Disclaimer: I need to stop using song lyrics for these pseudo-comedic disclaimers. I started out by typing the first two lines of "Bohemian Rhapsody" and then played out the entire song in my head, completely forgetting what I was doing. If you see the phrase "Any way the wind blows" in this chapter, you now know where it came from. All characters you see here are owned by DC Comics. Any song lyrics I forget to edit out are owned by Queen.

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Partners

Chapter 5

That evening, as they pored through every section of the blueprints of the Roca Linda Jewelry Boutique that were spread out over the kitchen table, committing every nook and cranny of the building to memory, Selina asked "So tell me about her." Well ok, technically it wasn't phrased as a question, but it was still sort of asking, she reasoned. Though he didn't look up from the vault's schematic, Dick's face reddened.

He asked, "Are you going to tell me about him?" in response. He didn't really want to know, but he figured she wasn't about to say anything, and that would mean that he-

"He's Bruce Wayne," Selina answered without hesitation. Dick stared. "What?" she asked.

"Isn't that a little..." Dick searched for the right word, discarding several that would have gotten him clawed, "...public?" he finished. "I mean, his 'dates' tend to make the tabloids. And if Catwoman is planning to rob the pl-"

Selina's eyes hardened and her hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder, her fingernails pressing into his skin. They weren't razor-sharp metal, but they got the point across, especially dug into a nerve cluster as they were. "If Catwoman were planning to 'rob the place', we would have been studying blueprints of the house and maps of the grounds. Do I need to discuss this further?"

He winced. "No," he answered immediately, the pressure lightening when he did. "I just assumed..." the pressure returned. "OW!" They both knew what he had assumed. "I'm sorry, it was stupid. Look, there was a thought process behind the assumption other than that!"

She let go of his shoulder and sighed, "That he's an airhead playboy. Yeah, I've read those too. Gossip columns never get the whole story, and in this case I don't think they've got any of it."

"I'll believe that when I see proof," Dick muttered, rubbing his shoulder and staring back down at the blueprints.

An amused expression crossed Selina's face. She stood up and left the room briefly, and she came back a moment later with a series of printouts. Dick gave her a querying expression. "I wanted proof, too," she explained. He flipped through the stock reports which showed that the growth of Wayne Enterprises increased significantly two quarters after Wayne assumed the position of CEO, and had continued since. The last showed a picture of a sculpture, two lovers, carved in white marble. "Recognize it?" Selina asked.

"Rodin's Eternal Idol," Dick answered. Even dilettantes would recognize this piece, and Dick was rapidly passing out of that category into the realm of serious study. Selina nodded and explained Bruce's theory to him. He blinked in surprise. "I'd never thought of that. The hands..." he stared at the picture for a moment, pondering the woman's face. "He expression is generally considered to represent the divinity which the man sees in her, but now that you mention it..." Dick studied it for a moment, "I'm looking at it with modern eyes, but she does look kind of bored, doesn't she?" He frowned, "you heard this from Wayne?"

"I did. He wasn't parroting, either. The man knows art. Which wouldn't make him the first rich hedonist who did..." she trailed off.

"...But how many rich hedonists would look at a piece depicting supposed passion and see a disconnect with reality and a relationship in trouble underneath?" Dick finished, nodding. "I see what you mean."

Selina nodded as well. "The man is a puzzle. By all accounts, he barely shows up for board meetings, yet since he's been there, WE has undergone the most rapid growth in its history."

"Not proof," Dick said, getting into the mystery of it himself, "but then you add in the airhead image and contrast it to the art historian-slash-successful CEO reality. It's still not proof, but it's an odd coincidence. Get one more example, and there's a pattern."

"There's a pattern," Selina assured, thinking of his early-morning disappearance. Dick's brow arched questioningly, but Selina shook her head. "Your turn now," she said, grinning. "I know, turnabout's a bitch."

"Alright," Dick sighed, "her name's Barbara." Dick laughed, suddenly, "This is going to sound really bad, but I met her in an alley."

Selina laughed. "You do seem to have the most interesting meetings with strange women in alleys. Maybe you should try 'Alley Cat' as your name?" She felt something brushing up against her leg. Reaching down, she lifted the black cat up to her lap, stroking his fur.

He chuckled, "Maybe not. Although it wasn't that different a situation..."

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A year and a half earlier...

Ever since Mondo had been sent to Blackgate, Dick had become increasingly fed up with life as an Eastsider. 'Even the name sucks,' he thought. Mondo had actually listened to Dick's ideas for how to bring in more cash. J.B. seemed to think that back-alley muggings were a better way, and Dick hadn't failed to notice that he seemed certain that every young woman who passed by was carrying a fortune in her purse.

