He woke to an unexpected feeling—not that he couldn't remember last night—he could, and immediately, once he opened his eyes. But it wasn't very often that he actually woke up next to someone—and almost never that he woke in his suit, next to someone soft and warm and feminine. He didn't move—didn't give it away, let on, that he was awake yet. She wasn't. The corner of the abandoned warehouse—the only room still standing underneath all this rubble—was dim and cool. He drank her slow, deep breaths, the scent of her hair, the warmth pouring off of her sleeping form, curved beside him and up against him, her back to his chest. His arm as around her, and when had that happened? They were only supposed to be sharing body heat. His other arm, he slowly realized, and that's what must have awakened him in the pre-dawn hours—was numb, pinned beneath her body.
They'd been caught last night too late to get out. Too risky, in the aftershocks and in this part of the city that had been abandoned to scavengers… and worse. He could have made it, Batman easily could have. But she'd already sprained her ankle in the rubble when he found her. He wasn't looking for her—not really. Just had heard a rumor, some low level thug who'd decided to try to curry favor with Batman had thought it'd pay to let him know: someone—might be Catwoman—was injured and trapped in the worst part of No Man's Land.
So he'd tracked her down. Taped her ankle. Moved, with her, to a safer spot. And then they'd…
She stirred in his arms, waking. She stretched, long and languid like a cat and he tried not to regret the loss of her body against his, her curves against his chest, his legs, his groin. The soft press of her breasts against his arms.
She rolled over and propped her head on her hand, yawning, blinking at him through her mask. "Sleep well, big guy?" Her voice was husky with sleep.
He cleared his throat and sat up. "Well enough. You?"
"Slept in better places," she stretched again and he focused on assessing the quarter's periphery, not the way her body moved beneath her clothing. "But not with better company." She winked at him.
He focused on the periphery again.
"Thanks for looking out for me, Batman."
"It's what I do."
"For any citizen?"
Batman stood. Gave her a hand up. Nodded.
"You keep them warm, too?" She slipped a little as she stood.
He caught her, a hand at her waist.
She leaned into his grip and suddenly he found it hard to breathe. The scent of her—the warmth and scent and feel of her was so… compelling. He closed his eyes for a split second. Opened them and refocused. Shifted his arm to support her shoulder.
Whatever she saw on his face made her lip quirk up before she bit back a smile. "Take a girl home?"
"Catwoman," he said, finding his equilibrium. Trying. "That's a little… forward, don't you think?"
"Mine, I mean." She bumped his hip with hers. "Don't want me to trip and fall, do you? Bust my other ankle?"
"I did hear cats always land on their feet."
She snorted, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. It was surprisingly attractive. Because, he supposed, it was her.
"Come on, Batman. Dawn's just breaking. I'll make you a cup of coffee."