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Chapter 12 - The Doubt

Dick guided the Nightbird through the dead streets of Bludhaven, heading for the Aparo Expressway and Gotham. First light was beginning to paint the sky a cold, pale white. He tightened his grip on the wheel, fighting the nausea percolating in his stomach. On the seat beside him lay the plain manila envelop he�d stolen from the crime scene at Flannery�s apartment. Montoya and the Bludhaven cops would never miss it and he alone recognized how dangerous it was. Dick hit a switch on the dash. Barbara�s voice was piped into the car�s interior.

�Oracle,� she chirped. �You�re exceeding the recommended speed limit, Dick,� she teased. �What if you get a ticket?�

�Babs,� he whispered, working against a lump in his throat. �Can I see you?�

�What�s wrong?� she asked, her voice entirely different. �Are you hurt?�

�Run a name for me?� he asked.

�Of course,� she replied, her voice low with concern. �Ready when you are.�

�George Flannery,� Dick said, speaking slowly, clearly. �I�m also sending you a set of fingerprints I lifted from a murder scene.� He fed the prints into the sophisticated computer scanner embedded in the space below the passenger seat. There was fiberoptic silence on Barbara�s end for a few moments and since his hands wouldn�t stop shaking, Dick pulled off to the side of road.

�Dick?� Barbara asked a little later, her electronically-reconstructed voice sounding tense. �I have the information.�

�Shoot,� Dick responded, lowering his head.

Barbara took a loud, deep breath. �Let me secure the channel,� she said. Dick knew the Oracomm channel was undetectable by any known electronic equipment or audio scanners. Only those who carried a transmitter, those in the immediate Bat family, could listen in on one of Barbara�s secured channels. Dick knew who she was hoping to shut out.

�Detective George Flannery, rank of Lieutenant. There�s not much here on him�military service, honorable discharge�served two tours of duty. Married, three kids. I�oh, Jesus. He�s the father of Janine Flannery.�

�The girl from the train,� Dick finished. �You find out how she died?�

�I ID�d her from facial recognition software early this morning,� Barbara replied. �One of the Sisters at the Immaculate Virgin chapel in the East End finally recognized her. There was no Missing Person report on her. I can�t believe she was a cop�s daughter.�

�Maybe he didn�t want her back,� Dick tried. �Maybe he wanted her out of his life.�

�Nothing about child abuse or neglect in his file,� Barbara contested. �He and his wife were divorced ten years ago. He was fired from the force�I�m checking Dad�s file on him.� There was silence again on Barbara�s end as she worked. Dick punched a button, bringing up a liquid crystal display of the file Barbara had been reading. There was a picture of Flannery�s three daughters on the screen: one of the young women in the picture was smiling broadly, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of her two sisters. She was cleaner, younger, a little chubbier, but a blind man could recognize her from the morgue shots taken after her wasted young body was pulled from the train.

�He was fired from the Gotham force in �88. Dad wrote something about �conspiracy� in his file. Must have refused to testify to Internal Affairs.�

Dick nodded. Batman had overthrown the despotic Police Commissioner Loeb and corrupt Gotham PD officers twelve years ago when he was first starting out his career as a vigilante. Flannery had lost his job in the investigation launched after James Gordon was promoted to Commissioner.

�Then there�s nothing,� Barbara continued. �He doesn�t show up on our radar for the next decade. Not even a parking ticket. He was admitted to a treatment center three years ago for alcoholism but there aren�t any DUIs or related charges on his record. He�s clean, Dick.�

�And the prints?� Dick asked, clearing his throat. His palms felt cold and clammy.

