Chapter Fourteen

Drake moaned softly as cool sheets brushed against his bare arm and opened his eyes a slit. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was. He jumped up out of the bed and grunted in pain when his feet touched the ground. He remembered that his ankle had broken and still throbbed diligently. He sank to the wooden floor and leaned back against the bed. Then everything came back to him. Drake wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, he wasn't even sure if he knew when they had reached Catwoman's abode. He blushed. He couldn't have fallen unconscious before they had gotten here, had he?

Just then, the door opened and Catwoman slunk in with an expression that showed both amusement and concern. She wasn't looking at a hardened mercenary, she was looking at a wounded, scared child. He frowned and lowered his head to hide a blush. There was no doubt that he had indeed fallen unconscious and had to be helped along, or, God forbid, carried the rest of the way to Catwoman's apartment. Catwoman just stood silently, watching him carefully. Was he as naked and exposed as he felt? He looked around. "Where is my jacket?" he inquired calmly. Catwoman lazily pointed a slender finger toward a chair and Drake padded quietly over to it. He pulled his jacket loosely over his shoulders and inwardly breathed a sigh or relief when he felt the weight of his gun against his bare thigh. Then he looked down at said thigh and deadpanned. "Did you have to strip me of my pants?"

Catwoman shrugged her shoulders. "Your wounds needed treatment." she said authoritively. "Do you always wear clothes that are several sizes too big for you?" she continued teasingly, Drake flushed at that.

"And my bag?" Catwoman pointed out of the bedroom and into the livingroom. Drake nodded his quiet thanks.

"I've made breakfast." the woman told him and walked out of sight and into the kitchen. Drake frowned slightly. Was she mad at him? That was no suprise, he had forced her to bring him back to her apartment single-handedly. He blushed in shame again. He found the bathroom and washed his hands before joining Catwoman at the dining table.

The female anti-hero had made a wonderful breakfast for the boy. Scrambled eggs with bacon, buttered toast, and orange juice were laid on the table before them. Hundred percent orange juice, he could almost smell the pulp. Drake narrowed his eyes at the small, dark jar by his bread. Catwoman followed his gaze and chuckled. "What, you've never had jam before?" she smirked jokingly.

"It's a sweet mixture made by boiling fruit and sugar together to make a thick paste like jelly. It's not like you can't eat bread without it." Drake frowned. "And it's poison for your teeth." Drake had always been curious about the concoction but the Custodian always brushed it off with that excuse. He always said that they needed identification to go to a dentist and that tooth aches hurt more than a bullet wound. So Drake stayed away from sweets and always took care of his teeth. He never got a cavity in his life.

Catwoman watched the boy across from her with vague interest as he scarfed down his breakfast, the jam lay untouched. "Where are you parents?" she asked, hoping to catch the boy off guard. She succeeded and Drake choked on his orange juice.

"Um... I don't know." he stuttered, he hadn't thought of Brian Adamas's background story!

Catwoman pressed on. "You don't know?"

Drake decided to tell her the truth, just with a different name. "I grew up in an orphanage. Nobody ever told me who my parents are, ... er, were? Anyway, I don't know anything about them. Don't know if they're still alive or not."

"You're not from Gotham."

Drake winced and chuckled humorlessly. "Was it that obvious?"

"Where are you from?"

"Los Angeles, temporarily England."

"I find it hard to imagine that social securities have the means to send their children away for overseas education."

"I came with my... guardian."

"Guardian?"

"Well, he's not my dad, but I'm his kid. It's a complicated relation. I.e, it's a long story."

"We have time."

"Actually, no we don't. I have to get out of Gotham and find the man as quickly as possible. Batman's on the war path, you know?" Drake had, by that time, finished his meal and carried his dishes over to the kitchen sink and began washing them. Catwoman never once let him out of her sights. "As lovely as this meeting has been, I've got to go." he said when he emerged from the kitchen. He opened his backpack, that Catwoman had inspected while he was unconscious, and tossed the Batbelt he stole to her. "It's really all I have to offer in appreciation for your help. I'm sure there must be something useful in there." he bowed his head in thanks and was gone before Catwoman could stop him. she was glad that she had destroyed all of Batman's trackers she found on him. He was a good kid.

She shrugged her shoulders and went about her day. It was easier to pretend to be apathetic.