Hard to Sleep Tonight

That had been a night. Yes, she hadn't been able to make off with her prize, but what she had gotten instead? Worth the loss. A girl could get used to that kind of attention. Perhaps another night on the town was in order. What would happen next time?

Climbing back onto the balcony, Catwoman gave a stretch, arms over her head and back muscles pulling. With grace she stalked forward, opening the doors to her penthouse that were kept unlocked. In Gotham, even this high up, locks wouldn't help you. She knew her way around one and apparently so did Batman.

He had tried. He had tried hard. And that save at the end? Unexpected. Could have let her fall or get injured, making her capture all the more certain. That or a quick death. The thief was partial to the former as she liked living. She liked it a lot.

Off came the mask, the garment placed on a vanity to be put away later. From her bed, Isis perked up, giving a welcoming mew that became a bit more insistent with the second. Someone was happy she was back, and Selina rewarded this with a gentle pet and nice scratching of the ears. The feline was purring loudly in contentment.

Next the gloves were removed, and then she went for the belt. Her little tools of the trade would need to be inventoried, oh, and the rest of her outfit checked for any kind of damage. Ah, and there was the soreness. A nice bath was in order both to soothe and check for any bruising.

At least, that was the plan. From the other side of the bedroom door, she could pick up on human voices. Who was up here in her digs and why this time of night? Folks should be home, and desiring some solitude to revel in the afterglow of tonight's little chase, she would give them all a piece of her mind.

As soon as Selina opened the door, she frowned at the sight. Family, of course. Both the cousins Calabrese, Antonia and Nick, and who was that the two of them were gathered around? What was Chris doing here? And…hmm, that was new.

Normally, Chris stood tall, stoic, and pretty much had a stick up his ass. Not right now. Right now, he was sitting on an ottoman, slumped, head down, lower arms on his thighs, and all and all looking like a man defeated. Antonia looked worried, and she did her best to hide behind a tough girl posture. Nick was…still Nick and he was the first to look her way.

"Can this wait for tomorrow?" Selina asked, stepping out of her bedroom and heading further into the living areas of the penthouse, closing the distance with the other three. "I would have thought you lot would be sleeping with sugar plums on your minds."

"I'd like some liquor, thank you very much," Nick drawled, holding up a hand that held a glass full of the stuff, on the rocks of course. "I think Chris might like some too."

Chris drank? Surprising yet unsurprising at the same time. "And why here? I'm sure his cabinet is stocked with the best," the dark-haired woman remarked.

"Well, he did have a visit from Batman," Nick replied, raising the glass to his lips not to sip but to guzzle.

And that right there brought an end to the afterglow.

Green eyes sharpened and zeroed in on her lawyer. The defeated posture gave away the game, and still Chris wouldn't even look up at her. Oh, she had a good idea of what had happened.

"What did you tell him?"

By now, it wasn't surprising how threatening she could be with her voice alone. That edge had gotten sharper thanks to politicking with mobsters. Hell, Chris had flinched! It was that bad, wasn't it?

"He wanted to know about the power plant," Chris spoke, head lowering even further. The larger man's hands rose up to comb through his mussed up hair.

Figured. Now she was starting to feel rage. Goddamn it, and here she was thinking about him getting another chance at a chase. Should've known he was full of it. Investigating Shreck? No, more like investigating her.

What more did the bastard want? Everything served up to him on a silver platter? Christ, it was like he was protecting Max rather than actually investigating him. Why, why was she so surprised? Like every man in her life, he had disappointed her. Worse yet, this was further confirmation that she had made the right choice in approaching Big Daddy Rex in the first place.

The flying rat was not a friend or an ally. That much was clear. So much for sticking up for the little guy when he was defending the wrong man. A goddamn murderer, no less. Once again, Max had weaseled his way out of a reckoning.

"What do you want to do?" Antonia asked, breaking through her thoughts. Selina's gaze whipped over to her cousin and locked eyes. Antonia was doing her best to keep a cool head, but there was another implication to her question.

Chris, by his own admittance, had talked. A big no no for both the law and the mob. Forget about his license, his life was forfeit. He knew it, and he still admitted to it. Took some balls, but he was willing to give her everything…everything…no, not everything.

"What pray tell did you actually tell him?" the enraged crime lord asked, her tone a little lighter which had Chris finally looking up. His face was one big frown, but what else was different?

"What does it matter?" the lawyer asked bitterly.

Now she was in front of him, leaning over, looming you could say. "Because what he knows, you know, and I want to know all the details you gave him. Then we're going to use that to protect ourselves. The Batman wants to stick his nose in our business, then we're going to make it hard for him."

"Oh, and how are you going to manage that?" Nick had returned to the liquor cabinet for a refill.

