Who: Clark, Lois, Bruce, Selina What: A gala, some Clois, some theft Where: Metropolis When: Let's say last evening Warnings/Rating: Nope
The drive to Metropolis was heaven for Selina, who had been away long enough that she felt like she’d been caged for years without being able to stretch her limbs or extend her claws. Lacking consciousness in Las Vegas was a good thing, but after long periods away, she felt like something kept on a leash too long, and she just wanted to prowl and scratch and get into more trouble than she could get herself out of. Tonight was one of those nights, and the ride from Gotham to Metropolis on the “borrowed” batpod was the only thing that kept her from crawling right out of her fur and going after something more immediate than the thrill the gala would bring. But the night air was cool and crisp, and it lightened as she left Gotham behind for the brighter, cleaner Metropolis. The kitty cat didn’t like all that fresh air, not as a rule, but tonight was made for straying far from home, and the anticipation made her purr.
Tucking the batpod out of sight in Metropolis was a bit of a challenge, but Selina arrived at Lois Lane’s apartment with an hour to spare, a duffel over her shoulder and a pair of perfectly normal gray cargo pants and black shirt on her thin frame. Without the cowl and goggles, she looked her age, too young, too much like trouble. She didn’t bother with the door. She let herself in the bathroom window, gloved claws on her hands and the fire escape helping with the rest, and she dropped down on the tile loudly enough that Lois would know she was there. “Changing,” she called out from the bathroom, like she had every right to let herself in. But then she was a cat, no matter what she was wearing, and everyone knew you couldn’t keep a kitty cat out, just like you couldn’t keep them in - not if they didn’t want to be kept.
Lois was both shocked and not shocked that Clark had agreed to come to the gala as her plus one. Then again, it was still Clark even though she’d made him quite cross. Maybe he still liked her after all. The only thing she couldn’t work out is why he thought she didn’t trust him, maybe they had some work to do but she didn’t like the idea of a world where she didn’t trust Clark Kent. If you couldn’t trust Clark Kent then there was no hope left at all.
Lois had been in her bathroom earlier and managed to get her hair curled and her make-up on before the desire for a glass of wine to calm herself down took over. She didn’t know why she felt antsy, if she looked at it as another night of work that made it all that much less glamorous. But, she was bringing Clark as her date and as far as he knew they didn’t go out on dates. She’d been through enough in her life to wonder if she was somehow messing with the space time continuum, but considering she had a morning show host living in her head she guessed all bets were completely off.
With the thought that she was going out on a date with Clark Lois was quite happy, thrilled free gT, even if he decided she wasn’t all that impressive at least she’d know. Then there was the added issue that she was walking a dangerous line between Cougar and socially acceptable. That she hardly cared about but in this moment it was worth thinking about. She was wearing her bathrobe and standing in her kitchen glass of wine in hand when she heard Selina announce her presence. “Drinking,” she answered back from the kitchen.
Selina liked that Lois didn’t scream, or cry out for her squeaky clean superhero, or even bat an eyelash at the fact that doors were off limits for the kitty cat. It was stupid, since Lois Lane was very well known as Superman’s shiny bauble, his non-green weakness, but she appreciated that the other woman wasn’t fainting on a couch like so many other damsels. She didn’t know Bruce’s boring lawyer, but she liked to think that she was the kind of woman to faint when she saw her own shadow; she liked that idea, and she was keeping it.
The kitty cat hopped in the shower, and she washed the Gotham right out of her hair, and she spent an inordinate time on hair extensions and makeup. Oh, it wasn’t for Batsy, not strictly speaking. She had a feeling Lois’ +1 would escort her right out the door if he recognized her, and she didn’t want her fun cut short, not tonight, not when she hadn’t been able to wrap her tail around anything at all in ages.
Dressed in open-back black, with heels and no stockings, Selina walked out into Lois’ living room, long black hair (for the evening) loose and BBB in 1920s style, thick, precise waves held away from her face by an diamond-and-emerald clip that surely came from a jewelry box in Wayne Manor. Her green eyes were lined in perfect, cat’s eye black, and she leaned against Lois’s kitchen counter and folded her arms, looking more like a Mafia daughter than she ever did on a normal day. All young socialite trouble, and not a piercing or tattoo in sight. “So, how’d it go with the boy scout?” she asked, a smile on her dark red lips.
Lois was polishing off her glass of wine and making her way to her bedroom when she met up with Selina. She looked her over, because that’s what Lois did, and she smiled at the question. “Well he’s picking me up at 8, so I should probably not be in my bathrobe,” she said sighing a bit. “I’m going on a first date, with someone I’ve been on lots of dates with, awkward.” She said finishing her glass of wine and setting on the credenza nowhere near the counter. “You look great,” she said honestly and sincerely, “It’s bound to be an interesting night indeed.”
Selina ignored Lois’ bathrobe in favor of her hair and makeup, and she turned around and leaned back against the counter, giving the reporter and honest and appraising look, all warm kitty green eyes and genuine fondness. “You’ll knock his socks off,” she promised, pushing away from the surface. “If he doesn’t think you’re amazing, then we need to find you a nice Gotham crime fighter,” she offered, though she couldn’t imagine a world in which Superman wasn’t wrapped around Lois Lane’s little finger. It was an institution, the two of them, and the kitty cat had a soft spot for happy endings when she liked a person. She walked across the room, all perfect balance in her heels and a catlike slink, even without an audience, and she tugged on the robe’s belt. “Go get dressed. I’ll see you there,” she urged. “Wear red,” she added, making her way back the way she’d come, leaving her duffel on the floor of the bathroom, intending to come back to Lois’ to change once the evening was done - hopefully with some shiny baubles on her wrist to add to the evening’s enjoyment.
