Despite the smoke that clouded his vision, Deathstroke was able to discern the silhouette of both Batman and Catwoman as they jumped off the roof and hid in the shadows of the alleys bellow. He had no clear shot: things were getting messier than he first intended, and all he didn't need was to attract attention of the cops and make a bigger show of this job. Damn you to hell…, he cursed. He had a way of doing his work, and he hated when things did not go his way.
Because, well, things always worked out for him. He made sure of that. His jobs were clean, he never left a trail, he often came out unscratched and unmarked. He was a hunter, the best there was, and he never, never missed a prey.
But the woman… the woman was demanding. Very demanding. She paid him well, so very well, and she thought that gave her the right to tell him how he should do his job – and he hated that.
He did not hate, however, the fact that he had the Batman to take care of: that, he liked. He had secretly wished, hoped that someday he would get the chance of being paid to come to Gotham and face the Dark Knight himself. It was bound to happen, Deathstroke believed; one doesn't fight crime in one of the filthiest cities in the world and doesn't attract the wrong kind of attention. Disrupting things, getting in the way of that many powerful and bad people… bringing down guys like Falcone. That puts a price on one's head, no doubt. A high price. Rumors in the underworld told stories about the clown, the one that called himself Joker, who had been hired by the mobsters last year to get rid of the Bat. Rumors also told that things had gone south in that matter – dumb mobsters. They were so eager to take care of things that had turned to a crazy mother fucker to do a professional's job.
Not her; she was a smart one, the woman. Said she wanted the Bat because it was a matter of honor. Had to do with her family. Whatever, Deathstroke thought then. He was going to be paid and he would have the chance of seeing what that Batman was all about: it was a win-win situation.
Until that night.
He was getting sick of that shit. He could have gotten rid of both Batman and Catwoman the night before, but the woman said no. No, she said, Batman can't die just yet; he has to suffer first. Yeah, sure; Deathstroke thought he knew plenty about making one suffer, about making people beg for death like it was a million bucks. But no: it had to be the woman's way. She was going to tell how, and she was going to tell when. 'Count me out, then', he had told her. He was not one to play games: he was a professional. He cared about the money, and he had a reputation to keep. He had no time for this nonsense.
But the woman… ah, she knew pretty well how to conduct her business.
So, yeah, he was angry. He was pissed, and he wanted to hurt someone.
He too knew how to conduct business, though; Batman and Catwoman were about to learn that.
Trusting was something Selina was never good at – she had no problem admitting it.
Considering the situation, however, she was not so sure if following Batman and doing as told would qualify as trust… more like a lack of options, actually.
Her position wasn't very favorable: while Batman and Deathstroke exchanged less than friendly words and strikes, she struggled to free herself from those unpleasant cables, lacerating her wrists and ankles and almost passing out from the pain on her shoulder. That son of a bitch Deathstroke had crushed her already wounded joints and muscles, and now she was seriously inclined to believe her collarbone was fractured; well, at least it hurt like it was… and that was all that mattered.
So, long story short: Batman? She needed him. That wasn't debatable and, truth to be told, she just hated that.
She swallowed her pride, though, and accepted in silence when he cut the wires around her ankles and led her to the south side of the building. He used his cable in silence, both still surrounded by the smoke he had managed to produce with one of his toys, and placed an arm around her. She was in pain, she couldn't see, she tried desperately to not make a sound, she worried about the deadly mercenary on the roof and about the fall they were about to take… but, for a moment, all that was gone. There he was, Batman, so close to her… and the familiarity of the situation. No fear, no urgency – was he really that sure of himself? Was he so confident that they would live to see the day?
He pulled her close, and placed her tied arms around his neck. She groaned slightly, the discomfort on her shoulder burning painfully. He whispered, even while pushing the both of them over the roof and swinging to the ground: sorry, he said, almost inaudible, the word spoken close to her ear, muffled by the fabric of her cowl. Not in that hoarse, unnatural voice of his: it was a regular, human sound; something that was almost… recognizable?
Her heart raced: was it from the abrupt landing? From her throbbing wounds?
Or was it the fact that his whisper, his voice, was familiar to her ears?
