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Bruce wakes to darkness and the knowledge that he's being watched.
The first is a given; both the rich playboy and the hero of Gotham's shadows thrive in the night. It's the second that gives him pause. He waits for a sound, a voice, anything to betray the identity of the other person in the room.
Instead a dull pain at the back of his head makes him groan first.
There'd been a fight, yes. A cadre of fighters against him, and all too human and relatively harmless to deserve Batman's full anger. If the jewel being stolen wasn't meant to eventually fund another devastating attack against the city, the burglary wouldn't even have fallen under his purview.
But he'd gone, to try and nip disaster in the bud, and a lucky hit had sent him flying off a roof.
The last thing he remembered was the laughter of the men above him. And the crack of a whip almost dulling the sting of leather wrapping around his ankles and hauling him up.
Selina.
He's no stranger to the idea of a personal set of ethics. Even when they include saving an adversary, if not from death, at least from grievous injury.
He even lets himself believe he'd have done the same for her, had their roles been reversed.
"Thank you," he rasps gruffly.
There is no movement in the shadows.
But Bruce knows she is still there.
As if in answer to the thought, a weight jumps onto his chest. Four points of pressure make themselves known, and imperious yellow eyes regard him with cold curiosity.
He meets the feline gaze, but doesn't make the mistake to try and pet its fur. He knows how quickly soft fur can turn into the sharpness of claws, and he's already used up his share of mercy tonight.
The cat gives a solemn sniff, but stretches closer. Whiskers brush against his chin, a cold nose inspecting his neck. If he were ticklish, he would be in trouble.
"Hello," Bruce tells the cat, and then to its mistress, "I'll be leaving now."
He makes to sit up, and gets a warning hiss both from his furry host and the bruises at his back. The fall must have banged him up, despite Selina's effort to spare him. He takes a moment to breathe, to wonder where this leaves the two of them, in the chain of favors and betrayals they've built link by link over the years.
Wait. No a spoken word. But a demand as fangs nip at the skin below the cowl.
He could dislodge the cat with a single movement.
Instead he relaxes and lies back down, pretending not to smile as a warm body curls above his chest.
At last, Selina's voice reaches him.
"Fine," she says, and the fondness in that word makes it obvious that she's not addressing him. "You can keep the Bat for the night."
Bruce focuses his hearing in her direction, and wonders whether he'll take the reprieve she's granting him and then leave, or if he'll follow the unsaid invitation.
A pleased purr reaches his ears.
As if contentment can be found in the unlikeliest of situations.
Perhaps the cat is the smarter of them.
The End
18/10/15