AN: Thanks to those of you who've stuck by this so far. I could always use more eyes on this thing (to make sure I maintain some modicum of quality), so feel free to rec to those you think interested!
Also, apologies in advance for any flaws and errors you find in the crime committed below; I, of course, would know nothing of such things. :) (I'll patch anything egregious when I have the time; I just wanted to get this thing "on paper" ASAP; it's being a little ornery.)
Lauren Zizes groaned as the last of her enforcers crashed to the floor. "Oh, for... What the fuck am I paying you people for?"
Her office was littered with six unconscious forms, all muscular men in black tights, shirtless except for a tuxedo collar and white cuffs. In the middle of the tangle was a tall, beefy man in an improbable outfit. "We need to talk, Penguin," he growled.
She stiffened, as he knew she would; he'd long ago found that the nickname was a useful and much needed gambit to keep her off-balance. Lauren Zizes had always loved birds. But with her physique, not conforming to the standards of beauty that stared out from magazines and billboards, she was teased constantly by her peers, stuck with the moniker "Penguin," a single word that neatly mocked both interest and body. "Ugly," "loser," and "lesbo" were among the more common taunts, if Oracle's research into the depths of Ducard Academy's yearbooks were any indication.
But if Zizes was ugly, it was because of her soul, not her skin. Her trials served only to hone a personality already cold, ambitious, and ruthless into a knife's edge. With a combination of intelligence, sheer will, and a trail of mysterious "incidents," she became stronger, physically and personally, becoming a mover and shaker in the criminal underworld, yet shielded by layers of fronts and mooks too scared to talk. One of Oracle's more interesting tidbits of information was the fates of many of Zizes' classmates from Ducard - the pretty and popular, the ones who were probably at the forefront of her teenage misery. All were leading lives of desperate, grinding poverty, interrupted only by the occasional ray of hope (a job interview, an investment opportunity, a badly needed day care slot opening), hope that was always cruelly and spectacularly dashed at the last second. The sources of these woes (and the hope) were always varied and nigh untraceable to any one source, but Batman could see the pattern.
The center of the pattern, the "brightest feather in her nest," as she herself might've put it, was the Iceberg Lounge, a jumping joint designed to separate the drunken, idle rich from their pocket money. It was in her private offices at the Iceberg that Batman was stepping over the still bodies of her waiter/bodyguards.
Zizes had, by now, recovered her icy cool, her eyes hard behind her glasses. She propped her feet up on her desk, revealing a shin-length black skirt and sensible shoes that gleamed in the lamp light. She wore a tuxedo shirt, coat, and bow tie, all neatly pressed and obviously carefully tailored to her body. As Batman approached, Zizes calmly took a drag from her cigarette, the holder delicately perched between two of her fingers, and blew out a defiant stream of smoke that curled around her hair, slicked back and tied tightly in a knot on the back of her head.
"I should call the police right now," she snarled. "Have you arrested for assault and trespassing."
She was that rara avis amongst Batman's most consistent headaches: the absolutely sane. She often took advantage of the rampant chaos that his other foes caused to consolidate power for herself, such as taking turf abandoned by the shaken Moroni and Falcone families in recent, turbulent years. Batman sometimes asked himself which was worse: the depths of depravity that insanity could plumb, or the shallower, but calculating cruelty of those who "merely" cared about no one but themselves. He never had an answer.
"I need information," Batman said bluntly. "The kind you and your goons can give me."
Zizes sneered, taking a moment to feed the exotic, brightly plumed, and highly illegal-to-own parrot perched on the back of her office chair. "I don't have goons. Unless you're talking about these idiots who're supposed to protect me from wanton thugs like you." She cast a disgusted glare at the unconscious bodies about her. "I'm afraid you're flying blind this time."
"The cat burglar. I want her."
"I'm sure you do. But she has nothing to do with me."
"Nothing happens on the streets without you at least knowing about it, Zizes. The next time you hear even a whisper about her next potential target, I want to know about it."
She raised an imperious eyebrow. "I am a legitimate businesswoman. You are a vigilante with the fashion sense of a comic book crazed six year old. Even if I did associate with criminals, I doubt that your cat burglar would say 'boo' to any of them." She paused, frowning. "I never did like cats to begin with..."
"Maybe she won't talk directly, but she loves high-profile victims, and seems to know when they're particularly vulnerable or have an unusual amount of jewelry. If anyone would have the same information, your... associates would."
She took another drag of her cigarette, exhaling directly into Batman's face; neither flinched. "You don't scare me, Batman. You never have." She smirked at the tension she could see building in his shoulders, his chest. "Oh, come on, you wouldn't hit a girl, would you?"
"Don't play the weak female with me, Zizes. It's insulting to us both." His eyes raked her, studying body language, microexpressions, movements that she didn't even realize she was making. "And I wouldn't recommend reaching any further for that umbrella of yours."
