Hey look a chapter.
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It was an easy task, navigating the crowded room. Beneath opulent chandeliers and soft glowing lights, Bruce Wayne mingled with society's elite. It had been ages since Wayne attended one of these awful events, and even longer since he stayed for more than an hour. Tonight was different. Tonight he was resolved to wear the mask of Bruce Wayne for the length of the entire gala, from opening to close.
It took at least an hour after his arrival before he finally relaxed. When he first reached the party he made a circuit around the room shaking hands and kissing cheeks in a standard, aloof manner. He'd actually been assessing ingress and egress routes and surveying possible security liabilities. After making the rounds, twice, he was finally able to relax. It wasn't much, but it allowed him to get started with his performance as Bruce Wayne for the night.
He began double fisting champagne, and leering at passing cleavage.
He played the fop beautifully though he was slightly out of practice. Gotham's social elite never knew what hit them. In his tailor made suit of coal black and muted grey tones, a crimson red boutonniere contrasted his brilliant blue eyes. The golden son of Gotham was on full display and in full character. The wall of paparazzi at the entrance out front were thrilled with the rare sighting. The debutantes and gold diggers alike shared in the joy of the press. The most eligible, not to mention wealthiest, bachelor in the tri-state area had come out to play. The common rabble of low rent millionaires orbited about his person at every step. They were desperate to be spotted in any photo taken of the billionaire, and eager to introduce themselves to the man of the hour should the opportunity arise. Just being pictured in a casual conversation behind the infamous Bruce Wayne could do wonders for a political campaign or business pitch for years to come.
The hangers-on seemed to grow in number at each event as of late. It was why he began avoiding them entirely. Bruce Wayne had initiated a greater push for Gotham city's wealthier circles to take an active role in rebuilding the city with charity works and donations. It had been a roaring success. At first.
After a week's worth of special events, it became clear that the patrons of the evening weren't interested in donating to any real altruistic causes. They only viewed the checks to charity as the price tag that came with an evening spent with a direct line to Bruce Wayne himself.
It was enough to make Wayne sick to his stomach. He could force himself to attend, he could force himself to take part in this ridiculous charade, but he couldn't force himself to enjoy it. In fact, he was taking less joy in playing the role than he'd grown accustomed to over the years. And tonight the performance wasn't even serving its intended purpose. He was trying to force a distraction on himself, but was failing miserably. The issues at hand were just too big to push from the front of his mind for long.
Periodically he found himself lost in thought about how to handle his spat with Dick, or worse, what to do about his last conversation with Diana. It was a vicious cycle from which he couldn't shake free and it brought an unbidden grimace to his face as he worried over his troubles. Before he knew it, he was scowling at the passing guests. Their stunned expressions alerting him to his lapse in character. Rebounding, he grabbed more champagne and made a show of draining the glass. To the masses, it looked like poor Bruce Wayne was drinking away a bad breakup. To the more business minded, it looked like Wayne was taking his losses for the last quarter rather roughly.
Nearing the end of his patience, he was starting to plan his exit. Bruce had failed. He couldn't find the distraction he so desperately needed, and it was threatening to shatter both sides of the mask. He had formulated six separate exits that would avoid the press outside and at least nine different ways to excuse himself should he choose to just walk out the front. His hesitation stemmed solely from the fact that an early exit meant he wouldn't get to see Diana, or her reaction to any of the gifts he set aside for her.
Wonder Woman was set to present the last article up for bid at the night's silent auction, as the guest of honor. True to form, Bruce Wayne had gone above and beyond to publicize the celebrity of his secret final presenter. Once, as Batman, he'd been assured of her presence personally, he sent out press kits to every news outlet in the country. Diana had confirmed her attendance in standard procedure for all JLA members, she sought Batman's approval for entering Gotham. While she hadn't exactly asked for permission, it was a nice enough concession on her part to tell Batman she'd be in Gotham for the night. Her appearance cemented, Bruce Wayne set into motion immediately. He secured the most lavish accommodations and gifts for the Princess of Themyscira. Wayne was famous for pampering his playthings with his patented princess treatment, so he was eager to see how his skills would measure against the real thing. At least, that's what he told himself as he booked reservation after reservation. The price tags on some of those gifts were enough to make even his eyebrows raise.
The contradiction drove him mad. It was as common for Bruce Wayne and Batman to have different agendas, but very rarely did they clash directly. Rarer still was when both sides of his persona were in agreement, evidenced by his gifts to Diana. There was no way he could put forth that much effort without both sides of his mind working in concert.
