Chapter 11
The last time we were in Gotham, we were blessed with the point of view of a vaguely stray cattish superhero. Therefore it only seems fit to go all the way and continue the theme by following a certain especially feline sort-of-but-not-really-except-sometimes-she-is hero, the (thankfully) one and only Catwoman. In any case, she is insisting on throwing herself headfirst into this subplot with the same gleeful abandon all manipulative women who can't just leave well enough alone are prone to (especially when it comes to the affairs of gruff men), and as she's here whether we want her here or not, she might as well be elaborated upon.
Catwoman is, first and foremost, a Meddler. She meddles in the morning, and she meddles at night. She meddles in the afternoon, and then she feels alright. if something is going on in Gotham, and she can insert herself into the conflict as a shadowy figure aiding and hindering both sides of the conflict without any immediately discernable rhyme or reason, then she does so. Some people collect stamps in their spare time. Catwoman just pisses people off. It is her raison d'etre.
This established, it shouldn't come as a surprise to the Gotham-visiting Teen Titans (a group now swelled further by the addition of Pantha, Kole, and the inimitably eloquent Gnaark) that Catwoman would be following with intense interest the recent attempts to forcibly drag Batman out of his stalking turf, and would eventually feel like throwing in her two cents (nevermind that the pennies are double-headed). It shouldn't, but it does, because our lovable heroes aren't really used to Gotham, aren't really part of Gotham even though they've rented a few rather nice hotel rooms and have been in a few of its restaurants. They are of an ilk not used to the likes of Catwoman.
Fortunately for them, she's on their side.
For the moment.
"Hey! What are you doing in my room?! Get off my bed!" Jinx is no longer impressed with big-name villainous types. Before the Madame Rouge incident, she would have been delighted to find Catwoman lounging in a vaguely erotic manner on the large hotel bed she shared with Pantha. Now, she was just pissed.
So Catwoman was, of course, pleased.
"Relaaax, Jinxy," Catwoman muttered in that special half-purr tone of voice she used when she was especially anticipatory of messing with Batman in a particularly delightful way. She took the time to sit up and look straight at the pink-topped girl, which was about the closest thing to respect anyone could ask for from her. "You guys seem to be having some trouble with the old bat in the mud, so I thought I might lend you a helping paw."
"We can handle this on our own," Jinx lied immediately and unhesitatingly. She didn't feel the need to please higher ups anymore, but she definitely had retained her ego through the faction switch. "He's gonna run out of tricks eventually and then we'll have him!"
"Everyone thinks that," Catwoman replied with sympathetic dismissal, while preening her glove claws. Because she's the sort of person who likes to not seem like she's paying much attention to who she's talking to at the time, even when she is. "But he just comes up with new ones. Bats is terrific at improv. You can't just brute force him, Bane tried that and where did it get him?" Looking up, she grinned in a predatory way that made Jinx wish she could grin like that. Hero or villain, there were benefits to being able to unnerve people with a mere change of experssion. "What you guys need is a more mature strategy."
"Like what?" Jinx is not stupid. She's perfectly aware of what Catwoman is implying. Jinx is merely suspicious, and part of being suspicious means that you take the time to make people explain themselves unnecessarily in case they inadvertently reveal more than they intend to. Also, it was the traditional lead-in question to allow for an aggravated crossing of arms over the chest posture, plus some foot tapping for good measure.
"Look, kid, all that needs to be done is-"
And this is when everyone's favorite caveman, the silver-tongued Gnaark, knocked and entered into the scene, a steaming pizza box balanced on one large hand. One might ask how someone like Gnaark could even function in a place like Gotham, and the answer was simple. He hit people over the head when they attacked him, and in every other situation smiled and nodded a lot. So far it had worked out just swell. As much as Jinx was inclined to appreciate the offering of pepperoni-topped deliciousness, she immediately had cause to wish Gnaark was a bit more adjusted to polite society. Gnaark meant well, truly he did. He saw a known Bad Person in the room, absentmindedly fondingly valuables, while his teammate was looking decidedly unhappy. Could he be blamed for not realizing that Jinx did not want the pizza thrown in Catwoman's face?
"GNAAARRRRKKK!"
Splat.
