Title: Days of the Advent

Author: Nos4a2no9

Characters/Pairings: Batman/Catwoman, Nightwing/Oracle, others

Rating: MA for explicit language and adult themes.

Disclaimer: No profit for the lowly fanficcer – it is a poor life, but a rich one.

Notes: This story is incomplete. It's been sitting on my hard drive for almost two years, but I'm hoping to get back to it as soon as school is over with. Please r/r and let me know if you're interested in seeing the saga conclude sometime this century. "Advent" is a sequel to "Children of the Night," a huge multi-part story which you can find archived at my website, located at If this address doesn't work, try the link in my author profile.

Summary: Bruce and a now-pregnant Selina clash over crimefighting and their relationship, all the while contending with a new threat to the city of Gotham.

DAYS OF THE ADVENT
Part I

Prologue

"A father's love can be a terrible thing."

Selina's voice, soft and sad, from somewhere behind him. The smell of kerosene. And the feel of a noose slipping around his neck.

He grabbed the rope, trying to force it away from his windpipe. His fingers couldn't seem to grasp the thin jump line. His own rope.

The city was far below, and he was suspended from one of the gargoyles encircling the top of Wayne Towers. The wind bit through him, stinging his cheeks. He wasn't wearing the costume, or the mask.

The rope tightened around his neck and he kicked violently in the air, his feet straining for purchase on something solid. There wasn't anything there.

He was alone.

"A terrible thing," her voice repeated, and over the wind and the noise of traffic far below, he heard another sound, dim and faint.

A baby crying.

Chapter One - Concerns Foreign and Domestic

Bruce jerked up with a gasp, his heart pounding.

It wasn't pearls. If it had been, he knew that within 2 minutes and 29 seconds he would be strong enough to make it to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. Pearls meant he could regularize his breathing and heart rate on his own. Pearls, though terrifying, were at least familiar. This had been something else.

He felt Selina come awake beside him, disturbed from her dreams by the violence of his own. Other elements of his surroundings began to filter in, and he was momentarily surprised by his own sense of disorientation. He'd thought he was in the Manor; noise from the street outside began to register, as well as the oppressive heat of their small bedroom. He knew then that he was in the East End, and the realization felt like a small victory against whatever the dream had meant.

Selina slipped from the bed, turning on the light in the bathroom. He knew how he must look: wild eyes, disheveled hair, chest heaving in and out as adrenaline coursed through his system. She returned in a moment, not letting on that she'd noticed how frightened he was. Selina placed a cool washcloth on the back of his neck, pressing her forehead to his, murmuring quietly. Helping him back to himself.

"Want to talk about it?" she whispered, and he shook his head, gulping in air. She handed him a glass of water and he drained the cup, setting it on the bedside table with shaking fingers. Bruce swung his feet over the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair. She touched his back, her fingers cool against his skin. "First one in three weeks," she pointed out. "That's some kind of record, isn't it?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice. He waited for her to say what they were both thinking: it was their first night back in Gotham, and the nightmares had returned as if on cue. But she didn't say it, didn't say anything at all. Selina simply settled back into bed, folding the thin sheet demurely over her chest, covering her nudity. She was shy about her body, now.

He felt nervous, wound-up, and considered going for a jog. The costume was back at the cave, but he could patrol on foot. The sun wouldn't rise for hours.

Instead, Bruce lay back down, slipping an arm around Selina, his other hand on her belly. The position felt natural, after the long weeks in Hawaii. Still no movement from the child inside, but he knew that the baby was there, growing, developing limbs and fingers and toes. Becoming a reality.

He felt her body slowly relax and go limp, her breathing growing deep and regular. As Selina slept, he lay awake and waited for dawn.

No more nightmares, he prayed to the dark.

Something was tickling his ear.

Without opening his eyes, Dick pawed at the spot, his limbs heavy with sleep. The tickling continued. He frowned, and brushed his ear once more. Still the irritation continued.

"Ugh," he groaned, cracking one eye open.

Barbara was eye-level with him, leaning on her elbows over his side of the bed.

"Babs?" he asked sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, hon," she told him, brushing his hair. "You're on deck."

"What time is it?"

"Just past two a.m."

He yawned and sat up. Barbara leaned back, guiding her chair away from the bed so Dick could rise. "Bruce need help?"

She shook her head. "He's not patrolling tonight."

"I thought they got back this afternoon?"

Barbara shrugged, wheeling around the room to pick up the discarded pieces of his uniform. "Maybe he's catching up on the reports we filed while he was away. Or maybe they just wanted to prolong the vacation. Want me to call and ask?"

"No, it's okay," Dick told her, shaking his head to help clear the cobwebs from his mind. "Just give me a sec to get myself together."