And what were they doing tonight? Waiting in an alley for the black-haired woman they'd seen crossing the street. Dick was sick of it. He was done. Mike's couch wasn't that comfortable, anyway. Worst came to worst, he could turn himself back into the foster system, although that option wasn't much better than prison.

And then she walked by. Her black hair cascaded down her back in dark waves. When J.B. and Mike stepped out of the alley, interposing themselves in her way, green eyes flashing with amusement at the half-dozen youths arrayed before her. Staring at the purple sweater and blue jeans which tightly hugged the curves of her body, with the certain'ty of adolescence, Dick mentally pronounced her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

J.B. was practically slobbering when he said, "You ain't in a good part of town, girl."

She still smiled, but her eyes turned steely. In a flat, dangerous tone, she said, "Thanks for telling me. Boy."

Dick frowned. Neither of them appeared to be afraid of the other, but Dick was getting the sense that J.B. was the one who should be. "Man, I don't think we-"

"Shut up, kid," J.B. said.

"What're we doin' with this shit, anyway?" Dick asked, "You gonna mug yourself rich? Trust me main, this ain't a good idea." He glanced at the woman, who was looking in her direction, a curious expression on her face.

"Mondo may have let you do his thinkin' for him, but I don't need you for that."

"You need my thinkin' t'keep your shoes tied," Dick grumbled, not quite as softly as he'd intended. "Shit..." he murmured when he saw J.B. turn to face him, livid.

"Grab his punk-ass!" he shouted, and the two next to him reached for his arms. 'Looks like it's early retirement,' Dick thought as he punched when of his apparently now-former comrades in the midsection. Donnie grabbed his right arm and tried to hold the smaller youth in place. Dick flung his legs and waist up in the air, and his arm was gripped tighter in response. Dick used the hold to transfer the momentum of his falling weight to the other man, hurling him over his shoulder, the back of Donnie's head cracking against a garbage can.

A gunshot rang out, echoing through the night. Everyone turned to see J.B. holding a gun pointing straight up. It was pointing that way because the woman had pinned his arm against the side of his head. They all watched as she slammed her fist into his face. He fell back, blood pouring out of his nose. The gun feel from his hands and clattered to the concrete. "The ho!" he shouted, his voice somewhat muffled by the hands clutching his broken nose, "Get the ho!"

"Now you're making me upset," she said, all trace of amusement having vanished, and the three Eastsiders still left standing (Dick no longer counting himself among their number) charged her en masse. Before Dick could decide whether to help her, the question was rendered moot, and it was just Dick, Selina, and four unconscious Eastsiders. J.B. had run off in the melee.

He watched her warily, and his observations prompted a return of the amused smile. "Thanks," he offered. He hadn't seen who the gun had been pointed at before she knocked it aside, but even if she hadn't just saved his life, he'd watched her take out three men without much effort. Courtesy seemed in order.

"You're certainly the most polite mugger I've ever met," she said slyly.

"No one believes in customer service anymore," he quipped, "and in any case, I think a career change is clearly in order."

"Probably a good idea..." she said, glancing off to the side. From behind a garbage can, a black cat stepped out into the alley. It peered out at them, and proceeded to brush by Dick's leg. Dick glanced down, seeming surprised.

"Hey there little fella..." he said, reaching down and giving the cat a light scratching in between the ears.

Selina stared at this. She wouldn't call herself superstitious (she certainly didn't believe black cats were bad luck), but she didn't presume she knew everything about how the universe was built. Just the obvious fact that she was at its center. (Every cat knew that!) The cat's appearance made her take another look at the kid in the alley. "Pick up the cat," she said.

Dick stopped in mid-scratch at the strange command, "What?"

"The cat," she said, "pick him up. If he lets you." Realizing that this must look more than a little strange, she said, "Please," returning his prior courtesy. Shrugging, Dick picked up the cat, letting it settle between one arm and his body, petting the cat with the other. It began to purr. She nodded, "What's your name?"

"Dick."

"You have a home, Dick?"

Dick glanced at Mike, lying face-down about six feet away from her. "His couch," he explained, "so probably not."

Selina nodded once more. "Follow me. Bring the cat."

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"...I'm not exactly sure why she decided to stay. She just did." Dick shrugged.

Selino shook her head. 'The kid has absolutely no idea how he looks, does he?' She asked, "So in between, you said she was at Gotham U. Did she happen to mention what she was studying?"

"Law."

Selina frowned, "Did she say law or pre-law?"

"What's the difference?"

'Still got a few gaps in his education,' she thought. "How old is she, exactly?"

Dick hesitated, "She didn't say."

He could usually lie like a champ, but he hadn't been expecting that. She caught that pause. "Ok, it's not my business, and I'm not going to get involved, but be careful, alright?"

Dick looked both embarrassed and annoyed, "Holy sudden maternalism. You want to see the torn wrappers or something?"

"Be careful," Selina said, glaring, "about doing something that's going to bring the attention of her police officer father on your not-exactly-legal living arrangement, here."

