Merry X-rated-mas

[moonshadows]

It’s Isis that wakes me; her lanky body uncurling, one paw on my shoulder, is enough to have me come instantly awake, heart pounding, every nerve tense and listening for the creak of a man’s footfall on the floorboard. Then she chirps an all-clear meow, and I can breathe.

“Sorry,” Batman’s deep voice purrs from the darkness. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The clock’s LED display reads 2:57. “It’s three in the morning, darling,” I say as I sit up, unconcerned that my silk nightie isn’t very modest. It’s dark, and anyway, he’s welcome to whatever he sees.

“Three in the morning on the twenty-fifth,” he corrects with amusement, and I return the smile in his voice.

“Mm. Does that mean I get to unwrap a present?” The silence changes somehow, and my eyes have adjusted enough to see his dark shape by the door. The adrenaline comes back. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I want to show you something,” he says instead of answering. “You might want your dressing gown.”

The heavy note in his voice doesn’t ease my nerves any, and in silence I get out of bed and wrap the warm gown around me. Isis makes an uncertain sound, and I press her gently back down, telling her to stay. Then I nod at Batman, and he leads the way out of the guest room, down the hall and the stairs, and into the spacious library where he manipulates a bookshelf to reveal a hidden elevator. In silence we ride down, and when the doors open, I wish I’d brought slippers. The same thought occurs to Batman, judging by his frown, and before I can shiver a second time he scoops me into his arms and carries me through the Batcave to a small, lit, and most importantly, warm room where he sets me on the bed. There’s a table with a basin and pitcher, a small chest of drawers, and a changing screen. A narrow door might be a closet, or a small bathroom. Batman closes and locks the door, but hesitates before turning around to face me again and when he does, he’s very, very grim.

“I haven’t been as honest with you as I should have been,” he starts, “and I caused us both a year of unhappiness and frustration. If we’re going to do this, you have a right to know exactly what you’re getting involved with.” He pauses for any reaction, then says softly, “If you want to back out at any time, I won’t blame you.”

I don’t dignify that statement with any response past a scathing look, and he ducks his head slightly, the gesture incongruously sheepish beneath cape and cowl.

“I don’t know how much you know of my past,” he says as he steps behind the changing screen. “My parents were killed when I was eight. I spent several years training myself before I first took the name Batman and began fighting crime.” A pause. “It’s been my name for twenty years, give or take.” He steps out from behind the screen, but he’s still wearing the cowl and the cape covers him completely.

“I’m still not seeing a downside,” I tease, but his grim expression doesn’t change.

“You might change your mind when you see the toll it’s taken on my body.”

Well now, Mr. Wayne, you have my full and undivided attention! “You mean I actually get to unwrap Batman for Christmas?”

He grimaces. “I’ve taken the suit off. Just…you know what I look like under the cowl. Leave it in place, please.”

“Of course,” I say as I stand up and move in for a kiss, but he flinches away. “Darling, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” he says quietly. “Or rather, that once you see…”

I roll my eyes. It’s not that I have no sympathy for his fear and vulnerability, it’s just that if I were even slightest bit less than fully committed, I wouldn’t be here right now. The temptation to fling the cape open and feast my eyes on his glorious and hopefully nude body is strong, but I choose instead to savor the moment. To that end I keep my eyes fixed on his grim mouth while my hands slip beneath that tantalizing cape and blindly, I explore the-

-explore the-

-scars?

His lips thin even more as the surprise registers on my face, but still I don’t look. Fingertips trace raised lines, starburst patterns, blotches? More lines, crisscrossing his broad chest. His chiseled abdomen is a metropolis of damaged tissue. His sides are riddled with what must have been stab wounds. I step back and now I do fling the cape open and he flinches, stronger, eyes closed and jaw clenched. The scars are pink and purple and livid red and faded white, cuts and gunshot wounds and chemical spills and splashes, stitches and surgery and I don’t even know what could have made them all. His thighs, his calves – I do take a moment to admire the luscious hips his briefs cling to, and mentally lick my lips over unwrapping that package later – his forearms and upper arms: all bear mute testimony to the rough and dangerous nature of Batman’s job.

When my silence stretches, his expression shifts from fear to sadness, his eyes still closed. That just means that when my lips close on his, he’s not expecting it. I don’t doubt that his eyes fly open as I kiss him, but mine are closed and after a moment, his arms encircle me and he kisses back. My hands wander from his chest around to his back, unsurprised when there are a wide assortment of scars there, too. Just to make it clear that I’ve no intention of backing out, I press as much of my body against his as I physically can. I’m tempted to see if that fine backside of his has suffered in any way, but I’m a good kitty and keep my hands above the elastic band.

“Nothing to say?” he murmurs against my lips before kissing the line of my jaw, heading for the tender skin of my neck.

“Mmm, just one thing.”

“And that is?”

I slide my hands back around, up his chest, and take his face between them so that I can stare fiercely into his lion’s eyes. “Mine.”

This time, there’s no hesitation when I kiss him, and he pushes me step by step back towards the bed. When it bumps the back of my thighs, forcing me to sit or fall over, he steps back and lets the cape fall, leaving only the cowl. This time, when I feast my eyes on his glorious body, he watches my expression and sees no disgust. He even turns when I motion so that I can take in the damaged topography of his back, and when he turns back around his expression is one of cautious hope.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asks, and it’s Bruce’s higher tones. “With me being…older and…”

Instead of answering, I untie the belt of my dressing gown and let it slide off of my body. To drive the point home, I fall over into a calculated sprawl, one slender strap halfway down my arm and a leg bent enough that my hem has slid tantalizingly close to revealing the matching silk panties. His breath catches, hands fisting at his sides, and his briefs sport a bulge that has me itching to pull them down.

“Selina,” he breathes, and I imagine his eyes are wide and panicked beneath the mask.

“Nothing to say?” I ask, teasing and inviting all at the same time.

He tears his gaze away from my body and focuses on my face. “You have to have guessed that with these scars, Bruce Wayne’s reputation…”

I sit up, the neckline of my nightgown nearly exposing one breast, and with an effort he brings his gaze back to my face. “All talk, hmm?” One finger reaches out to his hip, just barely able to brush the line of skin above his waistband. “You mean I get you all to myself?”

“There was one girl,” he says slowly. “Before I put on the mask. When I said I hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time…it was her.”

“Do I need to be worried?” My voice is light, but inside I’m baring fangs and lashing my tail.

His expression hardens. “I tracked her down a few years later. She followed her father into organized crime.”

So, she was dead to him. “No wonder you needed to know I wasn’t slipping. I had a boyfriend when I was sixteen. Purely experimental; we drifted apart and broke up. Haven’t let any man get that close to me since. No one understood; no one was worthy.”

“And you’re sure you want to be stuck with me?” he asks, but the teasing note is back again. “I might not remember where everything goes.”

I resume my pre-ravishment pose. “Darling, you’re Batman. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t know exactly where everything goes.”

“You’re tempting me,” Batman growls.

“Is it working?”

And then his body is on top of mine, hands on either side of my head and he’s kissing me with all the fierce desperation of our nighttime chases, one knee urging my legs apart as he climbs fully onto the bed. My legs waste no time caressing his, learning the contours of his thighs and hips as he grinds against me, making me cry out even through two layers of cloth.

“We shouldn’t,” he breathes into my hair before kissing my throat.

Not what I wanted to hear. I slide my fingertips beneath the elastic of his briefs, threatening to push them down. “Why not?”

An inarticulate snarl escapes his lips. “I don’t keep protection.”

I almost tease him about slipping in his infallible forethought, but instead I find myself asking, “What about Dick? Does he…?”

“I’m not going to wake him up to ask,” he growls, but then Batman stops suddenly, thinking. A moment later he’s at the chest of drawers, rifling through it intently. “I use this room to change,” he says as he fiddles with something I can’t see. “I don’t know whether Dick’s been seeing someone here in Gotham, or if Alfred got some interesting looks at the store, and I don’t care.”

His hands go to his hips, and yes, that’s a gorgeous piece of real estate revealed as he lets the briefs fall to his ankles. I feast my eyes, memorizing those unmarked curves, almost forgetting that when he turns around again, I’ll be the first woman in twenty years to lay eyes on – oh, and there it is, and it does not disappoint!

“See something you like?” he chuckles as he returns to sit on the edge of the bed, but I can only stare and clutch the sheets. He stretches one hand out, hovering above my belly. “May I?”

That breaks the spell enough that I can smile slyly at him. “It’s only fair; I got to unwrap you.”

His hands are warm on my skin as he hooks the elastic of my panties and pulls gently. I arch my back to ease their downward slide, and he tugs the fabric of my nightgown up to expose my breasts while I kick free enough to caress his thigh with one foot. He moans slightly, head bent to kiss his way from my waist to the bud of one nipple, making me claw helplessly at his shoulders because his cowl thwarts my desire to get my hands in his hair. The message comes across clearly enough, and he keeps my mouth occupied while he once again covers me. This time, however, the only barrier between my skin and his is sheer latex.

“Last chance to say no,” he murmurs into my mouth.

I lock my legs around his waist and grind up into him. “That means yes,” I whisper, nibbling softly at where his earlobe should be beneath the cowl.

Batman groans as if, now that he doesn’t have to deny himself what we both want, he’s afraid of it. He rears back, braced on one hand while the other reaches between us, and blindly finds the button that makes my legs fall limply open while I cry out for more. His expression shifts to a surprisingly delighted smirk as his thumb rubs small, gentle circles that drive me wild.