As he cut the rest of the cables around her wrists, she silently watched. His skillful, quick hands; the quietness of his moves; the blood that dripped insistently from his nose and lips, but that didn't seem to bother him. It was dark, so hard to discern his features; but there it was: his chiseled jawbone, his unexpectedly well shaped mouth. It crossed her mind in a flash, the idea that he was someone from money and pedigree, someone that had chosen, really chosen that life. Not like her – not someone without options and that had some talent, but an individual that had worked hard to be who he was. To be that very person right there, that bleeds and plays his odds with death regularly, all to do what he believed was the right thing.
He interrupted her line of thought without ceremony, but with urgency. "Let's go", he urged, turning to the shadows and moving fast. She didn't ask him to wait, though perhaps she should: her body ached all over, and she was having difficulty to keep up. Besides, she wanted to know what he was thinking, she wanted to ask him if he had a plan, or something, something in his mind. Deathstroke was no amateur, no regular thug, no ordinary man… and he was coming for them. He was, and he wouldn't give up.
Batman didn't even look back. All that gentle disposition of his? Gone in seconds. His silhouette hardly discernable as he sneaked close to the walls, never making a sound. Oh, that was something that was so fascinating, it would almost freak her out… he was so big and heavy, so massive, how the hell could he be so silent? She used to brag about her own abilities, how she could go undetected even in the most challenging of the situations – he made her look like an elephant in a porcelain shop. If she wasn't right behind him…
They walked two blocks through the alleys before he suddenly stopped, eyes ahead as he studied their surrounds. Selina could easily recognize the place: Robinson Park, perfectly visible across Park Avenue.
"We are not going to… ", she started.
"We are", he cut her sentence abruptly. "It's our only chance."
She got as close to his back as she could, looking over his shoulder to that famous landmark of Gotham. Like any kid that had lived in the city's streets, she knew Robinson Park very well – and hated the place. It had been the scenario of too many bad moments for her, and she had no plans of ever returning to that place.
"Why?", she asked through her teeth.
"I know the place", he stated. "Better than he does, anyway."
"No better than I do…", she mumbled.
"What's that?" He inquired without glancing at her, already focused in the task of retrieving things from his belt pockets.
"I said, 'ok, you're the boss'."
"I'm not the boss", he answered plainly. "Do you have any other suggestions?"
He had taken three round objects into his hands, and for a moment Selina thought they were smoke bombs also; when she saw that he activated them with a fifteen seconds timer, and then rolled at different directions, she concluded that it was better to ask:
"What are those?"
He didn't answer. What he did was take her hand in his and gently pull her to stand next to him. "Be ready", he warned.
There was a flash – three, actually -, and all went dark. All the street lamps, all the windows, even an occasional headlight; everything in at least a hundred feet radius simultaneously turned off.
"C'mon", he moved forward and guided her in the darkness.
As they reached Robinson Park, all Batman could think about was that he hoped Gotham City's morose public system had worked in its usual sluggishness – their lives likely depended on it.
Three months ago he had been at that very place, visiting what had once been Gotham's Botanical Garden. The place had been virtually abandoned ten years ago; there were no longer contributors and sponsors to maintain it, and the local government claimed there were no funds to keep it. Bruce Wayne's visit had been with the purpose of discussing a plan of action to restore the Botanical Garden, courtesy of Wayne Enterprises money. Money had been given, a course of actions was designed… but Gotham had its own rhythm in those things, and he didn't expect to see any work done for a few more weeks.
Or, again, so he hoped.
He led the way to the old greenhouse, a gigantic structure that, in better days, used to house hundreds of different plants. He remembered it from his childhood: his mother had been one of the people that had financially contributed to the construction of the place, and she had also been part of the council that had decided what kind of green life they should acquire and cultivate in the Garden. It was by no coincidence that the greenhouse had been baptized with her name.
"What are we doing here?" He heard Catwoman ask when the greenhouse was finally at sight.
He didn't answer. There was no time to talk, not right now. All he did was use his grappling hook on the top of the large structure, again seizing her waist and pulling her close. This time, however, she didn't peacefully comply.
"Hey", she whispered, her voice not low enough to mask her exasperation. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I'm going nowhere with you before you tell me what you're planning to do!"
Just as she spoke these words, she also pushed him away from her, something he fiercely resisted by grabbing her belt. "Let go", she hissed, burying her sharp claws on his forearm. He ignored it, though, both the pain and the rage in that gesture, and forced his body forward against hers, her forehead brushing on his chin as she struggled to free herself from him.
"Trust me", he insisted once again. "I need you to trust me right now…" He hesitated for a second, and then: "Please, Selina."