Barbara allowed herself to admire the view of Dick's naked backside for a few more seconds before retreating from the bedroom and into her Oracle control room. Dick had slept less than three hours, and that was the most he'd gotten all week. Operating during the day on the Bludhaven force and then covering Gotham and the 'Haven on alternating nights was starting to take its toll. Barbara had hoped now that Bruce was back, Dick's workload might lighten a little.

Nightwing appeared at the doorway to her control center. The mask couldn't quite hide how pale and tired he looked. "What's up?"

"You've got a meet," she informed him, trying to sound like a professional instead of a worried girlfriend. "A call came in from a payphone near the yacht basin. Seems that a certain Baghead has finally resurfaced."

Dick wrinkled his brow, nodding. "What time?"

"Half an hour. Cape Carmine."

Dick held back a groan. He nodded silently, heading for the window.

"I really am sorry, Dick," Barbara told him, but he was already gone.

Dick had hoped the night wind would help him wake up, at least a little, but the city was in the midst of a late-summer heat wave; what little breeze there was only stirred the hot, muggy air. His mind still felt foggy. What the hell had ever made him think he had time for a day job? Bruce might have been able to oversee a corporate empire and operate as the world's greatest detective, but then Bruce didn't have a life, at least not until recently. Dick was exhausted, and the night had just started. To make matters worse, he was pulling a double shift tomorrow.

He headed for the Cape, weary to the bone.

Dick arrived a little past 2:30am, and his date was already waiting. Vic, a tall, athletic-looking man clad in a long trench coat and old-fashioned fedora, stood with his back turned towards the dark sea. What looked like a tight brown sack covered his face, obscuring his features. Oracle's file on him had it that Vic was some kind of burn victim or disfigured Meta. It didn't matter much to Dick: his interactions with Vic had always been conducted on the part of Helena Bertinelli, the Huntress, who had disappeared several months ago.

Something, perhaps, had changed.

"Hey, long time no see!" Vic greeted, cheerful. Dick dropped down next to him on the rotting dock near the Cape's long-abandoned lighthouse.

"Where have you been?" Dick asked, exhaustion making him irritable, even hostile. He sounded a little like Bruce: maybe all those late nights had been harder on his father than he'd thought.

"Sorry about that," Vic apologized. "I was up North for a while. Missed all the excitement. I just heard about what happened."

"So you heard that Helena put two bolts tipped with anti-coagulant into an unarmed woman?"

Dick wished he could see the other man's eyes. Vic's head dropped, the pretence at friendliness falling away.

"I don't advocate violence. I tried to teach Helena that there are better ways."

Dick turned, ready to fire a jump line and sail away. "Yeah, bang-up job."

"Wait!" Vic said, putting a restraining hand on Dick's shoulder. Dick shrugged him off. "You have to believe me! If I'd known Helena was using lethal methods-"

"Tell me she hasn't taken a life before," Dick replied. "Tell me her hands are clean."

Vic shook his head. "That was a long time ago, Nightwing. When it comes to the mafia, it's like a switch turns on inside her."

"I hope you're not saying that excuses her actions," Dick warned. Vic didn't respond and the younger man sighed, looking out at the dark waves of the Cape. "Do you know why she went after that woman?"

Vic shrugged. "I heard she was connected to the Falcones. Are you absolutely sure that Helena-"

"We had a witness," Dick replied irritably. "Robin walked in on them. The woman nearly died. She would have, if one of our people hadn't been there. This finishes it for Helena, Vic. If she ever shows her face in Gotham again, the Batman will put her away."

"Was the woman innocent?" Vic asked softly. Nightwing whirled to face him, his muscles tensed in anger.

"What kind of question is that?" he snarled. "Whether she was connected to the Falcones or not, she didn't deserve to be executed for it."

"I agree with you," Vic said quickly, not backing down. "But it's different for Helena. The Falcones killed her family. She doesn't see it as execution, she sees it as justice."

"Some justice," Dick muttered. "I just need to know if it's finished. Will she go after the woman again?"

"Was she responsible for what happened to Helena's family?"

Dick narrowed his eyes. "No. She was just a kid when Helena's family was murdered."

Vic nodded, satisfied. He turned to go, then reconsidered. "I don't know where Huntress is," Vic told him. "But if I did, I don't think I'd tell you. I still think she can be saved. And I don't think your father is interested in helping her."

Nightwing watched Vic walk away, disappearing in the darkness of the Cape. Bruce wasn't going to be happy about this.

Bruce woke slowly, squinting his eyes against the sunlight flooding the room. He checked the bedside clock - still an hour before he had to worry about being late. When had he drifted off? The night had seemed endless and he didn't remember falling asleep. Selina was gone, although the bed was hardly empty. Two of her cats slumbered at his feet, and another one had somehow wedged itself in between his legs. When he shifted slightly, the cat mewled in displeasure and jumped out of its chosen spot. Bruce discovered his legs had stiffened from the awkward position.

