Author's note: BONUS CHAPTER! I realized last week's chapter and this week's were both pretty short. To make up for that, here's a long one.

[Just to be clear - I published chapter 5 AND chapter 6 today! Read both, maybe? ;-) ]

Chapter 6

Hands looped under her arms and pulled. Rocks scraped against her back, her suit left in tatters. She felt cold mud on her skin, ice pellets on her face. Her left arm was on fire.

"Selina?" His voice sounded far away, like he was calling her from the end of a tunnel.

"I'm-" she said as a coughing fit took her.

"Sit up," he said, his gloved hand on her scratched and battered back.

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," she said, coughing again.

"You're the one who wanted to go for a swim," he said, his voice warming her body. Had Batman just made a joke?

"What can I say? I'm drawn to sparkly things." She smiled at him as he sat back. "Where are we?"

"I think we're near Bristol Township." He grimaced as he straightened out his leg. Nothing, not even the stink of river mud, could mask the coppery scent of the blood coming from his thigh.

"You're bleeding."

"So are you." He tore strips of fabric from his cape. "Give me your arm." Wincing, she held it out for him, pain blooming along her nerves as she moved. He wrapped her wound tightly and tied the fabric off, the force bringing tears to her eyes. Once he was done he started tearing strips of fabric for his leg.

"Let me," she said, putting her hand out. He hesitated, just for a moment, but long enough for her to notice. He didn't trust her. Not that she blamed him. She wrapped his wound and sat back on her heels. "Now what?"

"We walk." He hopped to his feet, an impressive feat for a man who had just taken a bullet to his thigh. "This way."

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She followed him in silence, her eyes glued to his back for fear of losing him in the dark. The snow was starting to pick up, fat flakes interspersed with hard ice pellets that stung her lips. Every ten minutes or so he would glance at the computer screen embedded in his gauntlet and adjust their course.

When they started, he refused to limp and walked through the underbrush like he wasn't wounded. Now, what felt like an hour into their walk, he was beginning to slow, his gait uneven. The pain was getting to him. Other people probably wouldn't have noticed. But other people hadn't made a hobby of studying the way his body moved. She'd forgotten how much she loved to watch him move, watch the power flow through his limbs, the strength evident in every gesture. There was a quiet grace in the way he moved, an amazing feat for a man his size.

Pain stopped any warm feelings from surging through her body. Her arm throbbed to the rhythm of her heart and her feet had gone numb some time ago. The temperature had dropped another 10 degrees since he'd pulled her from the water. She blamed her trembling body on the cold and tried not to acknowledge the nervous fear lingering all around her. If she had just listened to him back at the museum...no. If he hadn't shown up at all she would have had that ruby and been out of there before Red Claw showed up. It was his terrible habit of sticking his pointy nose in her business that led them here tonight.

Of course, even if everything had gone according to plan, the ruby was still a fake. A good fake, a fake that could fetch a couple of grand off the right fence, but a fake. It didn't make sense. If a person was clever enough to steal the ruby before the museum closed for the night, they'd want to take credit. She would, anyway. The bigger question was why a known terrorist like Red Claw would suddenly be interested in jewels. Last she heard, Red Claw was more interested in weapons of mass destruction.

Pushing thoughts of Red Claw aside, she focused on figuring out who had the real Queen's Ruby. This was her score and she'd be damned if someone with some acid and a little bit of luck swiped the gem under her nose.

She shivered again as a gust of north wind his her square in the face, chapping her lips and causing her eyelashes to freeze together.

"Not that I don't love a midnight stroll with a big strong man, but it's a little colder than I'd like," she said, breaking the silence that had lingered between them since they started walking. He stopped and turned to face her. "Maybe we should find shelter? I know a great way to warm both of us up." She would never be too cold or too hurt to flirt with him.

"A few more minutes," he said, continuing through the increasingly heavy snowfall.

Five minutes later, they entered a clearing and he stopped.

"Well?" she asked, coming to stand beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. She gasped as he tightened his grip.

"Hold on," he said, his voice low and thick. His grapple gun was in his hand and he fired just as the Batplane whizzed overhead. She clung to him, the faint, dark, inviting sent of his sweat around her as they ascended into the plane. He smelled like a man; like testosterone and sex, like calloused hands on silken skin. Like his hands, that long ago night on the roof.

They settled into the plane, he in the front seat, she in the back. The warmth of the plane welcome after the cold of the forest.

