Title: Kiss From a Rose (3/??)
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.
_______________________________
Chapter 3
"You know, the funniest thing happened tonight."
The Bat didn't bother turning around. "Killer Croc got drunk and passed out in the ice pool."
"No, although that was funny," she admitted. "The polar bears wouldn't touch him. His skin was probably too tough. I can see your cameras inside are still working. No, I was talking to Ivy."
"So it's her."
He could feel the look she was giving him. "Don't play the innocent with me. You knew perfectly well it was her. You're just stalling."
He was. He continued to watch the street below. "You were talking to Ivy."
"And I happened to bring up Talia. Not my idea, certainly. I don't bring that bimbo up for fun. But Ivy complained that everyone was asking her about Talia that night. And I thought, 'Gee. I wonder who she might be talking about.' Any guesses?"
"I saw them in the park," he muttered. "She used words that normally only the al-Ghuls use. I called her on it."
"Funny how the old creep continues to draw your attention," Catwoman replied. "For a guy who isn't even in Gotham every other year. Of course," she added, "maybe it's because of that girl you swear you're over."
"We're not over," Batman growled. "There was nothing to be over."
"So you're not the star-crossed lovers the underworld hears about?" she asked sarcastically. "Forever kept apart like Romeo and Juliet? The modern-day Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor, separated by good and evil?"
Batman stood up and whirled around to face her. "You always talk a good game about Talia, Selina," he said coldly. "Maybe it's because you've been afraid of her all this time."
Selina crossed her legs. "I could put her in traction."
"She'd like that. I could nurse her back to health at Wayne Manor."
She laughed throatily. "Right, like you'd be able to tell someone else that you're . . ." The laugh died. "She already knows," Selina realized.
"They all know," he told her. "Her, her father, his most trusted servants. They all know. They throw it in my face without even trying. Unlike you, however," he added, "they figured it out on their own."
"Gee," she said calmly. "That almost sounded like you said I was stupid."
He turned away. "That wasn't what I meant," he said, instantly regretting his last statement.
"Is that why we're all supposed to be so intimidated by a mummy and his devoted daughter?" she pressed. "Because he figured out the world's greatest secret? He knows who Batman is - and I'm guessing he's too high and mighty to use it against you - and somehow that makes him better than the rest of us morons."
"Selina," he whispered.
"Well?" she asked. "Should I be worried? Is that why you pull away? Is that why you bring her up even though she hasn't been in Gotham for months? Because you're in love with her?"
Batman glanced at her. "Has this been bothering you?"
She bared her teeth at him. "That's not an answer," she said. "And yes, maybe a little."
He slid down onto his rear end and rested against the roof's edge. "I'm not in love with her," he told her. "Once I thought I was, but I wasn't. I don't think she was ever in love with me either. I think she knows it now, too."
Standing, Selina approached him slowly. "You must have been with other woman before us. What's so special about her if you didn't love her?"
The Batman hesitated. Then he yanked his mask off. "She was beautiful. _Is_ beautiful," he corrected himself. "Mysterious. Exotic. Intelligent. Conflicted. And she told me she loved me. She called me 'Beloved'."
"Yes, I know," Catwoman said. "That nickname circulated eventually."
He held up a hand, and she interpreted this to mean he wanted to continue. "She knew who I was, and she didn't care," he said. "It made me more lovely in her eyes. And I fed off that. I admit it. There was a definite mutual attraction behind all the - all the lies and manipulations and delusions."
"All the elements of a Gotham romance," she murmured. "Sorry," she added when he looked at her.
"Of course," he said with a trace of harshness, "it's hard loving someone who betrays you to her psychotic father over and over again. Sure, he's your father, but when you're able to admit that his plans are madness, and that you don't agree with them, and _still_ you help him, that's not good enough for a reason. So, I stopped thinking we had a future together."
"But you still had a future as something," Selina pointed out. "Otherwise we wouldn't keep hearing about her."
"Well, our relationship entered a new phase," Batman said dryly. "The play-acting phase."
"Play-acting?"
"We both had our lines," he told her. "She was the tragic heroine, torn between filial duty and the one she'd given her heart to. I was the brooding hero, willing to bear the slings and arrows of love so that good might triumph over evil. Ra's was the stern, patrician father from Shakespeare who took his wayward daughter back no matter how often she disappointed him."
"You make it sound so - routine," she said.