“Like that, do you?” he teases, but I’m enjoying it too much to care about his tone.

“Yes, darling, yes!”

The smirk slips into something more akin to worship. “You’re beautiful, Selina.”

His thumb doesn’t stop, and I can feel myself start the climb to bliss. “Bruce,” I half-beg, using the name that matched his voice. The worship turns to hunger.

“Selina,” he says again, his voice deep and rough, and it sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

I can feel my core tighten; I’m close. “Batman!”

The thumb retreats, but I don’t slip far; Batman thrusts into me, gasping at my tightness, bucking frantically with our combined need. I rise up to meet him, hugging him to me with arms and legs and everything else, trying to become one with him as the friction of our bare bodies finishes what his thumb started, and my last thought before the world dissolves into perfection is, I hope the Batcave is sound-proofed.

When the world reasserts itself, I am contentedly nuzzling Batman’s scarred chest, one hand resting on his stomach, my knee on his thigh. Post-coital contentment is an expression that, while I doubt anyone else will ever see, looks remarkably good with the cowl. I treasure it.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” I purr.

“Mmm,” he replies eloquently. “This may be the first time in a very long time that I’m actually feeling the Christmas spirit.”

“That’s afterglow.”

He grins at me. “Close enough. If we don’t want to arouse any suspicions, though, I need to get you back to your bed.” He looks down and grimaces. “…and I need to get rid of that.”

I follow the direction of his gaze, half-expecting to see another glorious erection, but he’s indicating the condom threatening to spill its load on the bed when it slips completely free. Too content to even be disappointed, I stretch lazily. “You’re Batman; you’ll figure something out.”

He sits up to tug it off, treating me to a view of his muscled back, and I trace some of the more interesting scars. “You don’t mind that it was Batman?” he asks in a low voice.

That almost makes me laugh. “Why on Earth would I mind? Do remember our first meeting and our first kiss. Why should this have been any different?”

I get a wry look directed at me from over his shoulder for my trouble. “I’m not used to being attractive with the cowl on. It makes me feel like a different person, one who’s not admired and desired the way Bruce Wayne is.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention over the last year and a half, Batman.”

He nods to concede the point. “Should I be worried that you only love me for my mask?” he asks in Bruce’s lightly teasing voice.

“Bruce, I love you with or without the mask. It doesn’t make you Batman; it only lets the world see that you are.”

That brings him up short. “But is it Batman you love,” he asks darkly, “or Bruce Wayne?”

I sit up as well, one hand resting on the unscarred skin over his heart, the other on his cheek. He is very still as I slowly pull the cowl up over his head, and somehow this is even more intimate of an act than the one whose results swing in a latex sleeve from his right fist. “Bruce,” I say softly, invoking the man behind the Bat rather than giving an answer, and watch the subtle play of his expression as he releases his other self. “Bruce Wayne couldn’t exist without Batman, and I love both of them. You accepted both sides of me; how could I do any less?”

He sighs and leans forward to nuzzle my neck. “You’re right, Selina. I’m sorry. I love you, too.”

“Shh, darling, it’s alright.” It occurs to me that I’d better explain. “Bruce…when I say ‘darling’, it’s because I don’t have a better way to show that I mean you, the whole man, not just either Bruce Wayne or Batman.”

He lifts his head from my shoulder, brows furrowing slightly as he thinks back to every time I’ve ever called him that. “Does it bother you that I only use ‘Selina’?”

I kiss him lightly, the fingers of both hands running greedily through his tousled hair. “That’s not the name I was born with. I chose it myself, had it legally changed. ‘Catwoman’ isn’t my name, with or without my mask. Either way, I’m Selina.”

“And we still need to get you back to your bed,” he says with a grin that fades as the cooling contents of the condom catch his attention. “Let me just…I’ll be right back.”

I enjoy the view as he vanishes into the small bathroom. There’s muffled sounds of running water, some rustling, more water, and then to my disappointment he emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping.

“There’s a shower and another towel, if you like,” he offers. 

“And miss watching you get dressed?” I tease, already sliding the silk nightie over my head.

He blushes, whether at the innuendo or at the fact that I’m now completely nude, and vanishes behind the changing screen. The bathroom’s shower is tiny but efficient, nozzles lining two walls ready to spray water from head to toe. There’s a dispenser of liquid soap mounted on the free wall, and I don’t hesitate to make myself smell like a clean Bruce Wayne before triggering the blast of hot water that rinses my entire body at once. The towel hangs on the back of the bathroom’s door, and I rub myself vigorously dry before leaving the way I entered – au naturel. Bruce averts his eyes, my panties and nightie held out in a most gentlemanly fashion, and keeps them averted until my rumpled dressing gown is again tied around me. I wonder who picked out his pajamas; the dark navy flannel brings out his eyes, but the pattern is tiny clusters of holly alternating with miniature Santa hats. If it were anyone but him, I’d think he just hadn’t noticed.

“I should have brought slippers,” he apologizes as he unlocks the room’s door. “Somehow, though, I don’t think you object to being carried.”

I’ll cheerfully admit to that. “Guilty.”

He scoops me up and carries me back to the elevator. Even when I’m on my feet again, his arm stays around me and my head remains on his chest. He carries me up the stairs, and I don’t relinquish his arm as he walks me back to my room.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Batman says as we stand in the doorway, the interrogative lift at the end making the statement into a polite assumption yet to be declared incorrect.

One hand spreads out on his glorious chest. “Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?”

He grins, and for the third time I’m lifted by strong, flannel-covered arms. Isis meows sleepily as he sets me on the bed, and then his lips are warm and pliable against mine. “Goodnight, Selina,” he murmurs, but the very tone of his voice says, I love you.

I answer that tone when I say, “Goodnight, darling.” I love you, too.

The door closes behind him with an almost-inaudible click and I groan, remembering that I’ve still got the dressing gown on. Sulky at having to move, I wrestle it off and let it fall to the floor before throwing the covers back over me and waiting for my body to heat them again. Isis resumes her usual place, curled up at my back, and with a smile for the best Christmas I’ve had so far, I drift off to sleep.

 

It’s a leisurely quarter ‘til nine when I wake up again, Isis purring in my ear to hint that it’s past time for breakfast. For a moment, my early-morning adventure seems like a dream – but the dressing gown pooled on the floor reassures me that it really did happen.

I wonder if Bruce is having the same moment of doubt.

The mansion is far too big for me to have learned its layout in a day and a half, especially when most of that was spent napping, but I can and do navigate to what would be the living room of a more modest home, Isis trotting at my heels. It’s not hard, seeing as the staircase terminates there. Dick is awake, parked in front of the television with a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice while some Christmas cartoon plays.

“Merry Christmas, Ms. Kyle,” he calls out cheerfully.

“Please, call me Selina – or I’ll have to call you Mr. Grayson.”

“Fair enough. Sleep alright?”

“Yes, thank you.” I wonder which of the doors leads to the dining room, or if I should be looking for the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, Dick. I wonder if you could-”

“Good morning and a Merry Christmas to you, Ms. Kyle,” Alfred says suddenly from one of the doors. “Would you prefer breakfast in the dining room, or will you join Master Dick for a more informal meal?”

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, Alfred. I…” I glance at Dick. He looks hopefully at me, mouth full, and I smile. “Here will be fine, thank you.”

“Very good. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing Miss Isis’s breakfast…” he steps forward to place a china plate on the low table, and my cat jumps up eagerly. “What will be your pleasure this morning?”

That would be Master Bruce, but I’m not about to say that. “Toast?” Alfred waits, the barest hint of disapproval in the air around him. Apparently, that’s not enough for breakfast. “With eggs and sausage and coffee?”

“Very good, Ms. Kyle. I shall return shortly.”

I sit in the comfortable armchair by the couch upon which Dick is sprawled, noting that his flannel pajamas are forest green with candy canes and snowflakes. “I trust your night was uneventful?”

He seems startled to have me reference the nightly patrol. “How’d you…”

“She’s shadowed me enough to know the patrol route,” Batman says from the stairs.

Dick frowns. “That still doesn’t explain…”

Whoops. Time to improvise a half-truth. “Isis woke me up at just before three,” I say, catching Batman’s eyes over his ward’s head. “She heard footsteps in the hall. We’re both very light sleepers.”

Hearing her name, she looks up from her breakfast long enough to lick her whiskers, then goes back to licking canned food off the plate.

“Oh. Sorry for waking you up, then – I’m not used to there being anyone actually asleep at three in the morning.” He grins at Bruce, or at Bruce’s pajamas. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge.”

“Merry Christmas,” he returns dryly, circling around behind the couch towards me. “Good morning, Selina.”

It still sounds like I love you, and I have to smile. “Good morning, Bruce.”

I don’t get a kiss, but I get his fingers trailing across the back of my hand where Dick can’t see, and he kneels to greet Isis. Fine; if that’s the way he wants to play it, I’ll follow his lead.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he lets my cat finish her meal and settles into the other chair. “Up for a few hours of socializing tonight?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Dick groans. “Bruce, you didn’t tell her?”

“There’s a lot of things he didn’t tell me,” I say with a teasing grin in Bruce’s direction. “Which one is this?”

“The Christmas party,” Dick explains. “Biggest bash in Gotham – when Bruce decides to hold it.”

He has the grace to look somewhat ashamed. So that’s why he wanted me to bring the black dress with the mesh sleeves – and why he woke me up for our little heart-to-heart. “What time?”