"Head on doesn't work, but a nice shell game will keep him busy," Selina started, not even looking at her younger cousin. "And since he's cozy protecting billionaires and millionaires and everyone in between, let's get Bruce Wayne closer. I highly doubt he'll make a move against Gotham's favorite son."

"Its richest billionaire too," Nick added, holding up his empty glass as if to make a toast. In his other hand was a bottle about to be open.

"And if he thinks to return?" Antonia asked, her voice hard.

Because of course he would return, but a key aspect of a shell game was misdirection. "Then we give him information," she answered. Both Antonia and Chris were looking at her as if she was crazy, so a few more details would be needed. "I never said it would be accurate information. We do it right, we can get him to do some dirty work for us."

"More games? I don't think this is the time," Chris said. "Our operations being hit, some newcomer butting in, that rat you think is in the ranks, and you want to add in manipulating Batman?"

"And we have no choice on any of those," Selina snapped. "We're too close. Too damn close, and I won't allow that two-faced bastard to ruin it."

Not like how he had ruined this time. It was a bitch too that he was also a good kisser.

It was late. It was so, so late. Stephanie could only hope that her parents were in bed because she just knew she would be grounded if they caught her coming in at this hour.

Tonight had been a bust, to put it mildly. Instead of looking into the Cluemaster guy, they got involved in some convoluted game of tag with the infamous thief, Catwoman. She literally ran circles around, through, and in-between two teams of vigilantes. It was honestly embarrassing. While she didn't get much of a chance to get involved, she watched as the others were toyed with, right up until Batman intervened.

So they effectively wasted the night. Perhaps if they had accomplished something, the blonde girl wouldn't be feeling so glum. Having a big bust, or making some serious headway on a case lifted up spirits, making any risks with the 'rents worth it.

Reaching her house, she stared at its face, seeing the windows dark. There was some hope that her parents were in bed. That would make sneaking in so much easier.

Heading for the front door, she carefully slid her house key into the lock, painstakingly turning it until she heard the lock click. Then she turned the doorknob and carefully pulled the door open. The hinges creaked, much to her annoyance, but she slipped inside, and then closed the door behind her. She was quick to lock the door as well.

So far so good. Now she just needed to sneak into her room and she would be in the clear.

Unfortunately, her luck didn't hold out as the lights in the kitchen suddenly turned on. Freezing, Stephanie's blues stared widely towards the kitchen, her dad standing out in the open, his arm raised up to clearly hit the light switch. It was such a dramatic entrance that the girl had to silently give her dad props for it.

Of course, it had to come at her expense.

"Where were you, Stephanie Brown?" her dad asked, her tone low, not giving away his thoughts. It was clear he was playing a game with her.

So she had to play back the right way. "Out with friends," she shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant as she could.

"The right friends, hopefully," her dad responded.

Stephanie just blinked her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded before she knew she had made a mistake.

This was confirmed as her dad held himself straighter. She knew what lecture was coming. "Stephanie, we're Browns," he told her, his tone none too gentle. "That means we're more intellectual than our contemporaries. We come from a long line of brilliant men and women, and I fully expect you to follow in that line. In fact, I know you're smart. I see the way you carry yourself around those kids in your school. So I know you know what I mean."

Yeah, it was this again. Honestly, Stephanie didn't see where her dad got off on saying their family was smart. There was some genius inventor a couple generations ago, and he made some big invention that could have changed the world if not for Thomas Edison stealing it. That was how the story went anyways. Stephanie hadn't gotten around to seeing just how true that account was. Fast forward to now, and her family hadn't exactly made that big of a mark on the world. Her dad had that gameshow of his, so he was at least some small time celebrity.

"Yeah, I guess," she eventually responded to her dad. It was honestly easier to agree with him than to challenge him.

Her dad stepped out of the kitchen and walked right up to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, which made her look up at him. "I know you can do anything you set your mind to," he continued. "And one day your achievements will put a shadow over my show. You'll be bigger than anything it could have been. But you have to be careful with who you surround yourself with."

"If you're talking about Harper and Cassandra, it's alright, Dad," Stephanie pushed back. "We're not doing any drugs or anything if that's what you're worried about."

Her dad raised an eyebrow. "Harper and Cassandra?" he repeated. "I don't think I know of them."

"That's because I haven't invited them over," Stephanie was hasty to answer. Damn it, why was she making all these damn mistakes?! "They're not ready to be quizzed to death."

"Then I suggest you find friends that do."

"I like them, Dad. They're nice. Maybe a tad blunt at times, but I have fun with them."

"Doing what?"

Okay, she really didn't want to go down this path. "Can't tell ya, Dad," she was quick to say. "Girl code. What happens in the…uhh…circle of trust, stays with the…circle of trust?"