Lois smiled and nodded, “Sounds right up my alley,” though it wasn’t at all. She was prepared for a very odd night, though she quirked an eyebrow when Selina told her to wear red. She hadn’t been planning on it. Red and white were two colors she’d ruled out early on. But it gave her something to think about. “I’ll be there with bells on!” she said only sounding half miserable about it. She was going to work after all, and the last thing she expected was for something truly newsworthy to happen. But she had been surprised before. Leave it to Catwoman to scale out of her building in evening wear.
It took some wincing and serious scraping under the couch cushions to come up with enough money to rent a tux on such short notice, especially since Clark apparently qualified for “big and tall” which was confusing and embarrassing all at the same time. He felt like the kid that went to prom, and he had a brief moment of agonized uncertainty at the florists as he tried to remember if grown women went for the tiny flowers that hooked around their wrists anymore. In the end he just went for the cut bouquet and prayed it wasn’t a big mistake. Clark drove his tiny sedan the short distance and long ride (traffic) to the foot of Lois’ building, parked carefully in a legal zone, and forgot to check his appearance before he ascended in the building elevator and stared down the hall in consternation. He didn’t know the apartment number. He felt like he should, or had, but he really didn’t.
Clark hesitated a moment, looking from left to right, and finally sighed. He closed his eyes and opened them again with a careful focus of unseen muscles, looking through the walls for the right woman in the right place.
Lois was finished getting dressed and staring at herself in the mirror in her room. Every dress she owned was on the floor at her feet and she stood there with one hand on her hip trying to decide if this particular dress was going to make the cut or if she was going to be heading out in jeans and a tee shirt with a pit stop at an all night dress store...Which was ridiculous but she supposed her overactive imagination might be considered a “good” thing once in a while. Just not today.
Lois looked down at the floor and kicked at the pile a bit. There were red ones, and blue ones, and green ones, black, grey, sparkly, ridiculous...They were all ridiculous. But she was finding herself more and more fond of the long dress she’d settled on. The back was a bit much for a first date but she didn’t care. Not anymore, because if she stood there staring at herself much longer she’d call the whole thing off. And more wine wasn’t an option, she didn’t need to be tipsy on top of it all. There would be plenty of time for tipsy later. She made a hilarious face at herself in the mirror, and kicked all the rest of the dresses into her closet and closed the door. No one saw anything.
Clark blinked and the white wall he’d been staring through resolved itself once more. He felt his neck get hot. It wasn’t like he was expecting her to be still getting ready, as he was perfectly on time and he hadn’t even thought that she wouldn’t be too. Lois was always there for a story before half the staff even thought there might be one, and he hadn’t expected she wouldn’t be just as punctual about everything else. He felt like apologizing to someone, even if there wasn’t anybody to apologize to, and he hadn’t actually seen anything besides a lot of white back. Mouthwatering as that was.
Clark tried to compose his expression and knocked, awkwardly attempting to get the bouquet out of his face before she opened the door and nearly dropping it twice.
When the knock came Lois closed her bedroom door and moved across the living room to the front door. She stood there for a moment, took a deep cleansing breath, and exhaled slowly before she pulled the door open. And she saw flowers. And Clark. And she felt better. This was still the weirdest thing she’d ever thought she’d do (and that was saying something), but there were flowers. And there was Clark. And she didn’t even realize that she was standing there like an idiot with a stupid grin on her face for way longer than was socially acceptable when opening a door. “Sorry!” she said with a chuckle, “Come in, Clark,” she stepped aside. It was a bit like deja vu really, but she didn’t say as much she didn’t want to delve too much into the crazy situation they were in between the two of them.
Clark was temporarily stunned by Lois, visibly resplendent in her magnificent dress, which sparkled in a way that made Clark feel like a very drab sparrow next to a swan. His opening greeting stuck in his throat, and he choked on it before coughing and forcing it past his tongue. “Lois!” he said, sounding more alarmed than anything. “You look...” He temporarily ran out of words. “I mean. Wonderful.” He looked past her at the room but then stuck out his arm with the flowers instead. “Actually I think... I’m running a little late...? Maybe we should get going. Unless you need more time, I mean.” Blank. He gave the flowers a slight twitch in the air toward her.
Lois’s eyes got wide and her smile got a bit brighter at his alarmed greeting, and chuckled just a bit. “No I think you’re right on time,” she said taking the flowers and giving them a smell, “They’re beautiful, thank you. I should probably put them in some water before we go,” she said nodding toward the kitchen, she grabbed a vase from about the fourth cupboard she looked in and filled it with water once the flowers were in water she walked back over to where he was standing and before she could really stop herself - it was habit for her by now - she smoothed the lapel of his jacket just a bit, “You look very handsome, Clark.”
Clark was temporarily unmade by the combination of movement and the low, casual tone of Lois’ voice. She’d never looked nor spoken to him like that before (in the whole month that he’d known her) and it was like being abruptly plunged into hot water. He blushed, a strangely boyish picture composed of a soft smile and glinting blue eyes, and came out with a “thank you” only because his mother had ingrained that sort of thing in him early and he didn’t have to think about it. Without thinking he put out a hand and touched her hip with the tips of his fingers, nothing grasping, just a light contact with the rough sequins of the gray dress, and then he shifted toward the door, offering his arm as he did so. “Shall we go?”
***
The gala was Metropolis at its finest. The ballroom was in an old estate, on the edge of the water and lit with beacons that made it glimmer gold and bronze, even in the night sky. And Metropolis’ night sky was nothing like Gotham, bright and crisp, and like the world could be a better place someday without much effort.
The estate itself was two stories, with rooms upstairs and the ballroom and orchestra on the first floor, and a waltz was being played as the first set of guests were announced. Oh, it was that kind of gala, the kind where everyone had a name, and where everyone’s name mattered. Diamonds sparkled on wrists and tuxes were crisp, perfect ink black, and the women looked like royalty from somewhere far, far away. Young socialites looked for lovers, and their mothers looked to make their daughters wives, and the rich men of Metropolis and Gotham gathered to preen and be admired.