Whatever outraged imitation cat hissing, snarling sounds the reader can imagine could not possibly do justice to the scene. No one likes being hit in the face with hot, tomato saucey, greasy cheese. Particularly not someone as refined as Catwoman. Instinctively, she retreated to the low-hanging chandelier, there to cling and frantically wash her face (in a fashion any onlooking men that were not neanderthals would have probably found very suggestive) whilst dodging Gnaark's inexpert swings. It helped that he was trying not to demolish the chandelier outright; after Kole had scolded him about ten times he had gotten it through his head that Some Things Were Not Meant To Be Smashed No Matter What.
"Gnaark GNARRRRRRK GNAARK!"
"I have far more than half a mind to scratch your eyes out, you brutish-"
"Guys! Gnaark! Please! She's here to help! Or something! I think! AND I WANT ANOTHER PIZZA!"
After a few minutes of exciting but very undignified bickering and wacky hijinx, things settled down into what passed for a semblance of normalcy and sanity amongst two superheroes and a moral-boundary-hopscotching antihero. Catwoman was cleaned up and lathered with aloe, Gnaark fetched another pizza, the room was put back into order, and the interrupted council of war resumed its course.
Catwoman was vague, but encouraging.
"It just requires a womanly touch, that's all," she hinted maddeningly with a mysterious smile on her lips. "Just lay back and leave things to me. I'll wrap him up... so to speak... and you guys can deliver him."
"You still haven't told us why you want to help out."
"Gnaark, Gnaark."
"Just between us girls and cavepeople? I just like messing with him," Catwoman replied with shocking honesty. What she left unmentioned was that she planned to commit an epic series of capers once her spoilsport watchbat was out of the city.
Jinx was very far from wholeheartedly won over, being reasonably adept at guesstimating ulterior motives. However, she also saw no harm in letting the thief help out. If whatever it was she had planned didn't work, it was no skin off the collective Titan nose. And if it did, they'd get a reasonable portion of the glory, and Batman would be totally humiliated (which was starting to be the really important thing, to Jinx's mind). So after a quick communicator conversation with the rest of the team, she gave Catwoman their assent and blessings.
"Godspeed, kitty cat," she shot off snarkily as their newfound ally hopped out the window, on the way to make mischief.
"Oh, this won't require speed," Catwoman replied suggestively. "Some things require nuance and pacing." And with that she was off, making use of the rooftops in a way that would have terrified pigeons, except that pigeons are generally too brainless to be terrified of agile catpersons.
"Bet she's gonna try to schlup 'im," Jinx murmured to herself, staring out the window and watching the lithe figure retreat into the distance.
"Gnaark?"
"Schlup. Bang. Get it on. You know... boom chicka wow?" She tried to explain further with a few hand gestures, but Gnaark just didn't get it. And frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted him to.
Jinx's guess was spot on. That very night, Selena Kyle (thoroughly covered in makeup to avoid display of disfiguring pizza burns) didn't so much ask Bruce Wayne out on a date as blackmail him into one. Of course, he was used to this sort of thing from her by now, and he was actually a little flattered that she offered to make it her treat. As much as he hated having the semblance of a life away from superherodom, he recognized the necessity, and it was usually a good idea to keep Catwoman from being mad at you when possible without compromising one's morals.
It was a nice restaurant, very upscale, and while this was very much to Selena Kyle's tastes, it further puzzled Bruce Wayne. Why was she paying for such an expensive meal? Had she managed to pull off an exceptional robbery lately without him noticing? Was she getting, God forbid, sentimental in her middle age? He wasn't sure which idea frightened him more. No, actually, he was. Definitely the second one.
The conversation was stimulating, but then, it always was with her, one way or another. She seemed intent on keeping things friendly tonight, though. A few teasing hints at how the Titans had been running him ragged, but no more than the lightest of jests, too mild to hurt his pride, jokes vague and subtle enough that listening ears wouldn't make any connections. She was cheerful but not out of control, eloquent but not judgmental, coy but not frustrating. In short, everything he could want from a woman, except for the whole She's Bloody Catwoman thing.
He didn't try too hard to avoid being seduced, but let's be honest with ourselves here... would you? He can perhaps be said to be guilty of overly indulging in one night stands under the excuse that serious relationships can't withstand the danger of his nighttime hobby. But on the other hand, Bruce Wayne's reputation as a playboy does genuinely do a shockingly good job of protecting his alternate identity, and so there is justification for it. There always is, because he's the kind of person who never does anything without rational justification.
