Chapter 21: Punt

Catwoman and Stephanie walked up the flights of stairs to get to the Harlow Street apartment in the East End of Gotham. She got the key out of the pouch on her left forearm, unlocked the door, and let them both inside.

The first thing she did was take off her cowl and goggles, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

As she walked into the bedroom, Selina said "I still have a landline phone on the wall in the kitchen. Call your mom, and then we'll talk some more."

Selina threw her damp gloves on the bed, and walked into the bathroom. She ran the grungy facet on hot. Her fingers burned under the water, but she still got some moisture on the tips and applied some to her eyes.

That'd keep her awake for a little while longer.

She heard Stephanie talking on the phone through the wall.

"Oh, thank God," she could hear Stephanie say. "Yeah, I'm fine… I got rescued by Catwoman… Catwoman, Selina Kyle, my boss at… Yeah, she still has the costume and everything… So cool."

Selina took a deep breath.

Defending the weak and taking in strays, she thought. If I didn't know any better, I'd start to think I was acting like…

She glared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Don't even think it. He's probably off somewhere in the rich part of town, defending the swealls. Wherever the money goes, the Batman follows.

Though Selina reckoned that that might be because all of the bad guys in Gotham were after money, and that would necessitate his presence more often than not.

Don't make excuses for him. Places like the East End have no one defending them, and…

Selina shuddered. She didn't like to call what she was doing "defending" the East End. That made her sound more heroic than she knew, deep down, she actually was.

It's preservation, she thought. Selfish preservation. I like this part of town. It's trashy. I like trashy. It's like camouflage.

Selina looked herself in the mirror again. Yeah, that works.

She dried her eyes with a washcloth that was next to the faucet, and then she started reapplying her mascara (Because she was Catwoman, and she had certain standards). Thank God the rain hadn't done anything to her black lipstick. As she tended to her delicate task, she yet again eavesdropped on Stephanie.

"Are you keeping your head down..? Okay, don't go outside… And-And Dad hasn't shown up..? Good."

Selina finished off her eyes, and got her gloves back off the bed, putting them on as she walked back into the living room. By the time she arrived, Stephanie had already finished her conversation with her mother, and was rinsing off her face at the kitchen sink. She stood there until Stephanie was done.

"Thank you," Stephanie said. Thank you so-"

Selina held up a hand to silence her. That "My Hero" shit wasn't going to fly in her house.

"Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge," Selina said. "The shower's open for you if you want to wash off the stink of dirty cop and human trafficker. I have some clothes in my closet and my drawer that might fit you. But you are, under no circumstances, allowed to go into the top drawer. I have stuff in there."

Stephanie's eyes went a little wide. "Is it loot from one of your heists?"

Selina just stared at her a little bit before she said "No. No it is not."

"Then what-"

"It's stuff," Selina said, cutting her off. "Stuff you're not allowed to look at."

Selina got her cowl and goggles off of the kitchen counter and put them back on.

"Now," Catwoman said "I'm going out again, but you need to know that this isn't a free ride. You have a job to do while I'm gone."

"Okay," Stephanie said. "What is it?"

Catwoman leaned on the counter, less than a foot away from Stephanie's still-drying face.

"I may be gone for a while," Catwoman said, her tone gaining the weight of dire portent. "If it's really bad out there, then there's a chance I may not be coming back at all. But no matter what happens, no matter if The Undying sets us all on fire. No matter if Killer Croc comes back and starts eating the building. No matter… what… happens…"

Catwoman pointed out in the living room. To the recliner. Where Isis was sleeping.

"...you will feed my cat."

From when he was a boy of four, Garfield Lynns knew he could see images and hear voices in The Flame.

That's where Heaven was.

He adored The Flame. He wished to hold Her. Caress Her. Learn Her divine secrets. Let Her hold him in return.

Garfield took jobs to be closer to The Flame when he grew up. He studied to be a pyrotechnician, and did practical effects for action movies. And when that ended, compelled by a desire to see The Flame reach higher and higher, trying to get back to Her home in the sky, he started setting fires. He built a suit that would make him fly, so he could look down to see The Flame. Feel the rising heat on his body as a kind of embrace.

The newspapers called him "Firefly."

The police called him a criminal, an arsonist, and a murderer.

Batman called him an enemy.