It was all very upper crust.
Batman’s true identity may have been common knowledge on one side of the door, but on the other, in Bruce’s world, it had yet to be emblazoned on the cover of newspapers and announced on every news station with a viewing audience. Perhaps there were some who knew, outside of his trusted (and admittedly very small) circle of confidants, but if so then they had yet to spread the word. Bruce intended on keeping things very much the same, which, for tonight, required a different sort of suit and a change of venue.
Bruce left instructions for Damian and, after once again lamenting Alfred’s absence, carved out a period of time in which he could be absent from Gotham without the city burning down as a result. The image he’d cultivated for himself as Bruce Wayne was that of a disgustingly wealthy playboy who bought hotels on whims, napped during board meetings, and infamously burned down his family home on his birthday. He was not usually taken seriously, and his antics made him the last person anyone would suspect of being the Bat, a being who put an entire city before himself, even going so far as to take the fall for Harvey Dent’s crimes in order to preserve hope. Attending a gala guaranteed to be popular by the rich and famous was a perfect opportunity to reinforce the Bruce Wayne persona, even if in reality he despised public gatherings and would rather be out doing something productive. Gotham was no Metropolis, though he hoped it someday could be; that day, however, was still a long ways off. Such were the sacrifices required to lead a double life.
Bruce Wayne arrived in a car that cost as much as two family homes with a set of bronzed women on his arms, one an aspiring actress and another a well-known ballerina. Hundreds of sets of eyes turned his way when his name was announced (being the wealthiest man in Gotham had that effect), and he offered a dazzling smile, clad in a sharp suit that practically exuded wads of bills and a bow tie-- yes, a bow tie. Black and classy, thank you very much. The women he arrived with wandered off rather quickly, and he began his circulation of the room, making small talk with people he knew, people he didn’t, and people who seemed vaguely familiar yet acted as though he was a close, personal friend.
Bruce accepted a glass of champagne and played his part perfectly, exactly what everyone expected him to be, even if his mind was miles away, on Gotham and the problems he faced there. And, if he happened to be keeping an eye out for someone in particular, he certainly gave no sign of it.
Selina had arrived at the gala early, but she’d spent the past half hour talking to the drivers, knowing they would be imperative if the kitty cat needed a quick escape. She’d left the batpod tucked securely out of sight at Lois’ apartment, and a cab had brought her to the event. It was the first time she could remember taking a cab since she was young, and it made her smile. She didn’t mind some firsts tonight, not when she was so glad to be back on her side of the door, paws against the floor once more. All of the baby birds’ bruises had healed while she was on the other side, and she was as ready for a fight as a waltz, depending what the evening brought.
The kitty cat let them announce her, because why not? No one here knew Selina Kyle. She wasn’t even sure Superman knew her name and, luckily, she knew she had the jump on Lois, since the all-American Hero was picking the reporter up just about now. So, the kitty cat decided to be bold, and she smiled at the man in the tux and tails, making him almost falter as he spoke her name at the top of the stairs, her hand on his arm and the impressive decolletage of her dress pressed against his elbow.
The emerald and diamond clip from the Wayne jewelery box glinted in Selina’s long, black hair, and her bright green eyes scanned the room as she moved down the staircase with the same feline grace that she moved in the suit. Attention? The kitty cat was expecting that, and it didn’t bother her at all. This far from Gotham, she didn’t mind if everyone took her for the Mafia daughter she knew herself to really be. Anyway, she was pretty sure this Bat didn’t know about that, and she wasn’t planning on being the one to tell him. If she saw him in the crowd, she made no indication of it. No, she wound her way through a group of very interested men, and she collected them around her like bees to honey. Diamond cufflinks glittered all around her, and she smiled; a kitten with her paw in the cookie jar.
Bruce gave no outward sign of recognition when Selina Kyle’s name was announced, and barely even spared a careless glance out of vague curiosity before returning his attention to the cluster of men and women he’d previously been entertaining with his carefully cultivated charm. They found him amusing, he knew, and that might have bothered him if he cared at all what they thought, which he did not. Their opinions meant nothing to him. That made it easier to laugh, to toast, to drink with them, even when their sheer ignorance towards anything not contained in their glittering little bubble of security brought forth silent disdain he kept very well hidden. Years of practice made it no trouble at all to track Selina’s movements as she descended the staircase, however, while making it appear as though his gaze and focus were elsewhere. The clip she wore was familiar, which came as no surprise at all, and even if her name had not been announced, Bruce recognized that feline grace. It was too much of a giveaway to be unintentional. A strategy was devised, in terms of location and how to get to where he needed to be, and until a moment before it could have been chalked up to coincidence or random happenstance that he ended up so close, so perfectly positioned.
As he turned, Bruce just missed colliding with her, and by extension sloshing champagne all down the front of her dress. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, all good nature and manners, his gaze giving nothing away as he looked at her and completely ignored the man who were more than a little off-put by his sudden interference. Bruce Wayne was the sort of man who got what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted it... simply because he could. “That was terribly rude of me, Miss... Kyle?” He offered a smile, one of feigned ignorance. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Selina had two very shiny cufflinks in her palm by the time he showed up. Diamonds, by the scratchy feel of the rocks against her skin, and that improved the kitty cat’s mood immensely. As did the fact that his casual act wasn’t casual at all. She liked being pursued, and he didn’t do it nearly enough for her pleasure. “It’s a good thing I’m wearing black,” she said of the champagne, taking one of the snowy white handkerchiefs that was held out to her, and handing it over to Bruce. “Since you spilled it on me, you should help me clean up,” she said, red lips turning up in a smugly seductive smile. The men around them grumbled, and they waited to see if Bruce chose to disoblige, eager to sweep in and be the ones holding the handkerchief. She closed the space between them, all swayed hips and too much confidence for her age. She stopped thisclose, and she looked down at her cleavage, which wasn’t as on display as her back, but which was there nonetheless. “No. We haven’t met, Mr. Wayne. You’d remember if we had,” she added, smiling over her shoulder at a man who put his hand on the bare small of her back. The Bat, even this Bat, would know that smile meant trouble, even if the gentleman with the silver hair didn’t; she didn’t like men who touched without invitation.