Alright, Stephanie could have really worded that better, but she was on the spot and she wasn't the best at making things up on the fly. That was Cassandra and Harper's territory.

"Then I think I want to see just who my daughter is spending her time with," her dad said, and a sinking feeling appeared in the blonde girl's gut. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and went back to the kitchen. "Sooner rather than later, Stephanie," he called back over his shoulder.

Yeah, that wasn't going to happen, not if she could help it. However, Stephanie got the feeling that no matter what she did, her personal life and her family life was about to collide with each other.

Crap.

The Cave looked as it always did: dark, imposing, and oppressive. Everything was like it was supposed to be even after its self-destruction when the Justice League had been brainwashed into their Regime counterparts. The clean-up by the heroes had restored this faster than the Manor itself, even if Zatanna had done most of the heavy-lifting with her magic. With a couple of spells, everything was back to the way it was, from the super computer, the medbay, the lab, and the dojo. Even the explosives were back in the walls, primed and ready should there be another time it needed to be blown up.

Of course, Batman couldn't use it due to the renovations of Wayne Manor. The Cave's secret allowed for the near-instant restoration, but the Manor was exposed and couldn't be magically restored. So the Cave hadn't been used until he and his bickering children could move back into the Manor.

Overseeing his base of operations, Batman sat in an alcove that was high above it all. There was a rock formation that had been slowly eroded to form a chair. It had been quite some time since he had sat in it, usually when he sought out solitude for his more darker, depressing thoughts.

He had sat here when his childhood friend revealed himself to be a psychopath. He had sat here upon his return from the future, contemplating his next steps that led to him placing his confidence in J'onn. There were a number of other times, but he really couldn't focus on them.

He had almost died tonight. While every night on patrol could be his last, the dark-clad man had literally watched his time tick away from the bomb the Scarface dummy had set up. Trapped, he had slowly accepted his fate until Gordon burst in and saved him.

Though he was grateful for his old friend saving him, that wasn't the only recent occurrence. There was those bombings too, where he got trapped under debris. Again, that could happen any night, but both of those times had happened one after the other. Once was happenstance, twice was coincidence…

It made him think. Was he slowing down? That was a natural part of aging, but could he have avoided both incidents had he been younger and faster? Maybe even one of them?

Or was he beginning the downward slope to the point he couldn't keep up with this for much longer? That was inevitable assuming he wasn't killed young. He had been at this for years now, surviving death itself even, that he wasn't a young man anymore. He was rapidly approaching middle-age. Just how much longer could he keep this up?

And would he want to? Being able to do something and wanting to do something were not mutually inclusive. There were others, the Birds of Prey, Cassandra's restored Batclan, and now this man in the trenchcoat. People were starting to stand up for themselves, relying less on him to be the sole guardian of Gotham. When he had been imprisoned, Gotham hadn't deteriorated into chaos like it had following the Great Gotham Fire, or even Bane's Siege. It had held itself together with the other vigilantes watching over it, for months even.

He should have been happy about that. Gotham was no longer so crippled by crime that it instantly slid back into old habits without his watchful eye.

So why wasn't he?

That was the most troubling part of it all. Gotham was improving, which was what he wanted, why he started this crusade. All of his work and effort was bearing fruit. So why wasn't he happier about it?

Perhaps it was because he had grown to accept that Gotham would always need him, that he would end up giving up his life to keep it from sliding into Hell. He had become accustomed to this. Hell, what would he do with himself if he no longer needed to be Batman?

Now that…that scared him.

It was like the dog chasing cars. The dog never caught the car, he just always chased it, barking and snarling. What would happen if the dog ever caught the car? Would he know what to do with it? Would he continue following instinct, or just be dumbfounded that he finally succeeded?

Could Batman actually stop? Could he actually…retire? It seemed a strange thought, but it was a startling reality. Put another way, could he stop being Batman?

At one time, no, he knew he could not. He couldn't let this obsession of his, this mission of his go. He had forsaken a second chance at life as a normal man to continue this. The pain he had suffered, the heartache, the torment was all muddled with occasional sparks of happiness. One side outweighed the other, no contest.

But look what he had now. He had not one, but two children. It was strange how that had come to pass, each one vying for his approval and attention. Whatever legacy he had built, it would continue through one, if not both of them.

So in a way, he had someone willing to follow in his footsteps when he was unable to continue as Batman.

But not right now. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that there were few people that could stand up to the denizens of Arkham. The chaos and damage they created was too much for just anyone. This Scarface and his ventriloquist seemed to be of the same ilk. He couldn't, wouldn't stand aside while they climbed their way into the public eye.

He was still Batman and it was still his watch. His goal was always to leave Gotham in a better place than when he found it, and while it was improved, it still wasn't over.

Even if his time as Batman was closer to its end rather than its beginning.