“Nine to midnight, although the early guests will be here by eight-thirty. Late enough that families can have dinner and children can be put to bed.”

“The caterers will be here at eight,” Dick adds. “Knowing Alfred, he’s already got the ballroom set up.”

I fix Bruce with another look, but he seems confused by my irritation. “And you weren’t going to invite me?”

He protests, “I was going to ask you out to dinner and confess that Batman told me how you felt and then ask you, where the waiters and other diners would be witnesses. But…”

But Scarecrow had other ideas. “Forgiven,” I say quickly.

Dick puts his mostly-empty cereal bowl on the table and Isis pads over to investigate the dregs, but I make a stern noise and she instead leaps into my lap for pettings as Alfred enters with a tray in both hands. Somehow, he unfolds a stand for the tray and sets it between the two chairs to serve as a makeshift table. There are several plates: my toast, with the butter dish and the jelly jar; eggs both fried and over easy; sausage and bacon; French toast with powdered sugar and a tiny pitcher of maple syrup; a bowl of cubed melon and sliced strawberries; two mugs of black coffee, complete with sugar bowl and pitcher of cream. There are two forks and two knives. So, not just my breakfast, but Bruce’s as well.

“I took the liberty of preparing your favorites along with Miss Selina’s breakfast, Master Bruce,” Alfred says as he offers each of us a snowy linen napkin.

Bruce’s eyebrows raise just the slightest bit. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Once Alfred retreats, Dick whistles. “Miss Selina, huh? I’m impressed.”

I look to Bruce for an explanation, but he stuffs an entire egg into his mouth and busies himself with fixing his coffee. Dick laughs.

“Alfred’s not the only one with eyes, Bruce.”

Bruce swallows the egg, only to fill his mouth with fruit. One eyebrow raised, I finish buttering my toast and spear a sausage. “What am I missing, exactly?”

“You were Ms. Kyle when Alfred took your breakfast order, but Miss Selina by the time it was done. That means in the time it took to get all that ready, Alfred came to the conclusion that you were, or would soon be, family.” Dick grins at his mentor while I nibble the sausage, which is rather good. “Now, why would that be?”

Bruce attacks the French toast as if ravenous.

“You’re going to run out of breakfast eventually,” his ward taunts.

I steal a piece of his bacon and lay it on my toast, folding it over a fried egg to create a makeshift sandwich. Bruce nearly chokes trying to protest, then chews furiously while Dick laughs.

“Not fair,” he says finally, waving a syrup-smeared fork at me.

“All’s fair in love and breakfast.” The sandwich isn’t bad, but it could use some cheese. 

“Is that so,” he mock-threatens, the effect ruined or possibly enhanced by his devilish grin. The other sausage is speared. “Do you want this?” he taunts, watching my eyes follow it as he waves it around.

With a smile, I take my eyes off the sausage and meet his gaze, then look pointedly down to where his lap would be, if I could see through the tray and the arm of the chair. “Yes,” I purr.

When I look back up, his eyebrows are somewhere in his hair and his mouth has fallen open. “…okay,” he says in a tone of shocked surrender.

The fork is extended over the tray; I open my mouth and lick the tip of the sausage delicately, then with more relish, wrapping my tongue around it and tugging it gently towards my seeking lips. They, too, wrap around it and with a small motion of my head I lift it off the tines before sucking it entirely into my mouth. Bruce looks like he’s been struck with a solid object, and I can hear Dick snickering quietly.

The sausage is even more delicious than the first one was.

“Sooooo,” Dick says after a moment, blatantly attempting to break the mood, “what’s this about Batman telling Bruce Wayne something?”

“A bit of improvisation for Gordon’s benefit,” Bruce answers, cutting the rest of his French toast into more manageable pieces and claiming the rest of the bacon with an attempted stern look in my direction. “Batman told Catwoman that if she didn’t tell Bruce Wayne how she felt about him, he would.”

“That,” Dick says slowly, “is something I’d pay to see.”

I contemplate stealing a strawberry, but instead take pity on Bruce and spread jam on another slice of toast. “So did Gordon spare you the need?”

“While you were in the hospital,” he confirms, grinning. “Took me aside the first time I showed up with flowers and told me solemnly that he’d overheard something concerning me and that, in good conscience, he couldn’t not pass it on. He’ll be here tonight with Barbara; if he asks, I told you in the car on the way here that I knew you cared about me.”

 

Eight o’clock, I check my reflection one last time and discover Bruce behind me with a look of wistful adoration on his face.

“You look stunning,” he breathes, head bent to take in the scent of my hair. “Might I suggest a last-minute change to your apparel?”

“That depends on what it is.” His hands are on my hips, making it hard to not just lean back into his embrace.

“Trust me.” His voice, so close to my ear that I can feel his breath and so deep I can almost see Batman’s cowl, makes me shiver. I nod. “Close your eyes.”

Gently, his fingers brush my ears, leaving warmth in their wake.

“Open them,” he says like a prayer, and I discover that my earrings have been replaced. Rubies hang from my ears like drops of blood caught in the centers of two delicate golden roses, the French hook backing warm from his hands. “They were my mother’s.” His eyes are soft and sad, like his voice. “You gave me hope for Christmas, Selina. I can’t offer you anything nearly as precious, but I can give you these.”

I meet the reflection of his eyes, reaching behind me to cup his cheek. “They’re lovely, darling. Thank you.”

“The caterers are arriving,” he says. “I should go meet them.”

“Mmm. And when should we accidentally meet under the mistletoe?”

A bit of life comes back into his expression at that. “Let me worry about it,” he purrs in Batman’s voice.

“Just don’t forget,” I tease.

His smile is fierce and predatory. “I won’t.”

Isis meows from the doorway, and Bruce bends down to pet her as he leaves. Once he’s gone, she looks up at me as if to say I really like that one.

“I do too, my precious,” I tell her, admiring my reflection and remembering the heat of his hands.

Bruce is hovering awkwardly to the side as I enter the ballroom, watching with Dick while Alfred directs the swarm of hired help setting up. There’s a twelve-foot tree in one corner, with festive and empty boxes piled beneath it. Appetizers and desserts line one wall, across from the bar, and a table by the outside door has been set up for the servants who will be taking coats and purses to the coatroom. Chairs and delicate tables form clusters around the edges of the room, garland is being strung up to hang from the ornate frames of giant, window-like paintings, and instrumental holiday music is already pouring discreetly, invisibly, from nowhere and everywhere. The mistletoe is hanging from the broad doorway leading to the washrooms. Outside, a pair of headlights approaches and turns away.

“That’ll be Jim and Barbara,” Bruce says. “Jim likes to get here before everyone else and check the place out…just in case.”

He moves towards the door and I sidle closer to Dick, who isn’t quite as relaxed in his tux as Bruce. “And Barbara is…?” I murmur.

Dick answers as discreetly as I asked. “Gordon’s daughter. About my age, year or two older. We go to the same college.”

“Thank you. I suppose I should try to look like a guest rather than a hostess.”

“You could always claim a table and look bored. That’s what I usually end up doing.”

“Good advice,” I laugh quietly.

While Bruce greets Commissioner Gordon and his daughter Barbara – whose dress does not flatter her at all, it’s all childish ruffles from hips to knees – I drift over to the bar and collect a glass of ginger ale before picking a table seemingly at random and camping out between the end of the desserts and the doorway to the washrooms. I’m still on bed rest, after all, and I’ve no doubt that the news of the Scarecrow’s last experiment will be all over Gotham. Better to play up my lingering weakness and play down anything that actually happened. Dick wanders up to Bruce, chatting briefly with them before taking Barbara aside. Bruce and Gordon head towards me.

“Ms. Kyle,” Gordon says, bowing politely over my proffered hand. “A pleasure to meet you off the clock, as it were.”

I smile at him. “Likewise, Commissioner. May I offer you a seat? I’m afraid I’m still a little woozy.”

He nods at Bruce, who wanders off with overdone nonchalance, and sits at my little table. “Thank you. So,” he says in a quieter voice, “between you and me, off the record, what happened? Batman was a little vague.”

“It’s hard to remember,” I tell him truthfully. “He had me pumped so full of that toxin that I thought I was a cat. I was seeing…bad memories from many years ago.”

Gordon nods in understanding. “I won’t press,” he assures me. “Ah…there’s something I have to tell you. I’m sure it doesn’t come as a surprise; Bruce probably told you already, but in all fairness you deserve to hear it from me. I keep my roof bugged. I heard your little confrontation with Batman.”

Slowly, I nod. “Bruce did tell me.”

“He cares about you a lot,” Gordon says somberly. “Batman, I mean. But you already know that. Look, I know it’s none of my business, but Bruce has been a friend for a long time, and Gotham owes Batman more than anyone will ever admit, and…” He sighs. “Just tell me that whatever’s between you and them, they’re both okay with it?”

There’s a lot of things I could say to that, but I don’t say any of them. I lay one hand on Gordon’s and say with equal solemnity, “I promise you that nothing will happen unless both of them will be okay with it. They’re both too important to me to risk losing one for the other.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at me in obvious relief. “That’s more than I had a right to ask.” Halfway through standing up, he pauses as if having just remembered something. “Your cat, the Cornish Rex – is she okay? Batman brought her in after that nasty incident with Daggett’s plague, and she looked pretty rough at the time.”

“Isis is fine,” I assure him. “She’s probably sleeping on my pillow upstairs. I keep her inside after that incident.”