He felt her suddenly halting her resistance in his arms, and he activated the cable right then, the abrupt pull taking his attention off of her for the moment. They reached the delicate ceiling of the greenhouse by clumsily bumping on one of the glass plaques, that immediately shattered on contact. They managed to keep balance by grabbing the metal structure, both of them precariously crouched and trying to find a safe place to stand.
Catwoman was better in that than he was – soon she was on her feet again, perfectly stable in just a narrow steel bar. He jumped to another beam next to her, and managed to stand in reasonable security.
She removed her goggles.
"Why are you doing this?" Selina spoke. Not Catwoman – Selina. She stared at him intensely, green eyes sparkling under the moonlight.
"Put your mask back", he coldly said.
"No." Her tone was adamant. "We are in serious trouble here, we might die…"
"We're not going to die." He took the goggles from her hands, then holding them close to her face. "Now. Put. Them. Back."
"No", she stubbornly insisted. "No. Not until you at least say it."
"Say what?"
A snort of disdain was her reaction. "Your name. Who you are." She reached for the goggles, but, in a swift gesture, grabbed his arm and slightly pushed him, forcing him to falter and hold on her for balance. "You see, I think I know who you are…" She spoke softly. "Just say it to me. I need to hear it from you…"
It was just an unusual, slight reflex what he saw between the trees down on the ground; but it was enough to set an alarm inside him. "Get down!", he yelled at Catwoman, pulling her with him. Just in time: he heard the sound of a dozen bullets flying over them and shattering more glass around them.
"He saw us, didn't he?" She asked; he confirmed by nodding. They were now hanging from the ceiling like kids in monkey bars, a position he considered far too vulnerable. Under them, an indistinct mess of variable kinds of plants, allowed to grow wildly and neglected for a decade.
Also, a perfect place for sheltering them for now.
"Come with me." He said as he stretched a hand to her.
"You're not planning to jump down there, are you?" He could read her hesitance, just as he could see she wouldn't be able to hang for much longer: she had clearly wounded her shoulder, though how bad it was he had no idea as of yet. Still, she now relied only in one arm to keep her from falling.
"It will be fine", he assured her. Gently swinging his body back and forth he approached her.
"My shoulder…", she begun, but he cut her off.
"I know." He was as close to her as possible without jumping over to the bar she was hanging from. "Just let go. I'll catch you."
She wasn't able to disguise her shock. "Are you insane?"
"I've heard that one before." He tried to encourage her. "C'mon, just…"
"If you ask me to trust you again, I swear to God, I'll scream."
She almost did that anyway, growling in pain as her arm reached its limit. Unwillingly or not, she loosed her grip on the metal beam.
Batman had already seen it – just as she fell, he plunged into nothingness right behind her.
It was true, Deathstroke thought, that no one could prosper in a life like his without some measure of luck. Still, he tried to never abuse his own good fortune.
That's why he decided, when he realized that Batman and Catwoman had taken shelter in the old greenhouse, that he would not enter that place.
He was no idiot – he was outnumbered, he knew nothing about the building, he knew even less about plants. And he also knew that Batman, the rat bastard, was also a cunning son of a bitch. Batman wouldn't have gone to that place if he didn't have a plan; and what better way to ambush someone than having the terrain advantage? For all Deathstroke knew, that greenhouse could be filled with poisonous plants and dark corners, and who knew what the Bat could have planted there? Those devices he had used… an electric pulse that had put off the lights of the entire block – that was damn smart and useful. Deathstroke would kill to have something like that.
Oh, well, he was going to kill him anyway: why not take whatever gadgets Batman had when he finally accomplished his task?
Deathstroke pondered about his options, and getting inside the greenhouse wasn't one of them. The obvious conclusion: he had to force them to come out. And what better way to do it, he wondered, if not smoking them out?
Because, yeah, Deathstroke didn't know greenhouses in general, but he knew this: a fire in a place like that? A very unpleasant situation for anyone inside.
He too had his own gadgets. Nothing too fancy, nothing like the Bat's little toys, but he had a few ways of making a beautiful fire. He was very proud of a specific grenade he had acquired in the black market, new tech that LuthorCorp had developed for the US Army: they called it the "perpetual fire" – as well they should. It was made to create vicious flames, that would burn and spread quickly and ferociously, a fire that would persist even if it had nothing besides air to fuel it. A beautiful thing to watch, and he hardly ever had the chance of using it…
He took all three grenades he had with him, and climbed to the top of the greenhouse, much like Catwoman and Batman had done before. It really was the best place to be if you wanted to have a clear view of your surroundings, and he certainly needed that.
