Disclaimer; I wish I owned Batman, Catwoman, DC comics, Warner Bros, and probably a million other little companies so I didn't have to post this. However, all I own in a 93 Precis... though, with it's bills, I think it owns me. Me no own. Please no sue.

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

Three Days Grace, Pain

Somehow, in spite of how much Batman had argued, he had pulled up monitor duty at the new headquarters of the Justice League in Metropolis. The Metro Tower was tall and shining, seemingly made of four single panes of glass which were, actually, thousands of panes of glass expertly cut and molded against each other. To Bruce it looked like a glass replica of the Washington Monument. At the bottom over the doors was the JLA insignia in white marble; the top of the tower had an opening for flying superheroes, with a keypad to gain entry.

Bruce frowned, pushing buttons and watching monitors. He could buy them a new headquarters, build it so the Four Seasons was envious of the luxurious rooms, so that Bill Gates would weep at the technology inside its doors, so that even the hardest criminals had nightmares of being inside the walls… But he still had monitor duty.

He had been in Metropolis for four months now. Several breakouts from the prisons and especially a recent pairing up of Mr. Freeze and Killer Frost had kept him busy. It had ended well, in his opinion. They were both behind bars.

He had just entered coordinates for some of the newer members to test their skills dealing with an uprising in Africa when he got a call on his private line. He never got a call on his private line. Not unless it was something of personal significance; otherwise Alfred would just use the JLA's private number to contact him about any crimes going on in Gotham that Nightwing, Robin, or Batgirl needed help with.

He hit the intercom button, "Yes, Alfred?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. However, a Mr. Bruce Wayne and Batman have received copies of the same package from a Miss Selina Kyle. Normally, I wouldn't bother you with such trivialities, but there was a note written in the front covers of each."

Batman felt as if ice water were dripping down his spine. He didn't like the sound of this, "What did it say, Alfred?"

"'In case of my death', sir."

Chapter One;

The Long Goodbye

Sometimes, teleporters were good things.

And he owed Flash the three dozen cases of Jolt cola he promised for taking over monitor duty.

The two piles of papers were nearly identical, save for the first page; for Bruce, it read:

Dear Bruce,

It's been a long time. Believe me, this wasn't my first choice on how to say goodbye. This was for a "just in case" scenario that, unfortunately, seems to have happened.

You've always trusted me, Bruce, had faith in me. I can never tell you how much it meant to me to know I had one friend through thick and thin that was always there for me, even if I wasn't.

Well, you weren't always there. But, you probably didn't notice me in the beginning. It's okay, Bruce, I didn't notice me either back then.

I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about everything. But you'll find out why later.

You were the good part of me, Bruce, that angel on my shoulder.

I wish it could have worked. You have no idea how much, at times.

Selina

Batman's was a bit different:

Batman,

I left this in case I never returned from my latest outing. If I wasn't back by a certain time, this would be mailed to you and a dear friend of mine.

This is the story of me, why I am who I am. And maybe it will help you understand who I was a bit better.

Love,

Catwoman

My mother, Helena Jessica Atwood, came from a backwoods town called Smallrock, Smallot, Smalltown, something. I never can remember the name. It doesn't matter. That's a part of the family I don't know too much about. Don't really want to know, actually. They were small-minded, ignorant, deceitful, and cruel. At least they were to the one person in my life who trusted and loved me for who I am.

I'm already getting off track, aren't I? We'll fix that.

She was beautiful, my momma. Long gold hair, deep green eyes, tan complexion from being a country girl. Sweet, down-to-earth, and honest. She was the one who taught me most of my morals. What morals, must you ask? We'll get to that.

She loved living in the country, she loved small town life. She wasn't made for the big city. It took away everything she was, draining it from her like a leech. She was warm, like the sun on your back in a wheat field. She loved life. And she loved to dance.

