Been a long time since I uploaded anything...
I've always wanted to write a BatCat story but I never knew how to handle it. I hope I won't disppoint with this attempt.
This story is already completed, it will be updated and finished in the next few days.
At first it had been nothing more than a sharp pain that was quickly dulled by the thrill of the chase. As cries of alarm rose behind her, she clutched her prize to her chest, the dull throbbing in her calf nothing more than an annoyance that forced her to limp away pathetically instead of climbing high up and vanishing quickly as she would usually have done. It was all she could do to clamber onto a low rooftop and crouch into the shadows as the inmates pursuing her zoomed past, screaming insults and threats at the top of their lungs. She took a moment to calm her breathing, the pain in her leg growing sharper and sharper as she did so. Discarding her newly-acquired equipment to the side, she examined her leg. What she found did not please her: a bullet fragment had found its way deep into her flesh, and the wound bled profusely from her previous exertion. She ripped a glove off to apply pressure to the wound, gritting her teeth against the pain as she did so. She had been careless: in her haste to go seek Ivy and set her plan in motion, she had not thoroughly inspected her surroundings, and someone had to have seen her slip by, for when she had left her apartment after collecting her gears, a group of inmates had been waiting for her, one of them holding an imposing gun she guessed he had not found by chance lying on the side of the road. She thought she would be able to slip by unnoticed… but she did have the bad habit of underestimating her foes.
She had nothing on her that would allow for the effective treatment of a bullet wound, and she dared not go back to her complex, expecting several inmates to be tapping their foot just waiting for her to come poking around again. With a grimace of pain she lifted her leg and let it rest on a nearby ventilation shaft, hoping to reduce the flow of blood as she wracked her brain for a solution. For now, there would be no gallivanting about Arkham City to try and find medical supplies or even go to the medical center without running into several inmates who would be all too happy to find a subdued Catwoman who could barely run, let alone fight. The bright red puddle of her blood slowly snaked away from her as she evaluated her dwindling options, her palm still pressed against the wound but not enough to completely stem the flow.
"Need a hand?"
She had been so distracted that the voice startled her, but she did her best to hide it, her signature seductive smile settling automatically on her lips as she shifted slightly to face the newcomer.
"What have I done to suddenly rank over the Joker in your order of priorities?" she said. She had willed her voice to sound playful, as usual, but the words had come out strained, something she was sure he had not failed to notice.
His blue eyes met hers briefly before they settled back onto her leg, ignoring her quip. He stepped out of the shadows to kneel near her.
"What happened?" he asked, brushing her pale hand away from the wound to inspect it for himself. He did not seem pleased by what he was seeing, but again, it may just have been his usual scowl.
"And here I thought you were the greatest detective in the world," she replied. "Or is that title undeserved?"
This time she was positive he scowled as he reached into his belt, his other hand coming to replace hers over the wound.
"I'll have to remove the bullet," he said coldly, withdrawing a small pair of forceps, disinfectant and bandages from a pouch. She instinctively tried to pull her leg away, but it was easy for him to hold her in place. The bleeding had almost stopped under the pressure of his larger, stronger palm, although pain still shot cruelly through her calf.
"I'm a big girl," she said, all playfulness vanished from her tone. "I can take care of myself."
"Obviously not," he snapped back immediately.
For once she did not answer, and she let him work in silence. She did not protest when he ripped a small hole in her suit to expose the wound, the caked blood flaking away as he cleaned it the best he could. She hissed quietly as the alcohol sizzled into her wound.
"I have no anesthetics," he said after a moment of silence as he removed his gloves.
"Do it," she said without hesitating. The sooner she would be free of that bullet, the sooner she would be free of him. She did not need him to discover her plan for the night.
"I have no tourniquet either," he added. "This will have to do."
He ripped a piece of cloth from the edge of his already tattered cape, tying it tightly around her thigh before taking up the forceps. She settled against the cold stone wall at her back, bracing herself for the pain she knew would come and promising to a God she did not believe in that she would not scream.
She screamed.
She screamed and she sobbed and she cursed, grasping the Dark Knight's shoulder with a gloved hand as the bare fingers of the other came to cover her mouth when the distant calls of inmates looking for the source of her screams were heard. She could feel her claws scratching deep into the padding of his shoulder but he did not seem to notice or care.
Finally it was over, after what seemed to be hours but truly could not have been more than a few minutes. The bullet fragment Batman held to the light was no larger than a tack, and she could hardly believe such a small thing had caused her such great pain. The wound was shallower than she had thought had first, the fragment having hardly made its way under the skin. She was barely aware of Batman wrapping her calf in sterile gauze before he rose, abandoning the bloodied medical supplies there as he gathered her in his arms. And just like that they were flying.
The realization that she was sailing through the air in the Dark Knight's arms pulled her from the haze in which she had slipped quickly enough, and although she refused to show her nervousness at being so high above the ground without full control of her movement, she pulled herself as tightly as she could against her companion. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop with ease, carrying her as if she weighted nothing. Had this happened in any other circumstances, she would have laughed, jested or even fought, but for now she was content to allow her head to loll against the Batman's shoulder, letting him carry her across the mega-prison. Her eyes fluttered shut.
"Selina."
She may have fallen asleep, or she may have fainted briefly, it made no difference. When she opened her eyes again, she had been laid down on a cold but soft surface. Batman's face hovered over hers, and she was puzzled at his presence until he flashed a light in her eyes, asking her how she felt, reminding her of the blazing pain in her calf she had successfully ignored for the first few seconds of her wakened state. She had no strength left in her to defy him as she answered his questions, only wanting to fall asleep again. Her leg throbbed excruciatingly, the only thing keeping her aware of her surroundings as the last of her energy drained out of her. At last Batman seemed satisfied, and he moved away toward a shattered window. A booted foot came to rest on the windowsill, the Dark Knight of Gotham apparently ready to fade back into the night as the cold wind came sweeping in the room, but something held him back. He turned back toward her, his hard, blue eyes once again on her, and for the first time she felt vulnerable in her revealing suit. She felt naked and weak as his cold stare met hers, but it did not frighten her as it should have. Of course, she had heard her share of discussing remarks and rape threats, had felt the eyes of countless men raking over her body, and that had been her goal; to distract and disarm, for men to take her for the harlot she wasn't instead of the skilled fighter she was so that she might take them unaware. But as Batman finally turned away, the feeling of vulnerability vanishing along with him through the window, she knew that what she had felt was something dangerous, desperate and most certainly unrequited, something that people like him, like them, could not be allowed to let grow, something that, with one misplaced word or stare, could send both of them to their graves.
And for that, Catwoman buried this feeling as deep as she could, far inside her mind, something to be forgotten and left to rot, so that it would never see the light of day again.