The Flame had kissed him on over ninety percent of his body. In fact, the only place visible on him while fully clothed that wasn't host to horrific third degree burns was a strip along his face that included his eyes.

Because he needed to see The Flame. To watch Her dance and writhe as Her attempted to escape Her earthly prison. Seeing Her was almost as beautiful as when She touched him.

He found that his flying suit had been destroyed during the riot yesterday. The one that freed all the patients of Arkham Asylum. He didn't know how pieces of it got to be strewn about the inventory room. Maybe in the mad dash for all the other patients to get their goodies and wreak havoc upon the city.

But that didn't matter. He knew that the time had come. The time for Culmination with The Flame.

And so he walked down this abandoned street in the East End. Wearing the stained and rain-soaked orange Arkham scrubs on his back, and nothing on his charred feet, he took delight at the people who saw his burnt visage, only to turn and run on the opposite direction.

It was like they knew how sacred the day was, and fled in fear of his coming glory.

For under Garfield's arms were two full red plastic containers of gasoline.

And between the seared thumb and forefinger of his right hand was a book of matches.

Catwoman stood and looked over the East End from a rooftop two blocks away from Harlow Street.

The rain was tapering off, which was good.

She breathed in the tangy, heavy air through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth as she heard helicopters and gunshots. She looked at the muted city under a gray shroud.

Catwoman tried not to think. Doing that would only lead to the absurdity of what she was doing. Here she was, back in her Catsuit, as almost a reflex action at the first sign of city-wide trouble. And for what?

It was almost as though she was trying to impress a guy she didn't even want anymore.

She was still angry at Batman for disappearing for three years. Leaving her like he did. Like all the time she'd spent trying to get him to chase her meant nothing to him.

No matter how silent he stayed, how infuriating he had had a habit of being, no matter how many times he stopped her, or tried to get her to abandon a life of crime, Batman was the best man she had ever known. He had a code, that code was to help people. To save the innocent. Punish the guilty, even when the guilty included herself among their number. And he would not budge an inch.

And she tried to corrupt him. Using her intelligence, her skill, her body to get him to break just the slightest bit bad. At first, it was to confirm something to herself. There were no heroes. Everyone who did good, everyone who came on strong trying to defend the defenseless and beat the bad guys were just as flawed and foul and lost as everyone they put the boots to. Just as flawed as she was.

But that changed. She didn't know when it changed, but it did, and Catwoman's stomach turned at the thought of it.

She needed to know she existed.

Selina Kyle needed to know that she had an effect on someone. That someone came into contact with her and changed forever. And even though she tried to bury it, she knew that if Batman gave just the tiniest bit, then she was alive in a way that she had seen other people be alive. That she had seen other people with a great confidence in themselves and who they were, and not just what they could do.

Yeah, she was pissed at him. Yeah, she wouldn't take Batman back after ditching her for years. But Hamilton Hill had put the hit out on him on live TV. And thinking of Batman dead, shot in some alley, stabbed by some thug, burned alive by Zatanna's green flame made her… feel…

Catwoman heard footsteps behind her on the rooftop.

She turned around.

Standing ten feet away was a truly beautiful woman with dark tan skin, her brown hair tied behind her in a tight ponytail. She was dressed head-to-toe in leather. She had a sword on her hip.

The beautiful woman stared at her intently.

"Selina."

Catwoman blinked.

"Talia."

In all of their mutual escapades in Gotham City, Catwoman had only met Talia al Ghul twice before. Both during the supervillain team-ups that had a habit of happening in Gotham. Neither time did they exchange words, and both times Talia had stared daggers into her. It wasn't until later that she found out why.

Batman and Talia were apparently a thing.

She had wondered why someone as apparently upstanding as Batman would go for the crazy, genocidal daughter of a crazy, genocidal assassin, but then she remembered what Talia looked like.

You'd get with her too, Selina, don't even be like that.

"Let me guess," Catwoman said, stretching her arm out to indicate the city around her. "You did all this."

"I did," Talia said.

Catwoman nodded. "Figures."

Talia took a step toward her. "I allowed my Beloved to have his little infatuation with you, because I knew nothing would come of it. That his wisdom would match his intelligence, and he would know a dead end when he saw one. I needed not worry. I have only to look at you to know that you have not possessed him the way I have. The distraction was momentary. But it is still a distraction. And that must be remedied."