“Isis,” he murmurs, thinking. Then he shakes his head. “The Vreeland gig. Batman really does care about you – but I can see why. If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to separate those two.”

He nods in the direction of Dick and Barbara, who seem about to either start fighting or kissing, and I wave him away with a smile. A minute later, it’s Barbara’s turn to make her way over to my table.

“Hey,” she says as she flops down sulkily into the seat her father vacated. “I got shooed out of the man-club over there,” she waves vaguely, while Bruce’s laughter floats over the music, “but I figure you could use some girl-talk as much as I could. Barbara Gordon, but you probably knew that.”

“Selina Kyle.” I incline my head politely.

“Hey…you’re Catwoman, or you were, and I know you’ve crossed paths with Batman once or twice...”

Despite her blatant fishing, the phrase makes me grin. “Once or twice, yes.”

She leans over conspiratorially. “What’s he like?”

Sipping my ginger ale gives me a moment to force my hackles back down; she’s barely more than a child, she is not a threat no matter how much she wants to move in on my territory. “Very grim,” I say slowly. “Very angry. He’s a predator, and every criminal in Gotham is his prey. When he smiles, it usually means bad things for the person at the other end. He doesn’t trust easily, and if you do something wrong, don’t expect his forgiveness unless you’ve earned it.” She’s still got sparkles and hero-worship in her eyes; fine then, the claws come out. “He’s also an excellent kisser.” I sip my drink to hide my smirk while she sits bolt upright in offended indignation.

“You-” she breaks off and looks around, but the boys aren’t paying us any attention. “You kissed him?”

This time, I allow my smirk to show. “Mm-hmm.”

“And he kissed back?”

“Well, the first time he was a little surprised, but yes.”

Barbara looks like she wants to explode, but from which emotion, I couldn’t say. “The first time? You kissed him more than once?”

“Actually,” I purr, “the second time, he kissed me.”

By listening very carefully, I can almost hear the delicate tinkling the shards of her daydreams make as they crash around her. Oh, wait, that’s the audio system playing Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy.

“Some people get all the luck,” she grumbles.

“I could do with a little less luck.” My sharper tone catches her attention. “That kind of luck nearly got me killed by the Joker. Granted, he wouldn’t have caught me if I hadn’t been there to interrupt his killing Batman. The time the rocket launcher blew up the wall I was climbing and nearly hurled me to my death was my own fault for breaking into Multigon and discovering their connection to Red Claw, and so was nearly dying to the viral plague she blackmailed Gotham with, but I was in no way responsible for the Scarecrow deciding to use me as a test subject. And that’s not even taking into account all the other things – the kidnapping attempts, the minor injuries, the daily, nagging fear that someone will decide I make good bait for trapping the Bat. Quite frankly,” I tell her in a dry voice bordering on sour, “being able to kiss Batman is less of a reward and more like blood money.”

Her mouth has fallen open.

“Oh, and remember what I said about earning his forgiveness. I still have close to three years of probation, during which I have to watch my back extremely carefully because any arrest could land me in jail – and Batman’s the one who hauled me in for my own good in the first place, despite having just saved his life and helped him end the Red Claw threat against Gotham.”

“But…” She swallows, looking much younger, and tries again. “But what if someone wanted to…join him and help him fight crime?”

Suddenly, the pieces snap into place. The mysterious ‘Batgirl’ that showed up twice and hasn’t been seen since is sitting next to me, clinging to her adolescent infatuation. “Then they’d better be absolutely sure they don’t mess up,” I tell her callously. “And they better not have any family to become a target if any of his enemies ever figure out who they really are.”

 Barbara doesn’t say anything, but she bites her lip and her eyes flicker in Gordon’s direction. One more nail ought to seal the coffin.

“After two years, though, there’s still one thing I still haven’t figured out.”

“What’s that?” She sounds like she hates herself for asking. “His secret identity?”

I shake my head. “A bigger mystery: when that man sleeps. I’ve figured out most of his patrols, and I swear he goes all night.” Mmm, now there’s an image. My smile slips into something predatory. “I wonder…he does know where I live, and my bedroom has a skylight. If I left the balcony door open and slept…less covered…if he’d drop in and go all night.” She looks stricken. “Mmm, I think I’ll ask the next time I see him. Once we come up for air.”

“I think I hear my dad calling,” she says in a hollow voice, and hurries away.

Bruce wanders casually over a minute or two later and takes the vacant seat. “Sorry it’s so dull at the moment,” he says lightly. “The early guests should start arriving any minute.”

“It’s okay; I’m saving my energy.”

He grins slyly at me. “You’ve got that cat who swallowed the canary look again, Selina. Have you been a bad kitty?”

“Just discussing the Dark Knight with Barbara. Disabusing her of a few notions.”

“Selina…” His voice is low and mildly chiding.

“She asked my opinion on someone wanting to join him and help fight crime.”

Now he looks concerned. “What did you tell her?”

“That I wouldn’t recommend it,” I say dryly. He waits. I sigh. “…and I may have shattered some romantic daydreams by telling her what a fantastic kisser Batman is.”

That makes him laugh. “Is he really?”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t good already,” I tease, “but after two years, he’s definitely an expert – if you like it rough.”

“Is that so,” he says in a vaguely challenging way, giving me a roguish smile. “Oops – looks like we’ve got early arrivals. I better go greet them.”

And with that he’s off, striding towards a man and woman I don’t recognize with enough false cheer to stun a yak. Dick sidles up moments later holding a plastic plate with three cookies, two squares of fudge, and a thin slice of cake.

“What’d you say to Babs?” he asks curiously. “I haven’t seen a girl that ready to cry since the time I put a frog lung down Suzie McMillan’s shirt in biology.”

I have to fight down my laughter. “She wanted to hear from me what Batman was like.”

“Tall, dark, and depressing?”

“Tried that; it didn’t make a dent in her romantic fantasies.”

He offers me the plate, and I accept a square of fudge that smells vaguely of peppermint. “So what did make a dent?”

“I told her he was a good kisser.”

Dick chokes slightly on a chocolate-chip cookie. “You kissed him?”

“That’s exactly what she said when I told her.” I nibble the fudge, highly amused.

He puts the plate on the table and sits. “Okay, I’m begging you, give me juicy details. You kissed him.”

“He kissed back,” I point out helpfully. “The second time, he kissed me.”

“That’s not details,” he complains, grinning, and I grin back.

“Alright. Remember Red Claw blackmailing Gotham?” He nods. “I did a little digging, got her attention, and wound up falling to what would have been my death if he hadn’t swooped in to snatch me out of the air. That was the first time.”

“And the second?”

I take another nibble of fudge. “After I realized that the terms of my probation didn’t actually prohibit me from wearing the Catwoman costume, I started doing nightly runs again. Nothing specific, just urban exercise. He cornered me for a little chat, wanting to make sure I wasn’t slipping. I promised him that I was behaving, and that’s when he kissed me.”

Dick leans away from me with a low whistle, clearly impressed. Then he leans back in. “Tell me that’s not the only two times.”

“We cross paths three or four times in a good week,” I say casually. “When it’s quiet, I make him work for it. Make him chase me down and catch me.” My eyes slide half-shut and I swallow a purr at the memory of his primal passions. “Other times, I drop in to lend a hand if his are full, and he thanks me for my assistance afterwards.”

“How far do you two…?” he lets the awed question trail off.

“Just kissing,” I say firmly. “Gotham rooftops aren’t any place to do more than that.”

“For two years.”

I don’t even bother to answer that not-question; my satisfied smile says it all.

“Wow. No wonder-” there’s the barest hesitation as he changes words mid-sentence, eyes darting to the side “-you’ve been turning Bruce down. Still, he’s a great guy and you ought to give him a chance.”

“He’s been an amazing friend,” I say, rolling with it and not looking to see who’s wandered into earshot. “And it’s Christmas, after all. We’ll see what happens.”

Dick and I make small talk for a little longer, and then I excuse myself to refresh my ginger ale and peruse the appetizers for myself. There’s the usual hi-how-are-you, fine-thanks-you-look-lovely with the new arrivals, who don’t seem to recognize me. I’m comfortable with that. When I return to my table, Bruce has replaced Dick and he’s eating the other square of fudge. He looks up guiltily as I sit, probably thinking the desserts were mine. Then he notices the tiny croissant-wrapped franks on my plate and blushes.

“So,” I purr at him, toying with one of the franks, “you want to eat my fudge?”

He nearly inhales it, eyes suddenly very wide, and very, very carefully, he swallows. “Uh…can I plead the fifth?”

I put the frank down and laugh. “Tell me this isn’t the famous Wayne charm at work,” I tease.

He manages a swift recovery. “Selina, you haven’t let me show you the famous Wayne charm yet.” The movement of his eyes hints that there are at least three people within earshot.

“It’s going to take more than a few pretty phrases to make this kitty purr.” The words aren’t quite a challenge.

“Well,” he says with that roguish grin, “you already know I’m not a man who gives up easily.”

“Do your worst, Bruce.”

He takes my hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses the knuckles lightly. “No…I’ll do my best. Not now, but later. When you’re not expecting it.”

If this weren’t an act, I might feel alarmed by my pulse quickening as he holds me captive with those blue eyes. Being that it is, however, what I feel is delight. “I look forward to it.”