Except for the tights.
Not even he can explain the allure of the tights.
In the end, after perhaps exactly the right number of glasses of wine, Bruce Wayne ended up getting a room with Selena Kyle in a hotel. It was lavish, but perfectly ordinary as far as expensive hotel rooms went. That was alright by his lights, though because it just made Selena stand out that much more.
They were adults. They behaved like adults. However, sometimes adult behavior means behaving like horny teenagers, too, and so when Selena frankly and unabashedly told him in the most filthy language what she wanted to do to him, Bruce was only too eager to lose his clothes. There were pragmatic reasons to not be too drawn out about things, also. If the Bat Signal lit up the sky, they both knew that duty came before pleasure. Always. So if she too seemed just a little rushed and eager, well, he could certainly understand why.
The strip tease was nice. The unexpected dominance, shoving him to the bed, was even nicer. The nail rakes were par the course for her, but he'd grown to appreciate it as a sort of signature lovemaking trait of the woman. They hurt a little, but only as much as they should.
When she pulled the handcuffs out of her purse with a ludicrously innocent expression, he didn't suspect a thing. Not even when she followed it up by tying a rather largish blindfold around his eyes, draping it over most of his face. He could still see out of a slit from the top of one eye, anyway.
Not until she fully completed the restraining procedure and let out a whoop of triumph that gave him a sudden sinking feeling in his chest he hadn't had since his last run in with the Joker. Then... he suspected. But didn't want to believe.
"Okay, Titans, he's all yours! Take 'im away!"
Nightmarishly, all six of his Titanic pursuers burst out of the perhaps overly spacious closest with a forceful rapidity suggestive not only of eagerness but also of freedom from potential suffication. And he believed, and hated himself for it, and hated the Titans for it, and hated, above all else, Selena bloody Kyle.
"GNAAARRRK!"
"Hahah! I swear all men are just the same! I can't believe you said all that, Cats, Kole's face was so red it was about to burn up!"
"Was not, you couldn't even see my face!"
"Victory is truly ours! I thank you for your assistance, friend the Catwoman!"
"We should transport him quickly, before he gets any ideas and escapes. We can't trust him an inch."
"Tr-trust me an inch?!" Bruce spluttered, the only barest shred of salvation in the entire ordeal being that at least Selena had had the courtesy to hide his identity with the oversized blindfold. "I can't believe you would do this to me! You're, you're just kids, you're too young for this kind of thing! And Selena, I can't believe you're in on this! It's like a conspiracy! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!"
"Obviously not," Selena replied dryly in her Catwoman voice, one nail gliding down his bare chest. "See you later, loverboy. Maybe we can make good on those things we were talking about once you get back from visiting Rob. Nothin's less sexy than a deadbeat dad, y'know."
"I AM NOT A DEADBEAT DAD!"
"Is he going to cry?" Jinx whispered conspiratorially. "I think he's actually gonna cry. His face is getting all purply."
Sadly for our heroes, Bruce Wayne's face was merely purpling from the physical effort of forcing himself to go through several intensely painful escape artist procedures normally only performed by the double-jointed. With an effort that would leave him aching for days afterwards, he managed to free himself before his dastardly foes could react. And then, left with no other realistic options, he crashed through the window (gifting himself with several shards of glass that Alfred would be tsking and removing with tweezers later on), fell ten feet onto the roof of a shed, rolled off it and fell to the ground with a grunt, and then took off running like a madman, blindly panicky as any other hounded animal.
"Zounds! The chase is afoot!" Kid Flash called out with remarkable good cheer. Batman knew Gotham, but Kid Flash had raw speed on his side. Who would win? Well, finding out was always the fun part. And Bats didn't have any tricks up his sleeves this time. He had, in fact, no sleeves. "Tally ho!" Whoosh.
"I worry about him sometimes," Jinx mumbled with a sigh, and the rest of the Titans followed after.
As for Selena Kyle, AKA Catwoman?
She just stood there in the empty room and pouted at the handcuffs as though they were to blame. She had gone to great effort to seduce him, but in the end she hadn't made much of a difference at all with her wily ways, save for the regrettable added penalty of depriving herself of nookie. It would be a looooong time before he'd let her get to any base ever again.
Hearing him screech in fear in the distance, and then what sounded like several trashcans falling over, and then a small explosion, she chuckled, and decided it was worth it anyway.