It occurred to him that he wasn't alone in the small bedroom, cats aside, and lifted his head to check the other end of the room. Lucy was sitting on the stool by Selina's vanity, humming quietly, still dressed in her nightgown. She swung her legs, keeping rhythm as she hummed, and he couldn't help but notice the shortened, twisted appearance of her left leg.

"Hello," Bruce said, gruffly. Lucy glanced up. He saw that she was flipping through a thick stack of glossy photographs. He and Selina had bought a disposable camera for the little girl in Hawaii.

"Want to see?" Lucy asked eagerly, crossing the room and climbing up into bed beside Bruce without waiting for an answer. He sat up, a little self-conscious without a shirt. The child had never asked about the scars and she'd certainly seen enough of them on the beach in Hana, but Bruce still felt reluctant to expose Lucy to the burns, bullet wounds and deep gashes on his arms and torso. She settled into place beside him without a second glance.

He accepted the stack of photographs, surprised when Lucy cuddled next to him, peering over the tops of his large hands at the pictures. The snapshots were a succession of underwater photos: Lucy had spent hours in the water with Selina, floating with the camera held just below the surface, her tiny face lost behind a thick pair of goggles and a snorkeling tube.

She had managed to capture a bright school of angelfish and a lone blue Frontosa. The pictures were blurry and out-of-focus, but as he listened to Lucy explain how and when each shot was taken, Bruce began to see things from her child's perspective. The excitement of it, the joy in the creation of something that was solely her own, was evident in Lucy's voice. He listened as she explained in a shy, halting way about the strangeness of the warm waters and the exotic tropical fish. He'd forgotten how magical the world of a child could be, how simple and pure things were when you were five years old and had someone to love and protect you.

"The camera worked great underwater," Lucy pointed out, waiting for Bruce to deliver his verdict on her photographic ability. He extracted a few of the best shots from the stack and examined each one carefully.

"They're very good," he told her. "You…you worked hard on them."

The child positively beamed. He marveled that such a little thing could make her so happy, wanting to add more to his compliment. Instead he asked, "Do you know what kind of fish these are?" pointing at a school of Pterophyllum scalare. Lucy scrunched up her brow, a tiny frown of concentration pressed on her features. She stared intently at the picture, then sighed in defeat.

"It's a little early for ichthyology, isn't it?" Selina asked from the bedroom door. She was already dressed in a white blouse and black pencil skirt that ended just above her knees, but she hadn't yet put on shoes. Bruce admired the absence of the missing element, liking the comfort of Selina in her stocking feet, the way her skin glowed in the first blush of pregnancy. She noticed his frankly appraising look and raised a sardonic eyebrow. Selina crossed the room, settling into bed beside Lucy.

"Lucy wanted you to see these first," Selina explained, wrapping an arm around the little girl. "She wouldn't let me look."

"I needed to make sure they were good," the child explained patiently, looking at Bruce as she rested her head on Selina's shoulder. "They're good, aren't they?"

"They're very good," he assured her again, handing the stack of photos to Selina. Considering that Lucy had never handled a camera before, the pictures were…well, the pictures still looked as though a five-year old child with limited motor skills had been handed a cheap camera and let loose, but they were good, he supposed, for a child her age. Bruce had nothing to compare them to.

Selina made her own close inspection of the pictures. "They're great!" she exclaimed warmly, hugging the little girl. "I'm still surprised that the fish let you get so close!"

Lucy beamed, pleased. An almost comical expression of alarm flooded across her face. "I forgot!" the little girl said, slipping out from between them. "There were more in the envelope," she told them, heading for the hallway. "Wait, okay?"

They watched the little girl's retreat from the room. Bruce noted that her limp remained much the same as it was four months ago. Paradise hadn't changed everything.

"She really likes you," Selina told him, rising to make her side of the bed. "I was worried that she'd be a little afraid, after-"

Bruce grunted and rose, trying to locate his shaving kit in the disarray of his half-unpacked suitcase. Selina watched him hunt through the bag methodically. "And I think the camera was a good idea," she continued slowly. "Lucy doesn't really have many interests, outside of mind-reading and telepathy, of course."

"Did she do much of that in Kansas?" Bruce asked, heading for the bathroom.

Selina plumped up the pillows and folded the coverlet neatly across the bed. "Yes, although I'm not sure she was aware of it at the time. I'd find her sometimes, in the barn or out in a field, balancing things: beams of wood, parts of machinery. The Kents were great about it. I guess it took them back to when Clark was young."

"Except Clark used his hands," Bruce pointed out, running hot water in the sink. He met his own eyes in the mirror and watched as his face was slowly obscured by steam. Selina sat down on the edge of the tub, watching him begin to shave.