�Just a second,� Barbara replied, the line going quiet again. She came back on and her voice was crisp, efficient. �You pulled these from a murder scene?�

�Yep,� Dick replied. �There�s something else. I-�

�The prints,� Barbara cut him off, anger suffusing her low, melodic voice. �I found a match.�

�And?� he asked, already knowing the answer. �Who�s are they?�

�Selina Kyle�s.�

**************

Long afternoon shadows climbed the walls of Selina�s apartment. Sunset today was at 5:47 and they�d woken only hours ago. The precious daylight had slipped by too soon and Bruce couldn�t quite summon the ability to care. He watched as Selina, clad in one of his immaculate white lawn shirts, padded back into the bedroom bearing two dishes of pasta. He admired the presentation: she had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and, although she was not a short woman, the shirttails hung to mid-thigh. Selina had bothered with only a few of the buttons and while the white cotton was hopelessly wrinkled, he would have gladly let her wear her it all day, Alfred and his ironing be damned.

Bruce pushed himself up and leaned against the headboard, examining the pasta. It had stopped steaming and was already growing cold on the top. He poked at it experimentally with a fork. Angelhair pasta with alfredo sauce, but Bruce doubted Alfred would even classify it as food. �Microwave?� he asked.

Selina nodded as she climbed into bed and sat across from him, folding her long legs. �I�m impressed with the range of your culinary expertise. The butler never served you instant pasta?�

�No,� he said simply, trying a bite. The center was ice cold and some of the noodles on top were overcooked. But the sauce was acceptable and he appreciated the effort. She was the first woman to cook for him.

Selina watched his face, giggling, and he looked up at her. �You look like you�re trying to diffuse a bomb,� she smiled, poking him in the ribs with her toe. �Sorry it isn�t quite what you�re used to, but I�m well aware of my shortcomings in the kitchen. Can you cook?�

Bruce shook his head, digging into his food. �It�s never come up. I�ve tried chicken noodle soup before, but��

�Unqualified disaster?�

�Something like that.�

�And to think,� Selina shook her head, �you went to all the best schools.�

He chewed thoughtfully, wondering how much she really knew about his life. In his official biography, published in the wake of the Fairchild murder case to restore Bruce Wayne�s public image, it said he�d been educated overseas and held honorary degrees in business from Stanford and Harvard bought with money and the privilege of his class. He�d left home at fourteen for Europe and, after educating himself in the methods necessary to become Batman, Bruce had returned to America and taken university courses under a different name. He�d manage to build one of the most successful corporations in the world without ever graduating from a even a college night course, but he had gone to the best schools the underworld could offer.

Bruce smiled, thinking of that biography. The only accurate element in his official life story was the title: Wayne, A Life in Shadows. Selina was right. Sometimes the irony did kill him.

�Hey,� Selina interrupted his musings, �don�t look so depressed. The food can�t be that bad.�

�The food is fine,� he told her. �Thank you.�

�You�re welcome. And you�re being very formal for a man I�ve recently seen in the throes of passion.� She pushed against his chest with one of her bare feet, wriggling her toes playfully. He marveled at the size of her foot.

�Size eleven. I know, I know�� she shook her head. �I�m about a half-size away from specially-made shoes. You?�

�Size sixteen,� he told her, not mentioning that his shoes were usually custom-made by an Italian cobbler and flown into the US on a standing order. Selina tugged his foot free of the sheets and compared the sole of her right foot to his. Still smaller, which seemed to reassure her. Selina set her plate aside and climbed under the sheets next to him, pulling off the shirt she�d been wearing with a distinct lack of ceremony. She tossed it to the floor without a second glance.

�I think Alfred would have a conniption fit if you were to stay a night at the manor,� Bruce told her, thinking aloud. A strange expression stole over her face and he realized that, for the past few weeks, they had used her apartment exclusively. He hadn�t even invited Selina up to the manor for dinner.

�Don�t worry about it,� she said, guessing at his thoughts. �I don�t think I�m ready to face the extended family yet. Last time I saw any of them, they were interrogating me.�

�I�m�I�m sorry about that,� he told her honestly, going back over the events around James Gordon�s shooting. Catwoman was their first suspect and he�d sent Nightwing, Batgirl, Robin and even Huntress after her. Exactly what had transpired escaped him at the time: he hadn�t left Gordon�s bedside throughout the entire ordeal. But he knew his young apprentices and their affection for Gordon too well to believe the encounter had been pleasant.