He knew Diana had eschewed the majority of perks that came with her royal title, choosing instead to adhere to a life of an inauspicious ambassador. It was her way of assimilating in the world she'd sworn to protect. It was an endearing sacrifice on her part. One that far too few ever took notice of and one that Batman found a commonality with. This was his attempt to treat her differently than any man had before, or even could. Anyone could bow before royalty, but who could make a woman feel like a queen? She deserved it. After all, how many people born to a life of luxury and leisure dedicate their lives to protecting those who cannot defend themselves? How many people would turn away from their golden towers, to face the monsters of society on behalf of the downtrodden?
It was an overwhelming thought. Both Bruce and the Dark Knight within wanted to spoil Diana.
Panic gripped his chest tightly as the weight of that epiphany hit him squarely in the gut. Before he could come to terms with his realization, a shrill voice cut through the bustling noise of the crowd.
"Oh Brucie!" an elderly patron hollered. Mrs. Gene Kingston, newly widowed and now more committed to her charity work than ever before, was desperate for his attention. Wayne was momentarily confused by her outburst, and pushed his rising emotions aside. She had already obtained a sizable donation from the Wayne Foundation earlier in the night after cornering him by the champagne, what could she be after now?
In all honesty, he didn't mind the woman he just didn't care for her shrill tone and loud voice. She was, however, a powerful philanthropic force for good within Gotham. It made it almost impossible for Wayne to ever tell the woman no.
"Brucie, darling," she gushed as he parted the crowd toward her, drawing attention. Wherever Bruce Wayne moved, eyes followed. He made an effort to stagger slightly, laying the foundation for a full on drunken display later in the evening. It would help explain his early exit.
"Yes, Mrs. Kingston?" he asked warmly, taking her outstretched hand in his.
"It's been almost two hours, so before you pull one of your vanishing acts I have someone here you absolutely must meet. She's a real up and comer in the world of caviar and champagne and, I'm told by people who know these things, that she's just opened the hottest nightclub in Gotham. Oh, look who I'm talking to," she swatted his arm. "You probably have reservations already. But at least let me introduce you before you go. It will set a much better tone, don't you think? Meeting at one of my galas instead of some loud, garish club."
For the first time that night, Wayne didn't have to push aside his warring thoughts. Nightclub? What on earth was the woman talking about?
Mrs. Kingston was practically running off at the mouth while she dragged him back toward a group of people encircled around a woman. Each was paying rapt attention to the woman's every word. Mrs. Kingston didn't slow. She was speaking at a frantic pace and moved with a sense of purpose. It was as if she knew if she paused long enough, Bruce would excuse himself away.
"Now you simply must promise me," Mrs. Kingston grinned wickedly, "When you fall in love and have children, you'll tell them all that it was Great Aunt K that made it happen!"
Bruce took the opening. "Forgive me Gene, but don't you normally try to steer your protégés away from me?" He said through a wicked grin and with a predatory glint in his eye.
"Nonsense," Mrs. Kingston laughed. "I tell all my little angels to expect nothing more than a check from the foundation or a single weekend of the good life, and nothing else. I let each of my angels make their own mistakes. Yourself included."
"So which is this little angel of yours looking for, exactly? The check or the weekend?"
She smiled brightly, nodding toward the angel in question. Bruce couldn't quite make out a face from behind the circle gawkers. Mrs. Kingston squeezed his hand and pulled him close, "She needs the check, but you my boy, will wish she asked for the weekend."
Wayne couldn't help but smile at the saucy matron. She still had her wiles, to be sure. Inwardly, however, the Bat bristled. In the recesses of his mind, Batman took Wayne's lapse in judgement as a failure. Bruce Wayne had just been out maneuvered, socially. However this little meeting played out, it was going to be through Kingston's influence and agenda. The annoyance was short lived as Wayne stuffed the Bat deeper away from the surface, before its scowl could reach his face.
"Selina. Oh, Selina dear," Mrs. Kingston called, effectively freezing the blood in Bruce's veins. The scowl nearly made it to the surface again.
The woman paused her conversation when she saw Kingston through her captivated audience and Bruce's breath caught in his throat.
The part of his personality that was caged for the evening swore. Loudly.
Bruce didn't fare much better for that matter. "Oh fuck me," he hissed.
Wayne ran through the guest list in his head while Gene Kingston did her best to stifle a not so demure giggle. Catwoman was definitely not on the list, nor any of her known aliases. This had to be coincidence. It had to be a different Selina. He prayed it was a different Selina.
He fucking knew better than to hope.
