New chapter...it's pretty long, so tell me what you think!

The tunnel took a sharp turn and she frantically throttled down. To her right, Batman's breathing slid into harsh gaps as he fought for breath. She clenched her jaw and tried to focus on the winding tunnel, when all of a sudden they were in a rough, circular sort of cave and there were lights and alarms going off all over the damned dashboard and she realized belatedly that she didn't know the location of the braking mechanism. "How do I stop this—Shit!" She threw herself at the wheel maniacally as the car bucked, careening into the wall of the cave with a screech of rock upon metal. With a grunt, Batman lurched forward and hit a button. Selina heard the engine cut, but it wasn't fast enough to prevent them from smashing into the far wall of the cave, throwing her forward against the wheel with such force that she almost blacked out.

She blinked dazedly, feeling oddly frozen. It was eerily silent now in the car—no humming engine, no whirring tires, no cars flashing past. Come on, Selina, pull yourself together. Finish what you started. It took much more effort than she had anticipated to scrape herself off the steering wheel and turn her head. Her chest ached and she coughed a little. "Batman?"

The dim interior of the Tumbler provided little light, and, squinting, Catwoman reached over to tug on the Dark Knight's limp arm. After a moment of insistent shaking, she realized it was no use and set about trying to extract herself from the heavy-duty seatbelt that had no doubt saved her from flying through the windshield. Or bulletproof glass. Or whatever it was.

A tapping came on the driver's side door, along with a muffled voice. She hastened her attempts at undoing her seatbelt—no doubt she would be an unwelcome guest in the top-secret lair of the Batman and his minions. With a little growl of frustration she opted to cut through the seatbelt with her claws, performing the same maneuver for the worryingly limp Batman. The muffled voice came again, the words louder.

"Can you hear me, Master Bruce? Master Bruce!"

She could hear the panic in the man's voice, and knew that there was probably some high-tech tracking device implanted in the Batman's suit somewhere, something that monitored his vitals and was probably going absolutely haywire at the moment. There was a moment of silence—she pressed her ear against the door, debating on whether to call out or try to lever the door open herself. She glanced over at the Batman, wondering whether she should give him another dose of the green liquid.

Her musings were cut short as the car shuddered beneath a hard blow. The man had obviously taken matters into his own hands—and before Catwoman had time to shift her weight, the door gave way, spilling her out of the car with a hiss of surprise. A man stood over her with a crowbar, and for a moment he looked surprised. She used that moment to regain her feet and shake off the ringing in her ears. Her chest ached from impacting the steering wheel. The guy was older, maybe sixties, late fifties, with an immaculately tailored suit that fairly screamed Butler! She narrowed her eyes.

"You—dispicable creature!" the man said, swinging the bar at her. She dodged and felt it whiz by her face. For an old guy, the butler was fast. A hint of anger warmed her spine—for once, she had played hero. She dodged another swing. For once, she had done something right. A handspring avoided a crowbar uppercut. And what did she get in return? A game of tag with a crowbar. No, thanks.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that calling someone names is rude?" she said sweetly, rolling to avoid another wild swing. Another sarcastic bit of banter at the ready, she circled back toward the Tumbler, wanting something solid at her back. As she prepared to dodge the next blow, eyes glinting with that peculiar excitement that only comes with action, she heard a faint groan from the interior of the car, and just like that, her conscience started thrashing. Why did my conscience choose tonight to make an appearance? she wondered in irritation; but she caught the butler's wrist and twisted it just a little, enough to make him drop the crowbar. She caught his other wrist as he resorted to throwing punches.

"Now I'm going to tell you something and you're going to listen," she said softly, almost calmly. "The Batman is in the car. Poison Ivy dosed him with lethal neurotoxic spores."

The butler's eyes widened and he went visibly pale, craning over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the Tumbler's interior.

"I'm not the bad guy right now, all right?" She shook his wrist a little to make him pay attention to her. Some part of her was jealous, that Batman had someone who would notice if he went missing, would care if he was hurt. She had her cats, yes, and they were precious darlings, but…a cat couldn't look absolutely stricken and concerned.

The butler tried to break away from her and she let him go. He took a moment to compose himself, brushing off his jacket as he circled the Tumbler. She followed closely behind, fishing for the vial of inhibitor in her belt.