"Did you expect that her abilities would fade? Or that she'd lose interest in using them?"

Bruce paused in his precise application of the shaving cream. "Leslie told us that her powers would grow stronger with time."

"And how do you feel about that?"

He met her eyes, unable to decide what it was she wanted from him. She hadn't given voice to the question in Hawaii, but then in Hawaii he wasn't in a position to make use of Lucy's abilities.

"Feel?" he repeated, returning his attention to the mirror. The glass had misted over again; he swiped at it with his hand. Beads of moisture ran down through the steam to drip off the edge of the mirror.

Selina rose, wrapping her arms around his chest, pressing her cheek against his back. Bruce lowered the razor. "I need you to promise me something," she said slowly, clearly, her voice reverberating through his chest. "Whatever happens between us, I need you to promise me that you will love that little girl."

He shifted his weight, the aloe scent of the shaving cream invading his nostrils, making him want to sneeze. He controlled the urge, covering her hands with his own. "I-"

"You're not getting off that easy," Selina warned, and he felt her smile against his skin. "You have to make sure she knows you love her. And that might, y'know, actually involve spending time with her."

"I spent time with her in Hawaii," Bruce replied softly, turning. "You make it sound as if it were some sort of chore."

"Well, talking isn't exactly your strong suit," Selina replied. "Not that I'm complaining - I'm obviously a sucker for you strong silent types, but it's different for a kid."

He met her eyes for a moment. "I'll try," Bruce promised. His hands drifted to her waist and Selina tipped her head back, her full, rose-colored lips parted in invitation. He kissed her, but pulled back at her soft laugh.

"What is it?"

"Shaving cream," she muttered, smiling as she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Not the greatest breakfast, but…" Still grinning, she reached up to wipe his earlobe. He turned back to the mirror and she returned to her perch on the edge of the tub, watching him scrape the stubble from his face. The steel razor cut a stripe through the shaving cream, the line of tanned and healthy-looking skin contrasting sharply against the white foam. Surprising, in its own way, revealing something unexpected.

She thought suddenly of her father, watching him shave Sunday mornings before the 10 o'clock mass, back in that brief, happy time in her childhood before her mother died. How old had she been then? Five? Six? Older than Lucy? Selina was twenty-nine now, older than her mother had ever been. And her father…how old had he been when he'd died? Thirty-five? Forty? She hadn't been there when it had happened; Maggie had told her about how Stephen Kyle had died of exposure beneath one of the El tracks in Robbinsville. Selina was glad she didn't remember him that way, a homeless alcoholic who had frozen to death in his own wastes. Instead, she had this memory of him.

Pink skin against white.

"Mr. Bruce? Selina?" Lucy called tentatively from the bedroom, "I found the rest of the pictures."

Bruce ran cold water in the sink. Selina stood, her reverie broken. She doubted she would be able to recall that memory later. She grinned up at Bruce, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Finish up, Gillette Boy," she advised, exiting the bathroom. "You're going to be late."

She scooped up Lucy on her way back to the kitchen. The little girl put one arm around Selina's neck and balanced easily on her hip, waiting patiently to be deposited at the kitchen table.

"So, what do you feel like for breakfast?" Selina asked, opening the fridge and staring disheartedly at the scant offerings inside. Mustard and a glass jar of pickles were the only items on the menu at the Casa du Kyle that morning.

"Lucy, I think Mrs. Kent has spoiled us beyond all hope," Selina muttered, eying a plastic container of yogurt suspiciously. How long had that been in there? Since before she left for Kansas? She poked it experimentally. "Um, how hungry are you?"

"Not much," Lucy replied instantly. Selina turned, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Lucy's face was perfectly innocent. "You're not going to try to cook something, are you?"

Selina grinned. "You're not trying to tell me something, are you?"

"Nope," Lucy said, stifling a giggle. "It's just that, the last time you tried to cook…I'm not sure a fire is a good idea."

"The kid's turning into a smart-ass," Selina muttered, turning to check the other cupboards. "And those muffins were perfectly edible, by the way. Just…they were done Cajun style." It suddenly occurred to her why this was so difficult: Slam hadn't been by. He was usually responsible for stocking up on the necessities. "I vote that we hit a diner before I drop you off at Holly's."

"Holly's your friend, right?" Lucy asked, uncertain. Selina glanced at the little girl, who had lowered her eyes to look through the stack of pictures again. Selina pulled out a chair and sat down, holding Lucy securely in her arms.

"Hey, it's okay. Holly's great. You'll love her, and Karon. They're just going to take care of you while I meet another friend of mine."

"The old guy?"

Selina smiled to herself, glad Slam hadn't been around to hear that. "He's not so old," Selina informed Lucy. "There are some things I have to take care of today, that's all. I'll pick you up later this afternoon."

