40This is my first Batman story, so please bear with me if I don't stick strictly to cannon...after all, it's a little more fun to live outside the lines. Please review and tell me what you think!
Arwen
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Batman. Or Catwoman. Curse you, cruel fate.
Selina Kyle slid her key into the lock of her apartment and opened the door. She slipped inside and promptly kicked off her high-heeled shoes; her feet ached, and she would need to rest them before her busy night. Her cats twined themselves around her legs as she threw her keys on the counter and put down her briefcase, opening the refrigerator.
"I know, darlings, I know," she said lovingly, one hand stroking the head of a black cat that had leapt up onto the counter. She surveyed the contents of her fridge and finally selected two cans of tuna, a can of salmon and, of course, a pint of milk. After opening the cans of tuna, she set them on the floor. "Play nice and share like Momma's taught you," she instructed the cats as they crowded around the pungent fish. She padded into the living room, carrying her own dinner, and flicked on the television, settling onto the well-worn couch as she scooped the salmon out of the can with two fingers, eyes half-closed in contentment. The eleven o'clock news informed her that two precious bits of topaz, called the Cat's Eyes, had been stolen from the Gotham Fine Arts Institute four nights ago. She smiled. According to the pretty blonde news reporter, an investigation, still under way, had thus far yielded no concrete results.
"However," the reporter continued perkily, standing in front of the looming pillars of the Institute's front entrance, "the front-running suspect at this time is the professional thief known as the Cat-burglar."
Selina gave a yowl of indignation, startling the calico that had settled into her lap. She threw a cat-embroidered pillow at the television set. "Cat-burglar?" she repeated in disbelief. The cat scrambled down her legs, preferring the floor to his moody mistress.
The news anchor frowned slightly, as reporters do when they mishear something on their earpieces. "Excuse me," she said, smiling a little into the microphone. "Apparently this thief is being dubbed the Catwoman."
"That's right, you little airhead," Selina spat emphatically. She sighed and licked the last of the salmon from her fingers, washing the fish down with a swallow of milk. "You'd think that after months on the Gotham crime circuit, they'd at least get my name right," she complained to the black cat, who sat looking expectantly at the pint of milk. "Oh, all right." She poured some milk into her empty tuna can and offered it to the black cat, who licked his whiskers appreciatively. Drinking the rest of the milk, she stared at the television darkly.
"In other news," said the anchor, "the career criminal and psychopathic activist known as Poison Ivy has escaped Arkham Asylum. No details on the manner of her escape are available at this time, and citizens are urged to contact police with any information regarding her whereabouts or activities."
"Hmm," purred Selina. "So Red's on the loose. That could be fun." She turned and addressed the black cat. "You know, we got some quality girl time last time she was around…too bad the Bat caught up to her." She made an annoyed face, which then slid into flirtatious and contemplative. "The Bat," she repeated, stroking her cat. "You know, I've got to hand it to the hottie, he's good." Smiling, she collected the empty salmon can and walked into the kitchen. Delicately tossing the cans into the trash can, she turned and looked sharply at the television, pattering across the room to turn up the volume.
"And, despite the burglary we covered earlier this hour, Ruth Ellis, the spokeswoman for the Gotham Institute of Fine Art, says that the Institute's plans to host an exhibit of artist Angelo Marcellus' work remain unchanged. The exhibit will be unveiled tomorrow at an evening gala hosted by none other than the artist himself." The anchor looked down at her notes perfunctorily. "However, on top of the burglary, the Institute has also had to endure demonstrations by some of Gotham's leading environmental groups, protesting Marcellus' extravagant use of rare wood such as teak and mahogany in his sculptures." The camera panned a gallery of gleaming wooden artwork, and Selina's eyes widened as she spied a sculpture depicting a woman with the head of a lioness. "Marcellus' show will focus on images of power throughout history, including the Egyptian and Roman gods."
