"Or," Catwoman suggested, her smile spreading slowly underneath the goggles that formed her mask, "You find a good way to keep warm." It was a good joke; she sauntered closer, hips swinging. Funny, to find him here on Christmas eve––did that say something about who the man really was, behind the mask? That he put this constant fight against crime above even holidays, time with family, if he had one, friends, if he had them?
The old questions were merely pieces of the grand puzzle: who was the Batman? Riddles, all, of course. But a riddle whose pieces she found endlessly fascinating to pull at, like unraveling a ball of tangled strings. Not that she ever got anywhere; it was a real knot.
"I could ask the same of you. Shouldn't you be celebrating?"