Deathstroke took a moment to scan the entire building bellow and decide where he should throw his grenades. There was no sign of his adversaries below, but he didn't expect to see them: it was easy to hide down there, and he didn't need to kill them right now. All he needed was to make sure they wouldn't have many options when they tried to run away from the fire.
That's why he decided to drop the grenades where the fire would block the ground exits. That way they would have to go for the ceiling again, and although the Batman seemed to have an extraordinary collection of cables and grappling hooks, they wouldn't save him now. Not if Deathstroke was there, just waiting for them.
"Why our dates always have to end with something burning?", she asked out loud.
That didn't amuse him, and it was no surprise; few things would sound amusing, Catwoman admitted, when you are inside a concrete water tank, taking turns to breathe so you wouldn't suffocate. Still, she thought that was a smart line – too bad he had lost his sense of humor.
"Be quiet", he said, his voice a gruff, hollow sound in the darkness.
"Don't be rude", she snapped. "I might be the last female company you'll ever have."
"We are not going to die."
"So you say." She struggled to bring air to her lungs. "Forgive my skepticism, but our situation is less than ideal…"
Less than ideal… She couldn't help but laugh at her own words. That was one very bad situation, if anything other than disastrous.
It started when they fell from the ceiling: surprisingly enough, Batman had managed to catch her, and used his cape to assure a safe landing… to a certain point. They had hit a large portion of bushes – it would have been convenient, if not for the fact that the plants had disguised a large pile of useless construction material. They ended up falling too close to it, and Batman took most of the damage: one of his legs had been trapped among pieces of concrete and steel, resulting in several minor wounds and an ugly gash caused by his thigh being pierced by a sharp rebar piece.
Nevertheless, even if Batman was limping through most of the way, he led them to a place that Selina recognized: an artificial pond, no longer functional, abandoned for many years. Not much had been left; the tank had no more than a couple inches of dark, filthy water in it, and its walls were covered by mold and mud. In its deepest point the concrete pool wouldn't be over six feet, if that much. The thought of getting inside it, water or no water in it, haunted Selina for a few moments – Batman ended it in instants when he entered it without hesitating for even a second.
"Are you kidding me?" She asked, slightly insulted by he not even giving her the slightest hint of what he had in mind before acting on it.
He didn't answer: he was already crouched in the disgusting water, both hands fumbling on the mud like he was searching for something in the darkness.
She had no intention or desire to help him do whatever he was planning to, but her resistance faltered when the first explosion took place – it happened fairly close to where they stood, shards of glass showering them amongst the flashes of light and heat.
Another one followed it, and then another, seconds apart from each other. Catwoman had barely had the chance of understanding what was going on before noticing the fire. Flames. Flames and fire, their strange and vacillating light growing rapidly and engulfing the darkness.
"Here", it was Batman calling for her. He didn't look surprised or shocked; if anything, he seemed to be unruffled by the destruction of his surroundings. He was still inside the old pond, now standing and holding with both hands what looked very much like a manhole cover. Judging from his gesture, he seemed to be urging Selina to go inside the manhole.
She was less than thrilled to comply, but the night had already taught her that they were in no position to debate or waste time. Running to him, she halted for a moment to take a look at the hole: water poured inside it, and it was wide enough to easily fit her. How deep it was, though, remained a mystery.
"Where does it…?"
He never allowed her to finish her question.
"When you hit the water", he shouted, "swim forward until you can feel the wall."
"Swim?"
"Go!"
She did; first climbing down by holding herself as best as she could on the edges of the manhole, and then finding the courage to let go. Trying to use her claws to slow down her fall, she only managed to break a couple of them and got reminded that one of her shoulders was hurt. Fortunately, the dark tunnel was short, but Catwoman's fall was broken by something unpleasant: the sudden and abrupt contact with chilly, reeking water.
The shock of temperature was unexpected, and her focus was drawn to nothing but that: her body freezing, paralyzed by cold and horror. It took her a few moments to regain control over herself and remember Batman's instructions. When she finally forced her arms and legs to move, she sensed his massive form diving in the water behind her.
The darkness down there was beyond anything she had ever experimented. It was complete blindness, an abandonment of her sight. She swam, her chest burning, her injured shoulder not hurting – but immobile, her arm not responding to her commands. The wall, she repeated to herself, find the wall.
