"So", asked detective Stephen, "this is the spot?"
"Yeah", Selina nodded, arms crossed over her chest while watching the CSI team exam the ground near Palisades Road.
"And you were in the car with him?"
"Yeah", she repeated, giving no other details.
She and Alfred had come up with this little story to tell the police, and Selina was doing her part. A very simple tale: once upon a Saturday night, Bruce Wayne and his friend Selina Kyle were driving the Lamborghini in the fairly deserted Palisades Road, planning to go to Wayne Manor. A few miles from the mansion, though, they were forced to stop because a vehicle was blocking the road. Bruce had lost control of the car, and they hit a tree; if that wasn't bad enough, what followed was worst: a masked man approached and shot Bruce, than leaving quickly in the other car. Selina was left with Bruce, who was bleeding and gasping for air. He still managed to tell her to call Alfred, which she did, and that was how they ended there: Bruce in the hospital, fighting for his life.
"How was that man, again?"
"I told you already", Selina complained.
"Tell me again. I'm an old guy, my memory is no longer what once was…"
Selina sighed, but complied. "Tall, big guy, masked, dressed like a soldier…"
"You said his mask was orange?"
"Partially. Half orange, half black."
"Right…"
Deathstroke was either dead or gone, at least for now. If he decided to return, however, Selina took comfort in the thought that he would at least already have Gotham's Police chasing his mercenary ass.
"You drove Wayne back to his house."
"Mr. Pennyworth asked me to."
Detective Stephen seemed very unconvinced about her whole story, but there wasn't much he could do about it; Selina was sure there were a few holes in her tale, but every story does, right? She had, under Alfred's instructions, found the cave bellow the Manor, and retrieved a few bags of Bruce's blood he had stored – the fact they even had that in the house was a very strange thought -, then spreading it inside the car and there, by the road. There were very specific patterns she had to follow when doing it, so it would match their story, and Selina deeply hoped she hadn't screw up. Just as she hoped her driving skills were good enough to provide the tire marks that would corroborate what she had said about hitting the tree.
It was very fortunately that it had rained most of the night: it would lower the police's expectations of identifying a few details, such as the bullet that had hit Bruce.
"You never called the cops… you, or Pennyworth."
"Bruce was dying, Detective Stephen. We had a lot in our minds."
"Hm-hum…"
Selina hated to admit, but Stephen looked like one of the rare good cops in town. He was actually trying to solve that murder attempt, for example.
"So", insisted the detective, "you and Wayne…"
"We're friends."
"Friends. Friends that go to each other's houses in the middle of the night. Special friends, I'm guessing."
"You could say that."
"Just so I can understand… you were coming here, to Wayne's house…"
"That's right."
"But where were you coming from?"
"I told you… my place."
"See, but I don't get that…" Stephen had scrutinizing, clever eyes. "Why would you leave your house? In the middle of the night like that? Couldn't you wait until morning?"
Selina chuckled; yeah, Detective Stephen was a smart one. Not smart enough, but close to that.
"I wanted to swim, Detective", she shrugged, "and Wayne Manor has a wonderful pool."
Doctor Thomas Elliot had an unpleasant surprised that Monday morning. He took his anger out on his secretary:
"Why didn't you tell me about Bruce Wayne getting admitted?"
"Dr. Elliot, you specifically told me you wouldn't want to be bothered…"
"Does this looks like bothersome to you, Karen? Does it?"
"I'm sorry, Dr. Elliot, I just assumed…"
"You assumed? Assumed? Since when have I asked you to make presumptions?"
The woman looked down to her own feet. "Never, sir."
"Never, Karen, that's right. You answer the phone, take messages, schedule surgeries and meetings. You don't assume, you don't try to think like me. Never."
"Yes, Dr. Elliot."
"Thinking, that's not why you're here. I'll do the thinking. You do the phone."
"Yes, Dr. Elliot."
"Please, leave me for a moment." He idly waved a hand towards the door. "Go. Out. C'mon, hurry up."
The woman left, tears in her eyes.
"Moron", Thomas Elliot thought to himself quietly. He was sat behind his desk, looking at Bruce Wayne's medical records. The surgery had gone well: both doctors that were on call the night before had done a terrific job, he hated to admit.