Catwoman steeled her gaze. She had at least assumed that Batman and Talia had slept together, but hearing Talia just come out and say it caused… not pain, precisely, but more irritation. Like a stray bit of popcorn stuck between the back molars that no amount of tonguing could loosen.

But that irritation was more than he deserved.

"Hey," Catwoman said. "You're right. I haven't even kissed the guy. But I'm pretty sure I dodged a bullet. He's all yours. I don't want him anymore."

Talia smirked. It was dismissive, pompous… and vaguely familiar.

"How bad a liar must you be when you cannot successfully deceive yourself?" Talia asked. "Over ten years you dressed like a fool… put yourself in danger with thievery and grandstanding... and nothing came of it."

Catwoman stayed silent. Something was building inside her. It was acidic, piss-warm, and she knew it would taste sour if it ever reached her mouth.

"You are… capricious, Selina Kyle. Apathetic. Impermanent. You tread upon this earth with minimal impact, and shall shortly pass from it with none."

That something in Catwoman was getting stronger, now. It was almost to her throat.

"You are unaligned," Talia said. "Uncomplicated. You are just… free-floating id. Criminality with no consequence. And when my father, and my Beloved, and the son I shall one day bear him bring order to this diseased planet, most of the bodies in the mass graves will bear your face."

Now that something was in her mouth. And Catwoman knew where she'd seen Talia's smirk before.

It was the one on the kids who picked on the orphan. It was the one on the adults that laughed at the poor. It was the one on the men who were dumb enough or arrogant enough to think they found a place for her, and tried with their words and their fists to put her there. Everyone who told her that she wasn't good enough, wasn't the right kind of person, didn't have the status, didn't have the brains, had some version of that look.

It shamed Catwoman that she had ever believed that look, and even now, after becoming a millionaire on her own, that look still affected her. That was the thing about being Catwoman the first time around; back when she was living off of what she stole, she used to live to sneak into high society parties and charity events, wearing stunning gowns and expensive jewelry (that she also stole), because she knew she didn't belong there, and she got to fool everyone before she robbed them blind.

But now? Now that she was rich beyond her wildest dreams through (gasp and horror!) legitimate means? Now that she was at the very least cultured enough to name all seven course of a formal French meal off the top of her head? Now that Selina Kyle actually belonged in the places that Catwoman used to infiltrate? She felt like an imposter. A fraud. A stranger.

And she felt that way because of people who looked at her the same way Talia al Ghul was looking at her now.

Even if Batman weren't a factor in their lives, she would still hate Talia al Ghul's guts. Because she was everyone who stood in her way.

And it was well past time that Selina Kyle said so.

"Jesus Christ, Jessica, how does someone like you get so boring?"

Talia said nothing.

"You dressed in all black leather," Catwoman said, "to get into a chick-fight on a Gotham City rooftop! Over a guy! What the hell is wrong with you? Y'know, it's a good thing you have to take a dip in those Pits to make yourself live longer, Susan, because if you had to be reincarnated, you'd have come back as a cheerleader."

Talia's eyes narrowed. "How dare-"

"You'd have majored in Communications in college, Tiffany. You'd have pledged to Delta Gamma, and you'd have been the first one to haze the freshman girls."

Catwoman took another step toward Talia, the spirit upon her.

"You'd have married a guy named Todd, and he would have worn backwards sunglasses whenever he went golfing. You'd own a minivan with a bumper sticker that says 'If You're Going to Ride my Ass, at Least Pull my Hair,' and you are actually pedestrian enough to think it was funny! You'd have twin girls, both named Breanna, but each is somehow pronounced differently. And you'd have 'Live Laugh Love' tattooed on the small of your back in kanji!"

"No one-"

Catwoman went right on through. "By God, Jennifer, you'd even watch Vanderpump Rules. Not on DVR like a sane person, no, you'd watch that shit live! You'd post on your Facebook wall, asking if it was Mimosa O'Clock yet. And you'd know every single Goddamn Taylor Swift song by heart, wouldn't you Amber? You commoner! YOU FUCKING PEASANT!"