Some men might have faltered in the face of her seductive smile, but Bruce merely blinked down at her and, after a moment’s pause, accepted the handkerchief-- much to the dismay of their predominantly male audience. “I suppose I should, if my apology fell short,” he said, as though it didn’t matter to him either way, and his flippancy was belied only by the fact that he didn’t just hand off the task of helping her clean up off to someone else. He took another gulp of champagne before handing the glass off to a passing waiter, finding that there was considerably less space between them when he turned back. “Would I?” The question was posed with smile that held more than a hint of amusement, though feigned or genuine was difficult to discern. “You seem very sure of yourself, Miss Kyle.” Oh, he noticed the smile, and Bruce wasn’t here to keep the peace; tonight he wasn’t the Bat, and Bruce Wayne would not play hero. That simply wasn’t part of the facade he’d cultivated to protect himself.
Fortunately, neither was subtlety. “I’m starting feel rather claustrophobic,” he said suddenly, intentionally increasing his volume as he dabbed at her dress with the handkerchief, more for show than any real attempt at reparation. Bruce looked round at the men as though just seeing them for the first time, his gaze lingering on the silver-haired man whose hand seemed glued to Selina’s back. “Go, mingle. Enjoy yourselves.” He actually shooed them away, physical hand motions and all, and after an uncertain pause the men did begin to trickle away, even though this wasn’t actually his party or his rules. The silver-haired gentleman, rather stubborn, required a little extra persuasion, but that was something Bruce Wayne could handle, and quite well too.
This was the first time Selina had gotten to see him close-up and without the cowl. She hadn’t even seen her Bat this way, their relationship having always been about suits ripped off on rooftops, no time for sweet talk the morning after and no exchanging of names. Cowls didn’t need to come off for sex, and the kitty cat knew they kept them on intentionally. It was safer that way. Easier not to get invested, involved, fall in love - or so she’d pretended. Her Bat, he’d pretended too, for reasons that were completely different from hers. But in the end, it meant she’d never seen her Bat like this. Oh, she’d seen Bruce Wayne at a few social events, usually when she was causing trouble at them, but it wasn’t like this; there wasn’t any knowledge with it. And anyway, he looked different, older, this Bruce, and Selina wasn’t the kind of woman to be ashamed to stare. So she stared, and she smiled the smile of someone much older than she truly was. “I am very sure of myself. Wouldn’t you be, if you were me?” she asked, earning devoted chuckles from her around her, the marionettes on strings who were willing to agree anything she said was witty if she paid attention to their mundane, domesticated wealthy selves. The kitty didn’t like domesticity - she never had.
Selina knew that handkerchief wasn’t doing anything, but she let him pretend, and she just watched, ever the observant cat. Seeing him in this setting, she knew it would help her back in Gotham, because seeing how well a man pretended always helped a woman like her. And tonight, tonight she was very much that kind of woman. The shooing made a perfectly curved black brow raise, and she laughed a throaty laugh when the silver-haired gentleman conceded the battle. “Oh, you’re good,” she purred, tugging the handkerchief from between his fingers and replacing it with the cufflinks she’d stolen and the silver-haired gentleman’s wallet. “But you’re not as good as me,” she added, a long red claws trailing down the snowy white of the shirt he wore tucked beneath the tuxedo jacket. “Coming?” she asked a moment later, as she turned to clean up. She didn’t wait to see if he followed, and she wove through the crowd with the same grace that she did everything else - effortlessly hard to follow.
While this was only the second time he’d seen Selina in person, as opposed to impersonal interactions through text and phone screens, Bruce refrained from staring... in a manner that would be noticed by one as keen as she, that is. Prior discussions of his sexual preferences aside, he was merely human, and he certainly wasn’t blind. The difference between him and the pack of men who followed her around like drooling dogs, however, was that he had far more self-control and, thank you very much, a healthy amount of self-respect. Selina Kyle was not an ally, yet she was not quite an adversary either, and he would be a fool to waste this kind of opportunity to gain some insight into who she was, act or no act. Being who he was, he knew very well that she was likely doing the same. “Oh, I think it’s fortunate that I’m not you,” he laughed, though there was a hint of something in his voice that mocked the other men, so desperate to please, so willing to follow, that he couldn’t possibly respect them. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
Bruce frowned down at the cufflinks and wallet, a momentary slip in his pretense that only she would notice or recognize, as his disapproval was very much the Bat. He shook his head, unsurprised, and stashed her trinkets out of sight, the movement too swift for bystanders to notice. “Don’t get cocky,” he told her, and he didn’t follow, not right away. No, first he returned the cufflinks, and then the wallet, covering the truth of what he was doing with too-loud greetings and heavy pats on the back or claps on the shoulders of crisp-suited men who remained woefully ignorant. Only when his task was complete did he turn and begin to follow, having kept an eye on her during the intervening moments, and despite the distance she gained Bruce managed to keep from falling too far behind.
Selina was expecting the delay, the one that resulted from his need to return the stolen things. And, maybe, the kitty cat wanted to see how well the Bat could track her without any of his little toys. Bruce Wayne, the man, might prove to be more of a weakness than the Selina Kyle, the woman, she thought. She didn’t need her suit and whip to do damage, and this kitty came with her own set of claws. She heard the greetings and the laughter as he followed, and she couldn’t help the smile that graced her ample sin-stained lips. Maybe Bruce Wayne wasn’t going to turn out to be as boring as she anticipated. It almost made her purr. She helped herself to a shiny gold bracelet along the way, a money clip made of onyx, and pretty blue brooch. So easy, the rich. Anyone from Gotham’s underbelly would cling to whatever was theirs. These people? They didn’t need it, and so they didn’t even notice.