"If only had been me…!" He had no idea of what he would have done. So many possibilities…! A wound like that, things could go so many different ways. He could have been just a little less resourceful than the surgeons that operated on Bruce, and the outcome would have been so different… Permanent damage to the arm, or the spine, even brain damage from the lack of oxygen. Bruce forever condemned to a bed, or even dead. Bruce a drooling, incapacitated idiot for the rest of his life, with Alfred changing his diapers for another thirty years or so. How wonderful…
Not that all this was out of question just yet. Bruce was there, in the ICU, in a ventilator, under heavy medication. There were at least a dozen things that could go wrong. Very wrong. And no one would be remotely surprised.
He put on his white coat and left the office, telling Karen on the way out:
"I'm going down stairs for rounds. Call me if it's important – you can handle this simple request, can't you, Karen?"
"Yes, Dr. Elliot." Her eyes were red and swelled.
"And clean up your face, Karen. Dear God, what would people think if they saw you like this?"
Without waiting for an answer, Dr. Elliot left his officer.
Selina arrived at Gotham's General around noon, waiting for good news. Instead, she found Thomas Elliot.
He was standing in the ICU's floor reception, talking to Alfred while displaying a concerned and thoughtful expression. His hand on Alfred's shoulder, he nodded his head and spoke softly, apparently discussing medical facts. Neither men noticed her approach; she got close enough to speak in a low, though threatening whisper:
"Get out", she hissed, coldly staring at Tommy.
Both Alfred and Elliot glanced at her in surprise. She could see that the butler was sincerely puzzled, while the doctor seemed to be more intrigued as to why Selina Kyle was there, talking to them, trying to boss him around in his natural environment – hospitals.
"Miss Kyle", Alfred tried to explain, "Dr. Elliot is Master Wayne's oldest friend. He is Chief of Surgery in…"
"That's all great, Alfred, but you're mistaken." She searched for Tommy's eyes, finding them returning her gaze in equal fury and resentment. "Dr. Elliot here is a miserable prick, and I doubt he's anybody's friend but himself."
Alfred's face translated his shock. Thomas Elliot, on the other hand, managed to speak softly and calmly:
"C'mon, Selina… you're making this too personal… Bruce and I, we are long time friends, and this here has nothing to do with us. Things may have not worked out between us, but…"
"Are you freaking kidding me? Really, you're going to try to pull this off, the 'offended ex-lover' bullshit…?" She raised her index finger close to Elliot's face. "Don't forget it, Tommy, I know how you treat women that don't buy your little boy scout act…"
Thomas Elliot did nothing but coldly smile. Then, he turned to Alfred:
"I'm sorry, Alf, I'll have to ask you to excuse me… It seems I have unfinished business with lovely Selina here…"
Alfred frowned, but before he could say anything, Selina cut in:
"It's okay, Alfred. Tommy is right. We've lots to talk about…"
She turned to leave the room, immediately followed by Dr. Elliot. Never looking back, Selina just made her way to the building's staircases. There she stopped, not a bit surprised to see that Tommy's expression changed as soon as the door closed behind him: his docile, serene features were taken by rage:
"You whore…", he snarled. He was about three feet from her, hands inside his white coat.
"Hey!" She interrupted him before he could expand on his less than flattering opinion about her. "Shut up. Just shut up and listen…!"
He complied, his cold eyes locked on hers. Selina kept talking:
"Stay away from Bruce, Tommy. You don't touch him, you don't get close to him, understand?"
"Oh… I see. Honestly, Selina, that's not very realistic, is it?" He sarcastically put it. "I'm not merely a doctor in this hospital, I'm chief surgeon, and I have a few of my own patients in that ICU. Besides, wouldn't be strange if Bruce's best friend…"
"I don't care! You do the explaining, Doctor! All I know is, if something, anything happens to Bruce, I'll press charges." She raised her sleeve to reveal dark bruises on her wrist. "I don't think it will be hard to match these to your precious surgeon hands, will it?"
Elliot smirked.
"Maybe not… but perhaps the police won't really care once they find out about your night job…"
Selina held her breath for a second, feeling a sudden and unpleasant cold sensation hit her stomach.
"Oh, nothing to say now, Kitty-cat…?" Tommy's smile was wicked, cruel, his blue eyes flashing in anger and delight.