Another feather-light kiss before he releases my hand and excuses himself again. I nibble and watch him play host, watch the vapid tittering flock of High Society ladies flit around him, draping themselves all over him, earning hugs and kisses on the cheek. The memory of Batman calling my name in the heat of passion is like an electric blanket wrapped around me, keeping me both warm and smug for it. Once it seems that all the guests have arrived and claimed tables, it’s safe to leave mine with only a half-empty plate to guard it and I circulate, glass in hand. I get compliments on my earrings, my dress, my hair, my health from those who read the papers or saw the news and know that I was hospitalized for a near-overdose of Scarecrow’s fear toxin. I find myself wondering, in a corner of my mind not occupied with the motions of socializing, how far in advance Bruce had planned to give me the ruby earrings, and what it means that he urged me to pack the dress I’d worn for our second date rather than the red one I was wearing the night of the charity auction, which would have matched the earrings better.

Once I’ve done the rounds, I refresh my drink and my plate of nibbles, and retire to my table for a while to joke with Dick, or chat with whoever dares brave the Catwoman in her lair. Most of the party passes that way, with me making the occasional round of socialization and otherwise feasting on the catered food. Bruce, to all appearances, has forgotten all about me. Around eleven-thirty, when people are starting to think about going home, I take the opportunity of a lull in restroom traffic to relieve myself. As I’m returning to the ballroom, a gentleman who’s also exiting from his side accidentally bumps into me.

“Whoops,” Bruce says, loudly enough that he attracts a few nearby eyes. “So sorry about that, Selina.” His hands, where he’s supposedly steadying me, are very warm. “I should’ve watched where I was going.”

“You have to kiss!” shouts someone from the crowd. It sounds like Gordon.

We both look up and sure enough, the mistletoe is right overhead. We look back at the ballroom, and now everyone is watching. Bruce blushes.

“Uh…it is tradition,” he says apologetically.

“I understand, Bruce.” My voice is reassuring, my hands on his chest while his have slipped to my waist.

The kiss is slow at first, light and tender, tiny flames licking at the bark of a Yule log. But those flames find purchase, catch hold, growing stronger and brighter. One hand moves up to the back of his neck, fingers curling in his hair while his goes to the middle of my back, the other one reaching around my waist, and the kiss deepens. It’s not fierce and primal, like Batman’s kisses are; this is a weapon of sensuality, a technique honed on countless mouths, and a tiny sound of wanting escapes me as my other hand slides around to his back, pulling us closer together. His voice hums in my mouth, satisfaction and hunger for more, and the party fades from my awareness as my world narrows to the heat of his body and the motion of his lips against my lips, his tongue against my tongue. I want more, I want everything, I want to feel his scarred skin under my fingertips and his teeth on my nipple, I want to scream as he moves inside me and not know which name I’ll call out until I hear which voice caresses mine with urgent need.

Then a sharp whistle and a cry of “Get a room!” interrupts, breaking our glorious rhythm and bringing a wave of laughter and scattered applause with it. My eyes fly open and are immediately trapped by his.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne,” I say breathlessly as I drown in those blue depths.

The cheering rises around us, crests like a wave. Guiltily, we release each other and avert our gazes, cheeks aflame from mingled pleasure interrupted and the embarrassment of having gotten so carried away in public. I flee to my seat to find Dick sitting in his, applauding the show, and Bruce disappears into the crowd of now-jealous women before any of them can try to take my place beneath the mistletoe with him. Someone sits down at the heretofore-unused third chair, and when I turn to see who, it’s Barbara.

“So.” She throws the word down like a gauntlet. “How did that compare to kissing Batman?”

I think about it for a moment, searching for words and not finding any. “Waiter, I can’t decide; just bring me both of them.”

Dick snickers.

“I’ll take it they’re both good,” Barbara says sourly. “But what are they like?”

“Bruce? Hot, rich, dark chocolate cake with molten caramel drizzled all over it.” I take a moment to remember that amazing kiss and weigh the merits of a cold shower after the party against trying to corner him somewhere and get a second helping.

“And Batman?” she prods masochistically.

“Fillet mignon with a peppercorn crust, medium-rare,” I purr, and remembering that kiss tilts the scales in favor of tracking Bruce down once everyone’s gone.

“No cream sauce?”

Dick smirks. “Are you sure you want to know the answer to that, Babs?”

She catches the implication and flushes. “Never mind.”

Behind Dick, a handful of Bruce’s flock have herded him back under the mistletoe and are chirping playful demands for kisses, which he laughingly complies with. I pay them no attention, but Barbara looks like she wants to join the crowd and Dick doesn’t miss that wistful glance.

“He’s almost old enough to be your father,” he says in a disapproving tone.

“I know,” she sighs. “I’m just jealous because I’ve never been kissed like that.” Her gaze turns speculative. “You know…I’ve got a couple of days before I have to go back to school, and my dad’s the Commissioner. Do you think Batman could use some Christmas cheer?”

While Dick looks horrified, I smile tightly. “You’re welcome to try.”

That takes her by surprise. “I’m…what is that supposed to mean?”

“Haven’t you heard the Shoop Shoop Song? It’s in his kiss?”

Dick covers his face; apparently, he’s heard it. Barbara just shakes her head.

“Does he love me,” I sing, letting my voice caress the notes, “I wanna know. How can I tell if he loves me so?”

“Is it in his eyes?” Dick sings, right on time.

“Oh no, you’ll make believe.” I’m beginning to really like having him around.

“Is it in his eyes?”

“Oh no, you’ll be deceived. If you wanna know if he loves you so, it’s in his kiss.”

“That’s where it is,” he chirps, having actually done the shoop-shoop parts during the previous line.

Barbara’s looking at us both like we’ve lost our minds.

“I can attest to the veracity of this method,” I defend myself, all wounded dignity, “and outside sources have confirmed the accuracy of my assessment. If you really think you can handle finding out the answer, it’s in his kiss.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says dubiously, and flees with a mutter about seeing if her dad was ready to go.

Admiringly, Dick says, “You’re evil.”

“Little girls who play with fire get burned.” Unrepentant, I sip my ginger ale. “Her father will thank me if it keeps her out of trouble – and let’s face it,” I tell him, “being involved with Batman in any way is trouble.”

He raises his glass to me in a toast. “Here, here.”

 

In no time at all, it seems, the last guests are straggling out and the caterers are consolidating the uneaten food at Alfred’s direction.

“We should probably clear out,” Dick mutters to me. “Bruce’ll hang around to make sure everyone leaves, but we’ve got no real reason to stay if we don’t want to look suspicious.” He does a yawn-and-stretch as he stands up, and extends a hand to me. “Miss Selina, may I escort you to the den?”

“Thank you, Master Dick,” I say in as faux-grand a tone as he’d used, and he pulls me to my feet.

Taking the gesture and running with it, he starts walking me out of the ballroom as though we were royalty. Bruce turns to watch as we pass him, and I let the fingers of my free hand trail across the back of his as we do. I know without looking that he watches until the door swings shut behind us. Once in the hall, we drop the act and laugh.

“Jeez, it’s nice to have someone else around here whose sense of humor isn’t so dry it makes crackers look moist.”

I shake my head. “Mmm, I can’t argue with your description.”

“Den’s right through here,” he says, leading me down a corridor and into the room with big leather chairs and a fireplace. “Bruce likes to sit and brood here, so this is where he’ll go to unwind a little once everyone’s gone. I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him as I curl up in one of the leather chairs.

“Right, you’re used to staying up almost as late as we are.” He grins. “Back in a few.”

The fire in the fireplace is burning low, just enough to give the room a bit of light and ambient sound. I don’t doze exactly, but I allow my eyelids to rest and my thoughts to flow freely for several minutes until Dick’s footsteps come back down the hall.

“I don’t get it,” he says from the doorway.

I can’t be bothered to look up. “Hm?”

He comes over to the chair I’m curled up in, dragging a straight-backed wooden chair, and sits backwards on it. “You know that Bruce has women throwing themselves at him all the time. You’ve seen it. Pretty ones, rich ones, smart ones, blacks and blondes and brunettes and redheads and Asians – you name it. He could have his pick at any time, but you’re not worried. You’re so not-worried that they may as well not even exist, much less be potential competition. You’re not the slightest bit jealous, even when he’s kissing them. I just don’t get it. I mean – you do love him, right?”

“If I didn’t,” I say bluntly, “I wouldn’t be here.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. No offense, but you’re one cool cucumber. You’re like Isis – the world may as well only exist to feed you and give you a place to sleep, and us lowly humans are just something to deal with in between.”

The comparison amuses me. “Thank you,” I say mildly.

“So why aren’t you worried that one of them will catch Bruce’s eye?”

Ah, there’s the hook he’s fishing with. I favor him with a quiet smile. “The world is divided into predators and prey. Bruce is a predator; the flock of hopeful Mrs. Waynes are all prey. None of them know what it’s like to have the night call to you, to become part of it and stretch your muscles and feel the herd shudder at the wolf lurking in the shadows. None of them would understand the feeling of putting a mask on when you take one off.”

Dick is silent for a long minute, thinking about that. “I guess you’re right,” he says finally. “I’ve known Bruce for years, and I’ve seen him put on ‘Bruce Wayne, rich bachelor’ like some kind of invisible anti-Bat-suit. I guess there’s really no competition to even be worried about, is there?” My smile widens slightly, and he shakes his head. “No wonder he fell for you so hard. You know who you are, what you want, and how you’ll get it. You’re as self-assured-”

“-as a cat?”