Talia's eyes were livid. Catwoman took a step forward.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Batman hates himself?" Catwoman asked. "That between Joker attacks, and Riddler sprees, and Robin dying, he'd deny himself some things because he thinks its all his fault. So yeah. Never slept with him. Don't know his secret identity. Never kissed him. Could probably count on one hand the times he ever made physical contact with me instead of the other way around. But common sense working the way it does, I'm thinking he never acted on it because of some stupid urge to protect me. Or he's cockblocking himself because he thinks he doesn't deserve me, pointy-eared dumbass that he is."

Catwoman took another step forward. "But he screwed your brains out, didn't he Becky?"

She could hear Talia's teeth grinding.

"Oh yeah," Catwoman said. "I bet he messed up that hair of yours. And I'm not here to judge you, Christine. I'm not here to shame you for breaking off a piece I'd have broken off myself a long-ass time ago. You go ahead and you grab that ass with both hands. But you didn't make this about who got into who's pants first. You made this about who he likes more. And he never let me get close. But he. Let. You."

Catwoman put her hands on her hips. "I'm fairly sure that doesn't speak too highly of you, now does it, Melissa?"

She could see veins throbbing in Talia's temple as she wordlessly unsheathed her sword.

Catwoman uncoiled her whip. "It's about damn time…"

Garfield, containers of gas beneath his arms, surveyed the buildings of the East End as he passed Harlow Street.

He was about to engage in an act of worship. And he needed a proper cathedral.

It must not be too gaudy. The Flame was fickle and judgemental, and would not be swayed by shows of faith that She would deem false.

Nor should it be too small. The Flame was glory itself. A giver and taker of life who had dwelt upon this miserable planet since before mankind had eyes with which to see Her majesty. Such glory should be reflected in this altar, of this, Garfield Lynns had no doubt.

Two blocks past Harlow Street, Garfield found the perfect place.

Apart from ability, Catwoman had range. Her whip was longer than Talia's sword.

Immediately, Catwoman had the business end of her whip around Talia's wrist. She gave a sharp tug, bringing Talia low to the ground, sending the sword out of her hand, it clanged off of the rooftop and into the street below.

Talia looked up, fury in her eyes, and quickly got out of the way of Catwoman's charging knee.

But apart from ability, Talia had brute strength. When it came to a simple game of tug-of war, Talia would win.

She coiled Catwoman's whip around her forearm and pulled back. Catwoman was stunned at how easily it left her hand.

From her position on one knee, Talia sharply brought her palm up into Catwoman's nose. It didn't break, but it was enough to stun her, knock her back, and loose a miniscule trickle of blood to her upper lip.

Catwoman shook her head to focus her vision, and saw Talia loosing the whip from around her forearm, and taking the handle.

And Catwoman's eyes lit up.

She told Bruce Wayne a week ago when they were at lunch that she used a bullwhip because most of the people she would ever fight had no idea how to use one without hurting themselves. Awful nice of Talia to do Catwoman's job for her.

She brought the whip above her head, bringing it down in a perfect arc, and a satisfying crack.

Talia knew how to use a bullwhip.

Catwoman said what she was thinking.

"Shit…"

With blinding speed, Talia cracked the whip, and Catwoman felt a slice of pain in her left forearm. Her Catsuit had been opened up, and a stream of blood was pouring out of the gash on her arm.

Talia revved up again, and Catwoman immediately backed up, successfully avoiding the follow-up lash.

Catwoman knew that the one downside to fighting with a whip was the delay, and she knew that she needed bolt for Talia when she drew her arm back.

Talia drew her arm back.

Catwoman bolted.

The one asset that Catwoman knew she had was her blinding speed, and by the time Talia was even thinking of bringing her arm back down, Catwoman was already on her.

She drove her shoulder into Talia's gut, her arm wrapping around her waist. They both fell back…

...and through the skylight directly behind them, to the floor below.

Both women landed on the wooden floor of the top story of this storage building with a thud, both of them kicking up dust and completely dirtying what they were wearing. The space was empty, save for bits of trash left behind by the occasional homeless person.

Amid the dust and the broken glass, Talia and Catwoman got into sitting positions, and took a brief pause in the fight to check themselves for cuts. A momentary, informal time-out.

Then their eyes met again.

Time-in!

Talia tried to bring a knee into Catwoman's stomach from where she was sitting, but Catwoman blocked it with her bleeding forearm (which hurt like a bastard). She drove her free fist into Talia's mouth.