You had to have backup plans in case you were found out. While having a base of operations in the city was preferred, when you had Batman skulking about, sometimes being on the outskirts was best.

Long ago, this place had been a sawmill. A lifetime ago, the lumber industry had had a heyday until environmental regulations caught up with them. The previous owner had locked up the place with lumber in various stages of being made into something useful, and now just reminders of a bygone era.

Speaking of eras, Scarface was keen on making his own.

"That wasn't half gad," the boss announced to the muscle. Rhino was on standby, Ratso was looking around at the new digs, and Mugsy was checking some of his first aid, bandages already red with soaked up blood. The mook would survive, just a minor inconvenience. "You goys had Gatman on the ropes. I'm proud of yous mooks. Really showing who has the real game in this town."

"Uh, Boss? Do you think he's alive? You know, Batman?" Rhino asked. The lug wasn't acting like the tank he usually was, shoulders slumped and pulling in, like he was trying to make himself small.

Nevertheless, it was a great question. Had the bomb finished off that pest? The man was dead to rights, pinned down with all sorts of junk. The timer had been more for their benefit. If anyone could have found a way out, then by reputation Batman would qualify.

"It doesn't matter if he survived somehow. Gurned, singed, extra crispy, don't matter," Scarface stated. "You know what really matters? We got out. None of us are gehind gars. We pulled that offs. Now we's got to capitalize on it."

"How?" That was Ratso, done sightseeing and giving his full attention to him.

"Spreading the word. Count on Gatman geing alive, which means we say we went toe to toe with 'em and got away. How many can say that, eh?" Wooden eyes slid over each and every one of his boys, lingering long enough to get his point across to each and every one of them. Before any dumb questions could be asked, "The street cred we'll get from that, off the charts. We'll have every street punk and gangganger knocking on the door, and mayge even some of da real deal gangsters. We're a growing operation, goys, and we might as well start looking for the cream of the crop to add to our team."

"You want us to start bringing in more guys?" Mugsy asked, surprised. "But…aren't we…?"

"You're my right hand mans, unlike this dummy here." A wooden hand slapped back and struck the Dummy who gave a pathetic whimper. "Naw, I'm thinking it's time you goys get some responsigility around here. You've more than earned it, each and every one of yous." And now they were all standing a little taller, drinking in the praise. "So we need to strike while the iron is hot, and we're the hottest thing around."

"But what if Batman didn't survive?" Ratso asked.

Hmm, what was the muscle here doing asking more questions? A fine thief and all, but he asked a lot of questions, unlike Rhino and Mugsy. Those two hung on his every word and knew their place. However, Ratso was thinking about other possibilities.

"That's where gragging agout our oneupmanship comes into play. Everyone will know we got the hurt on 'em, what's more than taking the credit if he is dead as a doornail? We'll be in prime position to do that, and you know that's going to have everygody trying to get in my good side."

"That's genius, Boss!" Rhino declared. Good ol' Rhino, never thinking for himself.

"Now, get yourselves some rest, and when its dawn, start spreading the word that Scarface is here ta stay," the budding crime lord ordered. "There's other gusiness I need to do with the dummy here. Let our million dollar a day cash cow know about the change in location. There's still the other job that needs to be taken care of.

The other job, the personal favor that Max Shreck wanted of him. Thinking about the cred he was going to get from getting the word out, this was something to really solidify that he wasn't to be messed with. It was going to take some time, a few days because of the lack of information he had on it all, but that would be changing. The Dummy here would be able to find out what he needed.

Moving to a set of metal stairs and climbing up to a catwalk that lined the sawmill's factory floor, the pair headed to a closed off station, one that controlled all the machines and allowed for former management to monitor everything below.

Only after entering it did the Dummy speak up, "Mr. Scarface? Are you sure—"

"Of course I'm sure, you dummy!" Scarface roared, turned around to stick his face into the older man's. "I don't rememger askin' for yer opinion, and if yous are smart, you'll keep 'em to yourself! This is goin' getter than I ever thought it would and I won't let any scaredy cat dummies get in my way, you hear? Now be a good little dummy and keep yer damn mouth shut! You'll speak when I say you can!"

"Of course! Absolutely! I'm sorry!" the Dummy apologized, groveling already.

Scarface looked him over. "That's getter. Now, make yourself useful and find me a phone. The night ain't over yet and like I told the goys, we're striking while the iron is hot."

Because resting on your hands was stupid. You wanted to get anywhere in life, then you had to seize it, kill if you have to. You'd think the Dummy would have figured that out by now. Apparently not, and shame for him that he was a tough love kind of fellow.

Organized crime was a messy affair. You weren't in it for friends. Violent, brutal, and if you did it right a real bloodbath. He was in the mood for one, especially after tonight.

So whose blood would spill first?