"You can't prove anything", Selina whispered.
"Can't I? Oh, well, we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"
He made a move to grab her, but she was quicker: her nails buried in the flesh of his arm. He didn't seem to care, though, teeth clenched in a weird, sick grin, fighting her as his free hand managed to get hold of her face, clasping painfully on both her cheeks.
"Ask yourself, Selina… is Bruce worth it? Is he worth ruining your little act, risking jail for life?"
She didn't answer, and didn't have too: all she did was gently slip the blade hidden up her forearm to her hand, its cold tip touching Tommy's crotch.
He violently pushed her away from him, Selina keeping herself from falling down the stairs by grabbing the handrail – she privately thought that it would be easy for her to return his rudeness in the same way, perhaps giving Tommy yet another scar to remember her, but she contained her impulses. If Elliot was right about something was this: that was his territory, that hospital, and there he had power enough to make her life very difficult.
Besides, she had Bruce to think about.
"You listen to me, bitch", Elliot was saying, a threatening whisper spoken in hatred, "if you get in my way, you'll end your days in Blackgate, hear me?"
She didn't answer. He smiled:
"Or maybe Arkham, how about that? I much liked the work my friend Dr. Crane was doing there before Batman interfered… And I think the place suits you, don't you? A luxurious resort for those that think dressing in costumes and walking on rooftops are fun ways to spend their nights…"
Selina stared at Thomas Elliot for a moment, silently watching him laugh.
"What? You don't think it's funny? C'mon, Selina, you have to see how incredibly pathetic that is… a grown woman dressed as a cat? There are less ridiculous costumes in strip clubs."
Still showing him her knife, she went for the door; he didn't stop her.
"I'm warning you, Tommy. If anything happens to Bruce, police or no police, you'll have to answer to me. And I'm not known for my generosity."
"Big words for someone whose life is always hanging by a thread."
She looked over her shoulder, gazing at him in her most honest, somber gaze. "Then don't turn me into someone that has nothing to lose, Dr. Elliot – who knows what a crazy woman is capable of?"
And she allowed the heavy door to close loudly behind her.
Selina's last words before leaving had taken his smile with her. Damn bitch, Thomas Elliot cursed. His hate for Selina Kyle grew and grew, and now he wondered how long would he be able to refrain those instincts that told him that he needed, just needed to get rid of her.
He would do it, eventually; but the key word there was "eventually", of course.
Because Selina Kyle, and her counterpart, Catwoman, still had a role to play in his plans. Oh, well, their plans. Talia and his; or, perhaps, it was more accurate to say that Talia and he had common interests and goals and, for now, they had been able to combine them – and despite the fact he also hated Talia for what she had done the other night, there was no doubt that her mercenary Deathstroke had been very useful. Tommy could admire someone like her, that had long arms in the underworld, that was able to reach things like mercenaries and the black market so easily, much like one walks into the closest supermarket and buy groceries. He had a few things to learn from her, there was no shame in admitting it.
He finally saw it now: Batman, Catwoman, Deathstroke… strange names, stranger habits, but maybe they all, Tommy included, indeed lived in a strange world. Maybe that was the only way to deal with Bruce, after all. The only way to really get him: dressing like a freak and attacking from behind a mask, threatening the things he loved and not simply killing him – destroying him. That's what he should accomplish.
Selina was so worried, but she shouldn't be. He wouldn't admit it to her, but she was right… he should keep his distance from Bruce. At least for now, at least in the hospital. He couldn't risk his place there, his career, his name. Bruce Wayne dying there wouldn't help; it wouldn't help the hospital, it would be bad for business and, above all, it wouldn't be right. That wouldn't be the way he wanted it to happen, Bruce's downfall: without looking at his old friends eyes and watching him suffer; Bruce never knowing it had been him, Thomas Elliot, the one that ruined his life.
That wouldn't be very fulfilling, after all.