Alfred tore open the passenger side door of the Tumbler, his knees going weak at the sight of Master Bruce—or rather, Batman, at the moment. He was slumped forward, head almost touching his knees, arms hanging limp.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred said sharply, images of the small boy he had sworn to himself to protect flashing through his mind. While he hadn't entirely approved of the Batman at the beginning, he'd warmed up to the idea…but in the back of his mind he had always dreaded the night that Batman would meet his match. It seemed like only a matter of time, with all the criminals in Gotham gunning for him. Alfred pressed two fingers to the Batman's neck, a wave of relief washing over him as he found the pulse—faint and thready, but there; and then he noticed that the edge of the cowl was pulled up and skewed…as if someone had pulled it off. He turned to the woman clad in the tight, shiny black suit. He thought she was supposed to be a cat. Ah, Catwoman, yes, he remembered Master Bruce mentioning that one.

"Don't look at me like that," the villainess said indignantly. "I didn't take the mask off. I swear." She glanced around the Batcave. "Although I suppose now I'm here, there's no way of preventing me from knowing his real identity." She sounded a little smug and smiled at him without showing her teeth.

"Oh, there are many methods of preventing you, Miss," Alfred said blithely, straightening. He saw that Batman's seatbelt lay in shreds across his broad chest. "Now, we need to get him to the medical room."

"Just like that? I haven't even introduced myself."

"From the Spandex and cat-ears, I would guess you are Catwoman, Miss," the butler answered without a hitch as he ran his hands over the black-clad form of the Batman, checking for broken bones and obvious injuries that would pose a threat should the man be moved.

"Well, you're brighter than the average butler," said Catwoman, obviously pleased. She stepped forward. "And you are…?"

"Alfred Pennyworth," he said, finishing his pat-down. "I would shake your hand, Miss, but mine are occupied at the moment."

"Don't sweat it, Alf," replied Catwoman. She came up behind him. "How's he doing?"

"Until we get him to the medical room, we won't know the extent of his injuries, other than the poisoning," he replied tightly. Had he heard real concern in the woman's voice, or was it just self-interest, a morbid curiosity—could the Dark Knight really die? Was he really a person, same as everyone else in Gotham?

"The medical room?" Selina was thinking fast and hard. Honestly, who had that kind of money in Gotham? Was someone supplying the Caped Crusader…or was he simply rich? Master Bruce. "Bruce Wayne," she whispered, half in awe. She'd met the man at some social events before, mostly charity balls that cost a thousand dollars a plate, where she'd been representing one employer or another…She remembered the man's easy but somewhat arrogant smile, and the way his blue eyes flashed in pride when socialites clung to him too long or too tightly to be strictly polite. But…when she thought back on it, maybe his eyes had been flashing in annoyance, and maybe his smile was uneasy amidst the glitter and glitz of Gotham's elite.

"I'll expect you to keep that to yourself for the moment, Miss," Alfred said sharply, bringing her back to the present. "If you would be so kind as to help me, it might expedite the process." He gave a dry smile. "I know my muscles betray me, but I doubt I am strong enough to single-handedly carry the Batman."

Catwoman gave him a real smile that faded as she stepped forward and saw the pallor of the Batman—Bruce Wayne—beneath his cowl. With Alfred under one shoulder and her under the other, they managed to get him upright and half-carried, half-dragged the semi-conscious Batman from the Tumbler. He seemed to come around a little bit when they passed by the cave's waterfall, mist hitting his exposed skin.

"Alfred?" came the hoarse whisper as he lifted his head just a little, the rest of his body still limp. God, he couldn't feel anything. Was he dead? Was he paralyzed? His mind whirled in dizzying circles. How had he gotten back to the cave? And why in the world weren't his legs working?

"Master Bruce." Alfred's voice sounded in his ear like it had just been blasted from a rock concert speaker. He cringed away from the noise, a hoarse groan tearing itself from his throat. "Master Bruce," the voice came again, low and almost a whisper. The sound still vibrated through his now-screaming body, eliciting ripples of white-hot pain down his torso and into his legs. He jerked.

"Get him to hold still!" Catwoman hissed at Alfred as the Batman jerked away from the sound of the butler's voice, almost jolting out of her grasp. She slipped a little on the slick rock and windmilled her free arm to regain her balance, fighting the urge to lower her center of gravity by dropping into a predatory crouch.

"Let's walk faster," suggested the butler. The medical room was still about fifty yards away, and by the time they had gotten to the stainless-steel doors, it was all they could do to keep ahold of Batman. He twitched at every sound, every drip of water and every scrape of their feet on the stone floor of the cave.