“Yeah. And you only purr for him.” Suddenly, he laughs. “Just like a cat. You decided a while back that he was yours, and then waited for him to realize it.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Not quite. He decided he wanted me the day he met Selina Kyle – a charity auction, I’d tried to turn him down for the date with him I’d bought. It took a while to get him to realize that we had to be discreet, and that I was turning down the public gestures, not him.”

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I think you’ll be good for him. Make him live a little and remember that he’s a man and not just a man-shaped instrument of justice.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m not saying my child was all rainbows and sunshine or anything, but you two – there’s something dark in the two of you, like you went through Hell and came out the other side.”

Good pussy, whispers the memory of the man whose name I refuse to remember.

“I did,” I say shortly.

“Yeah, but you don’t let it eat you alive,” he counters. “You remember how to actually laugh and joke and enjoy life.”

“I promise you that Bruce remembers how to enjoy at least one thing.”

Dick laughs as he stands up. “One down and everything to go, huh?” He drags the chair back where he got it from, then comes back. “Listen, Selina…I know he’s not the easiest to deal with sometimes, and I’m sure you can handle yourself, but if you ever need an ally to help talk him down, or into a corner, or out of something…let me help?”

“I will,” I assure him.

“Great. I’m gonna go downstairs and prepare – he may still decide that he hasn’t had his full daily requirement of pain and suffering. I’d, uh, take it as a favor if you distracted him for a while.”

My smile returns full force. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He smiles back and turns to go, then stops and fishes in his pocket. “Just in case,” he says, flipping me a square plastic packet, and then he’s gone.

For a long moment I just stare at the packaged condom. Then, having nowhere else to put it, I tuck it out of sight between my breasts. Bruce doesn’t keep me waiting long. He’s already got his bowtie undone, and the jacket gets draped over the back of the other chair as he sinks into it with a sigh, the fingers of one hand absently unbuttoning his shirt. They pause when he sees me.

“Don’t let me stop you, darling,” I purr.

The expression of dry amusement is one I’ve seen with the cowl so often that it’s not a surprise when his voice is low and gravelly. “Okay, but you’ll be disappointed.”

The rest of the buttons are undone. The shirt is untucked. The exposed skin is…unmarked? I raise my eyes back to his with no small amount of alarm.

“I warned you,” he says.

“What…”

He sighs again. “Synthetic skin. It doesn’t last very long and it’s not very durable, but it’s better than cosmetics for situations where I might face unplanned exposure.” The shirt joins the jacket on the back of his chair, and he begins to pick at something by his wrist. “It’s flammable, and the fumes are nontoxic,” he explains as he peels up a wide strip. Even in the dim light, I can see the scars peeking through. As he rolls it into a ball, he glances guiltily at me. “…Dick doesn’t know I do this. If he saw how many there are…” The ball gets tossed into the fireplace, where it flares and dies. “I don’t want him to worry.”

Suddenly, I understand why we were in the Batcave behind a locked door, and how terrified he must have been that I would reject him. “Let me help you with that,” I say quietly, unfolding myself and stretching as I stand up.

Bruce doesn’t protest, but that might be simple distraction from watching me. He looks about to say something as I take the hand whose arm is missing a strip of synthetic skin, but in the end he just directs my finger to the seam and demonstrates the motions he uses to peel it off. It’s easy enough to do, partially because there’s less hair on his arms than I’m expecting. He takes each strip from me as I free it and tosses it into the fire, working on loosening the seam around his neck between them. I take the opportunity to run my hands all over his bare arm under the pretense of not missing any shreds.

“Here,” I murmur, tugging on his arm. “Stand up, and I’ll get your back.”

“I think you just want to get your hands on my back,” he counters, but he stands up.

The flares from the fireplace come twice as fast, with him stripping his other arm and me stripping his back. I do, indeed, run my hands all over his scarred skin – and only partially because with him facing the fireplace, it’s hard to see the where the synthetic is. When I’m done, I slide around to start on his chest but he stops me, holding me at arm’s length by my shoulders.

“Bruce?”

He closes his eyes and turns his head. “Do it,” he says heavily, as if he’d just lost a battle with himself.

I strip the synthetic off, making sure to get every bit, caressing every scar as I do and when it’s done, I throw the whole bundle into the fireplace and hug him. Eyes still closed, he hugs me back.

“I’m sorry,” he says in Batman’s voice.

“For what, darling?”

“For being afraid to let you see.”

Just for that, I pull away – but only enough that I can begin kissing every speck of scar tissue on his broad and delightfully firm chest. He lets me get about half a dozen kisses in before he lifts my face to his and claims my lips with all the feral need he’s ever displayed on a rooftop. His hands wander over my back until they encounter the zipper to my dress, and then he abruptly stops everything. His expression, when I open my eyes, is one of agony and denial. His eyes are closed tightly again.

“Talk to me,” I urge gently.

“I don’t want to force you,” he grates out.

“A lovely sentiment, but you’re not.” My voice is sharper than he expected, cool and crisp. It startles him into opening his eyes. “Next objection?”

“Dick-”

“-is downstairs.”

“Alfred.”

“Probably figured out what we did already, and if not, I wouldn’t put it past Dick to have suggested that we be left to our own devices for a while.”

 “Gotham-”

“-isn’t going to fall apart if you take a night off. Didn’t you say everyone in Arkham has been accounted for?” Reluctantly, he nods. “Next objection?”

Grimly, he sets his jaw in a very stubborn expression. “I don’t keep protection around. Until last night, I didn’t anticipate the possibility of ever using it.”

“If I can find a condom,” I say, arms crossed in silent challenge, “are you going to object to the location next? If so, then by all means let’s adjourn to someplace more acceptable. Are there any more objections to take care of after that?”

He’s getting that ‘struck by a solid object’ look again. “Uh…Isis?” he asks, and his voice is once again up in Bruce Wayne’s ranges.

“She has water and a litter box and she’s used to me being gone for hours at a time. Anything else?”

Mutely, he shakes his head.

“Good. Then put that shirt and jacket back on and tell me where we’re going, because I have a condom in my cleavage and it tickles.”

He complies slowly, probably considering and discarding nearly every room in the mansion. “I suppose,” he says finally, “you should see the master bedroom…since I hope it will eventually be your bedroom, too.”

For a moment, all I can do is stare in shock while he smiles shyly at me. “That wasn’t a question,” I tell him firmly, “so I’m under no obligation to tell you that when you do ask me that, my answer will be yes. However, if we don’t get out of this room right now, we are in serious danger of damaging your clothes as I see how fast I can get you out of them.”

Laughing, he offers me his arm and leads me out and down halls, up stairs, down more halls and into a room even bigger than mine, with a bed so huge that both of us could spread out completely and still not touch. The outside wall seems to be entirely window, and the drapes over it are thick and dark. Bruce closes and locks the door behind us, but doesn’t move away from it.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” he asks hesitantly. “A future husband who risks his life nightly, who’s already passing his prime, and whose body has been banged up so many times and in so many different ways? A man with as many issues and secrets as he has scars?”

“The man who does what he thinks is right no matter the cost to himself?” I ask, one hand cupping his cheek and the other on his chest. “The man who saved my cat, my life, my life again, my cat again, my humanity, my sanity, my life a third time, and probably a fourth depending on what was in that dart you got me with?”

“The man who’s the reason your life was in danger the third and fourth times, the reason your sanity was threatened, the reason your cat was in danger both times and is arguably responsible for the second time your life was in danger as well?” he counters grimly.

“That still leaves the first time and my humanity,” I purr.

“And it still leaves me passing my prime while you enter yours, with scars and secrets and issues and no promise that I won’t keep risking my life.”

“Do you really think that’s not why I love you?”

That catches him off guard. “You what? Because I…?”

“I was a criminal,” I say, hands on my hips. “You chased me. I clawed you, kicked trash cans on you, and ran away – and you dove in front of a truck to save my cat. Then, if that weren’t enough, you saved my life and stuck to your principles after I’d just kissed you, and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that kiss.”

He doesn’t even try.

“That’s when I fell in love with you,” I continue more gently.

Bruce pulls me into a hug. “And I turned you in,” he whispers into my hair.

“You already loved me. You made sure I knew that.”

“I’m so sorry, Selina.”

“Bruce, darling, don’t be. I pled guilty because you said please. I knew that if I wanted to have any chance with you, I had to be a good kitty.”

“You worried me when you didn’t go out as Catwoman. I knew I’d hurt you. I didn’t know why, but I knew what it was costing you to stay in at night. That’s why…at the zoo…”

“Thank you, darling,” I breathe, nuzzling his neck.

“But even then…I hated myself for being suspicious.”

“Shh. You weren’t the only one keeping secrets. I admit, I was angry at you for a while after Isis gave you away.”

“Why do you put up with me?” he asks in Batman’s dry voice.

I lip at his earlobe. “Because you never gave up on me, either as Batman or as Bruce Wayne. Because you’re strong and fierce and you’re true to yourself. Because you cared enough to save a cat and a criminal, you respected me enough to say please when I wouldn’t leave without you, and because you were already thinking there was an us when you brought me in. Dedication like that is hard to find. I won’t deny that your body is magnificent and the idea of marrying into the Wayne fortune is just as attractive, but I fell in love with a man whose spirit is so ferocious that he overcomes his issues and keeps risking his life for what he thinks is right even though he’s passing his prime and his body is covered in scars.”

His arms tighten around me until they tremble but he doesn’t say anything, and I lay my head on his wide shoulder with my face pressed against his neck. After a handful of minutes, the desperation bleeds out of him.

“Would you be terribly upset if we…didn’t?” he asks quietly.