The bathrooms for the events were singles, marble and behind individual, sleek black doors, and Selina let herself into the one that was furthest from the ballroom floor. She left the door unlocked mainly to test him, to see just how ballsy the Bat really was, because the silver-haired old women outside the bank of doors would certainly notice his foray into their space. Selina wasn’t blind, and neither were they; Bruce stood out in a crowd, even if the old crows didn’t know why. They’d notice him, and Selina was curious how far he was willing to take the playboy billionaire act. Because the kitty knew it was an act, and she wasn’t sure he had any follow through. She, on the other hand, was still herself - catsuit or barely there dress. She ran the water, cleaned up the front of her dress, and leaned her hands against the sink in the bathroom’s private sitting room. She watched the door through the mirror, and she waited to see if a Bat fluttered inside for the Cat to play with.
It was impossible for Bruce to take even one step without being accosted by someone, it seemed, yet he took it all in stride. A smile here, an appropriately entertained laugh there, and he managed to make progress before whoever was vying for his attention truly realized he'd slipped away. The trail of guests lacking in at least one precious item of jewelry that Selina left in her wake was expected, but no less disapproved of. Even if these people were selfish with their wealth and did not need half of what they owned, theft was theft and he would not condone counterproductive actions that, however insignificant, only encouraged the rise of crime which already threatened to consume his own city on a daily basis. Metropolis seemed largely untouched by this, and as he wouldn’t wish Gotham’s fate on anyplace else, he preferred it to stay that way. Superman would likely share his sentiments.
Once he left the throng of people behind, Bruce’s pace slowed, and it was clear that his presence was much more conspicuous here, where Bruce Wayne really had no business being. No respectable business, that is. He smiled at the cluster of women gathered outside, who eyed him with bright curiosity and whispered amongst themselves. Following Selina into the bathroom would certainly cause a scandal, but then again, perhaps that could work in his benefit. Torrid playboy billionaires would never don a Batsuit and wage a war against crime, and the more doubt he cast, like a protective shield, the better off he and Damian were. At times, he wished he could publicly be the kind of man his father had been, but he couldn’t do what he needed to do as a mere man. He needed to be more. So, after a series of moments in which he contemplated and weighed his options, he strode forward, past the women watching him like hawks, and after flashing another charming smile disappeared into the same stall Selina had entered moments ago.
“Now I know why you came.” Bruce let the door swing shut behind him, and he leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “A cat like you must see this crowd as easy prey.” Even he had to admit that they made it painfully easy for thieves and pickpockets.
She smiled when she saw his reflection in the mirror, red lips lush and slowly curving into something that was all cat that caught the canary. She would never admit she’d been hoping he’d be gutsy enough to do it, to follow a girl a good decade his junior into a bathroom at a prestigious Metropolis event. But she had been hoping he would; her Bat would have followed her, and he wouldn’t have cared who noticed, and the kitty liked finding hints of the man she expected in this new version of the Bat.
“Is that why I came?” she asked, turning and leaning back again the marble of the sink, the edge cold against her bare back. The lean bared an expanse of bare leg, from ankle to upper thigh, and it made it unlikely that she wore anything beneath the embrace of the black material. “Do you think think I’d come all the way to Metropolis for baubles?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, where her new line of prizes dotted the back of the sink. “If I cared about them so much, would I let you have them?” she asked, all confident stare and the kind of interest that didn’t bother pretending it was anything else. Her gaze was bright green, and it slid along the unbroken black of his tux without a hitch. “You know,” she finally said, pushing away from the sink and crossing to him. “Folding your arms like that, it doesn’t make you look very harmless.” Her red nails were on his forearms, outlining muscle and sinew through the fabric. “Just a helpful hint. I’d hate to see you blow your cover,” she purred. This close, there was the fresh pink of a scar on her arm, a knife or talon, perhaps, but no other injuries. She hadn’t had a chance to acquire any new ones, it seemed.
Despite having caught a glimpse of her smile in the mirror, Bruce appeared unconcerned, borderline indifferent, but beneath his cool exterior there was a hint of something reminiscent of amusement in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t doubt that Selina likely believed she had him right where she wanted him, which was apparently a private bathroom stall, but he was hardly a fumbling schoolboy who could be rendered speechless by the sight of a woman in a dress that didn’t leave very much to the imagination. Part of him did wish she’d chosen something a little less flattering, however; not for her sake, but for his. He was too capable to allow it to show, of course, but it was impossible to not notice.
Bruce brought his shoulders up in a shrug. “A change of scenery, perhaps. It’s not about what you steal, but the thrill, isn’t it? This is a deviation from the norm, outside of familiar territory.” There was nothing here she truly wanted to steal, he knew that much; the wallets and jewelry were mere trinkets, snatched because she could. Had she wanted to keep anything, she never would have made it this easy for him to follow her. If he noticed the interest in her gaze, which he did, he gave no outward sign of it, and he simply watched as she closed the distance between them. “Don’t I?” Bruce kept his arms folded regardless, and his smile said he wasn’t at all worried about blowing his cover, not here, when it was just the two of them. “I suppose it’s fortunate that you’re already aware I’m not harmless, in that case. My cover will be just fine, but your concern is appreciated,” he added dryly. This close, the scar was very much visible, and he made no attempt to hide that his gaze slid over it before lifting back up, the shadow of a frown crossing his features for only a moment before it was gone.