Death? Yes, Bruce's death would be nice. Turning him into a cripple, bedridden bastard? Even better. But those things would be momentarily satisfying. He wanted something more, he wanted something that would be more permanent and painful, something that could bring Bruce down and destroy him, hurt him deeply and turn him into a hopeless creature, unable to ever get back on his feet…
Something like the death of his parents. Or Rachel's death – damn Joker-clown… he had hit the jackpot last year, and he probably didn't even know how perfect his strike had been… Those events, those were pivotal moments, and tragedies Bruce had never really overcome. Watching his parents getting killed had turned Bruce into Batman; failing to protect and save Rachel had brought Bruce to a dark place he still struggled to leave. It might have seem like Bruce had nothing to lose, not anymore… or at least Tommy thought for a while. But now, now he wasn't so sure. There was Gotham – Batman would always have Gotham. And Bruce… well, now Bruce had someone to care:
Selina – maybe she was just what Tommy had been hoped for. The one thing they could use to get to Bruce once again.
Talia thought so. She believed Catwoman was what they hoped for, the one piece that could crumble Bruce's fragile castle of cards. And Tommy was beginning to see it also.
He certainly hoped so; he was tired, so tired of watching Bruce triumph. Again and again, the most boring successful story ever, the perfect contrast to all the misery in his own life…
Because things always work out for you, don't they, Bruce? It was ironical and sad, how Tommy failed again and again when Bruce succeeded by dumb luck and chance. He would never forget: the morning he learned Thomas and Martha Wayne were dead, his mother telling him Bruce would be the richest and loneliest little boy in Gotham from now on… and Tommy knew his mother wanted him to feel sorry for Bruce – she would never imagine that when Tommy cried he did it not for Bruce, but for himself.
He had cried, because once again Bruce had been the lucky one. Like he had been before, when he had his perfect parents and perfect little family. How many times had Thomas Elliot watched Bruce with his parents, happy and joyful, and felt nothing but bitter resentment? All he had at home was his abusive father and crazy mother, both alcoholics and quick to blame their son for anything that went wrong. Between mother's poisonous words and his father's fists, well, it was no surprise that soon Tommy was wishing his parents dead…
Oh, but who was the lucky little boy that got to get rid of his parents in such a young age…? Bruce, of course. Oh, his great, wonderful parents were dead? Now, look who was free to enjoy all his fortune as he pleased, be the center of attentions, earn favor by pity, get admitted without effort to any college, travel the world and win all the girls…! Not that Bruce ever saw it that way, and that was the magic of it all: he would always believe he had been robbed of something, when he had, instead, been given a gift. And it was by believing that he had been the victim of a tragedy that Bruce had turned into a better, even more special person than he already was.
Tommy had always thought that by becoming a doctor, the best doctor, he would be special. Oh, he was wrong. Dead wrong. There was nothing special or great about doctors. Surgeons are boring people that kill almost as much as they save lives, that are constantly afraid of lawsuits and of screwing things up. Doctors are scared little people that are, deep inside, like any other kind of people. Hell, not even the money was that good. Certainly not worthy of all the trouble and long hours, all the whining from patients and their families, all the daily complains from the staff and colleagues. If he ever thought being a doctor would be exciting... he was now convinced those long years of study had been in vain.
And all the while he was in college, working hard for a degree that hadn't done for him what he imagined it would? Bruce was learning how to beat people up and use all kinds of weapons, living exciting adventures. Turning into the one thing that was far more heroic than saving lives in an operating room: an actual hero that fights crime.
There was no way to beat Bruce, it seemed. But then again, his mother used to repeat: fortune favors the bold. Perhaps Tommy hadn't been bold enough. Perhaps he had been too ordinary, too boring, content to waste his brilliant mind in something any men could do. He didn't need to be a genius to be a good doctor, and that was alright. Because now, now he knew what he had to do.
In Gotham, you always had to get creative if you wanted to be someone noteworthy… and he was finally ready to take that next step.
"He's out of the ventilator", Alfred was telling her, "but still sedated. They will gradually reduce the medication, and he should be awake in the next few hours."
"That's good", Selina said, watching Bruce in his hospital bed. He had been moved to a private bedroom after three days in the ICU, and the doctors had been able to successfully wean him off the ventilator. His recovery was, in few words, nothing less than miraculous.
But then again, Bruce was anything but an ordinary man.
Alfred had been able to convince the hospital's administration that Mr. Wayne should be taken to the most private accommodations they could arrange. The press was already piling on Gotham's General Hospital's entrance, and there was much talk about Bruce Wayne being the target of a murder attempt. That was indeed the police's first guess, and security reasons also played a part in the decision of moving Bruce to a more isolated area of the hospital, with Wayne Enterprises' private security in place and the police patrolling the halls and searching anyone that got close to the bedroom's door.