"Oh," Dick said sheepishly, "That."

"Yes. That."

"It's okay. She thinks I'm nineteen."

Selina stifled the sudden urge to claw the hell out of him. "That poor girl," she muttered, which for some reason elicited a grin from him. "I don't want to know what you think is funny about this. Let's get back to work."

"Not that, this," Dick said, holding up the picture of the Rodin she'd printed out. "You said this was at the museum you were at with Wayne?" Selina nodded in response. "You want to steal that, instead?" he asked.

Selina found herself purring.

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Five nights later

It had been luck that she had found them. She wasn't even the one supposed to be looking for them. Batman was sure they were going for the Cat's-Eye Opal on display at the Roca Linda Jewelers, and had staked it out for the night. She was allowed to patrol on her own, for the first time since he had agreed to train her.

As she moved along the rooftops, she briefly amused herself with the thought of dropping in on Dick, whose apartment wasn't far away. 'Yeah, right.' It was a fun thought, though. She snapped out of this when she saw movement nearby. It was them. She'd gotten the full-course on them earlier that evening.

"Catwoman," he had said as an image of a woman in purple leather appeared on the screen. "Thief. Primarily of jewels and objet d'art. She frequently attempts to use her sexuality to distract me."

Barbara caught a slight tic in his jaw. "Attempts?" she asked.

He glared at her. "Attempts. Skilled fighter, watch out for her claws. Six months ago she began appearing with a partner in his mid-to-late teens." A short video played, grainy security footage showing Catwoman opening a vault while a young man in black waved at the camera and made a goofy face. "The nature of their relationship is unknown. She refers to him as 'Tiger'. Wisecracking smart-ass with a penchant for horrible puns. Well-trained enough to pose a problem. He has claws, but prefers to rely on a more aerial assault. He is an extremely talented acrobat."

"As of late, the pair have shown a tendency to lure a pursuer into annoying traps." His expression practically dared her to mention that no one but him had pursued them. She wisely chose not to. "In addition to the Cat's-eye, Roca Linda also has a selection of canary diamonds on display. I'm certain she won't be able to resist. Be ready in case I request backup."

And here they were. "Batman," she said softly into the communicator in her cowl, "I see them. The cats."

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? She winced as his shout was piped into her ear. I told you to watch the city! Do not engage, I will see them when they arrive here.

She scowled. 'Jerk,' she thought, saying, "You might be waiting a while. They're not headed in your direction."

There was a short silence, followed by, What is their location?

'Don't apologize or anything.' "Near 42nd and Buchanan, heading west." She heard the firing of a grapple line.

The Gotham Museum of Art. I'll meet you there.

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"Cameras down," he reported as he returned to the display room.

"Alarm disengaged," she replied.

"Think he'd buy it?" he asked.

"Who?"

Tiger grinned at her, "You know who. He could afford it."

"Funny," she said as she cut through the glass of the display with her claws, leaving a hole big enough to remove the small sculpture and place it in the bag he had strapped over one shoulder.

"Nobody is buying it," a gravelly voice said behind them.

Tiger and Catwoman both whirled to face him, only it wasn't just him. It was him. And her. "I'm seeing double," Tiger said.

"Then you need your eyes checked, Catboy," the woman in the bat-costumed replied.

The cats glanced in each other's direction. "I don't believe it," Tiger said, "He made a friend. A girlfriend."

"I'm as surprised as you, kid." Catwoman said, sounding annoyed.

"You're going to put that back, Catwoman," Batman said.

"I'm guessing your day job ain't 'fortune-teller,' Bats." that was Tiger.

"I'm guessing your day job isn't 'schoolteacher,' mister 'ain't'."

"I don't have a day job, Bat-girlie. That whole thing about crime not paying? Utter bullshit."

"You might feel differently once you're behind bars," Batgirl said.

"I'll take the hottie."

"No way," Catwoman said with a slow smile, "I've got him."

"Do they always talk this much?" Batgirl asked.

"Ever since he showed up," Batman answered.

"Some people just have more to say than 'put it back' grunt 'thief' grunt."

"I don't need to spend my time talking to thieves."

"Be honest," Tiger said to Batgirl, "he's this much of a jackass to you too, isn't he?"

Batgirl hesitated, which caused Tiger to laugh, Catwoman to smile, and Batman to glare. At her. This brief switch in focus caused Catwoman to say, "Sain't Andrew," and she and Tiger both ran directly at the Bats. About six feet away from them, Catwoman suddenly shifted direction, sliding her legs into Batgirl's, tripping her up while Tiger jumped over the both of them, flipping in mid-air and landing both feet into Batman's chest. Both of the bats were off their feet, only momentarily, but just enough to allow the cats the chance to start to run.

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The chase is on

in Chapter 6