Carving through the gathered crowd stalked a tall brunette with sharp features and a trail of admirers in her wake. She wore a violet slim fitting gown with sequins sewn in the fabric giving the illusion of a floral pattern. Or a leopard's spots. The outfit had a plunging neckline that exposed almost the entirety of her well sculpted torso. A slit ran the full length of her left side and ended at the hip, displaying an impressively toned and shapely leg. Around her neck, a thin silver chain held a massive diamond that rested just above her exposed navel. Her hair was expertly coiled and piled atop her head. Wayne thought it looked like she'd cut it shorter since last they met.
The repressed psyche within himself that was Batman began fuming with rage. Shock, however, rendered the inner Bat absolutely powerless. Though if his breath hadn't just been knocked from him, a scowl might have slipped through.
"Miss Kyle here has the hottest new business in town, she's practically beating away investors with a stick… and gentlemen callers too, as I hear it. So I thought it only fitting that I introduce her to you, Brucie. Something convenient about one stop shopping, isn't there? Two birds one Bruce… What do you say?" She punctuated her cause with an elbow to Bruce's arm. He let the motion jostle his champagne glass as he took a sip, pretending to choke.
"Bruce Wayne, may I be the first to introduce you to-"
"Selina Kyle," Bruce interrupted uncontrollably. Apparently his champagne tolerance had waned as of late.
Selina moved with an ethereal grace as she lifted her hand to him. Her bright eyes raked him over slowly, curiously. Bruce snatched the hand and kissed it, flirtatiously. A cheap trick, but he needed to break her eye contact quickly. Every exchange between them in costume was cold and rigid but above all, seductive. Bruce knew his only hope was to stay light and playful to give himself an edge, but he also knew Selina was no fool. This was going to be dangerous.
"You've met?" Mrs. Kingston looked deflated.
Selina eyed him more carefully before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. You know me, I'm terrible with names… but I never forget a face." She paused, drinking him in. "emHave/em we met before?"
"No, no," Bruce offered shyly. "I'm just something of a fan. Your face was all over the news when-"
"Bruce Wayne!" Gene Kingston looked like she might actually strike him. "You should know better than anyone not to listen to those mudslinging liars in the press. The media accused poor Selina of being the Catwoman without a shred of proof. Those vultures dragged the poor dear through miles of mud before anyone bothered publishing a retraction of those baseless charges. Which were all dropped, I might add!"
"It's alright, Gene," Selina offered dismissively, waving away the subject. "In the end I took a page from the Bruce Wayne playbook, actually. This is rather fitting, to finally meet."
"You did?" he couldn't help himself. He didn't bother to blame the champagne this time.
She giggled at his earnest confusion. Her tinkling laugh echoed in his ears. "The press struck first, but I hit back harder. I hired the right attorneys, sued the right people for libel. Started my first firm doing consultant work with the money."
"Consulting?" He hadn't been able to track her movements once she'd gone underground almost two years ago. Bruce was genuinely intrigued.
Before he could make any progress, Mrs. Kingston pulled the champagne glasses from their hands. "Well you two obviously have some talking to do," she then placed Selina's hand in his. "Why don't you two discuss things over a dance? Quickly now, Brucie. I see that dreadful old coot Harrison making his way over to steal her away and bore her to death."
With an insistent shove, she pushed them towards the expansive dance floor in the center of the hall. As soon as their feet touched the polished floor, couples immediately began to follow their lead. Where Bruce Wayne danced, pictures followed, and no 'it' couple in Gotham could turn down the opportunity to be in the background of magazine covers the world over. Oddly enough, Bruce couldn't help but feel that more than a few were just after the opportunity to be filmed beside Selina too.
The twelve piece orchestra began the opening measures of a waltz as the socialites descended on the floor. In the chaos, he and Selina had been driven to the absolute center of the tile. Escape cut off, Wayne dug in his heels. Selina pressed herself to his side, and he placed a hand on the small of her bare back. Feeling her bare flesh Bruce wondered what ungodly amount of body tape held the dress in place. The brooding darkness of his other persona however, snarled a warning in the back of his mind. He was playing, now literally dancing, with fire.
"She's a bit pushy, isn't she?" Selina offered quietly as they began to step in time with the music. She followed his lead effortlessly, anticipating his every step with ease.
"She means well enough, sometimes anyway." Bruce smiled, noticing the practiced grace of her movement with him.
Selina's eyes met his with a look he couldn't place. She was studying his features closely, the warmth of her breath reaching his neck. He spun her quickly, a move not in character with the waltz, but in time with the music. Her quick feet and perfect balance made the move as sensual as it was sudden. Her skirt fanned out around her dramatically and flashbulbs went off by the dozen. One measure later, every other couple had imitated the move. Some more graceful than others.
