"You've never been this easy to catch, Catwoman. Very unlike you," he says with an arrogant smirk, "you wanted to be caught… but looking at your startled expression, I'm guessing it wasn't me you had in mind. If I liked you a bit more, I might be offended."

Suddenly the location is fucking humiliating. What place would have been better for Batman and me to reconnect and reminisce about our past? A place secluded, safe from prying eyes. Somewhere our secrets could be kept between us. The place where he had revealed his true identity to me. Bruce Wayne.

The room and all its history feels tainted now. Spoiled almost, by old boy wonder. It isn't mine and Bruce's anymore.

I cross my arms, feeling overly exposed. I'd let my fondness for Bruce take precedence to logic. If Batman wouldn't come back for Gotham, then he wouldn't come back for me. That was a silly girl's dream, and I should have known better. Nightwing must sense my disappointment as his smirk fades, turning into an uncomfortable frown and he swiftly gets to his feet.

"Batman wants to speak with you," he says, "the sooner the better so do try to keep up." He turns his back on me and, feeling ashamedly hopeful, I follow.

We don't speak as we travel through the city; I don't ask where he is leading me and he says nothing more about our embarrassing encounter. For that, I am grateful. I'd much rather forget that it had ever happened, and luckily, it seems to me that he is on the same page.

Eventually, he stops and holds a hand out towards me. "Before we go any further, I can bet that the mayor and his wife would like their jewellery back."

I don't make any effort to hand over the jewels, having grown attached to their beauty and the way they sit in my pocket.

"The alternative involves you with your hands in cuffs," he threatens, his hand still held out toward me.

"At least offer to buy me dinner first, kinky." I tease, but I'm pouting as it say it, knowing I have been backed into a corner and I'm not going to win this one. There isn't any point in trying to reason with him. He of all people, will never understand my point and he certainly will never agree. He mustn't feel any objection to how the rich so often take from the poor and never seem to give. I suppose it makes sense since he did grow up in Wayne Manor after all. Always under the wing of Bruce's inherited wealth.

He doesn't even blink, waiting impatient and unamused, prepared to take action if I refuse to cooperate.

Grudgingly, I dump the riches into his open hand and he tucks them away before moving forward, leading me down into a drainpipe. We tread through knee high water, the cold causing me to shiver even through my suit. Somehow, Nightwing doesn't seem as bothered as he walks ahead of me at a steady pace. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to the inconvenient pathway.

I know of at least two other entry points to the Batcave, both being similar to this one in that they are by no means easy to navigate. They were designed to blend into their surroundings, making it extremely difficult for intruders to find and impossible for them to follow directly into the cave.

"How many hidden tunnels does he have spread out over Gotham?" I ask, ducking under what I can only assume is an intentional obstruction. I see his shoulders tense, his back stiffening suddenly.

"I'd rather you didn't ask questions," he replies, his words polite, but his tone makes it clear that in his eyes I don't deserve access into Batman's life. I think he keeps his eyes cast away from mine because then he doesn't have to question why Bruce will turn to me when he won't face anyone else. For a while, he won't have to think about the fact that Bruce trusts me far more than he should. But what Nightwing doesn't understand is that I know just as well as he does that Bruce has many secrets he will never divulge to anyone, not even me. I know that breaking through some of Batman's emotional walls doesn't mean I've made it to the man barricaded inside.

Finally, we reach a cross point in the pipe but instead of following any of the pathways, Nightwing grapples upwards into a hole that, at first glance, shouldn't fit a fully grown man, but he somehow manages it with ease. I follow suit, but with a little less elegance and grace, and together we walk the final stretch to the fence closing off the cave.

"Who's there? Show yourself," a distinctly British voice calls out and the barrel of a shot gun can be seen poking out through the fence wires.

"It's just me, Alfred," Nightwing says smoothly and the gun is lowered.

"The butler is your last line of defence? Seriously?" I laugh.

"Clearly, you've never seen him angry," Nightwing can't help but grin, walking past the older man comfortably.

"Ever shot anyone with that thing, old timer?" I ask, walking behind the two of them. Alfred keeps the shotgun gripped tightly in his hand.

