A/N: Welp, I probably (definitely) should have waited to post this and edited it a little more, or waited until my sister could, but I really liked how this chapter turned out and wanted to post it, so please excuse any errors (or point them out to me, especially if they're really stupid).
I also came up with a ship name but it might be terrible so tell me how you feel about 'WidowBat'.
I don't know the tempo
Of my heart's concerto
It all seems like a dream
It's not, I know
There's something real out there for me
.
.
Natasha had thought that she'd be leaving Gotham that morning, but unfortunately, the information she gathered on her target the night before had been rendered obsolete thanks to the activity of the Batman.
She'd be angry about it, but she's always admired the Bat of Gotham. He's ruthless and efficient in everything.
But it also means she's not going anywhere until she gets the information SHIELD needs. Her cover gains another layer as she plans her stay to potentially extend another week, and then she considers talking to the Bat.
She's heard that he is impossible to pin down, but she doesn't believe that. He's only a man - or an enhanced man, possibly, and she's sure he can't literally vanish, as some reports claim.
So, she goes out the next night outfitted in her Widow costume, and waits.
It doesn't take long for the sounds of gunshots to echo across the city. Gotham is laden with crime.
She stealthily makes her way to the scene, and finds Batman already there, situation well in hand. Natasha doesn't interfere.
She hasn't met him before, but she's well aware of the vigilante's opinion on working with others. It's in the briefing every agent gets before they go into Gotham for the first time: if the Bat is on scene, let him handle it. SHIELD doesn't know who he is, but they know better than to bother him. Whoever he is, he's backed by a lot of money.
She knows he's aware of her presence. The pointed cowl momentarily swings in her direction, but it causes him no loss of momentum in his fight, which is over relatively quickly.
Natasha watches as he crouches beside the victim: a huddled, shivering young woman. She can't hear what he says, but the woman's body language relaxes significantly.
Compassion, she thinks, with some small sense of wonder.
The police sirens have been steadily getting closer, but the Bat stays by the woman until the first car pokes its nose around the corner, and then slides into the dark. Natasha doesn't see where he's gone, but she knows he's still nearby.
She waits for him to come to her, and he does.
He lands on the rooftop next to her in a rustle of dark fabric. The mask exposes his mouth, but it is stoic and unreadable. His eyes are concealed by the shadows, but she feels the weight of his gaze anyway.
"Black Widow," he says roughly, after a few seconds. "What do you want?"
Natasha shifts casually, and he stiffens. Interesting.
"SHIELD's looking into Marconi's… outside connections," she tells him. "If you hear anything -"
"I have," he says, abruptly. She raises a brow expectantly.
"Tomorrow night," he rasps, and then he dives off the edge of the roof, cape opening up so that he glides elegantly down to the street where his vehicle is parked.
He hasn't said where, or what time, but it doesn't matter.
There's another event she should be attending the next evening, but she thinks whatever Batman has in mind will be more productive than flattering the next man on the totem pole.
Sitwell will probably be upset with her for bucking orders, but if she's honest, she doesn't respect him as much as she should a handler. He's no Coulson.
It's barely dark in the city and she's on the rooftops, keeping an ear out for activity that might attract the Bat.
He finds her, instead.
A flutter of black material catches her eye, and she turns to see him on the next building over. He tilts his head, indicating he wants her to follow. She does.
Natasha's impressed; he moves quietly in what looks like a bulky costume. She lets herself speculate, for a moment, how much finely tuned muscle lies beneath that shroud, and then she shakes it off.
The Bat leads the way through the undercarriage of Gotham, and it ends with them slipping silently into a small, dark study. There's light under the door, and the sound of voices from it indicate there is some kind of meeting being held in the adjoining room.
Batman perches himself by the door, listening in on the discussion, and gestures toward some file cabinets behind an oak desk. Natasha is curious about the conference underway on the other side of the door, but she knows when to pick her battles, and instead she slides open the top drawer carefully and begins to go through the files.
It's a gold mine, of course. Taking the originals would alert the target, so she pulls out her phone and starts snapping photos, moving through the documents as quickly as she can.
She gets maybe a quarter of an hour before Batman makes a small movement, and she knows her time is up. She places the files back in their exact same positions, and they make their way out as stealthily as they made their way in.
"You have what you need," the Bat states, when they're a safe distance away, halfway across the city.
"Most likely," Natasha agrees. She's sure it's more than enough, and she's sure that he knows it, too.
Batman gives a curt nod. "Don't linger in Gotham," he warns, and then steps off the edge of the roof and is gone.
Well, to an ordinary person it would seem that he's gone. Natasha hears the quiet slide of his grappling hook being released, and the dark streets of Gotham do wonders to conceal his departure, but she knows he's still nearby, watching her as she makes her way back to her hotel.
She finds herself rather flattered by the attention.
After she's showered, Natasha decides she deserves a little fun before she leaves. The gala she was originally scheduled to attend has barely started; at this rate she'll only be an hour late, which is perfectly fashionable.
Once her mind is made up, it's barely a half-hour's work to slide herself into the appropriate attire and makeup and be on her way.
The party is a stark relief after all the work she's already put in today.
When she's not officially on the job, Natasha enjoys people-watching, and this is a petri dish of all her favorites.
That woman needs to marry for money, and she doesn't care to whom. The man she's talking to will fit the bill, but they'll be miserable. The one next to him has no money, but would probably make her happy.
Those girls just want to go home with someone. That man will probably take them both.
All the businessmen stand around with greedy eyes discussing tiny, insignificant details with big words. A woman moves through the fray, flattering here and there, and stealing riches with quick fingers. She doesn't need the money; she's doing this for fun.
Natasha sits at the bar with her vodka, sees everyone's secrets, and loves it.
Until Bruce Wayne walks in.
He's got the faintest of shadows under his chin, and he's escorting some fabulously beautiful lady, who he somehow passes off to another's arm within ten minutes of his arriving.
She can't get any further with him than she did the first time she saw him.
He's not here to take someone home. He's not here to make a business deal. All she knows is that his smiles beg to be believed, and she is the only one not believing them, and not knowing why.
Angrily, she finishes her glass, and gestures for another.
She finishes the second as Bruce spreads his false laughter around the room.
When she turns back after getting a third, he's sitting on the stool beside her grinning rather stupidly.
"Who're you smiling at?" she asks, too sharply, but she's done playing.
The false smile drops off his face.
"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air," he says mildly, lifting his glass to her before taking a sip.
"What's your game here?"
His expression morphs into polite, bemused confusion.
"I'm enjoying the party."
Natasha purses her lips. He's not lying, but she knows many ways one can speak the truth and avoid it at the same time. She's not convinced.
"Want to get out of here?" he asks suddenly. Natasha looks at him suspiciously.
"Weren't you having fun?"
"You look like you aren't," he shrugs. "So?"
Something's dropped away, and though she can't put her finger on it, she knows this is really Bruce.
"Sure," she says. "Let's go."