He eyed her. "Wasn't it? We all got our kicks from it. She came running whenever her father's plans came too close to threatening the planet. She was my top spy in his organization, since he could never harm her."
"But why?" Catwoman asked. "Why is he willing to have her ruin his plans at the last minute time and again? Just because she's his daughter?"
"No, because she's the mother of his future grandchildren. Grandchildren with me," he added, smiling mirthlessly. "That's what he got out of it. He assumed the longer Talia and I were thrown together, the more inevitable our union would be. Somewhere deep inside, Ra's knows he's going to die. The Lazarus Pits are losing their effectiveness. He needs an heir. And he's made it perfectly clear that I would be the perfect father."
"And Talia," he added, "gets to go on believing that she's in love with me, and I with her, and that one day she'll stop allowing herself to be pulled back . . ."
"Excuse me," Selina interrupted. "She thinks you're in love with her? Why don't you tell her the truth?"
"It's not in our lines."
She looked perplexed. "It's not a play, Bruce. It's life and death, love and madness. You mean you've just been stringing her along?"
He looked away. "I wouldn't call it that."
"Christ," she said. "If I didn't halfway suspect she knows on some level, I'd almost feel sorry for her."
"Don't be," Batman told her, pulling the mask back on. "Someone changed the script."
She raised an eyebrow behind her mask.
"She doesn't even call me Beloved any more," he muttered.
"Man, thy name is ego," she replied.
He glared at her. "There's no more drama. She still tells me what her father is up to. She just does it by e-mails and faxes. I haven't spoken to her in months. It's like we're business partners or something."
"Or maybe she got some self-respect and decided she wasn't going to be the only piece in a game you and Ra's were playing," Selina replied.
Batman nodded reluctantly. "Maybe. I'm going to call her tomorrow. I asked her a year ago where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn had disappeared to. Their trail went cold in New York. She said she didn't know. She lied."
"She lies for her father."
"I know when she lies for her father. I can tell by the stage directions. This time she just lied to my face. You'd think if she _loved_ me so much, like she always says, she could at least be truthful about something that doesn't involve her."
Catwoman smiled. "I take it back," she said.
"What?"
"I don't almost feel sorry for her. I almost respect her."
"Does that mean you can stop worrying about her?"
"I wasn't worried about her. I was worried about you."
"I can take care of myself."
One corner of her lip twitched upward. "But it's better with two, isn't it?"
He blinked. "Much," he finally said.
"Meow."
____________________________
"So," Harley said brightly as she snuggled closer, "I thought I'd take the babies for a jog first. They've been cooped up too long. Then I'd take a shower - you're invited, of course . . ."
"Of course," Ivy replied, a sparkle in her eye belying the solemn face. She rubbed luxuriantly against the silken bedsheets. Which meant she also rubbed against the woman next to her, who colored slightly.
"Then I thought I'd do some shopping," she went on, her voice dropping slightly.
"Make sure they remove the tags this time."
Harley stuck her tongue out. Ivy chose to interpret this not as an insult, but as an invitation. As soon as her tongue disappeared from view, Ivy's lips followed in pursuit.
"Mmmph! Mmmph . . . mmmmm . . ."
Harley broke away and snarled. "If I had my mallet right now, I'd - "
Ivy sighed and answered it. "This had better be good."
"Ms. Ivy? Jim Apple here."
"Jim Esquire," she replied. "Any news?"
"My brother and I are nearly finished going through the books here."
She raised herself on one elbow and looked at the clock. "It's seven-thirty in the morning."
"Mr. Jones doesn't appear to be very fond of filing his Form 1120," Apple said dryly.
"He's a tax cheat?"
"The veracity of his record-keeping appears open to question," he confirmed. "As such, trying to follow the money is like trying to see something at the bottom of a barrel of oil."
"You mean we're not getting our money?" Harley complained, listening in over Ivy's shoulder.
"Ah, Miss Quinn. So wonderful to hear you up."
"Guess not," Ivy muttered. "When lawyers get evasive, it means it's bad."
"The only person being evasive is Mr. Jones," he replied mildly. "And when we pointed out that he was not our client, and therefore we felt ethically obligated to point out his evasiveness to the IRS, he became much more helpful."
Ivy chuckled. "How much?"
"He named a figure of thirty thousand. We're working it up. It wouldn't do for the result to be a nice, round number. It might appear to be a bribe."
"I'll trust your judgment," she said.