"Anyone that has made it this far has run away screaming before I've had to. But there's a first for everything, Miss Kyle. So I wouldn't be calling anyone 'old timer' if I were you."

Nightwing smirks as he approaches the large computer console and activates the security protocol to verify his identity before allowing him access. I've been here a few times before, only once without invitation, and though just a few months have passed since my last visit, the changes to the technology look like advancements normally made in years.

I've tried hacking into the system before, but unlike my attempt to get into the cave, I hadn't been successful. It was like it knew down to the final hair on their head who had clearance to the monitor and who didn't, and there was no fooling it. I'd certainly tried. From false fingerprints to prescription contacts to replicate Bruce's eyes (which were incredibly difficult to get a hold of, since the man, out of intense paranoia, does everything his wealth and skills allow to conceal his identity); it all proved to be futile. After so many infuriating attempts I had grudgingly given up and admitted defeat. Which was a shame since I hated passing on a well paid job but I couldn't face the client empty handed. To this day I can't be sure as to whether Bruce is aware of my failed attempt to steal his secrets. There's a chance he has known for a long time and is simply waiting to use that fact as ammunition in a future fight of ours. It's not like he hasn't done that before.

"Master Bruce has been awaiting your return," Alfred says to Nightwing who just shrugs.

"Not patiently, I imagine," he says. I recognise a little spite in his tone.

Alfred must hear it too as he simply replies with, "you imagine correctly."

I go to touch the console but retract my hand once I see Nightwing giving me a warning look. With a sigh, I turn away and look around at the cave. Aside from the monitor, little else has changed. Up the stairs, old Batman and Robin suits line the walls, encased in glass. Only one suit is displayed in its own case, its fabric is charred, torn and blood splattered. Bruce never brought it up and so I never asked. I didn't need to. I knew he had lost a Robin once, but I never knew the boy's real name; I wasn't even sure if I had ever actually met him face to face. But if the remnants of that suit could make shivers run down my spine, then I could only imagine how much it haunted Bruce.

I turn to look at an assortment of gadgets that are strewn across work tables, most still in deconstructed pieces that had yet to be put together. "What will these be for?" I ask out of curiosity, trailing my fingers along what I think may be an improved voice synthesizer.

"That's classified," Nightwing responds, not even bothering to look over in my direction. I've done nothing to earn his trust, but damn him for not giving it to me anyway. I huff and move back to his side and watch the monitor. Suddenly a bat symbol appears on the screen and Bruce's voice fills the room.

"Selina. I have a request for you."

"Yeah, hello to you too, Bruce," I mutter. I'd forgotten how blunt he could be. He often wasn't one for chit chat.

"Hello." He sounds awkward and uncommitted, almost as if the effort it takes to utter the word is equivalent to swallowing glass.

"Never mind," I sigh, "manners don't suit you. What do you want?" I hold off from what I truly want to know. 'Where have you been?' 'Why did you leave me?' 'Do you know what he did to me?' 'Do you care?' I'm afraid he may actually answer honestly. I don't think I'd like what I'd hear.

"I want you to listen very carefully. And I don't want you to say no right away."

"I'm listening," I say after a moment or two of apprehensive silence.

"I need you to be Batman."

Silence hangs over the room, and none of us move for what feels like the longest time.

Alfred is the first to speak, clearing his throat hesitantly.

"Do you think this a wise choice, Master Bruce?"

If the request wasn't so absurd, I'd consider being offended by Alfred's doubts about me. I'm not stupid and I'm not weak. But that didn't make me qualified to be Gotham's protector. My skill set made me the world's greatest thief, not a candidate for the Batman identity.

"Bruce... this is ridiculous. Gotham needs a Batman. Not just anyone can do that," Nightwing says.

Again, I can't even be annoyed at the implication that I'm not capable.

"Selina isn't just anyone," Bruce responds simply, "I need her to be Batman and you're going to train her the best you can before returning to Blüdhaven."