Talia used the momentum from the blow to roll back to a better position as Catwoman got to her feet. Talia spat blood on the floor and charged, but Catwoman ducked out of the way of a fist. She tried to sweep Talia's legs out from under her, and Talia evaded it.

As she fell back from Catwoman's sweep attempt, Talia swung another fist. Even from the poor positioning, it landed on Catwoman's cheek. The flesh inside of her mouth slashed open on her teeth, and Catwoman could taste blood.

Garfield thought he heard glass breaking on the roof of this storage building that he selected for the altar of The Flame, but he ignored it. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered now except Culmination.

The front door to the building was unlocked. Garfield opened it into a dusty and silent hallway. His footsteps echoed as he roamed the halls in search of a door that would lead to the basement. After a scant couple of minutes, he finally found it.

His feet cooled on the concrete steps was he tottered into the basement, plastic containers of gasoline sloshing beneath his arms as he walked.

In the basement, he found the old, inactive boiler amidst barrels filled with who knows what that were covered with canvas cloth.

Garfield smiled.

He dropped the containers of gasoline, the heavy plastic kicking up dust as they made impact. He set the matchbook on one of the cloth covered barrels.

And then Garfield Lynns started taking off his clothes.

The thing that Catwoman noticed about Talia al Ghul was that she wasn't much of a brawler.

She noticed this when Talia broke a stray beer bottle over her head.

Talia just swung straight through at full speed, shattering it across Catwoman's cowl. Now, if she'd swung at half speed, conserving energy, you could use that bottle as a cudgel for a while. And it would hurt a hell of a lot more than just a full speed shatter.

The shatter did hurt, and one of the stray bits of glass did open Catwoman up above her left eyebrow like a minor shaving nick, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as it would have in the hands of someone well-versed in such affairs. If Talia were a brawler, she'd know that.

And to compound the theory, Talia just chucked the shattered bottle neck aside. A rookie mistake in both a barroom and a parking lot.

Catwoman was a brawler, in addition to many other things. And she needed to get Talia into a brawling situation. Because in a stand-up fight, there wasn't a whole lot she could leave to chance.

Talia came at Catwoman with a missile dropkick that she couldn't dodge. Both women landed on their backs, kicking up dust, but Talia was prepared for it. She got to her feet first and sprinted toward Catwoman, bringing her foot down.

Catwoman got away from the first stomp, and the second, by log-rolling away like an elementary schooler.

Hey, whatever worked.

She managed to get on all fours and make a grab for Talia's leg, which Talia dodged, and gave her enough room to kick Catwoman in the left cheekbone.

Catwoman, taking a play from Talia's book, used the momentum to roll back quicker and get to her feet. She extended her claws and swiped behind her.

The titanium-tipped claws found purchase in Talia's leather jacket. Catwoman heard ripping, but didn't see any blood spill to the floor.

She came at Talia with two mad swipes. Both missed. Talia grabbed Catwoman's left arm for leverage, and planted three blindingly fast kicks into Catwoman's ribcage. Her breath left her in a bass groan, and she dropped to her knees.

Talia brought her knee into the side of Catwoman's face, temporarily blinding her with pain. Out of the corner of her good eye, she could see the rips in Talia's leather jacket that her claws had made.

She took her best shot and thrust blindly with her good hand.

Talia's cry of pain was all Catwoman needed to know that she hit paydirt. By the time her vision returned to her eye, she saw her inch-long claws dug all the way into Talia's stomach, and the blood spewing between her fingers as Talia wrapped both of her hands around Catwoman's wrist, trying to get them out.

But Catwoman wouldn't give.

She got back to her feet and pressed forward, moving Talia a few paces back, leaving thick droplets of blood on the floor between them.

Talia looked at Catwoman with a newfound rage, let go of her wrist, and swung a left hook at Catwoman's face.

It connected. Catwoman's head snapped back, and with a nasty ripping sound and a cry of pain, Catwoman's claws were out of Talia's stomach.

A high kick came next, laying into Catwoman's jaw, and knocking her back. A kick with the other foot landed directly into Catwoman's stomach, and her knees buckled as the air was driven out of her lungs.

As she tried to breathe, Catwoman saw Talia stoop down to the floor.

She came back up with Catwoman's whip.

Quicker than she thought possible, Talia had the end of the whip around Catwoman's throat. She tossed the handle over the other side of a beam above them, and pulled down hard.