Zizes' face twitched, then relaxed once more into her contemptuous sneer. "As I said, self-defense. You know, if you're trying to convince me to play along with your little games, you're doing a fucking lousy job of it."
"Then how about this: you will help me, or when I leave here tonight, I will have a talk with Commissioner Fabray. He will post officers outside this club every night, checking the records of every single person who walks in to make sure they're not a part of your criminal enterprises." Batman leaned forward, resting his knuckles atop the desk; Zizes pushed backwards instinctively. "While they do that, I will do everything in my power to make your... activities in Gotham as uncomfortable as possible. Whatever you do, wherever you go, I will be there. You may not see me, but I swear to you that I'll be there. And if I see you step one toe out of line..." His fists tightened. "Your choice, Penguin. Help me, or become an obstacle. Which will it be?"
Zizes swallowed. "Well..." she began hoarsely, "my club attracts all kinds; I don't discriminate amongst customers. So if I happen to overhear anything - purely innocently, of course - I suppose I could let you know." She frowned. "How would I let you know?"
"Talk to Fabray."
"Right. Is this some kind of... partnership? Because if it is, I can tell you that..."
"I'll be waiting for news." With that, Batman turned and stalked out of the office, quickly vanishing from the room.
At that very moment, at least two of the fallen bodyguards started to recover consciousness, groaning and rubbing their heads. Lauren Zizes leaped to her feet and stomped over to them, kicking one in his side. "Get up, you morons! You're getting your pay docked, all of you! God, you're lucky you're pretty..."
Commissioner Russell Fabray stood atop the roof of Gotham Police headquarters, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city he'd called home for so many years. The signal shone upon the clouds overhead, a message written in light for everyone to see, to evoke hope or despair. There were times he couldn't believe he moved here to make a name for himself, without a care or a thought of the people he was supposed to be serving. He shivered in the cold night air, pulling his coat tighter around himself.
The first shock had come with the realization of just how corrupt the GCPD was when he first arrived. Sure, he'd always believed in politicking, in making sure the right ears were whispered in and the right egos petted, but outright dealing with criminals, becoming the kind of scum he took an oath to take down, went much too far. For a man who lived for control, feeling the pressure of the Mob, despite refusing their overtures himself, was a new, unbearable experience.
It was the first of many steps along the path of realizing that the world wasn't there to bow to his whims, and that there were other people in it besides him - people worth protecting. It was a path he walked painfully for a long time, but he arrived at his destination the terrible night his infant son was kidnapped. Even now, even knowing that everything turned out all right, he still had waking nightmares thinking about the dizzying number of ways his son could've died, he could've died, or both. If it hadn't been for him.
"Russell."
The cop turned abruptly at the rough voice. Of course he hadn't heard him arrive; he never did. "You'll have to teach me how to do that sometime," he chuckled.
"I assume the Penguin is passing along a message?"
Fabray laughed again. "God, sometimes I wonder what you need me for. Yes, she says word is that a juicy new target's come up for the cat burglar. Kane Jewelers is getting the Star of Ceylon necklace on Thursday for cleaning and resetting. It's going to be held overnight in their vault, then picked up the next morning."
"Tight timetable. And Kane security is very good. But she seems to enjoy the challenge. It's likely to be her next target."
"Agreed. Do you want backup?"
"No; I don't want to scare her off. I'll handle it."
Fabray stared at the man he considered (somewhat oddly, he knew) a friend. "Is everything okay?"
Batman blinked; a foreign look came over his face, almost akin to confusion. "Okay?"
"Ever since you caught Anderson..." He cleared his throat. "You had to do it, you know."
"I know."
The night wind picked up, sending Fabray's tie flapping in the chill. "There's something else, though. I don't expect you to tell me what it is, but I hope it works out."
"I..." Fabray didn't know, had no way of knowing, that Batman was thinking of the look on the Commissioner's face, that he too was remembering the past, of what he was like when they first met. Yes, Fabray swaggered and sneered and blustered, but even then, Batman could see the man he could be, the man he very probably once was before ambition took hold. But more than that... Back then, Fabray was, or at least looked, considerably happier. Why not - his life was simple in those days: advance in the ranks, catch a few bad guys now and again to look good, get in the society pages. Now that he actually cared about his job, about his men and women, about his city... There were stress lines etched into his face, and Batman almost thought that the night at the gala was the first time he'd seen the Commissioner smile in ages. Would it have been better for him to be left in blissful ignorance? It probably would've been better for Quinn. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, almost physically shaking his head before he stopped himself. "Thank you."