But there was no wall. She reached ahead and felt the air escaping her, the black veil in front of her never lifting as she moved in despair.
And then, a light.
She went for it, unsure of what it was or if that was what she should do. Light, a pale, indistinct light, a small, fluttering hope. Her body slow and heavy, her eyelashes forcing themselves shut. Her fingers stretched away, so far away, almost touching it, almost reaching it, so close…
And she blacked out.
If seconds had passed, or more than that, she wouldn't be able to tell. Suddenly her throat burned, and she gasped for air and swallowed water – foul tasted, salty water.
"Are you okay?" She heard the concern in his voice.
He held her now, and they were in what seemed to be a large tank. Perhaps a reservoir. She gently moved her legs, trying to reach the ground below, but without success; whatever that was, it was deep and filled almost to its maximum capacity of water. Unlike the bottom of the tank, its top was very close to her, her forehead almost touching it when she managed to move.
"Catwoman", he insisted, "do you hear me?"
She felt the support of his arms under her, his left hand below her chin to keep it above the water line. I must have passed out, she realized. And again he had saved her – that was getting old pretty quick, she thought, annoyed at the idea.
"I'm fine", she mumbled. Turning to look at him, she noticed with relief they were not in complete darkness… and once more she had him to thank for it. Glued to the ceiling were a pair of small LED lanterns, shedding light around them and allowing Catwoman to see how ugly and filthy the place they were was.
"Where are we?" She had managed to keep herself from sinking by using her legs and just one of her arms, but Batman had not let go of her completely: he strapped her belt with something; she couldn't really see what, but it felt like a cable connecting them both.
"An old reservoir for pluvial water. They used the water in it to irrigate the Garden when it was functional."
"And now…"
"Deactivated." He stared at her for a few moments, studying her attentively. "We shouldn't speak. Not much air left."
She ignored that:
"Do you have any idea how to get out of here?"
He merely nodded.
"Elaborate", she demanded, clearly exasperated.
"The fire must be reaching its peak. I'm waiting for the smoke to get thicker."
"Right", she agreed. And then:
"Why our dates always have to end with something burning?"
The escape from the water reservoir could be described as a smooth one, in Batman's opinion. Selina was less than thrilled with the fact that she would have to dive into cold water and swim again, but he assured her he knew where he was going. And he did know… theoretically.
As Bruce Wayne, one of the investors for the restoration of the Botanical Garden, he had had the chance of studying the blueprints of every building and construction of the place, including its irrigation and water storage system. That's why he knew about the several tanks and cisterns, and the many passages connecting them.
From what he could remember, there was a tunnel from the tank they now were to the main gallery, which was north from there and had an exit to the surface that was conveniently camouflaged. If they could reach it, not only they would escape the massive destruction of the fire above them, but they would be in an excellent position to do what he had been planning all along: ambush the man that was trying to kill them.
He hoped he was right about the exit.
Now at least he had had the presence of mind of attaching one of his belt cables to Selina's waist, in the hopes that it would help him guide her out of there without them having to go through another near-drowning situation. They been through a scary situation minutes before, with Selina blacking out while still in the water. Carry her up in the cold, dark water, his legs weighting tons and his arms trembling, nothing but his direction sense to orient them… he honestly thought he wouldn't make it.
But they did, and that was all that mattered.
"Follow me", he told Catwoman before plunging. He wished he could have reassured her in some way, but what was he to say? There weren't many guarantees there, none other than the fact that he trusted his memory and his plan. For some reason, he had a hunch she wouldn't find that enough.
She did follow him though, and he was glad to see she wasn't showing any signs of hypoxia or hypothermia, something he had feared just moments before. He swam down until he found the passage he was looking for, and was relieved to see it wasn't blocked or closed in any way. Pulling Selina and showing her the way, he allowed her to swim ahead of him, knowing the tunnel was not too long; as predicted, they reached another reservoir in seconds, quickly surfacing above the water and gasping for air.
This tank was much larger than the others, a large chamber that connected all the passages and cisterns. It could be called a maintenance room, Batman assumed, the place where you could access the entire system of pluvial water of the Botanical Garden. There was even a platform surrounding the walls, somewhere they finally could stand and take a moment to rest.
But time was something they didn't have. He allowed Selina to seat and take a few deep breaths while he stood up and approached the exit, testing the trapdoor above them.
"God, look at that…" She said while gazing at him, eyes on his wounded leg. "You're seriously bleeding."