"With Mr. Bruce?"

"He's…" Selina trailed off. She had no idea what Bruce's schedule would be today. They had an appointment with Dr. Thompkins at noon, but otherwise Selina hadn't asked him how he would spend his day. Was that something couples did?

"It's okay," Lucy said, touching Selina's face. "Doesn't matter. I'm sure I'll like Holly and Karon."

Selina looked at the little girl, trying to read her face. Lucy did this sometimes, a desperate shuffling of her own desires to fit everyone else's needs. Must be hard to avoid when you could pick up on the emotions and thoughts of others, but Selina didn't like the idea of Lucy sublimating herself to anyone. There were enough yes-kids in the Bat family already.

She stroked the little girl's fine, dark hair, turning her attention to the pictures. "Can I see those?"

Lucy nodded, handing over the stack solemnly. "I didn't take these ones," she warned, slipping off the chair. "Can I watch TV?"

"Sure," Selina said, her attention fixed on the pictures. There were about ten, all of her and all taken without her knowledge. Bruce, obviously, catching her asleep or on the beach with Lucy. She hadn't been aware of his presence, but then the guy could get the drop on Superman. She found one of herself alone, wading through ankle-deep water in a light summer dress, the sun fading into the sea behind her. The sky was a soft rose color, the waves amber and gold.

"You're a man of many talents," Selina said over her shoulder. Bruce had emerged from the bedroom and was shrugging into his suit jacket. He stopped, noting the pictures in her hand.

"You could have just asked, you know. I'm a bit of a prima-donna when it comes to photographs, but if you were afraid I'd monopolize the camera…"

"I didn't have any pictures of you," Bruce said softly. At his tone, she rose, leaving the stack of photos on the table.

"Next time, just ask," she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And make sure these don't end up on the internet."

"I promise," he replied gravely, making her smile. Selina kissed him on the lips: he tasted like toothpaste.

"Nice to know you care." She stayed close, liking the feel of his hands at the small of her back. "I'm going to put in a little professional time this morning," she informed him.

"You'll be careful?"

"It'll be strictly research," she promised. "Slam left about six hundred messages on my machine while we were in Hawaii. Something's happening in the East End."

"If you need anything, check with Oracle," Bruce said, going to the door. "She'll cooperate."

"Guess this means we're back to normal, huh?" Selina asked. "Whatever that is."

He paused at the doorway to the apartment. "I love you," he told her, his hand on the doorknob.

"And I'll see you this afternoon. Don't be such a sap."

Bruce left with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Selina waited at the busy intersection of Brubaker Blvd. and 169th street, scanning a newspaper to catch up on local politics. The same stories had filled the Gotham Post for the fifteen years she'd been reading the paper: crime, corruption, fraud…the only section with any originality at were the gossip columns. They were squeezed into the society pages, just before the obituaries. Selina never read the obits; all too often she recognized the names of people she had grown up with. Those people always either died from "a long illness" or a "sudden illness", Gotham shorthand for AIDS and overdoses.

"I missed this place," she muttered, her eyes widening in surprise as she checked the society pages. "BRUCE WAYNE'S LOVE NEST", the headline screamed, a grainy file photo of a penthouse on the Upper East Side encircled in a heart-shaped boarder with two columns of text. Selina grinned to herself, resisting the urge to snap a picture of her nondescript tenement two blocks away and send that in to the Post.

"Love nest!" she snorted. "And who's the lucky lady?" Selina scanned the story, grinning. "Hmm, 'secret paramour'. Classy."

A shadow fell across the paper and Selina looked up, squinting a little against the bright August sun. "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting, y'know."

Slam laughed, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug and lifting her up a little. "God, I missed you," he smiled, setting her down gently. He swept away the crumpled edition of the Post, taking a good look at her.

"You look fantastic!" Slam exclaimed, focusing for a moment on her belly before sweeping his eyes up and down her tall, slender frame. "Guess the Midwest agreed with you."

She shrugged, grinning. "It was Kansas, Slam. Now Hawaii…that was sublime," she added, touching his shoulder. "How were things here?"

He waved off the question, looping her arm through his and setting off down the sidewalk. "Same old, same old. I want to hear about you first."

"You mean, am I mad that you told him how to find me?"

Slam glanced at her, pushing his hat back off his forehead a little. "Yeah, about that. I thought-"

"I'm glad you did," she told him quickly. "I mean, I was surprised that you were the one who-"

"Hey," he held up his hands. "I'm capable of a truly unselfish deed. And it was worth it just to see how…how happy you are."

She smiled in the sunlight. They walked along in silence for a few moments, coming to a stop at a small coffee shop run by the local mafia. Slam bought an iced mocha for himself, a fruit juice for Selina.