"You don't have to do it all alone, you know," Fabray said. "I won't ask what happened to those young partners of yours..." He turned, just for the briefest of moments, to switch off the signal. "But maybe they..." He turned back, finding he was speaking to empty air. "Did it to me again. Figures." With a rueful shake of the head, Commissioner Fabray began the trek back to his warm office, back to his work.
Kurt, of course, had known about the Star of Ceylon for weeks, despite the smothering layers of secrecy Kane had tried to put over it. Confidentiality agreements and NDAs were mere pieces of paper, easily overcome by a little alcohol, freeing information easily caught by judicious choices of watering holes. As it was, if he'd had even a couple days less of lead time, he never would've attempted the job; the research, the scouting, and the planning had strained even his usual generous timetable. He had to admit that Kane took a lot more and better measures than his usual target; he supposed that, being a Gotham business, such caution was a necessity. But there were always holes, and every business was less prepared, less safe, than they thought they were. Kane was no exception.
He knew that his chances of success were inversely proportional to the amount of time he spent in the actual building. Thus, prep work was vital. That meant a few visits to Kane, watching and taking copious notes. He didn't dare step inside, into the range of security cameras, until he knew exactly what he was going to do there; having to go back a second time would undoubtedly raise suspicions. After days of photos, of stalking, of planning, he was confident and ready by Thursday night.
Step one: Cut the building's security system off from the outside world without setting off an alert. Kurt had some understanding of electronics, but not nearly enough to be independent; fortunately, his suppliers knew how to make their products user-friendly, and the system itself was one he'd gone up against many times before. Sometimes Kurt yearned for the romantic days he read about in novels, the days in which all a cat burglar needed was brains, a few tools, and a little luck. The 21st century was all about computers and the Internet and complex gizmos and programs, with crime being no exception. Oh, well, one had to change with the times or die, didn't one?
Step two: Gain access to the building. That was relatively simple, thanks to the skylight (one of Kurt's best weapons was the willingness of businesses to sacrifice security for beauty and openness - great for attracting legitimate customers willing to spend, but great for people like him as well). With the alarms off, getting past even the reinforced glass and steel was child's play by now.
Step three: Get past the guards. That was the easiest part of all, thanks to the little timed gas bomb he'd hidden on his visit inside that day while "using the restroom."
Step four: Open the vault. Some gently prodding questions to an employee over a nightcap had given him a fairly good idea of what he was in for here. Fortunately, no plastic explosive was needed in this case; just one of Kurt's less-than-legitimate gadgets got him access within fifteen minutes.
Step five: Revel for just a moment. As he pried open the drawer, and the Star of Ceylon lay bare in his sight, glittering in the penlight, he took a brief second, as he always did, to admire its dazzling beauty, to enjoy the results of his hard work and planning. This moment was what half of his "job" was all about, and no one could say that Kurt Hummel didn't work damn hard.
Step six: Get rid of the camera footage. That took barely a few minutes, and with the security system isolated, the offsite backups would be worthless.
Step seven: Get out. That was no problem, with the skylight line still in place.
Step eight: Escape and enjoy the spoils.
"Put it back."
It was at this point the plan hit a snag.
Kurt froze, still hunched over his satchel. The rough, almost guttural voice came from behind him. He didn't know for sure what he would find when he turned his head, but he had a pretty good guess. Fortunately, his goggles were still in place; he only had to brush his fingers against his collar to activate the electronic voice changer, turning his high but unmistakably male voice into a pleasing female soprano. Only then did he speak.
"The famous Batman, I presume?"
Batman's mind was churning, filing the voice away as she rose and turned, comparing it to ones he'd heard before, just in case. No immediate connection came.
Her form-fitting jumpsuit left little to the imagination - practical yet made to be alluring (though how did that make sense, since she obviously didn't want to be seen?). Her body was thin and lithe, her movements as she regarded him confident.
"I said, put it back."
"Aw, but we just got acquainted." She giggled, a rich, high-pitched sound. "I meant the necklace and I, but that's true for you and me as well." She looked him over; he could feel her gaze even behind the tinted goggles. "Mmm, better than I imagined. Those police sketches really don't do you justice."
He took a step forward; she didn't flinch. "I won't tell you again. Put..."
"... it back, I know." She sighed. "Just like the police: so serious. How... dull." Catwoman slipped her satchel over her shoulder; it obviously held the necklace, so the action was definitely not a sign of surrender. "Tell you what: why don't we meet for lunch next Wednesday. We'll have some wine, some pasta... And I can return the necklace then. Oh, it might be short a few gems... Call it a handling fee..."
Batman snorted as he stepped forward. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."
Catwoman smiled. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
They started running towards each other at the same time. Batman was about to reach out when she took a mighty leap forward. To his shock, she flipped over his head, planting her hands on his shoulders, then pushed off, somersaulting to the ground behind him. He turned just in time to see her jump onto the roof of the next building.