Oh, Selina did have him right where she wanted him, because Selina didn’t actually have an agenda. It was just whatever thrilled her, and this seemed to be keeping the kitty cat plenty entertained just then. She was confident enough in her own appearance that his lack of notice didn’t faze her at all. She didn’t feel a desperate need to try harder, and she didn’t wilt at his inattention. The thing she yearned for wasn’t going to be found in a bathroom stall anyway, and she had a very hard time believing he didn’t see her.
“It is about the thrill,” Selina admitted, impressed he’d managed that much, this Bat that wasn’t hers. “It’s about something else too,” she added, watching him notice the scar and then winding around behind him. It was the same test as the last time; see if he trusted her enough not to turn, and she dragged red nails along the shoulders of that suit, from one end to the other, as she moved. “And not about getting your attention. Vanity doesn’t become you, Bruce,” she said, knowledge and purr and the ghost of a smile. “My Bat figured it out, but you haven’t,” she said, and there was something serious there, beneath the feline. “As for the scar, your baby bird got overzealous.” She left it at that; let him imagine what he would from there.
“We’re going to play a game,” Selina whispered in his ear. “I’m going to lift that diamond necklace off the foreign dignitary Metropolis is honoring tonight, and you’re going to try to stop me. In that tux. Without Superman getting to me first. And without giving yourself away.” Her hands were on his shoulders, and her voice was all dangerous purr; the only indication she was angry at being kept away from existing for days on end.
And then she slipped away.
The thrill aspect had seemed obvious enough, but beyond that, Bruce was still unsure. He would never admit as much, of course, yet he could only glean so much insight from perusals of comic books. They were people, not characters on a page, not here, and learning her motives would require much more personal methods. Despite his assumed lack of interest, he was admittedly curious. The fact that he didn't turn when she circled around him had very little to do with trust, and more to do with faith on his own abilities. He didn't need to turn. "I don't recall suggesting it had anything to do with me," he pointed out wryly. "So quick to assume, Selina." He said nothing in response to her implication that Damian had left the scar, because he could simply ask Damian what had occurred, though he doubted it was some sort of unprovoked attack.
The Bat was not a fan of games. Bruce Wayne the public persona might have, but there was no need for him here, and he had no intention of being part of Selina's little challenge. "No, I don't think you will," he began, turning round to face her, but she was quick, and he didn't have time to prevent her from leaving the stall.
Bruce sighed, and set off in pursuit.
***
Having managed to get out of the apartment was a feat in and of itself, and clearly the first step to actually getting this show on the road. Lois had taken Clark’s arm, and managed to talk the entire time it took to drive to the event, rambling about this, that, that other thing, this thing, that thing, all the things, she couldn’t shut up no matter how much her mind was telling her to do exactly that. She was half stuck between unloading all of the mundane parts of her day to someone she felt comfortable with, and rambling because of first date jitters. It was so very odd.
Once they arrived, and went through the motions Lois had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be working because she was still, well, talking. But a few familiar faces, some who looked downright pleased to see her and others she hadn’t been as kind to the last time she wrote something about them were...less than pleased. She smiled at every single one of them and pointed out to Clark exactly who they were, exactly what she knew about them, and exactly what she’d written and why they were moving to the opposite side of the room. Honestly.
“...They don’t understand, if they’d just behave and do the right thing I wouldn’t have to tell everyone,” and it made perfect sense to her. Lois looked up at Clark and smiled widely, “I really do know how to stop talking, it’s just not exactly my strongest ability,” she said with a soft laugh. Maybe a drink. No that would make her even more loose lipped than she already was.
Clark, who appreciated having a woman on his arm who was good at driving away crowds of gawkers, didn’t bother to hide a smile. He had been waiting for Lois to express some distaste at having to fit her finery into the tiny sedan, but she hadn’t shown a trace of discomfort, and he’d enjoyed listening to her describe her day in detail, because it was so firmly in her perspective, sometimes humorously so. He smiled a lot but said very little, and as he let her wander and therefore steer his arm around the ballroom, he was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. For the first time, he wasn’t anxious about making a mistake that would reveal what he was; everyone in this room already knew, even if they weren’t thinking about it.
The sparkling blue eyes, carefully diminished behind the thick lenses he always wore, glanced down to meet Lois’ gaze. “Why? You always have something interesting to say.” He was in absolute earnest. He heard a woman in the crowd exclaim about missing her gold bracelet, and thought little of it, except a mental note to keep a look out among the tramping feet.
Lois was quite happy to be at the event with Clark, and she didn’t care who knew it. Least of all him. She chuckled at his comment and was practically beaming despite the fact that she was clearly trying to say something along the lines of ‘oh that’s not true.’ Despite all that, she was beaming. She tried to remember that, for her, this wasn’t her actual first date with Clark, but it didn’t matter. It was his, she didn’t want him to wait three days to call. She was downright almost kind of a little bit giddy. Maybe. If she was one to become giddy, which she wasn’t. She was rude and had very little tact most of the time, she was merely impressed with herself for being interesting.
Lois overheard the comment about a missing bracelet and she couldn’t help as her eyes searched the room for her latest unlikely acquaintance, the sticky pawed cat from Gotham. As much as she wouldn’t mind a story about Metropolis Elite getting ripped off on their gala night, it was just no fun if she had all the information. No. This was going to be a fun night, she was going to get a handful of off color comments from some very powerful people who were crowding around the bar, insert enough glitz so that it was almost a puff piece, and that was that. “Well thank you for saying that Clark, but I’m sure you’d like to get a word in once in a while?” she looked around, “Or a dance? Do you want to dance? I think I’d like to dance,” she said taking his hand and attempting to lead him toward the dance floor but bracing herself in case he braced himself because she’d never win that stand off.