Selina seemed to shrug it off. �I�m not going to try to win their approval,� she told him. �I don�t think they would approve anyway. But I would like to see Alfred again sometime. I always had a soft spot for the old man.�

Bruce nodded, thinking. He put his arm around her, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder. �What about Thanksgiving?�

�What about it?� she asked quickly, something brittle in her voice.

�It�s next week,� he pointed out. �Alfred usually insists on a meal with the entire family, and perhaps if you came then it wouldn�t be so�awkward. Dinner is usually interrupted by one of Joker�s attacks with a novelty turkey or some such nonsense anyway.�

Selina shook her head, the fingers of one hand exploring his chest. This was the first time they had been together that she�d failed to notice the scars. A week ago, he might have stopped the movement of her hand. Her touch unnerved him, reminded him that this wasn�t�this wasn�t right. And every time since that first night in the shower, Bruce had tried to convince himself that this was the last time. But Selina would touch him again, and�

�I appreciate the offer, really. But I already have plans,� Selina told him, pulling him back.

It wasn�t quite a lie. She knew Slam had been planning something with her, Leslie and Holly even if it was only dinner at Swiss Chalet. She wasn�t sure if that was still on, however, due to Slam�s continued avoidance of her over the last few weeks. And she hadn�t seen Holly since October, Leslie longer than that.

�Do you feel close to them?� she found herself asking, halting the soft, sensuous motion of her hand.

�What do you mean?�

�I mean the�kids, I guess. The two little birds, Batgirl, that Oracle person. Are they family, or just people you work with?�

Bruce considered her question, unsure how to answer. Selina had carefully avoided any mention of his personal life the past few weeks. They patrolled together at night and returned to her apartment around four a.m. He was usually gone by first light. Today was the first day he�d spent entirely with her and he didn�t feel nearly as guilty about the lost time devoted to the Mission as he should. There were a thousand other things he could have done today, the least of which included his Friday exercise regimen and some circuitry work on the Batmobile. He didn�t doubt there was some JLA business to attend to, a WayneCorp crisis better handled by Bruce Wayne in secret and although Oracle was working on the case of the missing girls and the yacht explosion in the Rogers basin from a fortnight ago, he knew he ought to devote time to some of that. It had all fallen away this morning, however, watching Selina sleep. He had tried to leave her, but had instead yielded to his desire to spend time with her not devoted to their duties as Batman and Catwoman. He was beginning to think she came across better without the mask and costume. Perhaps he did, too.

�It must be tough for you,� she said, touching his face. �All these people shoehorning themselves into your life. Did you ever want any of them?�

Her question surprised him. He took her hand and held it, briefly, wondering how to answer. Bruce decided the truth was best.

�I never planned for it. For them,� he clarified. �And I have had a lot of years to reconsider my decision. Perhaps it was a mistake to take in Dick and train him. And the others�� His face darkened. �They bear the cost of the mission. I don�t pretend to believe that their lives are better because of their association with me. To deny them this life would be to deny them a part of themselves, but I can�t help but think it was a mistake from the beginning.�

Selina nodded, thinking of the different boys in the Robin costume, wondering what had happened to the red-headed Batgirl. She knew that there were some things he would never tell her. But when he spoke of his young wards, those children in brightly-colored costumes who�d faced her in battle and gone down fighting, his voice darkened and a strange, desperate expression had stolen over his features. Things had happened to those kids, been done to them, that he�d never forgiven himself for. She had a hard time believing Bruce would intentionally hurt a child, but Selina knew all too well the perils of the life they�d chosen. And to introduce a child to their world�

She kissed him, cutting off that train of thought, trying to ground him in the present before the sadness always lurking within him surfaced and overwhelmed them both. Selina�s hand slipped under the sheets and this time he responded without protest, saying nothing of the darkening hour or the fact that their presence was needed on the streets of Gotham. He kissed her ardently, heat blossoming between them. Selina closed her eyes and moaned softly as Bruce touched her breast, lowering his head to massage her nipple with his tongue. She tipped her head back, fingers curling in his dark hair and he raised his head, watching as she began to lose herself in the moment. The shadows lengthened on the wall.