties with the government in the process, well, all the better.
But those thoughts vanished momentarily when she stood and stepped out of the tub. The Bat was good; he could become a living statue if he chose. Yet in the end, he was a man, and while he had enough tact to keep from staring like a hormonal teenager there was no hiding the way he watched her, something appreciative and familiar in his gaze that lingered before it was gone. Had he come to lecture? No, though he was having trouble pinpointing the reason, why he had come at all instead of simply contacting her over the journals. “No,” he answered, looking down at her. “You didn’t attempt it alone. Had you done so then I would have come for a lecture.” He noticed the way her smile and sway against him didn’t quite seem genuine, and instead of arguing that she owed him nothing, no favors, he decided not to and merely nodded. Then, after a long, long moment of heavy silence, he spoke. “I’ll leave you to your beauty rest,” just that, and he moved around her towards the window.
"A girl has to entertain herself somehow, Mr. Wayne," she said of not listening to rumors, and it wasn't entirely a falsehood. In her profession, listening was very, very important. Entertain, that might not be quite the right word, but it was still important for the kitty cat to keep her ear to the ground. In her world, Bruce Wayne did more that play at being a playboy. And the Bat? Well, the Bat liked women more than most men. She'd always blamed it on the adrenaline, the rush, and she'd always prided herself on the fact that he always came back to her, at the end of the day. It was just part of the game, and it had been for so long that she didn't remember how it was to play the game otherwise. It was the main reason that she'd been left at a loss when he'd informed her, in her world, that they would never work. Silly kitty, mistaking one Bat for another.
She was both pleased and disappointed that he seemed to believe her falsehood. At the start, her Bat had seen more to her than she'd seen in herself. It had taken longer for this Bat to do that, but she realized they'd both ended up deciding they'd come to the wrong conclusion, in the end. It twinged, and it made her think of Eddie's lectures about fences, and about her place on the wrong side of one. That hurt showed in the mossy green of her eyes for just a second, and then it was gone. Returned was the lush lipped smile and that layer of paint she showed the world. Her? Do something without a very shiny payday? Never.
That appreciative gaze was a balm, insomuch as something like that could be. Oh, he didn't make her feel old, not like the little birds did, and it was easier to feel at home in her skin around him. And maybe it was a nice change after his lack of interest at the gallery. But it made her wonder if he was attracted to her, or simply attracted to a Cat. It was a fine line, a defining one, and she'd never really considered it until that moment. She wanted to ask him what he'd seen in that overeager, stupidly obviously kitten that she'd been, the one everyone liked better than the woman she'd become, but she held her tongue. And, when he said she hadn't attempted the job alone, that got a little hiss out of her. "I only risk my own fur that way, Bat," she told him, before she realized that was a little bit too much information. And she would have quipped about him staying to do something other than lecturing, but he was moving toward the window before she could, and it was all she could do not to clutch onto he front of her robe like the needy Cat she'd become before her Bat had shown her the door.
It was deliberate, following him a few paces and winding her fingers in his cape. He could have pulled free; it was only a gesture. Defiance, and none of the overkill of her youth in the slight tug of ink and black. "At least let me thank you with a kiss. Unless you're not curious, Mr. Wayne," she purred, all seductress and the little girl lost left at the door for the moment.
The Bat lifted his gaze to the ceiling and back down again as though he knew all about how girls entertained themselves, while the truth was that, even though Bruce Wayne feigned expertise with women, he actually found them very difficult to understand; none more so than the woman whose penthouse he was currently standing in. Once, before all this, he’d thought he might have begun to understand her. Now seven years settled between them and he felt like he had to relearn Selina Kyle all over again, and it would be a lie to say he didn’t miss the twentysomething Cat who’d made him feel something he didn’t think himself capable of, not anymore. He knew, though, how it felt to be compared to something he wasn’t anymore, and he didn’t want to do the same to her. Besides, time might have changed her, made her older and tweaked certain things, but she was still her beneath it all. Whether he’d noticed that hint of hurt in her eyes at his assumption that she’d only saved the girl for the pay at the end didn’t matter, because it wasn’t enough to make him back down. He wasn’t losing his hold on this potentially important scrap of information to soothe her feelings, and if that was harsh, well, she should have known better than to believe he actually thought that of her. She should have known he knew there was more to her than that.
His gaze narrowed when she said she only risked her own fur that way, his mouth tightening into a tight line that was more concern than disapproval. “Don’t,” he told her, and maybe it was hypocritical but after Crane’s toxin he had gotten better at not doing stupidly dangerous things on his own and isolating others in the process. Capable as she was, the odds had been against her and he wasn’t sure she would have succeeded had she gone into the facility alone. “Your life is not expendable.” Her death wish had always frustrated him when she was younger, and he’d thought that was something which would fade with time. Apparently not.
It would have been easy to pull free and leave, the hold on his cape nothing that would keep him there against his will. But he chose to stay, to stop, and turned to look at her with a tilt of his head and silence. “I suppose I could allow that.” There was a hint of something like a challenge in the way he regarded her, and he waited.