“Of course not, darling. Whatever you need.”

“I need this,” he says, arms tightening briefly around me. “I need you. But for now, I just want to hold you and let it sink in that you really do love me, even knowing everything.”

“Can I still get us out of these clothes?” I ask lightly. “And can we do our cuddling in bed?”

He smiles into my hair, breath warm against my ear. “You’re incorrigible, Selina.”

“You know that’s not true, darling. Two years and I’ve still been a good kitty.”

“For a given definition of good,” he teases. Fingers fiddle with the zipper of my dress, sliding it down, and then he releases me. “I’ll get you something to sleep in.” He pauses. “It may be a little big.”

I smile at him. “Ask me if I care.”

Laughing, he strides over to another door and vanishes inside. I step out of my dress and leave it on a chair, along with my bra and shoes. The condom, I leave on the strange headboard-like side to Bruce’s enormous bed. When I turn around, it’s to the delightful sight of Bruce in flannel pajamas and a healthy blush. He tries to avert his eyes as he comes close enough to offer me a bundle of cloth.

“It’s a Wayne Enterprises company picnic tee-shirt,” he says with some embarrassment. “I don’t wear them, really, and it was the only thing I thought would be long enough…”

I lean forward to give him a quick kiss, then slip it on and carefully remove my new earrings. Those, I set on the top of what looks like a writing desk to keep them safely out of the way. Bruce pulls the covers back for me and I climb cautiously into bed, wriggling closer to the center. He turns out the light and goes around to the other side before sliding in and shifting until I’m able to use his chest for a pillow and he can get his arms around me. The tension leaves him slowly, while I swallow the urge to purr. Suddenly, it returns.

“Isis,” he says urgently.

I’m too comfortable to be as concerned. “Mmm. Am I staying the whole night with you, or going back to my own room at some point?”

He thinks about that for a few seconds. “Whichever you like?”

“And do you object if she joins us in bed?”

“Well, it might be a little awkward if we…”

“Perils of living with a cat, darling. I can go pet her and let her know I’ll be gone for another few hours – does Alfred usually wake you up? I think for Alfred’s sake I should be in my own room before he does that.”

“Might be a good idea,” he says dryly. “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll let Alfred and Dick know I’m not going out tonight.”

I lever myself up and kiss him lightly. “In that case, I’ll be right back.”

 

It’s not hard to find the door to my room, and I wake Isis to spend a few minutes petting and talking to her. Then I rinse and refill her water dish and grab my dressing gown before closing the door behind me. As much as I’m enjoying the novelty of wearing Bruce’s shirt, my silk nightie is more modest and I don’t relish the thought of accidentally crossing paths with either of the mansion’s other two residents while dressed like that. He looks up from where he must have been pacing when I slip back into his room, worry transmuting to relief.

“Afraid I wouldn’t come back?” I tease lightly as I shed my dressing gown, and he pulls me into a hug.

“Still not convinced you won’t come to your senses,” he replies in Batman’s rumbling purr, turning the expression of his insecurity into a harmless joke.

“You brought me to my senses, darling. If I’d been thinking more clearly, I could have found a way to hint that I knew both your names, and we could have been doing this last Christmas.”

“That was my arrogance,” he counters darkly. Then he sighs. “And…my fear that when you found out, you’d be so angry that you wouldn’t want anything to do with either side of me.”

My face finds the comfortable curve between his jaw and his shoulder. “I was very angry, for a while. But you said please and you were there for me when I needed you. And then you kissed me,” I purr, “and I knew there was still an us.”

He laughs into my hair. “You had me terrified that there wasn’t, Selina. It was the only way I knew how to let you know that I still wanted it.”

“Mmm, it worked. But speaking of wanting it…” Tension returns to his body. “Darling, what’s wrong?” I ask, pulling away enough to peer into his face.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “It’s just that you’re the first person who’s seen all my scars – aside from Alfred, who’s patched up a fair number of them for me. I’m…not proud of them.”

“You should be,” I tell him firmly, my hands sliding down to slip under his pajama top. “Every one of these is a mark of victory, a testament to your strength and a reminder that although someone tried to kill you, they failed.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Bruce. How many times have you faced someone who gave you one of these? And how many times did that person flinch because they knew they’d failed in the past?”

His eyes narrow. It’s not something I’m used to seeing without the cowl. “A lot,” he growls reluctantly.

“And how many of them would scream and surrender if they could see just how many times someone’s tried to kill you, and you survived anyway?”

Batman’s laugh, dark and rippling, flows over me. “Probably all of them, except maybe the Joker.” He gives me that intense, soul-searching look. “Why don’t they frighten you?”

I slide my hands higher, feeling the bumps and ridges of his scars as I spread my fingers out over his well-defined abs. “Because the biggest, baddest, most terrifying predator in Gotham City said please, and I trust him with my life, my freedom, and my cat.” He looks stunned; it’s obvious he’s never thought about it that way. “I told you in the hospital that there was a man who thought he could control me.”

Those arms, flannel over steel, close around me again. “Yes,” he says shortly.

“I fought free of him, and I’ve been fighting to keep my freedom ever since. I used to have nightmares about him, about being back in the cage, bars closing in on me. That’s what I was seeing when Scarecrow had me.” Gently, I free my arms and cup his cheeks. “I haven’t had the nightmares for almost a year. I’m not fighting alone anymore, and my ally is stronger than fear.”

It’s finally sinking in that I can be more to him than just the woman he loves. “We’re going to have a lot to discuss tomorrow,” he says. Then with a twist and a dip, I find myself being carried back over to the bed. “But for tonight, I want to enjoy just having you near me.”

He lays me on the bed, and I scoot away so that he can lie down. Then I’m back to draping myself all over him and this time, I don’t quite swallow the purr.

Bruce chuckles, making my head bounce. “I knew I wasn’t imagining things.”

“Hmm?”

“Before you passed out and the paramedics took over, you rubbed up against my legs and I swore I heard you purr.” His fingers scratch lightly at the base of my skull and the nape of my neck, eliciting more purring. “And you said it would take more than a few pretty phrases,” he teases quietly. “This isn’t the Wayne charm either, but I still made you purr.”

“Mmm, only for you, darling.”

“Will you let me woo you properly this time?”

I smile into his chest. “Half of Gotham will be expecting it by New Year’s. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” The smile fades into a frown. “Speaking of disappointed…”

His fingers stop. “Did I…?”

“No, darling, it’s not you.” I lever myself up enough to look him in the eye, and my voice holds all the threat of my suit’s claws. “If Batgirl kisses you, though, and you kiss back? It will be you.”

His contentment dies as well. “You really think it’s Barbara?”

“I’ve never met Batgirl personally, but she idolizes Batman, she asked my opinion on someone wanting to join him, and having the Commissioner for a father would give her enough knowledge to get herself into trouble.” Irritated, I fling myself down onto the bed beside him, fingers curling around his bicep possessively. “There’s one other thing,” I add reluctantly.

“What’s that?” He sounds wary.

“She got my hackles up.”

Bruce rolls over to look at me. “I did notice that. But it was only her; none of the other women seemed to even register, even when they got me back under the mistletoe.” He pauses. “Why, Selina?”

I sigh. “Like I told Dick earlier, the world is divided into predators and prey. You’re a predator; your adoring throng is a herd of prey. None of them are going to catch your eye. But Barbara…” I scowl. “She’s young and naïve, but she has the makings of a predator. To my instincts, she’s a potential threat. I all but carved my name into your cape talking to her, and she still came back for round two. That’s exactly the kind of headstrong foolishness someone would have to possess for ‘impersonate Batman’ to sound like a good idea.”

“I’ll look into it,” he growls. “If Batgirl does make an appearance, I’ll make it very clear that she’s not my type.”

Being so close to him, feeling his fierce spirit burning inches away from my body, awakens my primal side as well. “So what is your type?” I purr, fingers trailing suggestively over the buttons of his pajama top.

“Incorrigible kitties who make me say please,” Batman says in a tone just shy of turning the words into a threat.

That sounds like an invitation to kiss him, and I accept with great pleasure. A deep, pleased sound rumbles in his throat, and then I find myself pinned to the bed, trapped between his legs and under his magnificent chest, one hand splayed on the mattress so close to my head that I can feel his wrist against my hair and the other kneading my breast with promising single-mindedness. I don’t waste the opportunity to bury my hands in his hair. Perhaps the buttons of his flannel top might have been another woman’s priority, but the hypothetical other woman hasn’t experienced Batman’s passions enough to know that this is just the appetizer. The nipple of the breast being kneaded peaks, and he treats it to the same circular motion that drove me wild not twenty-four hours before. I break our kiss to cry out, arching up against him, and he falters.

“If you even think about stopping,” I hiss from between clenched teeth, “it had better be for the sole purpose of removing either my clothing, of yours.”

“I have a lot of aggression this time of night,” he warns me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I doubt he would, but it’s his doubts that matter here, not mine. “Should we pick a safeword?”

“Red Claw,” he says grimly after a moment. “That’s something I never want to hear shouted in a fit of passion.”

Can’t argue with that. I nod in agreement, then smile at him. “In the meantime, either take something off or keep going.”

“Patience,” he murmurs as he kisses up my jaw to lip at my ear, hand resuming its delightfully torturous circles on my breast. “We rushed things last time. This time, I want to hear you scream.”

