If I said I don't think about her, I'd be lying. I think about all my enemies, all the various pests of Gotham, and in a lot of ways, she's the worst. She gets under my skin like no other. Damned if I'll ever admit it, but it's true. Maybe it's because she takes such delight in it; unlike the others, she doesn't seem to hold any malice towards me. She just likes taunting, teasing, being just out of reach –

Or, at least, she did. Until that one night.

I like to think I'm a fairly accomplished kisser. This is because I'm fairly accomplished at pretty much everything I do, and I've done a lot of kissing in my time.

But when she asked for a kiss, the first thing I felt was… nervousness. As if kissing her would be any different than kissing any of the countless girls I wine and dine to keep up my cover. I haven't felt nervous about a kiss since I was fourteen.

But she was different.

She didn't know me as Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, shallow as a model and good with his… hands. She didn't expect the kind of kisses I doled out like dollars, cheap and mindless, without meaning. I didn't know – don't know – what exactly she did expect, but it couldn't have been that. She knew me as Batman, the man who chased her down after her heists and, on some occasions, the man who caught her. She was fully aware of our little game, just as I was, but unlike me, she reveled in it. The smart little comments, the flirtation, the smirk; she was doing her level best to throw me off. But until that night, that's all it had been: a game. She knew her moves, I knew mine. No touching. No realization. No admission.

And then she whispered

(just one kiss)

those three little words in my ear, something vulnerable hiding in those big green eyes, and I damned myself. I lapsed. I gave her a way in.

But she felt so good, tasted so – her mouth was so hot, so soft, and at the same time her teeth nipped at my lower lip and before I knew what I was doing I had her up against the rail. I could have cuffed her then, could have passed it off as tactics, as strategy, but instead I just kissed her until I couldn't breathe.

I think we both had the same thought, when we pulled apart.

Whatever we'd just done had been very, very stupid.

But when she smiled at me, one side of her mouth quirking up in a lopsided grin, my heart thudded like it hadn't in years. I caught the ring she tossed me and went after her, just like she knew I would. I didn't catch her. I didn't really try. As for the reasons why not… well, I wasn't about to go into those without some prodding.

Unluckily, I live with one of the keenest, most intrusive men I've ever known.

I hadn't been back for more than twenty minutes – the time it took to shower and change – before Alfred deduced that I'd had a run-in with Catwoman. That wasn't altogether impressive; even I knew that I had a different way of glowering after dealing with her than I did after dealing with the others. But I will never know how he picked up on the rest.

"Long night, sir?" he asked, holding a tray with hot chocolate and toast.

"You have no idea." I took the toast, ignored the hot chocolate. Part of me understood that this was because I didn't want to wash away the flavor that still lingered on my mouth, and that thought annoyed me enough to make me toss the toast back onto the tray. Alfred accepted this with a raised brow, perfectly calibrated to show a precise mix of interest and judgment. He set the tray down on one of the tables by the couch where I was sprawled, hands going to clasp behind his back.

"Any rip-roaring tales of adventure you'd care to share?"

The degree of deadpan in that cultured voice could have killed a lesser man.

"Well," I said, crossing my arms behind my head to stretch my back, "I climbed some bridge scaffolding."

"Exciting."

I rolled my eyes. I could always count on Alfred to knock me down a peg or two, on the few occasions where I would have appreciated a little enthusiasm. I was grateful for it, though. I get enough flattery from my pet socialites.

"And," he added, deceptively careless, "did we run into any old friends?"

"We did, we did." I closed my eyes, sighing.

"I take it she's doing well."

My eyes snapped back open. Alfred was watching me, quite blandly, nothing but the twinkle in his eye giving anything away.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." It was worth a try.

"It's been a while since you've seen her, sir. If I may be so bold."

Or maybe it wasn't. I pushed myself up to sit against the arm of the couch, grimacing at him. This was one of those moments where I regretted the fact that I didn't act around Alfred. I suppose everyone needs someone they can trust, but actual friendship is a double-edged sword…

"She's fine," I said, only a little shortly. "Stole a necklace. And a ring."

"Did you retrieve them?"

And there it was.

I don't think I blushed. I can't have blushed. Bruce Wayne does not blush, and Batman sure as hell does not blush.

But he knew.

"You know, Alfred," I said, trying to regroup as his mouth quirked in a little smile that was all too smug for my liking, "I think I'm going to catch some sleep. You're always telling me I don't get enough, after all, and – "

"I know you don't need me to tell you that it's a foolish idea to get involved with a thief, Master Wayne," Alfred said smoothly. He inclined his head as I sat up to argue. "But it's been a long time since you've shown any interest in something other than this vendetta of yours."

"Look, Alfred," I began, already raising a hand to wave off his mixed messages.

"Will that be all, sir?" he interrupted, perfectly polite, face bland as ever. I sighed. There was just no winning with Alfred.

"Yeah. That'll be all. Forever, please."

"Of course, sir."

Bullshit, I thought, getting to my feet.