He glanced at it briefly: the hole in his thigh poured blood intensely, a crimson trail that soaked his boot.
"I'm okay", he murmured. There was no time to do something about that, and even if there was, there wasn't much he could do. He had bandages and an emergency first aid kit in the car, but nothing with him at the moment.
"It looks bad. You're gonna pass out if we don't do something…"
"I won't", he stubbornly answered. He wouldn't. He couldn't. There was too much to do.
"Shut up." She reached for her own belt and took it off, then putting it around his leg, directly on the wound. "Not exactly sanitary, but it will do for now. Besides, you've already played in this filthy water anyway. This can't make anything worst."
She pulled the belt tight around the leg, and the sharp pain caused him to let a low growl escape through his lips.
"Sorry…"
"It's fine", he immediately added. Looking down at his leg, he realized that the bleeding had reduced considerably. He thought of thanking her, but, instead, he opened the trapdoor over them.
If she expected something different, she didn't show. All she did was ask:
"What are you planning? Run to the park, avoid Deathstroke…?"
So Deathstroke was his name, he pondered. Appropriate.
"We are going to get Deathstroke." As she reacted with surprise, he corrected. "At least I am."
"Are you crazy?"
"We've been through that."
"No. No, we haven't." She grabbed his arm harshly. "We are both pretty messed up; what the hell are you thinking? That guy out there is no regular man…"
"I noticed." He turned to face her, trying to speak as calmly as possibly, though he felt the urgency of acting pressing up on him. "But if we don't do this now… we might never have another chance."
In a gesture that surprised even himself, he saw his hand reaching for her face, his gloved fingers gently caressing her pale, cold cheek. "That man is trying to kill us. He won't stop. And every time he attacks, he gets closer to actually do it. We have to do this now. If we run, who knows where and how he's going to attack us again?"
She held his hand in hers, forcing his palm against the skin of her face. "I just don't see how this could end well", she whispered, her lips brushing softly on the skin exposed by a tear in his glove.
"We can do this."
"How…?"
"Together", he said. "The only way to do this is together."
When he quickly explained his plan to her, well, Catwoman concluded it was a risky one. Now, however, as she climbed a metal and glass structure that burned in flames, she thought it was more than risky… it was plain insane.
Though insane was a word that could define most of the night until now and, what the hell, a good portion of her life. So, maybe, the plan wasn't so far off after all.
Batman had explained: Deathstroke probably was waiting for them, far too smart to simply count them dead in the explosions. He had thrown those grenades in such a pattern that denounced his intentions – he didn't expect them to walk from the greenhouse. He had seen Batman's methods and gadgets, and would expect them to try an escape through the roof; and, no doubt, he would be waiting for them then.
They had managed to leave the greenhouse using the underground, however, and that Deathstroke couldn't be expecting. Not yet, anyway; if given time, he would be able to deduce it, but, for now, he couldn't have a clear view of what happened inside the greenhouse or even his surroundings. The smoke his own fire had produced would be the cover Batman and Catwoman could use to surprise the mercenary, and advantage Batman was counting on.
"He will be searching for us inside the greenhouse", he stated. "We are going to come from outside."
Hence her dangerous and unpleasant climbing. Batman had explained to her that the fire they were dealing with wasn't an ordinary one; it had spread fast and would burn for a long time. The building wouldn't resist for much longer, and she was supposed to be very careful with her every move. Pretty quickly she saw he was right: the metal structure was already crumbling, the steel so hot that she couldn't touch it even through her gloves. Good thing that Batman had offered her one of his grappling hooks and cable – those things were really handy, no doubt about it.
She reached the top of the greenhouse, but remained carefully hidden, trying to make her presence unnoticed the best she could. It wasn't a hard task; the smoke that rose to the sky was so dark and thick that it was hard to see inches ahead. She insisted in look for Deathstroke, however, and found him where Batman said he would be: crouched on the pinnacle of the building, a pedestal that once had served as base for the statue of a swan. Now, the statue was gone, and Catwoman had no idea if Deathstroke had gotten rid of it or if someone had done that before him, perhaps years ago.
She watched him for a few moments: perfectly still, rifle in hands, attentively examining the ceiling. He was using a different mask, she noticed, that covered his entire face. It was too far for her to be sure, but it seemed to be similar to a gas mask; probably would help him deal with the smoke, and perhaps even help him see through it.
