AN: Valentine's is overrated. And we're usually in Arkham anyway. Or broken. Frequently sick… All that pink and red…dear god, there's no escape. Sickening.
Two for the price of one! Happy PDA Day, guys. Those of you coupled up, can you not devour each other's faces in public? XO, Scary
Most people, whether or not they liked to admit it, stayed well away from graveyards after midnight.
They weren't most people.
In their first real effort to celebrate PDA Day in…god, four years?...they'd packed food (well…cookies) and taken a bottle of wine to the cemetery. And now here they were, in the back, with the old graves, huddled under a terrible excuse for an umbrella because Gotham just had to have bad weather all year.
All the same, the cookies survived (by being eaten, naturally) and the wine is mostly gone (and they were more than a little drunk).
"You're warm."
"So are you."
The graves surrounding them were crooked and crumbling and they couldn't read most of them.
"Can you believe they made a movie out of that…that travesty?"
"You didn't want to see it, did you?"
"God no. Did you?"
"You know me better than that."
She laughed and scrunched against him.
"We should catch the two AM showing and gas the place."
That would be funny…but he was oddly comfortable right here. And more interested in getting the last of the wine out of the bottle.
The rain was starting to let up. About time.
He leaned back against the gnarled old tree (it was the law to have at least one creepy tree per graveyard) and looked out, towards the newer graves. He wondered how many were here because of him.
Probably…oh…ten percent?
"Kitty?"
"Yes?"
"How many people do you think we put here?"
"All of them." she said, spreading her hands. "Every last one…except this guy." She patted a patch of dirt beside her. "'Cause it says he died in eighteen-twelve."
He'd accept that. Who knew how many people died after the fact, anyway? Suicides…lingering effects…
He really would have to monitor one of his escapees one day.
Crunch.
"What was that?"
"I don't know."
Crunch. Crunch.
Could be footsteps. Maybe it was Cupid. He was a fat little bastard, wasn't he?
He grabbed his scythe and pulled himself up before giving her a hand. She had a gun. She may have been a lousy shot, but it was better than nothing.
Now, where was…ah. There, in the shadows. Batman, it had to be.
They hadn't even done anything this time! Life was so unfair…
"Do you see him?"
"Uh-huh."
"Can you hit him?"
"Probably not. Can you?"
On a normal day, his chances were fifty-fifty. Tonight? Sixty-forty.
"No."
They found that hilarious and spent another minute laughing. When they finally straightened up, Batman was gone.
This was going to hurt.
She fired in one direction and he swung the scythe in another. The blade glanced off a tombstone and the bullet embedded itself in a tree.
Well. This was awkward. Maybe drinks and weaponry didn't mix.
Batman did not swoop down on them and after a minute of standing there, braced for impact, they lowered their weapons and started laughing again, albeit a little nervously.
"I think we should go home now."
"Agreed."
FWAM!
Son of a bitch.
"We didn't even do anything this time." Kitty complained. "We were having a date. GOD."
Batman didn't answer. He just hauled them out of the car, paying no mind to the fact that he knocked them into a very big, very hard grave marker earlier and left horrendous bruises.
"Would it kill you to take a night off? Get a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. It's all fine. Just get laid already."
"I don't think he's listening."
"Moment killer."
He couldn't have agreed more.
Although…
Since they were probably going to be separated for a few days…
What the hell.
He leaned over, ignoring the sudden tightening of a hand on his upper arm, and kissed her.
They got a few seconds in before Batman pulled them apart with a low groan of disdain.
"That's not fair."
He grinned at her.
"Consider it incentive to come up with an escape plan."
THE END