Catwoman couldn't breathe. In or out. She brought her hands up to her throat, and stopped. Her claws were still extended. She wasn't about to slash her own throat to cut the whip, but maybe she could delicately saw through it…

Talia yanked on the other end of the whip again, and ended that idea. Whatever air she could breathe in came through Catwoman's nostrils in tiny, insufficient snorts.

And it wasn't like Catwoman could make a swing at Talia with her claws. She couldn't give Talia a reason to pull back or up. That would snap her neck.

Catwoman was helpless, and she knew it.

Talia leaned into Catwoman's face. Her visage was gleaming with sweat, and dirty with dust. Her teeth were pink from the punch to the face. And her eyes were crazy.

"Has my Beloved's weakness infected you?" Talia asked Catwoman, who was slowly turning purple from oxygen deprivation. "Or has your weakness infected him? Neither of you will land a killing blow. Neither of you will do what it takes to win."

Talia wrenched the whip again. Catwoman could almost feel herself leaving her feet. Her pulse was pounding in her temples. Her vision was getting dark around the edges.

A pitiful jet of air left through Catwoman's clenched teeth as Talia leaned in closer.

"You are beneath my hatred. But you are not above my pity. And this… This is how sorry I feel for you."

Talia leaned in closer. They could have kissed, if one of them wasn't dying and one of them wasn't evil.

And Talia said, in a soft commanding voice:

"Bruce Wayne is Batman."

Catwoman stopped moving. Even the urge to save her own life short-circuited for a brief instant.

What?

"He was in front of you for three years, and you never knew," Talia said. "Ponder this, as I send your soul to the depths."

Catwoman's vision was focusing to a point, now, with all-consuming darkness around her. She had seconds, at most. She needed something- anything -to get out of this.

She concentrated. Catwoman summoned all of the physical strength in her body, and visualized it going into her leg. It was just a limb, but Catwoman tried to make it into a cannon. She felt the energy sapping from the rest of her form, and migrating at high speed into her right leg. And she tried to imagine the look on Talia's face if what she was planning worked.

With all of the energy and power her fading form could muster, Catwoman brought her right leg up…

...and kicked Talia al Ghul square in the crotch.

Of all the moves she could have pulled, this was the only one that would have resulted in Talia doubling over, instead of leaning back.

Well... Talia let go of the whip.

Catwoman dropped to her knees immediately as Talia slowly crumbled to hers. Catwoman gasped for air as the breath in Talia stammered through her teeth in short agonized grunts. She held her hand over the front of her leather pants and let her head dangle, as though she was powerless to do anything but look at the location where the atrocity that had just occurred.

When Selina Kyle was a little girl, when her mother was still alive, she had something she said whenever little Selina would disobey a rule or break something in the apartment.

With a warm smile, she would say "Mija, you're going to Hell for doing that."

And those words came to Catwoman now.

But in this situation, she had the perfect mental response.

Oh, cram it, Mother, I was going to Hell for lots of things. Kicking Talia al Ghul right in the oyster ditch just means I'm enjoying the elevator ride down.

Catwoman finally got her breath back. She looked over at the still agonized Talia.

"Won't do whatever it takes to win, huh?"

Talia looked up at her with a look of supreme anger that would have levelled an entire island. Catwoman just smiled.

Talia made her move.

Catwoman made hers faster.

With her right hand, she grabbed the lapel of Talia's leather jacket, blocking the weak punch Talia tried to throw. Catwoman drove her right elbow into Talia's face face. She could both hear and feel the sweet, satisfying crunch of Talia al Ghul's nose breaking.

It dropped Talia onto her back. Catwoman straddled her, and continued pummeling her with her elbow again, and again, and again. Talia's nails scratched at the back of Catwoman's suit, but they slowly stopped as she went limp and ragdolled.

Catwoman lost count of how many times she drove her elbow into Talia's face. She only stopped when her entire forearm went numb.

She got off of Talia and sat up. She hocked a glob of blood on the floor between her legs.

Talia stirred next to her. Her face didn't look like a face anymore, and her breathing sounded… weird.

"I will take him for my own," Talia finally said weakly. "Our armies will march upon the earth… and we won't even remember your name."

Catwoman nodded at this, and noticed that her claws were still extended.