It was the one thing her and her parents agreed on. It was a middle ground. They thought that, eventually, she might catch the eye of someone with wealth and influence. Funny thing is, they were the ones who sent out her application to Gotham City University . They were overjoyed; it was a fine school in a good place and they hoped that, if she didn't graduate with a degree and a favorable career, she would rope herself a husband. A doctor, I think, was their preference. Someone she could bring home who would shine in their small town and boost their status.

She went to the university. She'd never been exposed to such a place before. She was a girl who was allowed sips of hard cider at Thanksgiving and New Year's, whose idea of good music was Johnson Wayne, the old country singer. Coming to this big city… she was easy bait.

His name was Jeremiah Kyle, heir to the Kyle textile fortunes. He bought my mother a couple of 'ice teas' as she remembered it: that was about all she remembered. About a month or so later, she came down with the 'flu.' The doctor she went to asked her to humor him with a pregnancy test. She trusted him. I guess he had the last laugh.

She went back home on Thanksgiving break, and told her family the news.

Needless to say, they didn't exactly take it well.

She tried to make it for a while, but waitressing jobs and factory work don't pay much. When I was born, my mother barely made enough to afford a one-bedroom apartment on the East Side . All she had was a job at Wayne Enterprises helping to put together remote controls for minimum wage.

I loved growing up in that neighborhood. I loved proving that I could beat the boys at their games. Who could climb highest on the fire escapes without crying? Who could hide best? Run fastest?

I adored our home as well; the alley below was full of mice, rats, and best of all, cats. Momma would leave the window open at night and let the cats in. She would feed them some cheap brand of cat food to supplement their diet of rodents. In return, they kept an eye on the house. The slightest noise, the slightest creak or groan in the house that wasn't normal would make them perk up their ears. Nothing with one cat, but when half a dozen did it, you knew when someone was in the apartment.

They were our sentries, our protectors. They were my friends… my only friends. Kids in the neighborhood didn't really like me; I was a tomboy, better then most of the boys at sports and games, actually. The girls, well, I never did like dolls and ponies. Cats we agreed on, but no further. To boys, it wasn't fun until someone shed blood… a point I agreed on.

I had one best friend when I was young… but we only met for one day. Strange, isn't it?

Batman was surprised to notice that Bruce got quite a number of pages that Batman was not privileged to. At this point, he took off his mask and read Bruce's special little inclusion.

You know, Bruce, we'd met before. I don't know if you remember. The first was at a company picnic, shortly after your parents died. I think Alfred just wanted you out of the house, remembering that you might have had fun at these before. Me? It was a first. Momma said you'd come by and play with the other children, and at that time, I was annoyed with most of the kids my age for one reason or another. I was scared, I left my mother's side precious little, afraid she might...

I wonder if you remember, Bruce, especially since I gave you a fake name. Just in case you were another little boy whose arm ended up broken…

He did remember. But her name wasn't Selina… he should have known better, she had called herself 'Helena' then; her mother's name. In his mind, he'd nicknamed her 'Hell-raiser'…

She was sullen, sitting there, pouting, with her skinny legs drawn up and sitting next to a tall willowy woman. He remembered the woman was blonde, but more then that escaped him. The woman walked off to talk with some of the other women and left her daughter there, sulking.

He didn't want to be here any more than she did, though for different reasons. He missed his parents, and this made him miss them more. Father would be drinking with some of the workers, and mother would have been gossiping with the women… as if there were no class difference, as if they didn't own the company. He went to a very privileged school, and wasn't used to children like these. They would cuss, and dare each other to do things.

He loved it.

Last year, he had scraped his knee climbing in the back alley with some of the other kids. It needed stitches and got all infected, and it was so cool.

This year, he wanted to go home and sulk.

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder gently, "Come along now, Master Bruce. The children are waiting for you."

"Let them wait." He walked from Alfred and thought angrily to himself, "Fine, if I have to play with the other kids, I'm sitting next to the quiet, sulking, angry one. We'll sulk together."

So he walked over the girl. She had long wavy black hair that was pulled into a ponytail and looked like she'd already been playing hard, as bits and pieces were falling out. She glared at him with green eyes. "What do you want?"