"Taking the pledge, huh?" he asked her, handing her the bottle of bright red liquid.

She nodded. "No more vices for at least five months."

"You're due, what, late December?"

Selina touched her stomach. "Around then. I'm going to see Leslie this afternoon."

"He's going to be there, I assume?"

A car slid by, hugging the sidewalk, blaring an indistinguishable blend of rap and hip-hop. One of the passengers in the back leaned out the window and whistled loudly at Selina, who waved sweetly. Slam frowned. "Punks."

Selina grinned. "They're just kids, Slam. And yes, he'll be there. He's…happy, I think. About all of it. But he's being cautious around me, too. The whole time we were in Hana he was quiet, withdrawn. I thought it was because he wanted to be back here, but now-"

Slam sipped his mocha and made a face. "That damn syndicate! Would it kill them to learn how to make a decent shot of caffeine? I know it's just for laundering money, but-" He touched her elbow, bringing her to a stop on the sidewalk. "What?" Slam prompted.

"He's waiting for me to make a decision about something."

"You're not sure?"

She shrugged. "It's just a lot to digest. I have to think about some things."

"Don't take too long," Slam advised. "Not more than five months, anyway."

Selina rolled her eyes. They continued to walk, taking a left and heading west into the Bowery. "So," she asked after a while, "what did you want to show me?"

"This," Slam said, coming to a stop. She looked across the street at the burnt-out shell of a warehouse. It was a common sight in the East End, which was a hazardous part of Gotham to do business in. Selina didn't recognize the address.

"Drug lab?" she guessed. Slam shook his head.

"Nope. Import business. Legit, so it flew below our radar. Someone torched it last week."

"Why?"

Slam lit a cigarette. "Well, that's what I'm trying to figure out. The place was run by an Irish family named Sullivan, odd because the Bowery is mostly black."

"Sullivan?" Selina repeated, furrowing her brow. The name was slightly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Yeah, an old mom and pop operation from way back. They used to be connected to the Italians, but the mob hasn't had any kind of presence in Gotham for at least a decade. I think this business was their retirement fund."

"The Sullivans died in the fire?"

Slam handed her a news clipping from those obituaries Selina tried so hard to avoid. "Mary and Michael Sullivan. They were pushing 80, didn't have any reason to stay in Crime Alley other than the usual reasons people stay here: poverty and lack of imagination."

"Was someone threatening them? An import business in Gotham is usually a good way to funnel drugs or weapons into the city. Maybe someone wanted their turf?"

Slam removed his hat, running a hand through his graying hair. "That's what I've been trying to figure out, but so far, nothing. I can't make it fit. This wasn't a random crime - someone set charges and was careful to take out just the one building. They knew the Sullivans slept upstairs. I just don't know who would-"

The sound of wailing sirens cut off Slam's last words and they both turned, watching as four Gotham PD cruisers and a fire engine flew past, heading for Sheridan Park.

"Trouble," Slam muttered.

The television bolted to a corner wall in the Park Row Clinic was blaring as Bruce entered the hot, airless waiting room. On the TV an aging field reporter stood in front of the gates of Sheridan Park, tiredly explaining that yet another body had been found in the deep ravine running north along the river. It was the third corpse to be pulled out of the park this summer. Bruce frowned. He'd been hoping things would have quieted down after the last heat wave.

He waved at the receptionist, who nodded in acknowledgement at him. He was late. The board meeting had run overtime as Bruce tried to reverse some of the decisions made by the executive committee in his absence without behaving as though Bruce Wayne had the slightest interest in the way his own company was run. The performance had been typically exhausting and Bruce felt a headache coming on in the hot little room. The clinic's air conditioning was broken again; he resolved to have a maintenance crew start work on the problem before dark. Leslie refused to close the clinic's doors for a complete renovation, and so Wayne Construction had been sponsoring the slow, meticulous overhaul of the old building piece by piece for the last several years. He wondered how Dr. Thompkins was able to tolerate the constant renovations.

The door to one of the examining rooms opened and Bruce stood, expecting to greet Leslie. Instead, Alfred emerged, carrying a thick pile of fresh sheets.

The two men stared at each other. Bruce hadn't spoken to his valet in four months, since Alfred had drugged him and delivered Lucy to Selina. Alfred had taken up residence at the Park Row Clinic; Bruce had closed Wayne Manor and lived in the cave below, operating for the majority of time as Batman.

"Master Bruce," Alfred muttered in surprise, clutching the sheets. "I was unaware you were-"

"I'm here with Selina," Bruce explained. "She and Leslie had an obstetrician appointment."

Alfred seemed to have recovered somewhat, smoothing out the folded sheets he had slightly rumpled. He closed his mouth tightly, avoiding Bruce's eyes. "I see. I trust Ms. Kyle is well?"