If there was one thing Clark did not want to do, it was dance. He was horrible at dancing, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had plenty occasions to prove it. It didn’t matter what kind of dancing it was, whether an African traditional back when he was doing war correspondence, or the Smallville prom--Clark definitely could not dance. “Uh,” he said, intelligently, standing there for a second as he forgot to give with her movement when she pulled on him. He quickly leaned forward and moved where she wanted him to go. “Okay.” Working with that much strength meant Clark had to remember when to direct his body to react to things he didn’t feel, things like punches, fatigue, or a small hand tugging him toward a sequined, whirling vortex of death. He was nervous about the dance, but mostly he just avoided stepping on her toes and made abrupt steps in either direction when it seemed like Lois wanted to drift a certain way.
He was just as bad as she remembered, and it made her smile. He wasn’t trampling her feet, so that was a step in the right direction. She was glad he was making the effort. Vortex of death or not, it could have been much worse! She knew from experience. She chuckled, “I promise not to make you do this all night,” she said squeezing his hand, “This is it.” She assured him. Out of the corner of her eye while she was attempting to help Clark move in some semblance of a pattern she saw her new friend out of the corner of her eye. And she found herself really hoping she was behaving herself, but she somehow doubted it. Heavily.
***
Selina hadn’t actually tried to lose Bruce on her way into the bathroom, but she did try to lose him now. She was lost in the crowd within seconds, all that distinctive sway and presence, those things that made the cat The Cat hidden away, tucked like a weapon into some secret part of the woman with the dark hair and the green eyes. She wasn’t a novice, after all, however much attention she intentionally drew to herself when she wanted to.
Seconds, and Selina was at the dignitary’s side. Impossibly fast, and how could anyone get across that dance floor with that speed? She was complimenting the woman on her rings, which were large and sparkling beneath the lights with enough force to blind those around her when Selina, very deliberately, turned the woman’s beefy wrist as she cooed. Undoing the necklace during the distraction was nothing, and only the green-eyed glance as she looked up to see which of the superheroes in the room had made it closest first.
For the first few minutes, most of Clark’s attention was focused on avoiding flattening Lois’ feet under his own, but eventually he looked up into her face and saw that her gaze was directed elsewhere. Too much practice avoiding making a fool of himself with his abilities, his first instinct was to listen, not to look. Clark’s hearing was so good he could identify individual patterns in heartbeats, listen to a conversation from the mesosphere, and hear his name from half a continent away. To have such an ability and not go mad, he also had the ability to focus his attention over a small crowd, and move among the sounds like a person would move through high grass. He heard the purr of a certain Cat’s voice very distinctly, and while her appearance probably would have fooled him, the sound of her voice certainly did not.
Clark’s expression took on a certain stony gravitas, and as the song ended he politely stepped to one side with Lois and was gone in a puff of cold air rushing to fill the place he had been. It was only a ballroom, and he crossed it in a split second. He was behind the Cat’s mark, out of her sight, and he pinned the thief with an unforgiving blue gaze that quite nearly made it through the thick glasses. “Give it back.” People turned around to look.
Selina’s own “secret identity” wasn’t even a secret identity. It was just her, out of the latex and cowl. She didn’t walk around Gotham pretending to be an upstanding citizen, because what was the fun in that? Finding out that the Bat was really a rich, boring playboy, well, maybe that made sense. The Bat needed money for all those toys, and Bruce had his own kind of undeniable influence in Gotham, even out of the gear. But finding out the Daily Planet’s most boring reporter was Superman? Well, the kitty thought that was just a little underwhelming. “Poor Lois,” she mouthed, intentionally baring her claws in the way she thought Glasses would mind most. Anyway, she was just waiting for Bruce to come distract him so she could leave. The kitty didn’t think, not for a moment, that Bruce would let the big, old flying bully lock her away.
Selina watched people turn, and she smiled as the dignitary touched fat fingers to her fat neck. “Looks like you lost something,” she told the woman, but the necklace was nowhere in sight. Look, nothing here, and the kitty raised sympathetic hands to prove that point.
Bruce may not have had superhuman speed on his side, but nevertheless he managed to cut through the crowd just in time to see Clark's arrival and subsequent demand. Oh, he didn't need to have personally witnessed Selina's theft of the necklace to know that she was responsible, but while he certainly had no intention of allowing her to be arrested, he wasn't going to let her slip away with her prize either. It was fortunate that he was quite good at distractions, and after a moment to assess the situation he snatched a bottle of wine from a passing waiter (yes, the entire bottle), took a swig, and shoved his way up to where the dignitary was currently panicking over the sudden disappearance of her necklace.
“Hey, what happened to the party?” Bruce made his voice intentionally loud and added the hint of a slur, just enough to allude to the fact that he was probably not completely sober-- in case the wine bottle in his hand wasn’t indicative enough of that. His gaze passed over Clark without a flicker of recognition, but there was something in his gaze reminiscent of a warning that likely only Selina and the other man would be able to decipher. Bruce beamed widely at the poor dignitary before turning his attention to Selina, winding an arm around her shoulders in a hold that was certainly tighter than it appeared. “I think we should all relax, have a few drinks, and get back to enjoying ourselves. Who’s with me?” A few people in the crowd laughed along with him, though he was aware that they were probably laughing at him instead. The drunken billionaire spectacle was always a hit. “As for you, lovely lady, you can’t get away that easily,” he added to Selina with a roguish grin, before leaning forward to whisper in her ear.
Bruce’s voice was too low for anyone else to hear, and he was certain the others had vivid enough imaginations to assume what he might be saying. “Return it. I don’t care how, just do it, and then we’re leaving.” Yes, we.