The idea was for her to wait for Batman's sign: he would try to hit Deathstroke with a few long distance attacks, and then she would be on the move. But, just as she thought, the mercenary was way better than even Batman could imagine.
Something caught his attention, Catwoman noticed, and he turned to point his rifle at the opposite edge of the building. It was impossible for her to see what he had seen, but she didn't need to: it was Batman, no doubt.
She heard the shots; one, two, three, four, a bullet every second. She ran, knowing Deathstroke was now turning his back on her. Under her, the metal bars squealed and complained, shaking at every contact with her boots. She had no time to worry about it: she had seconds, merely seconds to reach him and…
He turned to her and shot.
She was close to him, maybe twenty feet from the platform where he now stood. So close that the sound of the shot was only registered by her mind after she felt the bullet. Something burning and tearing at the skin of her left arm, the strength of that impact throwing her back and down.
Then it was the pain in her back, the pain as she fell hard and brutally against the fervent steel beam. She felt the impact all over her body, numbness on her hands, a shock that run through her spine and shared agony to every inch of her. A scream came, deep and furious, born in the most primal place in her – a roar caused not just by the pain, but from the frustration, from the failure, from believing that this was now the end.
"Goodbye, Catwoman", she heard his gruff, muffled voice, and felt his weight shake the steel below her.
"Not… just yet…", she managed to whisper back.
If he heard what she had said Catwoman would never know; what she knew was that Batman appeared from below, jumping on Deathstroke in a movement that was nimble and gracious like the one from an acrobat, both his feet landing right at Deathstroke's chest. The mercenary faltered, unable to hold his ground and stand still. He stepped back and slipped, having no choice but to hold onto the steel beam with both hands, hanging precariously from there.
Batman approached him, but before he could reach him Deathstroke maneuvered his own body in impressive skill and speed, holding upside down on the beam by hugging it with both legs. Reaching for his pistol, he still managed to fire a couple shots, barely giving time for Batman to lower himself and jump to an adjacent girder.
That was the chance Deathstroke needed: in seconds he was already balancing himself on the steel beam, flames dancing below him. He kept shooting, but the wind and the unstable position didn't work in his favor: Batman wasn't hit, and was able to approach the mercenary once again.
"Here we go", said Deathstroke, unsheathing his sword.
He attacked and Batman dodged, counterattacking by punching Deathstroke twice on his body. That made the man gasp and hunch, even if at the same time he went for a lower strike that forced Batman to jump over the blade and almost fall. The sword cut through air, then coming down straight at the girder, making it vibrate violently.
He's not gonna make it, Selina caught herself thinking, now finally regaining control over her body once more. She tried to stand, but her back hurt too much, her muscles were still unresponsive; all she could do for the moment was watch. Watch in anxious silence as Batman bent his knees and struggled to find steadiness in his narrow ground.
A sound like a powerful thunder roared close by, and the whole structure of the greenhouse trembled; Selina felt a wave of hot air engulf her, and she saw part of the ceiling collapse on her right. Can't stay here, she reasoned. Even if crawling, she had to move from there.
She looked ahead to see Deathstroke swinging his sword at Batman again, who on turn leaped backwards off of the beam he stood on and opened his arms abruptly, making his cape float around him. The wind was heavy and hot, thick smoke curling and climbing up to the night sky, engulfing Batman's dark silhouette and sustaining him mid-air for a moment… and he kicked, quickly spinning as he draped the cape over his body, the strength of the hit ripping off Deathstroke's mask and throwing him on the girder behind him completely unconscious.
Blacked out as he was, the mercenary had no way of avoiding falling on the flames bellow, something Catwoman realized without feeling pity or compassion for the man. Batman, however, didn't seem to agree. Landing on the precarious beam bellow him, he immediately reached for Deathstroke and grabbed one of his arms, holding himself crouched over the girder with just one hand and his own weight balancing Deathstroke's limp body.
"Fool!" Catwoman approached Batman. "What the hell 'you doing?"
He didn't answer: as unbelievable as it was to her, Batman was trying to lift Deathstroke over the beam.
"You're going to kill yourself, don't you see…?"
She was never able to finish the sentence. Her voice disappeared under the sudden sound of a shot.
Batman grunted – a low, muffled noise, uncharacteristically composed, given the circumstances. It took her a moment to accept it: he had been shot.