She should have known, maybe, but seven years was a long, long time, and her Bat had never even managed to trust her enough to tell her his name. Not in all that time. And seven years on the fringes of a family that had been hers for long enough to feel like she belonged, only to end up further on the outskirts than she'd ever been, that had been hard for the kitty cat. And now? mow she was just the wrong Cat, and she couldn't compete with the kitten she'd been once. She didn't expect his trust. Why should she? Despite what the others thought, she knew that the stories changed. Even Eddie agreed that the kitty cat's Gotham was a Hell on earth. She was a product of that Hell.
That don't was so very Bat, and she chuckled a husky-low chuckle. "Being fearless keeps me alive, Bat. Don't worry about the kitty cat." Oh, her death wish was alive and well, but it was her lack of fear that kept her on her paws when others would have failed. There was nothing like fearlessness when it came to Gotham; it was almost a superpower. "I get paid to take risks these days. It's not all jewelry stores and art heists for this Cat." And that was true enough. She'd been blackmailed into the JLA's pocket, but it was only her Most Wanted status made it possible for them to nab her in the first place; Arkham City sounded like a vacation compared to the Suicide Squad. She worked for whoever paid, and she only deviated when her morals said she should. Which was often, but he didn't need to know that, did he?
Her determination flicked briefly when he said he could allow the kiss, as if he was making a concession for her benefit. It made her fur bristle, and it was only the challenge in his gaze that kept her from gracefully extracting herself from the request. But she'd always been terrible at resisting a challenge. And seven years was a very long time; she wanted to see if her memory was playing tricks. This time, when she wound herself around his heavily armored side, it was with all the confidence of the Cat, vulnerability gone somewhere during the short approach. She'd let go of the robe, let it fall open and loose, and she was tightly coiled strength as she stretched up to reach his mouth without using any part of his body for support. She licked his chin, and the kiss she pressed against his mouth was deliberate, skilled seductress and no kitten fresh out of a Gotham whorehouse.
Telling the Bat not to worry was like telling the sun not to rise and set every day. It only earned her a Look, the sort he dished out quite often as people always seemed to insist on wasting their breath and telling him things he had no intention of doing, or couldn’t do, or were simply so ridiculous he didn’t know why the words had been spoken in the first place. “Money is meaningless if you’re dead,” he told her bluntly. This time, it was all his concern and none of Luke’s, though the boy’s worry had become so familiar that he probably wouldn’t have noticed it regardless of whether or not it was there. Jewelry stores and art heists were safer than whatever she was doing now, he could conclude that much; he had very little respect for authority because said authority so rarely proved itself deserving of such, with their blatant disregard for humanity except when it served their best interests. He would never forget how no one had stepped forward to aid Gotham from destruction, and if Selina was mixed up with those people, well, he highly doubted they cared whether or not she lived or died.
Fortunately, he did.
He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t curious. It hadn’t been as long for him as it had for her, so he remembered with stark clarity what she felt like, how she tasted, and he wanted to know what it would be like now. He didn’t reach for her when she wound herself around him, and his gaze only darted downward briefly when her robe opened, though it took considerable control to drag it back upward. When she kissed him it was, all at once, familiar and different. There was more skill, no uncertainty or youthfulness in it, but beneath all that there was a hint of something he knew and remembered. Instead of pulling back he chased that familiar stirring, responding to and deepening the kiss without laying so much as one finger on her. Only after a long, long moment, too-long, did he pull back, and it was a slow retreat, one that might have been reluctant or might have been deliberately so. He looked down at her, and there was something like a smile in his gaze even if it never reached his lips. “You’re welcome."
She didn't respond to his comment about money being meaningless for the dead. It was true, and the kitty cat knew it as well as anyone. It was one of the reasons she never saved a penny. She lived every cent she got. She lived it, and sometimes she did other things with it, but she never stashed it somewhere safe, and she never let it grow in a Gotham banking institution. No, the kitty cat lived where she was, in the moment, and she never counted on tomorrow. She was caviar and penthouses, for as long as caviar and penthouses existed. And, truthfully, she never thought of Blondie anymore. Since she'd come back, she'd stopped with the notes and messages and, eventually, Blondie had stopped trying. She already had a disappointed Gotham to deal with. She didn't need a little blonde and her antihero adding to the unshakeable sense of not belonging that she had these days.
So, instead, she kissed him. And the kitty cat hadn't been intending to lose herself in that kiss. She was making a point, but it got muddled along the way. It got muddled when he responded, even without the biting cold touch of kevlar against her skin. And maybe that differentiated it most strongly from anything in the past seven years. It didn't come with bruises, and it didn't feel like hate and the struggle to resist her. It left her dazed, more pliant than she had intended to be, and there was a distinct hint of softening, an almost sway against him.
She blinked mossy green eyes at that thank you, and twenty-eight felt like twenty-eight just then, and not like something impossibly older. She didn't say a thing, not until she'd turned and returned to her bathroom, door closed and all sway of hips and no worry whatsoever. A nice interlude and nothing more, surely.
She refused to acknowledge when she heard him leave, and she refused to acknowledge that maybe she scanned the Gotham skyline for a few minutes after. After all, the kitty cat didn't care. Not even the littlest bit.