Title: Coffee Break: Drinking Buddies
Characters: Selina Kyle, Slam Bradley
Summary: Late night at a diner.
Warning: Contains sad ideas.
Spoilers: Catwoman #41, #42

She pulls up on some bike I can't identify, looks hi-tech but not some brand. Hell, I can't help it but down the rest of my bourbon. It's gotta be one of his. It's no damn help that she's grinning like a fool when she drops across from me at the table. Stuff like this makes me feel more ancient than waking up with stiff joints and swollen knuckles.

"Hey, Slam."

I grunt, which probably isn't too smart around her, 'cause I figure she's got a degree in Grunt. She's still in costume, just the mask off, but no one bats an eye. They figure she's just some biker chick hittin' on an old guy.

"What?" Her eyes narrow, and now I notice the bags under them.

She wasn't sleeping much while hunting down the Romanian but I guess it bothered her more than she let on, because she orders some mixed drink. Funny gal, can't stand the taste of straight liquor. "Just sayin' you'll show up with little bat symbols on you someday."

Her face closes off like she pulled on the mask. Won't get nothin' out of her now, even if I cuss out her mother and call her twenty different names. Damnit. I've been putting away too much already to spout off like that. "Shit, sorry. Guess I'm just feelin' sorry for myself."

She folds her hands together, polite as all get out, still keeping that blank face but her eyes slide away for a jiffy. "Yeah, okay."

Well, it's not gonna make a difference now, is it? I've already stepped in it. "Just figured you knew better than to take things from him. First it's a bit of leeway, then a quarter of the city, some money for your sister, some gadgets to keep safe and now-"

"Shove it." Her face has gone ugly, real subtle like, small creases around her eyes, her lip raised in a ghost of a snarl.

I look down at her hands. They're still folded flat but she's popped the claws. Those damn things will cut through near anything. I've seen her rip shit out of people with her hands, parts that belonged where they were. It's easy to forget, with her manners that she grew up in the alleys, learning to ask questions later. I have a hard time swallowing the next bit of bourbon. "Just sayin' it's not much different than jewels and a fur coat."

The muscles in her arm jerk but she don't hit me. She don't because she's better than her daddy and smarter than most people I meet. She knows I'm right and snatches her drink from the startled waitress instead. Doesn't spill a drop. "It's not... like that. He can't... The crazies would try to kill me. You know that."

"Sure. Whatever you say." I do, too. I may not know who he is exactly, but a fella like Batman's got money, which means he's a somebody. When a somebody dates, the paparazzi go nuts and then nobody's got any secrets. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

Her mask eases away and her hands curl around the glass. "My life story. I take what I can get. Nothing I can do about it."

"Aw hell, girl, that ain't true. You shut down half the dealers and pimps in the neighborhood."

"So? I shut them down I wipe out the only chance a lot of women have around here. Some asshole's in jail and the problem, the real problem, is still here."

She hunching down around her drink and I'm thinking about her daddy again. Shit. I asked her once about her daddy and she laughed and asked, "Which one? The one that knocked me around or the one that didn't want me?" I thought for sure that was a joke, but then I got to thinking about what I thought when I first saw her picture.

I'd pegged her for sure as being mob, from one of the old families. She got that face, dark eyes and permanent tan like she stepped straight off the boat from Sicily. Didn't make no sense when I found photos of her parents. Sure her ma was hispanic but it just didn't look right. To someone ignorant, someone who don't look past basic coloring, it might pass but I've gotten 'round in my day. That's when I realized it wasn't no joke, not to her.

The scariest woman in Gotham is a needy, whiny drunk, which makes her that much more terrifying. You just don't expect it, you know? Besides, the last thing the End needs is a drunk Catwoman jumping off a skyscraper or breaking into the MOMA.

I reach out and push her glass to the side, just a bit, using my fingertips. Ain't gonna try and take it from her, 'cause that would be suicide; just getting her attention.

Her eyes snap up, sharp and green. "I wasn't going to-"

I smile a bit on one side. "That's what they all say."

She got her daddy issues but ain't no way in hell I'm gonna broach that subject with her. Not after I went along with 'em for my own advantage. Bad on my part, but there's nothin' like a woman coiled up like a panther, climbing all over you. Only a fool turns that down without a second thought. Course, I been called ten shades of different fool over my life.

She sighs, soft, too tired to stay mad. "Tell you what, I'll finish my drink and order something to eat."

"You'll be stayin' 'til it's safe to get back on that bike, doll." That rocket's probably got enough horsepower to turn her into kibble an' girl lacks the sense to wear a helmet. Stupid that, because that bike make me think about him again.

There ain't no fool like the one that dresses in a cape. Only thing I can figure is he was too young to realize playin' hard to get would turn her on faster than the diamond district. It started years ago and nothin' I can do about it. It's also why I gotta be careful now. She's tired and not too sober an might take me holdin' back for an invitation, just because I ain't lookin' at her like a piece of meat.

"You have got to be the only person who cares if I splatter, Slam."

I just look over at that bike for a moment until she notices and say, "Holly looks up to you."

She stares at me for a second, then takes the menu from the waitress.

People say a beautiful woman got power but they don't know jack shit. Men want to have 'em like they want shiny cars and fancy food too retarded to eat. She don't want me, not really. Just wants a safe place she can go to every night with food to eat, an' someone to pet her until she falls asleep. It's another thing that goes on the list of things I can't say for fear of my good health, 'cause life told her she ain't supposed to want that.

So she takes the gadgets an' territory instead. I guess that's gotta be good enough.