He sat next to her, putting his elbows on his knees and glaring ahead, "To be left alone."

"Good." She muttered.

"Fine." He replied back.

They stayed that way for a moment, watching everyone.

Her skinny legs fell to the ground and she brushed her hair back, looking at him, "Wanna go play?"

He huffed.

She stared ahead, "Your parents died, didn't they?" she said softly.

"I'm leaving." He announced. He stood up and began to walk away before he felt her take his arm.

"I'm sorry." She said softly. "It's just… I want to know something. Then I'll leave you alone. Please?"

He stopped, but wouldn't look at her. He didn't pull his hand away either: it was his way of giving permission, to not walk away.

"I haven't told anyone," she said softly, "But, my momma's sick. She's… really sick. How… how does it feel? How do you do it? When… when they're gone? I'm scared."

He turned around and looked at her. Her head was bowed so he didn't know if she was crying or not. That wasn't what made him turn. What did was no one has asked him that, what kept him going, how it felt… and here she was, about to be orphaned, too. She has warning though, he thought angrily, my parents… mine… I didn't get that chance…

Her grip slipped a bit, and he grabbed her hand tighter, "I'll play." And pulled her off the bench and ran with her to that blessed little alley. His alley.

She held his hand, "Let's pretend, okay?" she whispered to him as they ran, "let's pretend my momma's not sick, and your parents are still okay. At least… at least, till the sun goes down?"

He nodded, "Okay."

She bit her lip and looked down, "My name is Helena."

"Bruce."

It was the last day of his childhood, when he was eight. He had a feeling Alfred knew very well that he had run off, but thought better than to call him back. Looking back on it, he silently thanked him.

He and Helena played, 'Who can climb higher?' on the fire escape in the alley. Since they both climbed to the top (much to Selina's surprise—everyone else chickened out at the bottom), they ran in the city playing 'Who's faster?' until they reached a gritty sandbar on the beach.

"The water's gross, I don't wanna swim in it," Helena remarked, staring at the water.

Bruce nodded. Some things you just don't do, even as kids.

"Hey, wanna see my scars?"

Bruce blinked, "I have a scar."

"Really?" Helena 's eyes widened, "Lemme see it!"

He plunked down and rolled up his pants, Helena sat next to him. "See this? I got this last year, I was fighting this one kid, and I fell on this glass bottle… there was blood and everything!"

"That's so cool!"

He grinned, "It even got infected after! It was all green and white and full of pus!"

"Eww!" Helena laughed, her eyes twinkling.

He pulled his pant leg down, looking at her with a grin on his face.

"Did you win?" Helena asked quietly.

He nodded, and looked out over the water. The sun had started to set.

She looked over and noticed the same thing too. "Oh."

He bowed his head, "Yeah…"

She tucked her legs up and curled them under her again. Something wasn't right, the day was so great, it shouldn't end… but, it had to. What did guys do when they liked girls? Oh, yeah, when Father was really happy because of Mother, he'd kiss her cheek. It wasn't the gross mouth on mouth stuff that was on TV.

But he'd have to do it fast, just in case.

He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. Her head bolted up and she looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights, "What was that for?"

He shrugged. "Felt like it."

She touched her cheek and smiled, the light back in her eyes and he knew he did the right thing, "Oh. Okay. But next time I kiss you, okay?"

He smiled and said softly, "Okay."

Like always, Alfred was up on the road with the car. "Master Bruce, it's time to go home." Like the child he was, he never questioned how he was found. If Alfred had seen any of what happened, He just accepted it and walked up.

"See ya!" Bruce waved down to Helena.

"Later!" she cried back.

Yes, Batman remembered the leggy little girl with wild black hair and bright green eyes. He wondered about her occasionally. He would have never guessed it was Selina.

Strange how, actually, it did put a different spin on how he saw her.

He didn't accept her as dead. He couldn't pin the idea of this wild young girl, Selina, dead. And the more he dwelled on the thought, the more he turned the pages. He had to know more.