He took the moment to collect his thoughts and form some rules of engagement to follow. As long as he kept playing to the crowd, this would look perfectly normal. As long as he could keep her from staring at him like that for too long, he'd be alright. This dance was going to be as complicated and dangerous as his previous tussles with her, only now he couldn't exactly play the silent, brooding type when she managed to get under his skin.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He could already hear her goading.
"So tell me about your consulting firm," Bruce pushed the narrative, returning to work appeased the anxious crusader within.
"Security consulting, mostly. I figured since my particular skill set was advertised so openly by every major news outlet in the state, I might as well make use the free publicity. It worked rather well, if I do say so myself."
They danced more traditionally as he processed that information. "I thought you were innocent?" The question sounded harder, even in his ears, than he intended.
Her eyes sparkled and she smiled playfully. "Mr. Wayne, I said I wasn't the criminal the press painted me to be. I never said I was innocent. Besides, most of what they said was true. I was, at the time, a rather successful dealer of fine art. And I do have an extensive background in physical security and asset procurement. Not to mention, the lofty career field of wealth management certainly has its appeal."
"Funny way of admitting to owning a catsuit, Ms. Kyle."
He teased to stall for time, trying to buy himself a moment to think clearly. The smirk on her face told him he hadn't quite knocked her off her game.
"In several styles and colors, as a matter of fact. A girl's got to accessorize, you know. Play your cards right and you might get to see one someday, Mr. Wayne." There was an odd hint of promise in her voice.
The hidden half of his psyche busied itself deciphering her message. Was her plan actually to rob Bruce from right under his nose? That would explain her sudden appearance at the gala and her not so subtle lack of tact. He was at a disadvantage in this dance. Batman knew how to handle her playful, sometimes sexually suggestive, tone. Bruce Wayne, staring down the barrel of those beautiful green eyes, was utterly defenseless.
As much as he hated to admit it, he missed this.
"Call me Bruce," his mouth spoke under its own authority, ignoring his brain.
She fixed him with another look he couldn't decipher. Her eyes danced between his, searching. For the briefest of moments, he saw her lips press slightly together as she began to question herself.
He twirled her once more, then pulled her close, forcing her to break eye contact again. His mind raced as he tried to gather his thoughts. Just like she did when they met under the cape and cowl, she was getting under his skin. It was troubling.
It was intoxicating.
The music ended and a soft applause sprang from the dance floor around them. Bruce stood, rooted to the ground unable to function. In his mind, he was warring with the inner mask. He was being too careless. This was absolutely not on the list of acceptable distractions he'd been considering for Bruce Wayne to undertake. This was dangerous. She was dangerous.
The applause around them died down and Selina took his hand to lead him from the floor. Immediately, the musicians began a more lively song akin to a tango. With a playful smile, she waited.
She was giving him the lead. He could either pull her close and dance once more, or follow her from the dance floor and retreat. Before the dilemma had a chance to fully develop, a member of the wait staff serenely approached through the crowd.
"The evening's guest of honor has arrived, Mr. Wayne. I'm told she'll be down shortly." The message delivered, the waiter evaporated back into the sea of patrons. With so many people bustling around the dance floor, it was as if he was never there in the first place.
Her eyes held his, a challenging smirk in place. Almost every guest in attendance, now off the dance floor, watched and waited. Their hungry eyes waiting for a conclusion to the standoff they left at show center.
"On the dance floor before your date even arrives? Bad form, Brucie dear. Even for a man of your reputation," Selina challenged with a wink. She sounded half serious in her rebuke and he wasn't sure she was being entirely playful. He was almost certain had the exchange happened in costume, it would have been paired with a slash of her claws.
His hand forced, Bruce Wayne struggled to find a viable way out. Batman could not allow this to continue, but Bruce Wayne absolutely could not let this opportunity go to waste. At least that's what he told himself as he pulled her close and wrapped one arm around her, the other slowly drawing itself up the thigh she instinctively draped over his.
The tango, it seemed, would go on.
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So this chapter is the first to get the largest of my reworking/editing efforts. I wasn't happy with it in its previous form. It just didn't have the right feel, and at times the framing device wasn't consistent enough for my liking. I'm my own worst critic, after all.
I haven't changed any of the information presented in this chapter, nor have I really changed any of the themes it held. I essentially just changed the way I presented the information. I'm happier with the result, and I think I will continue to post rewrites periodically as I work through some things. I'm not changing the story, and I'm not hiding any new information to rework my canon. I'm just making the most of my current situation. I don't have or utilize any beta readers. So essentially, once a chapter goes up, I'm happy enough with it for general consumption. But after a bit of reflection, and with the benefit of hindsight I'm able to see how I should have written things, or how I missed what I wanted to really say. That's where these ninja edits come in.