"I'll drop you in Gotham..." he trailed off, shaking his head to gather his thoughts.

"Are you ok?" she asked, peering into his seat. Blood. The scent of it filled the cockpit.

"I'm fine, I..." he started before trailing off again, his head slumping forward.

"Shit! How much blood have you lost?" She jumped into his seat, her hands searching out his wound. She applied pressure and looked into his cowled face, the pale pallor of his skin evident on his white lips. "We've got to get you to a doctor."

"No...No doctors. ...Can't..."

"I know a guy. He's discrete. And he owes me one. Tell me how to fly this thing and I'll-"

"Home." The lights on the console started to flash. He'd engaged the auto pilot. His shouldered slumped forward, he was losing consciousness. She couldn't let that happen.

"I know you're not much of a conversationalist, but I need you to talk to me, ok handsome?"

"Hhnnn..." he grumbled, his head slumping forward again.

"Come on, you can do better than that. Tell me again why I should give up a life of crime. That's a good one."

"You won't listen," he snapped, showing he still had some life in him yet.

"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll give it all up and become a photographer." Her knuckles were white from the strain of applying a vice grip to his thigh. She would not let go.

"Funny," he mumbled.

"I'll invite you to my exhibit opening." He didn't respond. "...Batman?" she whispered, terrified. Tears welled in her eyes.

"What would you photograph?" he slurred, his lips somehow paler than before. She didn't know how to answer. Photography wasn't something she'd ever been interested in, she'd just made it up to keep him conscious and talking.

"The Gotham Bridge. I always liked it. I think it was built in 1899?" Words spilled from her lips. She was rambling, she knew, but she didn't care.

"1901," he said, a know-it-all showoff even in disorientation. "It was designed by Amadeus K. Arkham."

"I'm not familiar with him," she said, her hands still gripping his thigh, her eyes never moving from his face. As long as she could keep him talking. "Tell me about him?" To both their surprise, he did.

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The Batplane piloted itself into the cave and touched down smoothly. Alfred stood at the ready, having tried and failed to raise Batman during the flight. Whatever was waiting wasn't good. The cockpit opened.

"He needs medical attention!" Catwoman shouted when she saw him standing there.

"I'm fine," Batman said, standing. Her hands never left his thigh. "I just need-" He passed out. Alfred caught one side of him before he tumbled out of the plane, Catwoman clutching the other. Alfred's calm hazel eyes met fevered green.

"Would you be so kind as to assist me in carrying him to the medical bay?" She nodded. They moved him onto a gurney. Alfred was wearing latex gloves and a surgical mask before she could blink.

"He was shot, he's lost a lot of blood. I think the bullet is still in his leg-" She was babbling, the physical effects of the night starting to set in. Alfred made a mental note of her state before focusing on Bruce. She'd need medical attention after this was over. He pulled Batman's gauntlet off and inserted an IV line, whole blood flowing from the bag into his veins.

"Don't fret, Miss. I'm rather adept at tending to him after his evening excursions," he said, as he expertly removed the suit's armored plating to expose Batman's thigh. The armor had saved him, sending the bullet into the side of his thigh instead of directly into the center. Alfred's thin hands - delicate hands for a man - moved at lightning speed.

"Can I help?" she asked. Glancing up, he was unprepared for what he saw - her worried eyes locked on Batman's slightly parted lips, her fingers lingering almost close enough to touch the skin on his arm. Her mouth was drawn into a worried pout. The concern on her face was real. As was the care in her eyes. He hadn't expected...

"Yes," he began, his voice lost. He cleared his throat. "Put on those gloves and hold this stitch."

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Blood circled the stainless steel drain as she shakily scrubbed her skin clean. The bullet had nicked an artery but it had also saved his life - it had been lodged in his leg and had slowed the blood to a trickle. Had it gone clean through he would have bled out in the forest.

"Miss, you must allow me to treat your wounds as well," Alfred said, gesturing to a clear gurney. It was hard to see...hard to understand what was happening... Batman needed the help, not her. But she was so dizzy. And cold. She hadn't noticed the cold before. Her body shook and she clutched the sink for balance.

"I...what about Batman?...He's hurt..." she said, her knees giving out. Everything was murky. "I can't...will...will he be ok? He has to be ok." She felt metal - the gurney? - on her back. A light shone down on her face.

"Just relax," the accented voice said.

"...just let him be ok.." she whispered before the world went black.