Just like that an argument erupts between Nightwing and Batman. Alfred and I just look at each other, still too overwhelmed to interrupt. It is a few minutes before they stop, Nightwing's chest still heaving with deep breaths after his outburst.

"Umm, while the offer is flattering... and utterly bizarre. I think I'm going to have to pass. You should pick Nightwing instead, he clearly wants it," I tell him.

Nightwing turns to me abruptly, his eyes crazed with what I can only imagine is a hybrid of outrage and indignity. "I don't want it! I'd never want that. I'm just being realistic here. I have the training and the experience; and I do mean offence when I say that, unlike you, I have some moral integrity."

"No offence taken, love," I glare at him, the word love passing through gritted teeth with a hiss.

"You steal for a living. What exactly do you expect me to say about this… well, I can only describe it as a preposterous idea?"

"I'm not arguing with you so there's no need to be so defensive. Want it, don't want it, it doesn't matter. It's yours. I'm not taking it."

"I think that settles it," Alfred says, appearing exhausted by this whole conversation. "We are not going to force Miss Kyle into anything."

"I would like to speak to Selina alone," Bruce says and the two men hesitate before going upstairs.

Nightwing's voice echoes down the stairs. "Don't touch anything while we're gone."

"Sweetheart, I can't promise anything," I purr hoping that by feigning confidence I'll start to truly feel it.

But I still find myself wishing for them to come back, their presence an unusual and unexpected comfort in a place like this. Right now, I have nobody to argue for me, nobody to stop me from giving in.

"Selina. I know what happened to you," Bruce says gently.

I can only reply with a pathetic, "oh."

"I sense you're no longer angry at me," he continues, urging me to respond with something more.

"Nobody has seen you in weeks. After so long I figured you weren't just punishing me. You weren't there because you couldn't be, not because you wouldn't. Though at first I was so angry I could have killed you had you shown your face."

"You wouldn't have. Even if the circumstances were what you thought."

I laugh, the sound void of humour. I hate it when he is right. I hate it even more how he always reminds me when I'm wrong.

"Why can't I see you?" I ask. I don't want to talk about what happened. I just need him to know without having me utter the words. More importantly, I need him to understand. I need him to reassure me and convince me that it wasn't my fault. I've tried, and I can't convince myself. There's too much evidence against me.

"It's... complicated," he avoids the subject, "I know what happened to you and I know what you plan to do."

"Is this the part where you try to stop me?"

"No. Not this time. I just want you to do it right. If you cross that line, I won't be able to forgive you."

"I'm not looking for your permission, Bruce. Your forgiveness is the furthest thing from my mind."

My words seem to sink in, the lie digging into both of us like thorns. I want but don't expect his forgiveness for what lies ahead, so I seek his understanding, if his empathy will allow it.

"If you do this, I will have to take you down. Do you understand?"

"You said you weren't trying to stop me," I huff, my frustration bubbling to the surface. Whatever we had between us means less to him than his incorruptible pursuit for justice. I think he has forgotten what it means to be human. Humans are corrupt. They're greedy and violent, they enjoy watching and inflicting pain, and we take back from those that try to break us.

But we love too. Fiercely.

He can't seem to recognise this. Maybe he hasn't forgotten. You can't forget what you never knew.

"Don't chase after revenge, it will be the death of you," he pleads, "I'm offering you this chance, Selina, to embody justice and take down those who dared hurt you."

I hesitate, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. The rage hasn't stopped consuming me since that day, the memories endlessly abusing me inside my own head. The images of all that blood and pain burning behind my eyelids each time I closed them. Nothing has extinguished the anguish and I'm prepared now to run headlong into it.

I don't let any of this pass my lips, instead I force a smile and ask, "Do I get to drive the Batmobile?"

"Selina, that's not really the..."

"Do I?" I interrupt, clenching and unclenching my fists reflexively. Everything I have been working to repress is forcing itself back into my mind, clawing and tearing at the wall I had built between me and it. I need to get away.

"You'll have access to all modes of transportation and gadgets. Once you've been shown how to use them."

"That's all you had to say," I mumble, turning away from the monitor so he can't see the single tear that slips down my cheek.