"Yeah, we don't know much about the law," Harley piped up. "We never even made it to court. They just drove us to Arkham, end of story!"
"Does Tim have anything to add?"
"Only to remind you that you'll probably have to speak to an accountant when you prepare your next tax return, because we don't know if this money belongs on a Form 1040 Schedule C as nonemployee compensation, or a Form 1065 as . . ."
Ivy's eyes glazed over as he began talking about the tax code. "I'll make a note of it," she said quickly.
"Indeed."
"Call us when you're finished. I'd like a lunch meeting around one."
"Of course."
Ivy hung up the phone and looked for Harley. She'd gotten out of bed a minute before. "Harl?" she called out, sounding a little disappointed.
Harley emerged from the bathroom, tying her hair into a ponytail. She was wearing bright green tight shorts that showed off her rear. The distinctive red and black costume was still her "nighttime attire", but she often wore green as a symbol of her bond with Ivy. She was also topless. Her green top must have been left behind in the bathroom. "Red?"
"The hyenas are getting more attention than I am," Ivy pouted.
"The shower offer is still open," she said naughtily.
Ivy sat up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm willing to put up with bed hair until you get back, but only for so long."
She disappeared briefly and returned with her top, pulling it on. Her breasts shimmied, making Ivy growl involuntarily. "I'm sure you can put up with a little morning crabgrass," she cooed, coming over. Harley's hand brushed at her hair, but hesitated at one spot. "Sorry," she added softly.
Ivy tried not to feel self-conscious of the vicious scar on her scalp. "Stop saying that," she said. "You told me yourself months ago. We can't go on blaming ourselves for the things that happen to each other."
"I can't help it," Harley replied unhappily. "What if he gets out before we leave?"
Ivy could feel Harley's fingers tremble in her hair. "Go for your jog, honey," she told her firmly. "If he tries anything, we'll deal with it. Like always." She took Harley's hand and kissed her knuckles.
Harley smiled cautiously. "Okay, Red."
She watched Harley leave. Considering how she looked from the back, it was impossible not to. Although the shoulder straps didn't quite cover the scars from the bite marks . . .
Mentally she chastised herself. She tells Harley not to apologize for her injuries, and here she was blaming herself for Harley's. She ought to take her meds.
____________________________
"Should we follow her?"
"Nah," Bullock said, watching Harley's retreating backside, noisy hyenas in tow, with a degree of appreciation. "She's probably comin' back here. Unless you want to go jogging after her?"
Renee snorted. "Not in these slacks."
"Wonder why she's wearing green. Thought that was Ivy's exclusive color."
His partner muttered under her breath and did not reply.
"You gotta get over this."
"Why isn't he letting us arrest them?" Detective Montoya complained. "They're _right here_. It'd be easy."
"Is our job easier without having these two around?"
"Well, yeah."
"And if we throw 'em back in Arkham, what are the chances they'll get a few bad habits back and make life difficult again?"
"But . . ."
"But what?" he muttered. "The commissioner made up his mind. Follow them, but don't arrest them unless they break the law. What's got your panties in a knot?"
She looked annoyed. "You know how many times I tracked these two?"
"A bunch of times. So?"
"So? So how am I supposed to sit back and smile while these two lunatics, who have committed enough crimes to go to prison for three lifetimes, run around free? It's like I wasted all that time."
He shrugged. "This your time of the month?"
"Quit it, goddamnit!"
Bullock looked at her, surprised.
She exhaled. "Sorry. I just - I realize you're not exactly Mr. Politically Correct, but could you stow the anti-female remarks for one day?"
"What? You know I don't mean it, not really."
"Yeah, but a lot of cops said I wasn't fit to track down the other maniacs in this town." Renee's eyes were infuriated and hurt. "Women cops always have it tough, but people said I was only good enough to arrest a couple girls. They said I wasn't tough enough to handle a Croc or a Bane or a Clayface. And it pissed me off! And you making those remarks isn't helping!"
He waited for a moment. "So are you mad at these two - who, I might point out, you busted all by yourself a few times, without any Bat-help - because they're out, or because they remind you of other cops who don't work with you, and consequently ain't got a clue about what a great cop you are?"
Montoya blushed a little. "The second one, I guess."
"Then let's just make sure these two hit the city limits soon." He peered into his mug. "And get us some coffee."
A minute later, Detective Bullock was unceremoniously shoved out of his car door. He harrumphed and straightened his coat. "Okay, so I'll get the coffee," he muttered.
