Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: DC Comics/Batman/Catwoman
Challenge/Prompt: gameofcards Catspiration: What the cat dragged in (If you join, tell them Kat Lee of Team Clubs sent you!) and hc_bingo: Protection
Word Count: 1,295
Date Written: 4 October 2016
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters within belong to DC Comics, not the author, and are used without permission.
She should have left him. He's her greatest enemy and the only one who can stop her when she isn't pulling her punches against him or his kids. If it wasn't for him, she could finally build her empire of riches and power, and no one would dare hurt her or any cat across the world ever again. She could truly save them all.
But if it wasn't for him, would she still be fighting to save and not merely stealing? If it wasn't for him, she would have died long ago. Without him to stop her, no one could stop her, but without him . . . She feels that same familiar pain in her chest as she yanks him through her bedroom window. Her babies mill about her, meowing, sniffing the great, big Bat, scratching at his leather costume, and otherwise checking out what the head cat just dragged in. Selina lets them have their ways as she stares down at the man who should be their father.
Should be, but isn't. He's never going to ask her to marry him. He's never going to settle down and stop running. He'll never stop chasing criminals, herself included, or stop running from what his own heart truly wants. She sniffs, realizes she isn't too far from beginning to cry herself, and changes her sniff into a snarl. "Damn you weigh a lot," she snarks and yanks him harder across the floor.
A couple of her tigers come to help her, and with their support, she's able to lift him onto her bed. His blue eyes crack open, and suddenly . . . Maybe it's the light or maybe it's his pain after taking all those hits, some of which were meant for her, or maybe it's just her mood and this annoying ache in her heart that won't shut up tonight, but suddenly, he looks so old and tired. "Selina," he tries to crack a smile but coughs up blood instead. "You shouldn't have."
"Shut up," she hisses and tears at his uniform. His eyes roll back into his head, and she lets him go for now. She strips him down, for the first time not studying how sensual and powerful his unclothed body is, and lays her head against his muscular. Tears are pricking her eyes when she lifts her head again, but she smiles through them. He's got a good, steady heartbeat. He's going to make it, but he wouldn't have if she had left him behind.
Which even he says she should have done, she remembers as she makes her way through twining, feline bodies to her bathroom. She gathers what she needs and returns to care for his wounds, but the whole time she's working on him, she's also thinking. It would have been so easy to just let him stay there. No one would have known she was there, and if any one had figured it out, they couldn't have blamed her.
Not that she cares what any one else thinks any damn way, anybody but this unconscious man laying and bleeding on her stolen, silk sheets. She brushes his dark hair out of his eyes and studies his handsome face for a moment as she lets alcohol bubble in a wound. She shakes her head as she mutters, "What have you done to me?", and as memories waltz through her mind, she returns to caring for him.
What indeed has he done for her? He's saved her so many times, but he's also put her in jail just as many times. He's helped her, but he's also stopped her from wrecking rightful revenge. He's been a bigger nuisance than he has been a help in every step of her life, but without him . . . Without him, she would have been dead long ago, she thinks again, but worse is the fact that she knows that if he's taken from her now, this pain weighing so heavily in her heart tonight will never end.
When she's done removing the bullets and mending and wrapping his wounds as best she can, she leans down over him again and no longer allows herself the protection of staying away from his tempting mouth. The moment she touches his lips, he responds, revealing that he's not still as unconscious as he seemed. He gives a soft moan underneath her lips and around her tongue, and when she lifts her head lightly, he smiles. "You taste good tonight."
She smirks as she playfully slaps him in a chest, bringing a grunt from him. "I always taste good."
He peeks at her from beneath his long, dark eyelashes. "You do," he agrees, "but you don't always save me."
"You're always saving others," she tosses back at him. "I thought it might be high time you got your own batty ass saved."
He smirks. "Touché."
"No retort?" she asks, more than a little surprised and perhaps a tad disappointed as well.
"None," he says and moves his legs restlessly, stirring the cats surrounding him on the bed and causing several of them to meow in protest. One of her bigger, black tomcats actually snarls in denial and shoves back against Bruce's bare foot. Selina reaches down and scratches his head until he calms.
He could ask where he was. He could question what she was doing when he found her. Knowing him as she does, she knows his arresting her still isn't entirely out of the question. But instead of doing any of the things she expects, he reaches out, takes her hand in his, and tugs gently at her fingers. She lets him carry her hand back to his mouth, and he kisses each finger while murmuring, "Thank you." He leaves a couple of droplets of blood behind, but they don't bother her. She's too busy tingling inside and staring at him in preparation for his next move.
He tries to sit up but groans again as his body protests. Selina whisks her hand away from him and presses gently but firmly against the few inches of his chest that isn't marked by bullet wounds, bruises, or cuts. "You won't be ready for that for a couple of days," she realizes.
Her cats look up. A panther growls. A ginger tomcat whisks his tail and strikes Bruce's swollen ankle in irritation. One queen meets her adopted mother's eyes and licks her lips. Selina bites her own lip to keep from laughing at that one. She knows Bruce wouldn't understand her laughter at a time like this.
But then he lifts his hand again, palm up and fingers out stretched, and looks up at her through those baby blues of his that can be so sweet when he chooses and asks softly, "Join me?"
She melts. All sensible thoughts cease as she stares into those baby blues. By all rights, she should have left this man to die, but even with all her cats, all her children, five of whom are again circling her ankles and rubbing against her, she's never been happier than she didn't leave some one to die. She takes his hand in hers and uses a few of her gymnastic moves to get into her own bed, surrounded by him and her babies, and curl up next to him. "You know you're in no shape for -- "
"I said nothing about any of that," he says simply, gently, and kisses her fingers again. "I only want to be near the woman you saved me."
You saved me, too, she thinks but doesn't speak as she holds to him and listens to his breathing and her babies' purring as he slips back into unconsciousness, a smile now on both their faces.