Swearing under his breath, he followed, her mocking laughter ringing through the night. "Oh, this is FUN! I haven't been chased like this since sixth grade!"
She was an acrobat, that was for sure, almost on the level of Harley Quinn. Gymnastics training at the very least. His mind remained cool as he pursued her from rooftop to rooftop. We're on Parkridge now... She's turning north... Hmm. She doesn't seem to know that she'll run out of level rooftop in two blocks... Did she just not expect to have to escape this way, or...? Whatever the reason, his instinct was correct. She stood waiting for him on the roof of the Finger Building, further flight cut off by adjacent skyscrapers and empty lots.
"Stupid of me," she said calmly, examining the fingertips of her gloves casually as she leaned against a wall of the roof's access stairs. "Guess you put me off my game, handsome."
"End of the road, Catwoman. You seem like an intelligent woman. Cut your losses. Now."
She laughed. "Darling, if I were the kind of girl to do that, I wouldn't be in this business to begin with." Then, out of seemingly nowhere, the whip was in her hand. It lashed out, wrapping around his wrist. The sharp yank immediately followed; the surprise allowed it to sweep him off his feet, sending him crashing onto the tar-papered roof. She laughed again, flicking her wrist; the whip snapped upwards, returning to its mistress. He was on his feet at the next moment; the two faced off warily, with Batman making sure to keep his back towards her easy escape routes. He tried to approach, but a sharp crack of the whip sent him back again. Pain wasn't an issue - it never was with him. But she showed considerable skill with the weapon, and if he wasn't careful, she could strangle him before he even had a chance to touch her. "Oh, don't be so afraid. I don't bite. Much."
His mind went over the possibilities: batarang, tear gas, flashbang... All of them seemed like overkill. She definitely wasn't going anywhere; all he had to do was watch and wait for an opening. A quick feint to the right gave it to him; the tip of the whip flashed towards the very spot he'd predicted. Batman dodged in the opposite direction, rolling to Catwoman's feet. Before she was able to react, he rose and grabbed her whip wrist. "Drop it." She did. "Now the Star."
"Strong one, aren't you?" she asked with deadpan calm. "I should've figured, with that body of yours." She smiled lasciviously. "You don't show as much as Superman, but I prefer a little mystery, don't you?"
"It won't work," Batman replied bluntly.
"Bet that's what you tell all the girls." A gentle hand brushed against the wrist holding her. Batman knew he should grab that one too, right now, to keep her from playing any more games. But he didn't; he let her fingers gently play along his glove. "Sit down. Let's talk." She turned towards him, her shoulders gently brushing against a set of thick water pipes running along the wall. "Get to know each other better. We'll be sharing the city for a while, after all."
"You won't be doing much at Blackgate besides serving your sentence." Despite his mind now actively demanding that he get a better grip on this obviously dangerous woman, his other arm still hadn't moved.
Catwoman frowned. "Sounds dull. But I know how to liven things up a little. How about a little... bondage play." Her free hand flashed out. Before Batman could blink, he found one of his wrists tied to a water pipe by a police issue flexi-cuff. He tugged at it, but both cuff and pipe held fast. His face remained impassive, but his brain was exploding in a string of expletives and self-flagellation. Idiot!
Catwoman took a step back, her smirk back in place. "There. That's better. You know..." She picked her whip back up and took a step towards him; Batman tensed, prepared to defend himself by whatever means necessary. "There's been something I've been thinking about doing ever since I read about you in the papers..."
It was then that she did the last thing he expected she'd do.
She kissed him.
Her lips were moist and warm against his. His heart pounded, a reaction he'd never gotten from a woman, and one he definitely wasn't expecting. But he couldn't deny his mind turning into mush; all he could think about, all he could feel, was her.
It seemed like hours before she separated herself from him; her smirk had gained a small edge of actual warmth. "Mmm, very nice. You should let that side of you out more often." She licked her lips. "Tell you what," she said. She opened her satchel and drew out the glittering Star of Ceylon, mockingly placing it around his neck. "You can keep this. Meeting you in person was more than enough reward for tonight." She gave him a finger wave. "Ta-ta... for now." Her legs launched her onto the next rooftop, then out of sight.
His mental haze gone almost instantly, it took him only seconds to free himself from the flexi-cuff. But that was all the time she needed; she was long gone.
Batman's mind whirled with rage. What the hell was that? Am I a fucking amateur now? How had she managed to get the drop on him so completely? Why was he so distracted? It was as though, on some level, he hadn't wanted to catch her. But that was ridiculous; why would he ever want something like that?
And why were his lips still tingling...?
AN: I also considered making Lauren into Victor Zsasz (because of the name), but I've always liked villains who are both strong and smart. Plus, the current casting had some appeal to me. :)