To be continued . . .
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.
_______________________________
Chapter 3
"You know, the funniest thing happened tonight."
The Bat didn't bother turning around. "Killer Croc got drunk and passed out in the ice pool."
"No, although that was funny," she admitted. "The polar bears wouldn't touch him. His skin was probably too tough. I can see your cameras inside are still working. No, I was talking to Ivy."
"So it's her."
He could feel the look she was giving him. "Don't play the innocent with me. You knew perfectly well it was her. You're just stalling."
He was. He continued to watch the street below. "You were talking to Ivy."
"And I happened to bring up Talia. Not my idea, certainly. I don't bring that bimbo up for fun. But Ivy complained that everyone was asking her about Talia that night. And I thought, 'Gee. I wonder who she might be talking about.' Any guesses?"
"I saw them in the park," he muttered. "She used words that normally only the al-Ghuls use. I called her on it."
"Funny how the old creep continues to draw your attention," Catwoman replied. "For a guy who isn't even in Gotham every other year. Of course," she added, "maybe it's because of that girl you swear you're over."
"We're not over," Batman growled. "There was nothing to be over."
"So you're not the star-crossed lovers the underworld hears about?" she asked sarcastically. "Forever kept apart like Romeo and Juliet? The modern-day Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor, separated by good and evil?"
Batman stood up and whirled around to face her. "You always talk a good game about Talia, Selina," he said coldly. "Maybe it's because you've been afraid of her all this time."
Selina crossed her legs. "I could put her in traction."
"She'd like that. I could nurse her back to health at Wayne Manor."
She laughed throatily. "Right, like you'd be able to tell someone else that you're . . ." The laugh died. "She already knows," Selina realized.
"They all know," he told her. "Her, her father, his most trusted servants. They all know. They throw it in my face without even trying. Unlike you, however," he added, "they figured it out on their own."
"Gee," she said calmly. "That almost sounded like you said I was stupid."
He turned away. "That wasn't what I meant," he said, instantly regretting his last statement.
"Is that why we're all supposed to be so intimidated by a mummy and his devoted daughter?" she pressed. "Because he figured out the world's greatest secret? He knows who Batman is - and I'm guessing he's too high and mighty to use it against you - and somehow that makes him better than the rest of us morons."
"Selina," he whispered.
"Well?" she asked. "Should I be worried? Is that why you pull away? Is that why you bring her up even though she hasn't been in Gotham for months? Because you're in love with her?"
Batman glanced at her. "Has this been bothering you?"
She bared her teeth at him. "That's not an answer," she said. "And yes, maybe a little."
He slid down onto his rear end and rested against the roof's edge. "I'm not in love with her," he told her. "Once I thought I was, but I wasn't. I don't think she was ever in love with me either. I think she knows it now, too."
Standing, Selina approached him slowly. "You must have been with other woman before us. What's so special about her if you didn't love her?"
The Batman hesitated. Then he yanked his mask off. "She was beautiful. _Is_ beautiful," he corrected himself. "Mysterious. Exotic. Intelligent. Conflicted. And she told me she loved me. She called me 'Beloved'."
"Yes, I know," Catwoman said. "That nickname circulated eventually."
He held up a hand, and she interpreted this to mean he wanted to continue. "She knew who I was, and she didn't care," he said. "It made me more lovely in her eyes. And I fed off that. I admit it. There was a definite mutual attraction behind all the - all the lies and manipulations and delusions."
"All the elements of a Gotham romance," she murmured. "Sorry," she added when he looked at her.
"Of course," he said with a trace of harshness, "it's hard loving someone who betrays you to her psychotic father over and over again. Sure, he's your father, but when you're able to admit that his plans are madness, and that you don't agree with them, and _still_ you help him, that's not good enough for a reason. So, I stopped thinking we had a future together."
"But you still had a future as something," Selina pointed out. "Otherwise we wouldn't keep hearing about her."
"Well, our relationship entered a new phase," Batman said dryly. "The play-acting phase."
"Play-acting?"
"We both had our lines," he told her. "She was the tragic heroine, torn between filial duty and the one she'd given her heart to. I was the brooding hero, willing to bear the slings and arrows of love so that good might triumph over evil. Ra's was the stern, patrician father from Shakespeare who took his wayward daughter back no matter how often she disappointed him."
"You make it sound so - routine," she said.