"Me—ow," breathed Selina, plastering two hands against the screen, gazing lustfully at the image of the carved Egyptian goddess. "Sekhmet, if I'm not mistaken, darlings." Her cats crowded around her feet. "The goddess of war in ancient Egypt." She smiled and licked her lips. "I think it's only fitting that she belong to the most dangerous woman in Gotham, don't you?" she purred breathily, snapping off the television. "All right, precious." She gently disentangled the cats from around her legs. "Momma has to go get ready for work." Her eyes gleamed as she disappeared into her bedroom. "Be good while I'm gone, darlings," she called as she slipped out the window, her whip cracking as she swung to the next rooftop.
xXxXx
Bruce rubbed his chin as he surveyed the information laid out on the supercomputer's large screens.
"A light meal before you start the night's work, sir?" asked Alfred, walking down the stairs of the Batcave with his usual silent style, bearing a silver tray in one hand.
"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said, eyes still glued to the screens, rapidly clicking through several news articles.
"In light of the fact that you once forgot to eat for two days straight while tracking the Joker, sir, I'd prefer you eat while I am here to observe," Alfred said dryly.
Bruce chuckled and sat back. He had been burning the candle at both ends lately—more than usual, at least. With the most recent burglary at the Fine Art Institute and the escape of Poison Ivy from Arkham, the Batman had definitely been clocking overtime. "You worry too much, Alfred."
"I am beyond the point of worrying, Master Bruce," replied the butler with his usual wit. "At this point, I usually resort to praying."
Bruce chuckled again through a mouthful of Waldorf salad. Then he straightened abruptly. "Sekhmet!"
"Well, sir, I habitually direct my entreaties on your behalf to a different deity, but if you'd like me to put in a word with the Egyptian goddess of war, I think I could manage."
"No, Alfred—look! Sekhmet!" Bruce watched the eleven o'clock news hungrily, hoping for another shot of the wooden statue. The news continued to a clip of protestors, pacing outside the Art Institute with signs depicting trees. His mind worked rapidly, putting it all together.
"I see, sir. Speaking of the Art Institute," said Alfred, "may I remind you that you received an invitation for the opening of the new Marcellus exhibit tomorrow night."
"Black-tie gala?" Bruce asked, typing a few key phrases into the computer's search engine.
"Yes, sir. I've already selected and pressed your tuxedo."
"I wouldn't count on there being any gala at all," the billionaire said, leaning back in his seat as he surveyed the archived news clippings on the screen. "Marcellus uses large amounts of rare woods in his artwork, a source of conflict with many prominent environmental activists. He was even charged with a felony early in his career for violating sanctions on using wood from a specific species of endangered tropical trees." His brows knitted together, Bruce continued, thinking out loud as Alfred listened silently, hands folded behind his back in his typical pose. "Put that together with his carving of Sekhmet, and I'd say we've got two criminal paths crossing."
"Sir?" Alfred arched an eyebrow. "Forgive me if I don't follow your train of thought."
"Poison Ivy is on the loose. She's sure to meddle with a high-profile art exhibit that uses rare woods. Add that to a cat statue…and you've got a high probability of two of the greatest serial criminals in Gotham hitting the Gotham Fine Art Institute…tonight." And with that, he was out of his chair, already pulling on his gauntlets.
"But sir," protested Alfred. "You haven't finished your supper."
"Put it in the fridge for me, Alfred," Bruce said, pulling on his mask. "I'll be back before dawn."
"Very good, sir," Alfred said, gathering up the tray with its barely-touched meal. "Master Bruce?"
"Yes, Alfred?" The Batman paused at the side of the Tumbler, waiting.
"Do be careful, sir," the butler said quietly.
"I will." The Tumbler roared into life and leaped through the dark tunnel toward the streets of Gotham. Alfred stood silently, listening to the echoes of the powerful engine as it bore his charge toward a dangerous night; and then he turned, taking the Waldorf salad upstairs to await Master Bruce's return.