And, sure enough, I woke four hours later to a glass of juice and a small note informing me that although my mother had been allergic to cats, the condition had fortunately not been passed to me.

I didn't see her again for a week or so. Which was for the best. I wasn't quite able to say it outright, but I think I was a little afraid of seeing her again. It was why I hadn't chased her with more determination that night, and why tonight, hearing the whoop of alarms at the new tiger god exhibition, I felt a thrill of trepidation. Because seeing her again would make it real, would force me to remember every single scent-taste-feel, as if I hadn't spent the entire goddamn week reliving it in certain unwelcome dreams.

But I had a job to do, and by god, I wasn't going to allow something as trivial as a single midnight kiss to distract me. Much.

I couldn't be sure, but I think she didn't put her all into evading me. Oh, there were some fancy tricks; she's particularly fond of climbing straight up the walls of buildings and suddenly disappearing down ledges. But there were at least two moments where she could have lost me, where I'm almost certain she actually paused before rounding the next bend.

When I finally cornered her, it was on one of the piers. I don't know what made her run there, but I do know that the moon was full that night and she looked beautiful near water.

"So," she called as I drew close enough to hear. "How you been, commando boy?"

Bruce Wayne would have had any number of sly, innuendo-filled lines to toss her way after that little nickname.

"Clever," is all I said. Batman didn't do flirting. Not so overtly, anyway.

"I thought so." Flippant. She was always flippant. Well. Almost

(no, not good enough)

always.

"What'd you take this time? Or do I even have to ask?"

"Why would you?" she asked, making a fair point. "You don't care what I took. You just want it back."

It was true that I didn't exactly make conversation with the Joker. Of course, that was also because conversation with the Joker was likely to make you nearly as crazy as he was, but the point stood.

"You're right," I said, and took a step towards her. I found myself wondering if she'd require another trade, and bit back the thought. "Maybe this time I'll get Gordon's boys down here, take you in for good."

She pouted, full lips turning down, her green, almond-shaped eyes impossibly warm. It should be illegal for a girl to look that good in leather, and still seem like she might be able to make her grandmother's oatmeal cookies.

"I feel so underappreciated," she said. "I thought you enjoyed our little get-togethers." Her pout twitched, eyes lighting with something a lot more wicked than the false hurt.

Upsettingly, I didn't actually have a comeback for that.

"Not as much as you do, apparently."

But I've always been all right at improvisation. And, to my quiet delight, twin spots of color appeared on her cheeks just below the edge of the mask.

"Well," the Cat said, coming back strong with a hint of a purr, "what can I say? A girl can only pass up the opportunity so many times."

"An opportunity for what?" I knew I'd regret the question, but I couldn't stop myself from asking it. She smiled, a ponderous expression that suggested I was making a series of rather large mistakes.

"Don't try to pretend you haven't thought about it."

And this, for future reference, was the moment where the conversation should have been stopped. Forcibly if need be. Instead, I narrowed my eyes.

"About you behind bars? We live in hope." I was never this snarky with the other big bads of Gotham, either.

"Kinky, but wrong." She reached into the seamless pocket on her inner thigh – and, can I just say, wow – and pulled out a small shining oval. My eyes flicked to it, registered that it was hammered gold with some kind of jeweled design, and then she dropped it on the pier. "I don't need that tacky thing," she clarified, not even watching it fall.

"Why take it?"

She snorted, unabashed and unimpressed.

"Why do you think? We should chat."

"There's nothing to say."

"Fine by me." She came forward, moving fluidly, and then her hands were on my shoulders and her lips were on mine. It was both completely unexpected and completely right, exactly the thing that should have happened, and I only took a second or two to react before I kissed her back. I knew it was stupid, knew it was dangerous, but at that point my hands had found their way to her hips and lower, sliding around to the backs of her upper thighs, the curve of her bottom and the muscles in her back laid bare beneath the tight leather.

This time, she pushed me away, her lower body molded to mine, her arms shuddering but straight as she held herself away from me.

"This isn't a good idea," she said.

"I know," I said.

"I'm not going to stop stealing things."

"I'm not going to stop taking them back."

She laughed a little. She was lovely.

"This might be obvious, but I don't actually hate you."

I wanted to laugh, too. The mask wouldn't let me, and instead I shook my head.

"You… confuse me." Oh. Good one, Bruce. Smooth. She seemed to like it, though, her arms folding a bit so that her forearms rested against my chest.

"Good." And then she slipped out of my grasp completely, darting past me towards where the pier met land.

"Wait!" It was out before I knew I was going to do it. I really had to stop doing that; being laconic was one of my best defense mechanisms. She paused, though, looked back at me. "Nothing's changed," I said, part of me kicking myself with each word. She was too far away now for me to see any change in her eyes, but I thought her shoulders stiffened just a tad.

"Of course it hasn't," she replied. "You'll have to be quicker, though. Next time I won't wait."

And she was gone.

I didn't leave the pier for at least an hour that night. Crime was happening, in my city, the whole while… but just then, I couldn't bring myself to care.