His mouth moves down to my collarbone, exposed by the too-big neck of his shirt, and his teeth close gently on my skin. I moan, wishing he’d do that to my breast, and pull his head back up, both hands fisted in his hair, for another feral kiss. He growls, the sound travelling up his throat and down mine, and when I release him to cry, “Batman!” he leans back, tugging me with him until I’m almost sitting up. His hands roam under the back of my shirt as we kiss again, and mine slip down the back of his pajama bottoms to discover that he sleeps commando. I see no reason to waste a fine opportunity, and cop a generous feel. This time, he breaks the kiss with a good-natured protest – and then yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it aside. Hands over my head I relax onto the mattress again, challenging him silently to lavish attention on my breasts.

He doesn’t disappoint.

I moan and writhe as he licks, sucks, and nibbles, every bit the tease I expected. With my legs pinned beneath his, I can’t even rub my thighs together to ease the throbbing need growing there. Slowly, he lifts his head, teeth scraping across sensitive flesh while the tip of his tongue caresses the nipple held captive.

“Batman!” I cry again as he releases it and he leans forward to kiss my throat, one hand kneading the other breast.

“Yes?” he asks in an infuriatingly mild tone. He’s enjoying the effect his efforts are having on me.

I lick my lips. “Please.” He pauses for a moment and I stare into his eyes. “I want you.” It’s half command and half plea, and it makes him blink. “Please.”

A delighted smile spreads across his face, and I can feel him shift his weight. Then one knee nudges my legs apart, and I’m only too happy to comply. “Is this what you want?” he taunts as he settles on top of me, erection tantalizingly close to that frustrated bud. Then he thrusts, driving his hardness against it, and I scream in wordless pleasure. Frantic now, I wrap my legs around his waist and buck against him, moaning until his mouth covers mine and he laps the sounds up. He only allows it for a minute or two before he leans back to sit on his heels, somehow looking grim even while the rest of his face bears an expression of desperation that must be close to mine.

“Where is it?” he demands, and I point to where I left the condom.

He moves away to sheathe himself, giving me the opportunity to shuck off my panties and kick them into the darkness. Then he’s covering me again, mouth moving fiercely against mine while he positions himself. He breaks the kiss just as he enters me, pressing slowly and relentlessly until he’s buried to the hilt, my cry of pleasure echoing back from the high ceiling.

“Selina,” he breathes, eyes closed, my name a promise or a prayer.

“Please,” I beg, bucking slightly, feeling sweet friction and needing more.

Suddenly he bursts into action, pounding furiously into me with such force that he grunts with each thrust. It’s all I can do to knot my fists in his pajama top, vaguely aware that I’m screaming “Yes, yes!” and the friction between our bodies is sparking incandescent pleasure. He groans and redoubles his efforts, making me gasp.

“Batman.” My core is tightening; I’m close. “Batman!”

He grimaces, making sounds like he’s trying to break through a wall with his penis alone.

I scream when my climax takes me, thrusting instinctively against his hips while my walls convulse, milking an explosive shout from him as he comes as well. When I can breathe again, I celebrate by moaning in satisfaction. He lets out a long, shuddering “Ohhhhhhh,” head sinking towards the pillow, then brings one hand to his groin as he pulls out and topples over onto his back.

I nuzzle his shoulder. “Mmm. My hero.”

A disoriented groan is his reply. I take it as a compliment. A minute or two passes in contented silence before he reluctantly forces himself out of bed and shuffles towards a door that I hope is the bathroom. The sounds of water coming from behind the mostly-closed door assure me that it is, and I take the opportunity to snatch my shirt from where he’d been laying on it. Now if I could only figure out how far I managed to kick my panties…

When he emerges from the bathroom, his first glance is towards the bed. Then, when I’m not in it, he tenses and scans the room, only relaxing when he sees me waiting just to the side. That earns me a crushing hug that gentles after a moment, and a tender kiss placed lightly on my lips. “I’ll only be a moment,” I assure him, and he releases me with a look that says he clearly wishes he didn’t have to,

The bathroom is an amazing fusion of vintage opulence and modern convenience. Reluctantly, I conclude my business and silently promise the bathtub, Next time, as I leave.

Bruce is waiting for me as I climb back into bed and pull the covers up around us, his black hair endearingly tousled. He looks afraid somehow, and not even my snuggling close eases that.

“I swear I haven’t forgotten how to be gentle,” he half-apologizes as he pulls me closer.

“Save it for the daytime, darling,” I tell him in a low, throaty voice. “The night brings out the predator in both of us.”

“Biggest, baddest predator in Gotham?”

The humor, even dry as it is, is a welcome note in his tone. I smile. “It was better than my fantasies had led me to hope would be the case.”

“You…fantasized about me?”

“Regularly, darling.”

“As Batman,” he asks dryly, “or as Bruce Wayne?”

“Mostly Batman,” I confess. “Considering that until tonight, I’d never kissed Bruce Wayne. That’s going to change, believe me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“Bruce Wayne fell in love first,” he says quietly. “The way you calmly announced ten thousand dollars, as if the outcome were never in question. You challenged the whole room to defy you, knowing that no one would dare. I recognized the predator in you, I guess. And then, of course, you were probably the only lady in the room not trying to flirt with me.” His voice drops into Batman’s range. “I know intimidation when I see it. You already planned to spend that much for the animals, and you deliberately stole the most coveted prize away from them with full intent to discard it, using me to declare your status.”

“Guilty.” I don’t bother to pretend I’m the slightest bit repentant about it. “That necklace I stole the first time we met is what brought in the ten thousand. Ironic that our first meeting brought about our second in that way.”

“You got Batman’s attention at the Multigon meeting,” he continues lightly. “I was afraid you were going to go for that slimy creep’s throat. Your fearless defiance…” he trails off, holding me tighter. “I thought that if I could only catch your attention, maybe I’d finally found a woman who wouldn’t be frightened off by what I do. Someone to be a willing co-conspirator. Little did I know,” he adds ruefully.

“I figured out later that that’s why you were there to catch me – I’d somehow tipped you off to Multigon being up to something.”

“Circumstantial evidence,” Batman’s gravelly voice assures me. “The same that made it so easy to realize who you were from Isis’s fur. Red Claw arrives in Gotham, and suddenly Multigon suddenly has plans for a resort on land they don’t even own yet. It stuck out as much as the new cat burglar in town fleeing gunfire close to their headquarters not twelve hours after Selina Kyle found out about their plans.” He pauses. “I didn’t want it to be true, because it would have meant pitting what Batman does against what Bruce Wayne wanted, and I already knew how that fight played out.”

Poor Bruce, never giving himself any slack, lever letting himself have what he wants. I’m very glad I decided that Batman’s favor was worth behaving for, because I think he needs me more than I need him. “Mm, and that’s why you kissed back. One taste of what you were going to forever deny yourself.”

Batman chuckles, the sound resonating from his chest into one ear and echoing back through the other. “I’m not sure I can claim even that much deliberation,” he says almost cheerfully. “Women make up a much smaller percentage of the people Batman encounters in a typical night. Finding one who’s independent, thinks on her feet, maintains grace under pressure, isn’t criminally insane, and finds Batman attractive? You’re very dangerous to Batman’s willpower, you know.”

“You mean the Dark Knight actually has a weakness?” I tease.

He holds me tighter. “I’m only human.”

“Mm, I don’t know. I think you could give the Man of Steel a run for his money.”

“Can, have, and won,” he tosses off casually. “He’s not completely invulnerable; he does have a weakness. It’s very rare and expensive…”

“But you have some anyway, just in case?”

Batman laughs ruefully. “Am I that predictable?”

“You’re Batman,” I say simply. “You don’t let anything stop you, and you don’t trust easily. If Superman ever went bad, he could do a lot of damage very quickly. It’s one thing to know that you’ll be ready to do whatever has to be done if that time ever comes; it’s another thing entirely to know exactly how you’ll do it. The latter would make you predictable, but the former is all anyone will ever know ahead of time.” I nestle a bit closer, eyes closed contentedly. “You’ll also do it as humanely as possible, without killing or unnecessary injury, and without giving up on him. Personally, I find that comforting.”

“Most people would find that disturbing,” he says in a dry voice, fingers trailing through my hair. “That I could look at a superhero so noble and good and selfless and plot how to bring him down as fast as possible.”

“And they wouldn’t thank you for it afterwards, because they’d still be in shock,” I murmur. Staying awake is losing its appeal.

“Or they’d turn on me because they can’t deal with feeling betrayed by Superman.”

“You’re a predator, darling. They’re prey, they’re supposed to be frightened of you.”

He’s silent for a long minute. “Sometimes, I wish I were still like them.” It’s a quiet confession, one I doubt even Alfred has heard.

“Sometimes, I do, too.” Old pain, old scars aching, the scream of an enraged cat heard dimly through the corridors of time. “Then I remember my sister, and I remember that lambs get eaten by wolves and the herd just closes ranks and hopes the wolf leaves.”

I can feel the outrage surge through him. Then it fades into his usual grim determination. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks softly.

“You’re doing it, darling.”

Warm lips on my temple. “Thank you for reminding me why I do this. The long nights, balancing Batman with Bruce Wayne, board meetings and charities with bullet wounds and criminals. I come back to this big, empty house and sometimes, what I get out of it doesn’t seem worth what I put in.”

The world is warm, and fuzzy, and dark. Just the way I like it. The effort of asking, “Is there anything I can do?” is almost beyond my tired brain.

Again, warm lips on my temple, and Batman whispers into my ear, “You’re doing it.”

My purr, the barest silken sigh of sound, lulls us both to sleep.