Selina wasn’t expecting anything quite so discreet. Well, if making a drunken scene could be considered discreet. And if it wasn’t for Clark’s very high-handed demand, she probably would have given up and played nice with the Bat. That invitation, after all, was extremely tempting, even though that fact didn’t show at all on her face. The whisper almost made her purr, and she canted her hip just slightly against Bruce’s thigh, before reaching past him for a drink on the tray a waiter held aloft, forgotten in the loud scene they were all making. The dignitary was demanding someone call the police and, with a smile, she tipped back the champagne before “accidentally” letting the crystal flute crash to the floor. She screamed, because it drew more attention where she wanted it, and smiled as a few more bodies pressed in to ensure she was alright. More bodies between her and the Flying Wonder, and even one bold arm leading her to sit down. She was feeling faint, she told the man, even as she looked over her shoulder at Bruce with a smile that was all smug cat and red lips.
The necklace was nowhere on her person, should Superman use his unfair little superpowers. The waiter, not as innocent as he seemed, was already out the front door, and Selina gave him just a few seconds longer before feeling ever so much better, and running for it. The heels made it hard, and so she lost them within seconds, and she shot a smile and a wink at Lois. This was much better than dancing. She had a few additional members of the waitstaff on her payroll, and they managed to trip, fall, and generally get in the way of anyone running after her. And, of course, she didn’t use the front door. A window on the third floor worked just fine, and her belt, slick and black and oh, designer was a lovely, sleek whip. Swinging over to the next building in a dress up to there was a little harder than it looked in the movies, but she had practice. She just need to get herself to the conveniently stashed batpod, and she was home free.
Clark totally ignored Bruce’s warning as if he had not seen it at all. Clark had only had about three weeks to enjoy his “secret” identity in Metropolis, and he was far less concerned (and practiced) in conserving it. Even though the knowledge was mostly out of sight and out of mind for the people around him, Clark now had next to nothing to lose by being Superman and not Clark to anybody who came around, from girl scouts to latex thieves. His concentration was on Selina, and before the mess she created, he looked her up and down to see where she was hiding that necklace--and he looked under everything to do it. He frowned instead of blushing when he couldn’t find it, and ignored the hubbub of the wailing dignitary while looking around for her accomplice.
While Bruce and Selina were talking, Clark vanished in another puff of cold air, and he chose to go after the necklace and the waiter, and by the time he’d dealt with that man--who was armed and tried without success to shoot him in the face--Clark was in a very bad mood. Tie undone and glasses askew he was inches from Bruce’s face before anyone had time to turn around and wonder where he’d gone. “I told you to keep her out of here. She got away!”
Bruce had learned not to expect the best a long time ago, yet there was a brief moment in which he thought, perhaps, the evening might not end in such a disaster. Had Selina agreed to his offer, the necklace would have been returned without anyone noticing and the two of them could have slipped away in the resulting chaos. He was prepared to physically lead her away when she reached for the drink, and because Selina was Selina and thus incapable of allowing anything to go smoothly, he knew what was coming before it arrived. The crash of glass, the scream, and he was forced to reconcile his drunken act with the sudden press of arms that forced him back and reached for the woman in distress, though that smile of hers said otherwise. No one saw his frown, all Bat and no playboy, one which was certainly not amused, and while Clark pursued the waiter with more speed than he could ever hope to possess, he began to shove his way through the crowd in pursuit of Selina.
In this case, his act worked against him, and as the dignitary continued to cause a scene and waiters tripped bystanders left and right, he was seconds away from dropping the pretense and physically forcing obstacles out of his path. Then Clark appeared, completely destroying Bruce’s cherished sense of personal space, and there was a moment in which his shoulders raised and rolled back in a blatant show of male aggression before he forced himself to relax. He had a great deal to lose should his identity be revealed, and the distinction between himself and the Bat needed to be maintained.
“Excuse me?” A slow, disbelieving grin spread across his features, and he looked around at the crowd as though to say what’s his problem? “I only just met her tonight, and I assure you, I’m well aware of the fact that she got away.” Bruce laughed, all feigned drunken slur, and took a step back. He wasn’t going to get into this with Clark now, with all these people present, and the look he shot him over his shoulder as he turned said as much. Selina may have gotten away for now, but he was well aware of where to find her. Oh, he was frustrated with himself, for failing to stop her from going so far, but that was his own failure and he was in no mood to discuss it. “I think I’ll call it a night. Too much excitement, and all that. You, my friend, should have a few drinks and relax,” he called as he moved towards the doors, gesturing with the wine bottle he still held while doubting that he would have enough time to catch Selina before she made her getaway. All in all, Bruce was rather disappointed in himself.
If Lois could say one thing about her first date with Clark Kent it was that it was turning out like all of the other dates she’d been on with him. Problems afoot, Clark fixes them. She wasn’t surprised when he dashed off to see whatever it was that Selina was doing. Really it just caused her sense of deja vu to happen all over again much like it had when she’d first opened the door. She stayed back for a bit, that was until Selina apparently swooned. Or something she sighed and decided to go have a look for herself, if anything it would make an interesting story.
Through the rest of event that was unraveling she watched everyone, Clark especially, and sighed just a bit at it all. It certainly wasn’t a good change of pace, but it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to, or around, her while wearing an evening gown. At the moment of Bruce and Clark’s little discussion Lois stepped forward a bit closer and put her hand on Clark’s arm. This wasn’t going to solve anything. Or make anyone feel better.
Clark didn’t put any more effort into berating Bruce Wayne. He was too involved with this fantasy person he had made up for himself, even when it was more important to be who he was, and Clark didn’t have any patience for it right now. Maybe if he’d had years to cultivate an identity that he valued more than his real life, maybe, maybe...
Clark took in an angry breath. His eyes came down to Lois’ restraining hand. “Did you know she was here?” He didn’t really wait for an answer. He had barely a second’s thought for Selina’s accomplice, who he had left on a ledge halfway up the nearest skyscraper, and returned the dignitary’s necklace to her purse in a blur of charcoal gray before returning to Lois (on her other side, no doubt disorienting, but he was distracted) and taking her arm to lead her back outside. “Let me take you home,” he said.