I expect the few of you reading this story will enjoy this chapter. It's the moment we've all been waiting for and provides a great cliffhanger.
Chapter 7 – Caricatures
By the time a gorgeous crimson sunset descended over the fairgrounds, the couple had shared most of their major life details – siblings (none for Bruce, and one younger sister for Selina), how they spent their adolescence (with a few facts airbrushed or omitted), and their current ages (34 for Bruce, 30 for Selina).
Selina learned that Bruce's world hadn't always been confined to the Gotham area; he'd done extensive world traveling between ages 17-24. Bruce, meanwhile, learned that Selina's many talents included competitive gymnastics, for which she earned several awards when younger. Impressive, he thought, given her unstable family life in foster care.
There was still some ambiguity as to what Selina occupied herself with in her late teens, but for a second first date, Bruce couldn't complain. Everything had proceeded with far less tension and awkwardness than their previous encounters. His concerns about Poison Ivy's involvement were rapidly fading.
Carrying a couple cheap stuffed prizes in their arms, they were meandering toward the exit when Selina spotted one last booth. "Face painting! I used to love getting a black cat painted on my cheek when I was little," she tugged eagerly on Bruce's arm.
Bruce sat next to her as two teenage workers brought over tiny paint cups and brushes. Selina, of course, requested a cat design, but Bruce was having difficulty choosing one for himself. The sample page was full of rather juvenile images. He took himself a little too seriously to allow a yellow duckie or clown on his face.
"Oh, I know what you should get," Selina announced just before they began on her. "A big, green dollar sign!"
Bruce gave his artist an inquiring look, and the boy shrugged apathetically. "Sounds easy. Sure."
A couple minutes later, they turned to display their freshly-painted cheeks to each other. Both smiled at the end to a fun, wholesome day that had left them both feeling refreshed and hopeful. To say their expectations were exceeded would be an enormous understatement. Somehow, the fair's simple charm had worked magic in their souls, erasing all the previous animosity and mistrust. Not bad for two ten-dollar tickets and some dirt on the soles of their boots.
Their smiles remained as they reached Bruce's Range Rover in the dusty parking lot. They lasted during the hour-long return trip to the city, and were still there when Bruce walked Selina up the concrete steps of her apartment building.
Beneath the yellow glow of streetlights, like a whimsical romance film, they stood shifting from foot to foot. A little bit of awkwardness had snuck in despite their best efforts.
"I really enjoyed today," Selina thanked him.
"So did I," he replied sincerely. "When I get home, I'll have to thank Alfred for his suggestion."
A sneaking suspicion occurred to Selina. "Am I right in assuming you should also thank him for the date auction idea?"
"You're good," Bruce conceded. "It was either that, or auditioning to be the next Bachelor. I chose the lesser of two evils."
"Good choice, if you ask me," Selina leaned forward small fractions at a time, encouraged by Bruce's similar movements. The cool fall air tantalized each facial nerve, enhancing their chemistry as the distance closed between their mouths. The magnetism snapped their lips together at the last second and took both their breaths away.
Selina's senses were bombarded, flooded with warmth, power, and intoxicating scents. The aroma of damp leaves mixed with Bruce's expensive cologne in a raw, exhilarating blend that nearly made her heart stop. She inhaled deeply, drinking it to fill the depths of her lungs, letting it all mingle with the taste of his firm mouth.
There was a millisecond, just as they pulled apart and exhaled, that she sensed something else. Another scent, hiding ever so coyly beneath the dominant ones. What… what was it? It triggered something in her brainstem, something associated with… danger. Adrenaline. Fight or flight. Whatever it was, she'd smelled it somewhere before – another pesky déjà-vu moment.
If Bruce noticed the fleeting look of alarm and confusion on her face, he didn't reveal it. "I'll call you. Soon," he declared.
Although Bruce tried valiantly to slip into the restroom without Alfred seeing, the butler still caught a glimpse of his master's face art before he washed it off. Or rather, tried valiantly to wash it off. Bruce scowled at the mirror, scrubbing his cheek red as the green dollar sign stubbornly refused to rinse away. What sort of paint do they use at that blasted fair? Road stripe paint?
"Everything all right in there, master Bruce?" Alfred's muffled voice called from outside the bathroom door.
In response, the door flew open, and a very irritated Bruce stood there holding the ineffective washcloth. "No, everything is not all right! After a great day I come home to–"
"A great day?" repeated Alfred with undisguised joy. "That sounds like something I'd like to hear about!"
"How about after I get this biohazard off my face?" Bruce grumbled. "Do you have anything that might work?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure. It looks like you've removed at least two layers of skin already," Alfred inspected the irritated area. "I'd hate to cause any more damage with chemicals."
Bruce emitted a guttural sigh, throwing the washcloth on the floor before storming past Alfred. "I can't go out like this. I need to–"
"Ah, Master Bruce, I'm afraid you will have to go out like that." Through the nearest bay window, they could make out the Bat Signal hovering in dusky clouds.
"Damn it."
Another night, another back alley fistfight with a gang of scum. If Bruce was honest with himself, it was getting a bit tiresome. The same half-baked crimes kept getting committed over and over, ad nauseum. Except for the occasional mastermind plots by Joker and his ilk, Gotham's streets were becoming trite and predictable.
All things considered, a good problem to have, he supposed. But still tiresome.
Tonight featured an especially old trope: jewelry store burglars. The police must just be feeling lazy tonight, calling this one in. He'd barely needed to even touch his utility belt, no accessories needed. Piling the unconscious criminals near the broken store window, Bruce slipped out the back entrance, away from the approaching sirens.
That was when the night took a hard left turn away from typical.
She blended into the shadows so well, he almost didn't see her. Of course, she'd played plenty of those tricks on his eyes before.
Catwoman – out for a bit of opportunistic thieving. If she'd been fast enough, she might have been able to sneak a few things out of the store before the police turned the corner. But Batman's presence rather slowed things down, didn't it?
"Sorry, no taking advantage of other people's crimes tonight," he spoke toward the shadow.
"Speak for yourself, I'm just out for a stroll," came her cool reply.
"Is that so?" Bruce set his jaw. "Well, can't say as I blame you. It is a nice night."
"You're in a much more agreeable mood than usual," she slowly slinked out of hiding. "What's gotten into you?"
"None of your business."
"Probably not, but you can't blame a girl for being curious," she purred, cautiously stepping closer. "At least let me try to guess. Is it… a new suit? New cape?"
Tensing every muscle, Bruce set himself like an iron statue, permitting her to approach but not encouraging it either. This was the strange dance the two of them always engaged in – fraught innuendoes and bizarre banter. There was no one else with whom he experienced this double-edged chemistry.
"No, that's not it… that all looks the same…" she continued, looking him up and down. "Maybe your mask? Is it fitting better now, not pulling as–"
They both saw it at exactly the same moment.
His cheek, barely illuminated by the flickering awning light, with most of a green dollar sign visible.
Her cheek, half-obscured by her own mask, revealing the bottom half of a black cat.
Their eyes held more astonishment than the sum total of all their years as Batman and Catwoman.
And before either of them could speak, their feet carried them away in separate directions, faster than either had ever run.