Selina wasn't very comfortable around cops and armed men that were too eager to use their guns, but she was the first to acknowledge that no amount of security was enough to keep someone like Deathstroke away. In fact, she had hardly been able to leave Bruce's side, wondering if even her presence would be enough to intimidate the mercenary if he actually wanted to finish the job he started. There was the possibility that Slade Wilson was dead, but she believed that to be more and more unlikely. As far as she knew, no bodies were recovered from the ruins of Gotham's Botanical Garden, and she had done all in her power to check the information – that included hacking into police database, which was a very easy job once Alfred showed her that Batman already did that on regular bases, and all she had to do was hit "connect" in the computer he kept in his hideout.
Besides, even if Deathstroke was out of the game – for now or forever, who could actually tell -, well, they had no idea who had hired him. Someone with money. Someone that had ways to access the network of the underworld. Someone that deeply hated Batman (or Catwoman, or both). That meant the person that wanted him, or her, or the both of them dead was still out there, and could easily hire yet another mercenary to finish what Deathstroke couldn't do.
So many disturbing thoughts.
On the bright side, Bruce was doing well. One good thing, at least.
Alfred and she took turns to be with him, and Selina realized how odd the situation was. Truth to be told, she barely knew that man there, lying on that bed and fighting for his life. Learning he was Batman hadn't eased the feeling that there was so much about him that was a mystery to her. She had always wondered, of course, who was the man under Batman's cowl; she even suspected Bruce could be it before the other night. But simply knowing it wasn't enough, she now recognized. In truth, it had brought more questions than answers.
Alfred was there with her most of the time, and she asked him things. About Bruce. About his childhood, about his parents, about his life. And even though she appreciated how Alfred was so patient and thoughtful, how he was a wonderful storyteller, how open he seemed to be with her, she also felt terribly. Deep inside, she knew: that was wrong. She shouldn't be asking others about Bruce; she shouldn't try to learn about him when he was there, unconscious, unable to make the choice of what he wanted her to know about him. His story was his own, she knew, to share or keep it secret, just like she would have wanted for herself.
On the other hand, most of what Alfred could tell her was just childhood tales and few scraps of stories that the butler had known of, sometimes through Bruce, sometimes through others. There were so many unknown things, so much about Bruce that was lost in there, inside him, out of reach. He's a very private person, Alfred would say. I bet, Selina would agree. Private, secret, lonely. She knew all that too well.
The first night he was out of the ventilator one of the nurses had asked her:
"You're not Rachel, are you?"
"No", she declared. "Why?"
"He mumbled the name", the woman said, "over and over."
Rachel. She hadn't asked Alfred about it, but it took her just a few minutes with her smartphone to figure it out: the Assistant D.A. that had been killed last summer, known, among other things, for her childhood connections with Bruce Wayne. Tragically murdered by the Joker in an explosion. Young, gorgeous, successful. Her obituary could still be found online – it was beautiful and touching, obviously written by someone that loved her and knew her deeply.
Selina bet it had been Bruce.
Rachel Dawes. Was that the name of the woman that had his heart?
Although she was curious about Rachel and what was the story with her and Bruce, she hadn't reunited the courage to ask. There are things that are best left unsaid, and the tale of a lost, unrequited love is one of them. It's not something you would want to measure yourself against, under any circumstances… dead girlfriend beats living one, every single time.
And to think of herself as being Bruce's anything, a girlfriend, of all things… how silly, wasn't it? People in the hospital, the police, even Alfred – she noticed how often they all felt uneasy around her. Who was she, really? A friend? A lover? A casual affair? Maybe even a suspicious person that happened to cross Bruce Wayne's path when he was target of a murder attempt? All of the above, most people believed. Even Alfred: he had been polite and surprisingly friendly, but Selina had no illusions. The butler knew she was Catwoman, and Catwoman was, at the end of the day, still a criminal. She was a wildcard, unpredictable, and not inclined to play by the rules. There couldn't be a worst kind of girlfriend for Bruce, right?
Besides, to be perfectly honest, even Selina wondered what her own road would be from now on. Truth was, she wasn't convinced that Catwoman was ready to settle down just yet.
