Warning: This story is definitely not canon. I don't follow the comics and only know the various stories from the movies and growing up with Batman cartoons. As with previous stories, this is part dream, part ramblings of my own mind. In this case, it is a little personal fantasy, too.

Reviews are always appreciated!

Batman: Revelations

Chapter One

They had always had a relationship that defied definition. He was supposed to be Gotham's Dark Knight, stopping criminals in their tracks, doing his best to protect the innocent, controlling the chaos other sought to institute. It had taken years, but he was finally ready to admit the hard truth: he didn't always do his best. The truth was that he had never really wanted to stop her. He enjoyed the chase too much.

The admission hurt. He was his own greatest critic, constantly analyzing his latest fight, identifying his own weaknesses, and finding a way to improve his fighting abilities and his detective skills. He beat himself up over every criminal that escaped, every civilian that was injured or killed because he wasn't fast enough, thorough enough, or strong enough. He trained harder, did more research, worked with Lucius to develop newer and better tools.

Though he had tried to deny it, though he tried to convince himself she was just too elusive for him, it was simply that his interactions with her were one of the few situations he looked forward to on his nightly patrols. Unlike the Joker, whose schemes hurt countless people, the crime lords who routinely caused the end of human life, or even his former mentor Ra's, whose ultimate goal was to help humanity destroy itself, she was harmless. Well, relatively. She never killed, and her targets were nothing but financial. In his black and white world, she was still a criminal. But there was a part of him that held on to the idea that in the end, about half the time, he recovered what she had stolen. There was a place deep down in him that refused to believe she was evil.

Batman stood perched on the corner of a building rooftop downtown and shook his head. She was now well out of view, but he continued to gaze into the darkness in the direction she had fled. His body was tense, his pulse racing, his skin still burning beneath his suit from the heat of her. Batman's heart was yearning.

The years as Batman had taken their toll on him, physically and emotionally. He had almost died countless times; his body was covered in scars, his soul weary. He continued to fight night after night, but increasingly found that he was struggling with the energy to keep up with the day to day living.

The playboy Bruce Wayne routine was banal. Highfalutin parties full of small talk, surrounded by Gotham's rich, who more often than not only spoke of the latest gossip or their newest yacht. He drank manhattan after manhattan just to get himself through the night.

There was no shortage of eye candy that should have kept him entertained and his bed warm. Attractive and empty-headed women hung on his arm, a different one every night. He held no illusions. They were interested in nothing more than his money or to be seen with him. He chose them because they were easy to keep his distance from. Not that he was attracted to any of them, anyway; they lacked the substance and real personality to keep his attention and he had tired of one night stands years before. Bruce Wayne always managed to find an excuse not to sleep with them, while leaving them charmed and flattered.

He dared not let anyone in, really get to know him. He was half afraid the darkness had taken him over.

Later, he sat in the Batcave, the suit still on save the cowl that had been thrown into a corner in frustration. His head was in his hands, mind racing. He was Batman. He had saved the city countless times, but he could no longer keep himself together.

Rubbing his hands over his face and sighing, Bruce sat back and grabbed his scotch. He raised it to his lips to find it empty, and refilled his glass. The Highland Park 21 was smooth and warmed his gut, chasing away the residual chill of the evening. It did not, however, quiet his emotions, which continued to churn.

While he was being honest with himself about his inability to catch Catwoman, he may as well be honest about his life. What he longed for was a partner. Someone to match wits with him, make him laugh, take his mind off the death and destruction he faced at night. But in the real world, those kinds of women were dangerous. Far before he was willing to reveal his double life, they would question his sudden absences, late nights, and constant injuries, not to mention the scars. So instead, he lived his cover and remained alone. He partied and drank and was seen with a different girl every time he hit the town. The press ate it up. The emotionally stunted millionaire playboy.

Catwoman. He couldn't stop thinking about her. She had speed and skill. She made him smile and his heart race. Their banter and their fights exhilarated him like nothing else could anymore. She was smart and sassy, cracking jokes, laughing while she blatantly disregarded the law. She was infuriating. She made him burn. He felt himself get hard at the though of her athletic body in her tight leather costume, her green eyes flashing like fire. She challenged him down to his core. And he knew the attraction was mutual.

Batman was well aware that during every encounter, she let herself get caught just enough that their bodies would end up locked together in some way. Whether he caught her with her paw in the cookie jar or tracked her down following a theft, she would find a way to close the distance between them. And when he touched her, she positively purred.

Tonight, he had her backed up against a rooftop access door, her hands trapped above her head and his body pressed against hers. He held her wrists together with one hand and slid the other arm around the small of her back to pull her closer. When her lips grazed his, his body trembled. She seductively slid her leg up his until she could wrap her leg around him.

And then, in the blink of an eye, she bared her claws and struck. She kneed him just hard enough that he loosened his grip. Spinning under his arm, she twisted his arm behind him, but he reacted quickly and spun with her. The movement was oddly reminiscent of a dance. He tried to sweep her, but she pulled him down with her. They rolled across the rooftop, struggling for the dominant position. Their breathing was labored, hot breaths visible in the cold winter air.

More than a few times, their hands roved up and down each others bodies. When she ended up on top, straddling him, her hips ground against him and she stole a kiss before he bridged his hips and knocked her off balance and flipped her over. Eventually, he grabbed her from behind, closing his arms around hers like a vice, and held her back against his chest. She struggled a bit, but when he gave into the temptation to sink his teeth ever so slightly into her neck, he heard her moan.

Finally, she bit his arm, hard, and cracked her head back into his face, breaking his hold. She pitched the bag of jewels at him, sprinted for the edge, and jumped to the next rooftop, pausing for just a moment to blow him a kiss. "Until next time, Bats. I'll be waiting for you."

Coming slowly back into reality, Bruce knocked back the last of his scotch and stood up, finally taking his gloves and gauntlets off, and went to remove the rest of his suit. He was tired, he hurt. But he was already looking forward to doing it all again.

"I'll be waiting for you, too."