She looked down to see Deathstroke's face – it was strangely old and handsome, unlike she would have imagined for him. He smiled. He had a gun in his hand and, hanging over death and destruction, and he had shot his only chance of escaping. As Batman now blacked out and loosed the grip on Deathstroke's arm, Selina merely watched as he plunged into the flames. Oh, well, if he wanted to be the scorpion of that fable, she would give him that.
She turned her attention to Batman, grabbing him with both arms before he fell off. There he stood: kneeled and bleeding, unconscious, both of them unsteady in a building that was crumbling down. "Oh, no…", she mumbled, "no, no, no…"
Raising her hand to her face, she saw the thick, fresh blood soaking her glove.
She wasn't sure of where he had been hit, but his armor's chest was drenched in blood. He still breathed, however, even though the sound of his breathing was rasping and seemed to demand a lot of effort from him.
"Don't do that… don't… don't…" She pulled him close to her, speaking right on his ear. "Please, don't… I don't know what to do…"
He moaned and coughed, shuddering in pain; his eyes fluttered open. "My… back…"
"Yes", she anxiously answered, gently turning his face to hers. "Yeah, I know… Look at me: listen, you… you were shot. And we need to take you somewhere… somewhere they can help you…"
"It hurts", he complained, trying to reach the wound with one of his hands – that only caused him to groan and then clench his teeth, his jaw tense as he frowned and struggled to keep himself from yelling.
"It's alright", she lied. Nothing was alright. "Look, I need you to try and help me… we…"
He didn't say anything, but he did try to move. He howled in agony and coughed, spitting blood every time he did it, but managed, with her help, to crawl a few feet, approaching the edge of the building. Under them, the metal begun to bend.
"I… I can't carry you down." She felt tears coming down her face; she told herself they were caused by all the smoke.
He showed her a small hook and steel cable, attached directly to his belt. She took the hook from his trembling hands and locked it around one of the less unstable bars. Once it was done, he allowed himself to fall from the edge.
Selina panicked for a second, but realized the cable had provided a slower, gentler descend. She watched as he reached the ground and collapsed, even though he remembered to lose the cable from his belt, allowing it to be pulled up by her. She repeated his actions, and in seconds she had landed on the ground next to him.
She quickly got closer to him, in time to notice he was mumbling something through his dry, scratched lips:
"Car… here…" He took her hand in unexpected strength, and placed a small device on her palm: it had a red light blinking intermittently, and numbers that decreased gradually.
"Your car…? Do you want me to find it…?"
He tried to speak again, but he instead threw up blood and clenched both hands over his chest, his low grunts a torturing sound for Selina. She grasped his face in her hands, trying to look straight at his eyes, eyes that he kept forcefully shut.
"Shhh… shhh…" Placing her head near his, their cheeks close together, her sweating face against his cold skin, she spoke softly. "I'm here… I'm here with you…"
That seemed to soothe him somehow, at least enough to make him stop writhing.
"It's gonna be okay", she said, caressing his pale, colorless face. Her fingers trailed red marks on his skin, so much blood that she found it surreal. Her own face was probably in similar state, her having tried to dry her tears with the back of her hand.
And then, the device he had given her beeped loudly; almost simultaneously, she noticed powerful headlights illuminating them. Oh, she privately commented, the car. How the hell that monster had gotten there was a mystery she wasn't going to agonize over at the moment.
"Hey", she called tenderly, "hey, do you think you could try to walk for me…? Just a few steps…"
He seemed tired, so tired, every single breathe a struggle, every instant filled with monumental pain. Even so, he moved; first rolling to his side, then, with her help, putting himself on his knees and fists. "Selina…", he roared, followed by a brief, though sorrowful shout that translated his suffering and frustration.
"I'm right here", she reassured, placing his arm around her shoulder and encouraging him to move forward. He was heavy, so heavy, and she too had more than a few wounds throbbing and burning, causing her pain. Right now, though, all seemed so insignificant – because she knew one or two things about bullet wounds, and his was the kind of wound that… that…
No! She wouldn't allow herself to think about that. Not that night. Not after all they had been through…
As they approached the car, the doors opened for them. She helped him climb inside, following him and watching with discomfort as the car locked itself back. "Okay", she said, "okay… we're going to take you to the hospital. Any hospital, the closer one…"
"No", he groaned severely. "No, no hos… no hospital...!"
"What are you talking about? We need, you need…"
"Al… fred. Need… Alfred…"
"Who's Alfred?!"
He didn't answer; his head pending forward, he blacked out once again.