Bruce nodded. "I hope so. We were…we went to the house in Hana, with Lucy."

"I'm very glad to hear that, sir," Alfred told him stiffly.

Bruce realized he was scowling. Had Alfred always been this…formal? He was afraid, Bruce realized, and was using the old barriers of class and servitude to put distance between them. "Alfred, I-"

"Master Bruce, if you don't mind. These are needed in Exam Room Three," Alfred explained coldly, stepping past Bruce and heading off down the hallway. Bruce watched him go, frowning.

The picture on the monitor was gray, undefined, a triangle bordered in black. It shifted and throbbed, and Selina squinted, waiting for something to pull itself into focus. The K-Y jelly spread over her abdomen was cold and slimy; it had a faint medicinal smell that made her stomach turn queasily. Leslie guided the transducer probe over Selina's belly, her eyes focused on the monitor.

"Leslie?" Selina asked. Dr. Thompkins smiled in reassurance.

"I'm just trying to get a good look at things, dear," she explained, moving the scope around. Selina sighed and lay back on the table, biting her lip in uncertainty.

There was a soft knock at the door. Bruce, finally. He shut the door, his attention instantly fixed on Selina. She felt faintly embarrassed at the indignity of her current state: flat on her back on Leslie's exam table, clad in one of those hideous paper gowns, her wide white belly the focal point of everything. She hadn't let him see her like this yet, and she wondered what he thought of the heavy awkwardness of her body. They had made love in Hawaii, of course, but had always done so in darkness. She was not exactly at her sensual best at the moment.

Whatever his reaction, he covered it well. Bruce came to stand by the bed, his eyes on her face. She forced herself to relax, to smile at him. Selina wasn't eager to find out what he would be like if this pregnancy became a cause for concern. "Hi," she greeted, extending her hand. He took it, bending to kiss her.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Bruce told them. "The meeting ran long." He didn't let go of her hand.

Bruce turned, his attention now fixed on the ultrasound monitor. Leslie paused in her constant alignment of the probe and pointed at the screen. "There's your baby."

Selina squinted again, but still couldn't make out the shape of her unborn child. The undefined areas of the gray picture refused to make sense for her. Maybe the baby was still too small to see.

"Leslie, is that-"

Dr. Thompkins shook her head at Bruce. "Nope. Looks like a girl," she smiled, hitting a button. In her office down the hall, a printer began translating the ultrasound information into a viable image of their child. "Now," Leslie said to Bruce, "let's give Selina some privacy," she suggested, wiping the K-Y jelly off the other woman's belly.

Selina sat up, glaring. "Leslie, if there's something wrong, I think that I should-"

"There's nothing wrong," Leslie said quickly, unfazed. "Your weight is a little lower than I'd like - make sure she's eating properly," Leslie told Bruce, who nodded. "Other than that, you're perfect. So is the baby, who is exactly at the right stage of development. Just remember to eat and not physically strain yourself, and you'll be fine."

Mollified, Selina nodded. She rose and, without a second glance, entered the small washroom off the main exam room. Leslie continued to clean and reset her equipment, her back to Bruce.

"You're sure she's fine?" Bruce asked softly. Leslie turned, surprised. She knew that look.

"Bruce," she sighed, "please allow yourself to be happy about this. I don't foresee any trouble with the pregnancy. No metahuman mutations. No miscarriages. No health problems, for Selina or the baby. Think positive and work on building a life together."

"You're sure?"

Leslie's shoulders drooped and she turned, letting out a sharp sigh of exasperation. "I've only been practicing pre-natal care in this city for the last forty years, Bruce. I've delivered thousands of babies, one of them you. Believe me when I say that everything will be fine."

Bruce nodded, although she knew he wasn't convinced. He had the expression of a man unable to believe his own good fortune and determined to find the cloud among the silver lining. "So," she said to change the subject. "When are you going to marry our girl?"

His lips pursed and he withdrew even more. Leslie clapped the probe to the side of the ultrasound monitor. "I see," she said simply. "Selina's decision?"

Again, no answer from the tall, silent man in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Leslie told him. "I'm from an older generation that believes people in love and expecting a child should make things official. I know it's a little old-fashioned."

Bruce grunted in response, clearly unwilling to discuss the subject any further. Leslie turned to face him.

"Did you see Alfred?"

Bruce nodded.

"He'll come home, if you ask him."

Bruce shook his head. "I don't think he will. He was right, Leslie. And he's not ready to forgive me for it."

"Give him some credit, Bruce. He loves you like a father. He'll come around."

Selina emerged from the washroom, herself again in sleek, stylish clothes that concealed the small mound of her abdomen. "Ready to go? I told Holly and Karon they'd have Lucy until three, but-"

"Fine," Bruce said, taking her hand and walking with her into the lobby, Leslie trailing behind.