He eyed her. "Wasn't it? We all got our kicks from it. She came running whenever her father's plans came too close to threatening the planet. She was my top spy in his organization, since he could never harm her."
"But why?" Catwoman asked. "Why is he willing to have her ruin his plans at the last minute time and again? Just because she's his daughter?"
"No, because she's the mother of his future grandchildren. Grandchildren with me," he added, smiling mirthlessly. "That's what he got out of it. He assumed the longer Talia and I were thrown together, the more inevitable our union would be. Somewhere deep inside, Ra's knows he's going to die. The Lazarus Pits are losing their effectiveness. He needs an heir. And he's made it perfectly clear that I would be the perfect father."
"And Talia," he added, "gets to go on believing that she's in love with me, and I with her, and that one day she'll stop allowing herself to be pulled back . . ."
"Excuse me," Selina interrupted. "She thinks you're in love with her? Why don't you tell her the truth?"
"It's not in our lines."
She looked perplexed. "It's not a play, Bruce. It's life and death, love and madness. You mean you've just been stringing her along?"
He looked away. "I wouldn't call it that."
"Christ," she said. "If I didn't halfway suspect she knows on some level, I'd almost feel sorry for her."
"Don't be," Batman told her, pulling the mask back on. "Someone changed the script."
She raised an eyebrow behind her mask.
"She doesn't even call me Beloved any more," he muttered.
"Man, thy name is ego," she replied.
He glared at her. "There's no more drama. She still tells me what her father is up to. She just does it by e-mails and faxes. I haven't spoken to her in months. It's like we're business partners or something."
"Or maybe she got some self-respect and decided she wasn't going to be the only piece in a game you and Ra's were playing," Selina replied.
Batman nodded reluctantly. "Maybe. I'm going to call her tomorrow. I asked her a year ago where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn had disappeared to. Their trail went cold in New York. She said she didn't know. She lied."
"She lies for her father."
"I know when she lies for her father. I can tell by the stage directions. This time she just lied to my face. You'd think if she _loved_ me so much, like she always says, she could at least be truthful about something that doesn't involve her."
Catwoman smiled. "I take it back," she said.
"What?"
"I don't almost feel sorry for her. I almost respect her."
"Does that mean you can stop worrying about her?"
"I wasn't worried about her. I was worried about you."
"I can take care of myself."
One corner of her lip twitched upward. "But it's better with two, isn't it?"
He blinked. "Much," he finally said.
"Meow."
____________________________
"So," Harley said brightly as she snuggled closer, "I thought I'd take the babies for a jog first. They've been cooped up too long. Then I'd take a shower - you're invited, of course . . ."
"Of course," Ivy replied, a sparkle in her eye belying the solemn face. She rubbed luxuriantly against the silken bedsheets. Which meant she also rubbed against the woman next to her, who colored slightly.
"Then I thought I'd do some shopping," she went on, her voice dropping slightly.
"Make sure they remove the tags this time."
Harley stuck her tongue out. Ivy chose to interpret this not as an insult, but as an invitation. As soon as her tongue disappeared from view, Ivy's lips followed in pursuit.
"Mmmph! Mmmph . . . mmmmm . . ."
Harley broke away and snarled. "If I had my mallet right now, I'd - "
Ivy sighed and answered it. "This had better be good."
"Ms. Ivy? Jim Apple here."
"Jim Esquire," she replied. "Any news?"
"My brother and I are nearly finished going through the books here."
She raised herself on one elbow and looked at the clock. "It's seven-thirty in the morning."
"Mr. Jones doesn't appear to be very fond of filing his Form 1120," Apple said dryly.
"He's a tax cheat?"
"The veracity of his record-keeping appears open to question," he confirmed. "As such, trying to follow the money is like trying to see something at the bottom of a barrel of oil."
"You mean we're not getting our money?" Harley complained, listening in over Ivy's shoulder.
"Ah, Miss Quinn. So wonderful to hear you up."
"Guess not," Ivy muttered. "When lawyers get evasive, it means it's bad."
"The only person being evasive is Mr. Jones," he replied mildly. "And when we pointed out that he was not our client, and therefore we felt ethically obligated to point out his evasiveness to the IRS, he became much more helpful."
Ivy chuckled. "How much?"
"He named a figure of thirty thousand. We're working it up. It wouldn't do for the result to be a nice, round number. It might appear to be a bribe."
"I'll trust your judgment," she said.
"Yeah, we don't know much about the law," Harley piped up. "We never even made it to court. They just drove us to Arkham, end of story!"