She reached across and dragged her titanium-tipped claws deep and hard across the bloody and swollen mess that was Talia al Ghul's face. Talia cried out in pain and terror.

Catwoman sat back up again as Talia whimpered.

"Oh, I dunno Tammy, I'm pretty sure you'll remember that."

Garfield Lynns' scarred and burned body was completely nude, and drenched in both cans of gasoline. So much so that that the cement floor of the cramped boiler room was nothing but a puddle.

And Garfield held the dry matchbook in his hands.

A smile came to his burned lips.

"I'm ready now," he said to the matchbook. "I'm ready to know your secrets. I'm ready to feel your love. I was weak before, but now? Now I'm strong. And you made me strong. I love you… And I'm ready to be with you now."

Without a single moment of hesitation, Garfield "Firefly" Lynns opened the matchbook, took out a single match, and lit it.

Just the spark was enough to cause ignition.

The heat brought joy. The flame brought splendor. As he burned alive, Garfield smiled.

Because he saw it.

Garfield Lynns saw the Kingdom of Heaven within The Flame. Spires so massive and so majestic that they had neither beginning nor end. And before his eyes danced angels, unencumbered by neither gender nor form. They danced before him on pure light, and told him in sweet, high voices secrets of existence and the universe that evaded the most enlightened philosophers and confounded the smartest minds.

As Garfield burned alive, he knew he had found home…

...For two seconds.

Because this was an old storage building, and the old owners, through an error of paperwork that was not their fault, had not removed the barrels that had been moved to this very boiler room.

Barrels containing kerosene.

Two seconds into Firefly's holy reverie, the barrels of kerosene ignited with enough force to completely vaporize Garfield Lynns.

And bring down the entire building.

Catwoman remembered something as she was sitting, collecting her thoughts.

"Wait a minute…"

She turned and looked at the weakened, defeated, bloodied Talia.

"Bruce Wayne is Batman?"

BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

The entire building buckled beneath them, and caused all of the dust on this top floor to kick up instantly. For a moment, it was as though both Catwoman and Talia existed within a cloud.

Without thinking, Catwoman reached out and grabbed Talia's wrist.

"Get up," Catwoman said. "The building is coming down."

"My father will dest-"

"ON YOUR FEET, MARJORIE!"

Catwoman put Talia's arm over her shoulders and, leaving her whip behind, guided her to the stairs leading to the roof.

Once they were out into the open afternoon air, the building was still rumbling so hard that Catwoman's vision was shaking.

She dragged Talia to the edge of the roof.

Some of the buildings in the East End were ancient and were built so close together because they were erected in a time before widespread automobile usage.

Thankfully, Catwoman and Talia were standing on one such building. It made what needed to happen next much easier.

"Alright," Catwoman said. "See that window over there? We're going to jump through it on three, okay? One… Two…"

The building gave one final buckle before it began to implode in earnest.

"...SHIT!"

They jumped.

Catwoman hit her target, crashing through the fourth floor window of the building across the street.

Talia could not jump as far. She fell through the third floor window.

Catwoman's head hit the hardwood floor of the fourth floor so hard that she was knocked out cold.

Talia was the next best thing to unconscious anyway, and she was out like a light as soon as she made impact.

Both unconscious women rested on their respective floors as the storage building came down with a massive rumble, sending dust in through the shattered windows, coating them both.

Two very different mean found both women within forty-five minutes of the implosion.

Black Manta had planted a tracker on Talia during their conversation together in the 1898 tunnels. He knew somehow that she was going to get herself into trouble.

He found her on the third floor, and effortlessly picked her up with one arm, thanks to the strength given to him by his armor. He carried her bridal-style out of the building, having no idea that an equally unconscious Catwoman was on the floor above them.

But someone else did have an idea.

He had come to see the destroyed building, and began rooting around the site for chemical components. His quest took him inside the building and up to the fourth floor.

The man marvelled at what he saw. Catwoman. Selina Kyle. There. Unconscious.

A subject!

The man was wearing old slacks and the remains of a lab coat. A burlap sack was over his head with eye-holes and nose-holes cut out. And the sack was secured around his neck with a loosely-tied noose.

He ran a finger across Catwoman's unresponsive cheek, and smiled to himself.

"Well, well," Scarecrow said. "What have we here?"