"Can you hold him?" asked Alfred. Selina made a face, but braced herself more firmly underneath the Batman's arm, getting a good hold on one of his wrists and attempting to encircle his waist with her other arm. That didn't work, so she ended up in a kind of bear-hug, her front pressed against his, and her head nestled on his shoulder, arms straining around his broad form. God, she could feel his muscles through the suit, and his warm breath on her ear…Snap out of it, Selina, she reprimanded herself sharply. The butler extracted himself from beneath the Batman's other shoulder, leaving Catwoman to bear the brunt of his weight, and hurredly walked over to a panel, punching in a series of numbers that caused the doors to slide open with a metallic hiss.

"Got it yet?" Catwoman asked, her voice muffled and strained. Her legs began to shake from taking so much weight. His heart was beating too fast. God, his heart was pounding against her chest and she could feel it and it scared her. His breath slowed in her ear. "Alf, you better hurry up!" she yelped as she felt him slipping—she had spoken right in his ear and he didn't show any recognition. She took three panicked breaths before she felt his next exhalation brush her ear. And his pounding heart was slowing…slowing…if she could only get to the vial—should she put him down, reach for the vial and risk them not being able to get him up again? "Shit," she muttered, her own heart pounding now with tense terror. She counted to three between each beat of his heart. What the hell was that butler doing? "Alfred!" she called sharply, and was rewarded by the sound of wheels and metallic clattering. A gurney, she guessed.

She stiffened as Alfred positioned the padded white gurney to their right. "Got it?" she asked, and when the older man gripped the sides of the gurney and nodded, she gathered herself, crouched down and pushed up hard, rolling them both onto the gurney. Alfred lost his grip and for a moment she thought they were going to go careening wildly down into the pool at the far end of the cave, but the butler regained his hold at about the same time she realized that she was straddling the Batman. But she refused to let it get to her—purely in the interest of his health, she told herself, he needed someone within close proximity to monitor his breathing and pulse. She pulled his arms onto the gurney—even his arms were heavy. "Take it away, Alf," she said. The butler gave her a look as he pushed them forward into the medical room. She made use of the time to get the green vial out, uncapping it and flicking the glass cylinder to make sure there were no bubbles. He was trembling, she could feel the small tremors rippling through his muscles. Alfred hit something with his heel and locked the gurney into place just as the Batman started shaking more violently. Catwoman tried to pin him down with her body. His shoulder hit her jaw and she hissed in pain.

"The vial, Alfred!" She tried to motion with her head at the green vial held carefully in her right hand—she was using her forearm to hold down the Batman's wrist, and she was afraid that if she let go she would be sent flying. The butler lunged forward and took the vial from her hand, squinting at the needle.

"Only a little bit," she gritted out, concentrating on holding him down as his spasms became more and more violent. "It's—an inhibitor—" She caught a hook to the jaw and fell back, off the gurney, with a surprised sound. Not a squeal. She was too dignified to squeal. Scrambling to her feet, she watched as Alfred approached the gurney with determination and managed to inject the thrashing man—or she supposed he did, she couldn't exactly see from her vantage point. But it seemed to work…the Batman—Bruce Wayne, she reminded herself again—calmed after a moment, body going limp. She sighed, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Alfred stepped back, his face schooled against emotion.

"It took a little longer to work that time," Catwoman commented softly, watching as Alfred stepped forward and hesitated, glancing in her direction.

"May I ask you to leave the room for a moment, Miss?" he asked delicately.

Catwoman frowned at him. "I don't read minds."

"In spite of the help you have given him, I expect that the Batman would appreciate the preservation of his…modesty," Alfred replied, looking down at the suit.

"Bruce Wayne, playboy prince of Gotham City, modest?" She gave a little chuckle. "That's rich, Alfie, that's rich. But, just because you asked nicely." Pausing at the door, her green eyes turned uncharacteristically pensive. "Doesn't he need a hospital?"

"We've dealt with injuries before, Miss," said Alfred, doing his best to be stoic as he stood by the side of his unconscious charge.

"Do you have someone to call?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "Yes. And I will call him, as soon as I…assess the situation."

Selina nodded, still feeling that uneasy twist in her stomach. What was getting into her? Honestly, the empathy thing was getting old. She didn't like feeling other people's pain. It made being a villainess very difficult.

"Don't worry, Miss," said Alfred as she turned away. "Master Bruce is a fighter."

"He'd better be," Selina said mostly to herself. "If Ivy finds out he's still alive, he'd better be ready for the brawl of his life."