"I want to see you again next month," Leslie told them, stopping at the receptionist's desk. "And remember what I said about diet and moderate exercise. It's very important that you take good care of yourself, Selina. And Bruce-"

Leslie halted in her lecture when she saw their expressions. Both Selina and Bruce were staring fixedly at the television screen. The report from Sheridan Park was still unfolding. On the screen, the city's coroners were removing a body from the ravine, and the news team had zoomed in on the body bag as officials zipped it over the deceased's head. The victim was black, his face rigid in death. In the instant the image flashed across the screen, Bruce knew that the body had been in the ravine for some time. He also recognized the dead man.

"Jefferson Skeevers," he said. Selina and Leslie glanced at each other.

"Wasn't he a dealer?" Selina asked. Bruce blinked, back in the present.

"A long time ago," he told them, visibly shaking himself. He turned back to Leslie. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"It's not important," Selina told him quickly. "If you need to-"

"No," he said firmly. "How did it go with Slam?"

Selina narrowed her eyes but decided to let it pass. "Fine," she said. "I need to access some files on a business in the Bowery that burned to the ground last week."

"We'll go to Oracle," he said, turning to Leslie. "I'll have a crew fix the air conditioning this afternoon," he promised. "Good to see you," he told the doctor, kissing her on the cheek. Leslie's eyes widened but she said nothing, watching them go.

"Margaret," Leslie said to her receptionist, "cancel my one o'clock. I'll be in my office."

"What's this one called?"

"Max," Karon said, scratching the cat's ears. "She's going to have kittens soon."

Lucy frowned. "Then why is she called Max?"

"Because," Holly called from the kitchen, "Karon never pays attention to the details."

Karon stuck her tongue out at Holly, who set a tray loaded with sandwiches and orange juice down on the coffee table. One of the many cats wandering in and out of the East End apartment was purring contentedly in Lucy's arms, the others having scattered. The cats were survivalists, and they were able to recognize the dangers presented by an affectionate five-year-old.

"I miss anything?" Holly asked, checking the TV where one of the afternoon soap operas was unfolding.

Karon bit into a peanut butter and banana sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "Well, I think that puppet thing just killed that lady, but Lucy says the puppet only knocked her out and she'll be reunited with her boyfriend, but it turns out he was her ex-fiancé's twin and killed him to…why was it, again?"

"Because he wanted to know where the buried pirate gold was hidden," Lucy explained patiently, sipping at her orange juice. "He still doesn't know it's in their mother's grave."

"And people say we have problems," Holly grinned. "So, Lucy, what did you think of Hana?"

"It's 'Haw-na', not 'Hannah'," Karon corrected. "Were you raised in a barn?" she wiped at Holly's chin, who was patient under her girlfriend's administrations. Lucy watched the two young women for a moment, then returned her attention to the soap.

"It was okay," the little girl said. "I liked Kansas better. But I'm glad to be back here."

"You've had to move around a lot," Karon said. "Does that bug you?"

Lucy shrugged. "I won't have to move around much more. We're staying in Gotham."

"Did Selina tell you that?" Holly asked, wishing her friend had explained her plans to her. She'd barely spoken to Selina when the woman had dropped Lucy off at Holly and Karon's apartment.

"Not really," Lucy admitted. "I just-"

"Hi!" Selina said from the living room doorway. Lucy looked up, smiled, and hugged Selina, who picked the child up. "Everything okay?"

Holly and Karon exchanged a look: when had Selina Kyle turned into such a mom?

"Fine," Holly replied, standing. "We were just watching Guiding Passions."

"Oh God," Selina groaned, looking at Lucy. "I'm so sorry."

Lucy giggled.

"How'd it go with Dr. Thompkins?" Holly asked.

"Everything checked out okay," Selina said, setting Lucy down. "It just…it seems so far away. December. Hard to picture."

"Especially in this heat wave," Karon put in. "But Lucy was perfect and we're willing to take her anytime, now that you're back."

Selina nodded slightly, taking the little girl's hand. "I really should go. Thanks for babysitting."

"Any time," Holly said softly, closing the door after her friend. She leaned up against the door and sighed. "I just hope she knows what she's doing," Holly muttered. "It's hard to picture Selina going all Stepford, especially with…"

Karon arched an eyebrow, wondering again who the father of the baby was. She wasn't "in" on things, strictly speaking. She knew Selina Kyle, Holly's best friend and former roommate, was Catwoman, but there was a lot Holly left out of the story. Karon had her suspicions but knew better than to voice any of them out loud. Holly had enough to worry about.

"Hey," Karon said, touching Holly's face. "It's going to be okay, y'know. Lots of people fall in love and have kids. It doesn't mean you're not going to be part of her life anymore…it just means your part will change."

"Change sucks."

Karon smiled. "So I hear."