"Does Tim have anything to add?"
"Only to remind you that you'll probably have to speak to an accountant when you prepare your next tax return, because we don't know if this money belongs on a Form 1040 Schedule C as nonemployee compensation, or a Form 1065 as . . ."
Ivy's eyes glazed over as he began talking about the tax code. "I'll make a note of it," she said quickly.
"Indeed."
"Call us when you're finished. I'd like a lunch meeting around one."
"Of course."
Ivy hung up the phone and looked for Harley. She'd gotten out of bed a minute before. "Harl?" she called out, sounding a little disappointed.
Harley emerged from the bathroom, tying her hair into a ponytail. She was wearing bright green tight shorts that showed off her rear. The distinctive red and black costume was still her "nighttime attire", but she often wore green as a symbol of her bond with Ivy. She was also topless. Her green top must have been left behind in the bathroom. "Red?"
"The hyenas are getting more attention than I am," Ivy pouted.
"The shower offer is still open," she said naughtily.
Ivy sat up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm willing to put up with bed hair until you get back, but only for so long."
She disappeared briefly and returned with her top, pulling it on. Her breasts shimmied, making Ivy growl involuntarily. "I'm sure you can put up with a little morning crabgrass," she cooed, coming over. Harley's hand brushed at her hair, but hesitated at one spot. "Sorry," she added softly.
Ivy tried not to feel self-conscious of the vicious scar on her scalp. "Stop saying that," she said. "You told me yourself months ago. We can't go on blaming ourselves for the things that happen to each other."
"I can't help it," Harley replied unhappily. "What if he gets out before we leave?"
Ivy could feel Harley's fingers tremble in her hair. "Go for your jog, honey," she told her firmly. "If he tries anything, we'll deal with it. Like always." She took Harley's hand and kissed her knuckles.
Harley smiled cautiously. "Okay, Red."
She watched Harley leave. Considering how she looked from the back, it was impossible not to. Although the shoulder straps didn't quite cover the scars from the bite marks . . .
Mentally she chastised herself. She tells Harley not to apologize for her injuries, and here she was blaming herself for Harley's. She ought to take her meds.
____________________________
"Should we follow her?"
"Nah," Bullock said, watching Harley's retreating backside, noisy hyenas in tow, with a degree of appreciation. "She's probably comin' back here. Unless you want to go jogging after her?"
Renee snorted. "Not in these slacks."
"Wonder why she's wearing green. Thought that was Ivy's exclusive color."
His partner muttered under her breath and did not reply.
"You gotta get over this."
"Why isn't he letting us arrest them?" Detective Montoya complained. "They're _right here_. It'd be easy."
"Is our job easier without having these two around?"
"Well, yeah."
"And if we throw 'em back in Arkham, what are the chances they'll get a few bad habits back and make life difficult again?"
"But . . ."
"But what?" he muttered. "The commissioner made up his mind. Follow them, but don't arrest them unless they break the law. What's got your panties in a knot?"
She looked annoyed. "You know how many times I tracked these two?"
"A bunch of times. So?"
"So? So how am I supposed to sit back and smile while these two lunatics, who have committed enough crimes to go to prison for three lifetimes, run around free? It's like I wasted all that time."
He shrugged. "This your time of the month?"
"Quit it, goddamnit!"
Bullock looked at her, surprised.
She exhaled. "Sorry. I just - I realize you're not exactly Mr. Politically Correct, but could you stow the anti-female remarks for one day?"
"What? You know I don't mean it, not really."
"Yeah, but a lot of cops said I wasn't fit to track down the other maniacs in this town." Renee's eyes were infuriated and hurt. "Women cops always have it tough, but people said I was only good enough to arrest a couple girls. They said I wasn't tough enough to handle a Croc or a Bane or a Clayface. And it pissed me off! And you making those remarks isn't helping!"
He waited for a moment. "So are you mad at these two - who, I might point out, you busted all by yourself a few times, without any Bat-help - because they're out, or because they remind you of other cops who don't work with you, and consequently ain't got a clue about what a great cop you are?"
Montoya blushed a little. "The second one, I guess."
"Then let's just make sure these two hit the city limits soon." He peered into his mug. "And get us some coffee."
A minute later, Detective Bullock was unceremoniously shoved out of his car door. He harrumphed and straightened his coat. "Okay, so I'll get the coffee," he muttered.
To be continued . . .
