Cat-Scratch Fever

(Summary: For so long, she’d been her own woman, confident and powerful, but she still couldn’t escape her ex-husband’s grasp. When he found her, she only had one option. BatCat)

(Author’s Note: Trying, once again, to get back in the swing of things. Can’t seem to write at all as of late. Hopefully this will be okay, and I’ve gotten a few BatCat requests, so why not? Enjoy. :))

“Looks like rain.”

Alfred’s heavy, English voice carried across the living room into the silence. Bruce glanced over his coffee cup at the cloudy, sunset sky.

“Perfect night for crime,” he replied, taking a heavy sip of the hot, dark liquid, letting it burn down his throat in an almost relaxing fashion.

“Your father never drank coffee at night, sir,” Alfred said, closing the drapes.

“Father didn’t work like I do, Alfred.” He grinned, but it faded rather quickly. “I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

“What for?” Dick had suddenly emerged from the large, double doors, into the living room, a small game machine being the main focus of his attention.

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, gazing into the fire. “I get these feelings sometimes. Unfortunately, I’m usually right.”

“Eh, we can handle it,” Dick grinned, slumping down onto the sofa next to his father-figure.

Bruce gave him a half-smile, still feeling a bit uncomfortable. The sun was setting low in the sky, and as the sky darkened, he could feel his pulse quickening – the odd, nervous feeling that overcame him on certain nights. He was paranoid.

He’d felt the same way when his parents had been killed.

…

Selena Kyle rubbed her temples, feeling rather nauseous. She’d been working on a charity case all day…. The numbers didn’t add up.

“This is absolutely impossible. Someone has to be embezzling some of these funds,” she said to the air. She never worked with anyone. In fact, the entire office found her rather strange. Though she was definitely flirtatious with people that mattered – she was rather… introverted, at work.

“I give up. I’ll come back to it in the morning.”

She shoved her papers in her desk and stood. There was more work to be done, much more fun work. She smiled.

“Perfect night for crime.”

Still, as she pulled her raincoat on and pushed her umbrella up above her head outside the office, she couldn’t help but feel a sort chill, creeping down into her stomach. She swallowed heavily, making her way down the Gotham city sidewalk. Something’s wrong… She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was out of place in her life. The rain began to pick up, a downpour against her umbrella. She picked up her speed, trying to hold her umbrella steady against the wind. It really wasn’t doing much good now – she was getting soaked. Her crimson rain coat was the only protection against her smart suit – covering the jacket, blouse, and skirt rather easily. Her legs and hair were not so lucky.

Finally, she approached her apartment, feeling quite happy to see it. Perhaps tonight might actually be a good night to stay in… It really didn’t matter if Catwoman made an appearance, and it was cold and rainy. After all, cats hate the rain, and they hate the cold. We’re naturally finicky creatures. She smirked, moving inside the door and shutting her umbrella, holding it by her side as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She fumbled with the keys at her door, then finally shoved the damn thing open and tossed her umbrella into the basket.

The first thing that stopped her was the silence.

She paused. “Babies?” she called her cats, waiting, listening.

Nothing.

“Isis?” she called one of her cats. Isis was always the first one to the door, her slinky black form creeping around into the tiny foyer just inside the door.

Once again, nothing.

She pulled off her raincoat slowly, hanging it on a hook, and she narrowed her eyes. Something was very wrong. She crept through the hall and into her living room. She was silenced – she couldn’t even breathe.

I’ve… been robbed?

Her apartment was stark.

But that wasn’t what caught her attention.

My… cats…

She tasted bile as her eyes began to water. Her cats lay dead, slaughtered, strewn across her apartment floor.

“Oh… Oh… my God!” she screamed, sinking to her knees, choking on the lump in her throat.

Her eyes cast across the room, blurry and burning with her salty tears. There’s… no phone. The crook took my phone. God, the crook killed my cats!

Her sorrow was suddenly interrupted, however, but the loud creak of a door. She gasped, reaching for anything she could use for a weapon.

“Hello, Selena.”

Her hand stopped moving, caught in a sudden tremble. She didn’t turn around to face the man in her apartment. She knew who he was.

“How did you find me?” she asked softly, trying to mask her fear.

A chuckle emanated from his chest, and it struck her in the chest, a cold, stomach-churning fear slithering through her veins with an unknown precision.

“You really thought you could get away from me, Selena? Thought you could change your last name, run away with my stuff, file for divorce and change your life for the better? You’re severely mistaken.”

“It’s not your stuff,” she hissed, her eyes searching the room once more for a weapon. My whip is stowed away in my bedroom closet… Damn. “It never was. What the hell would you need diamonds for?”

“That doesn’t mean they belonged to you,” he said, his voice dark.

“Stan, get out,” she growled.

Stan… her ex-husband. She hadn’t seen him in a long time. She still held scars on her body thanks to him, and when she had finally escaped him, she took all his diamonds – the jewels he locked away just to taunt her with. She had pawned them to get her apartment in Gotham, but the theft had left her so exhilarated that she knew, deep down, she was going to have to do it again.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Selena.”

“You killed my cats,” she yelled, trying not to sob. “You can’t think you can control me that way. Get out!”

“Your damn cats,” he hissed. “You’re just like your depressive mother was –“

“I said get out!” She stood, whirling on him, her fists clenched and ready. I’ll claw his eyes out…

“Don’t you want your things back?” he smirked.

“They’re not important, Stan. You’re not important.”

He stepped forward, his eyes glinting with malice, and he grabbed her by the arm. She immediately began to slam her fists against him, trying desperately to escape. I won’t let him do this! Then, she jolted, feeling the cold press of metal against her stomach.

“You actually brought a gun, Stan?” she hissed. “What do you want?!”

“I want what’s mine,” he said, pushing her against the large window.

“There’s nothing here that belongs to you, Stan.”

He laughed again, and she fought the urge to jump. Why…? Why am I still afraid of him?

“You belong to me,” a harsh whisper in her ear…

“NO!” she screamed, slamming her knee into his gut, and racing into her bedroom.

She slammed the door shut, locking it. It would only buy her so much time. She dug through her closet, yanking the long bull whip from a pile of old clothes. Her breath was coming harshly, her adrenaline rushing in her veins. Tears stung at her azure eyes, but she refused to let them fall, even as the door came down with a quick slam of the shoulder of her ex. She cracked it against the floor. This thing is no match for that gun…

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he growled, his eyes suddenly a lot darker, more frightening. She could remember the look as the same as when he beat her.

It was her turn to laugh. “Sorry, honey. I’ve already got someone on my mind.”

She thwacked the whip against his face and he cried out in agony. The gun shot off, but the bullet imbedded itself in the wall.

“Mistake, Stan. Now, Gotham P.D. will be on its way.”

Her hand clasped around the leather outfit behind her. She needed to get out. Perhaps Catwoman did need to make an appearance…

“You want the police in your house, Selena? Don’t think I didn’t come across your little secret. Do you want them to know?”

Selena cursed rather crudely in her mind. Apparently, he’d been sifting through her stuff. She swallowed, feeling a bit bitter that no one had come to her aid. He pointed the gun to her head.

“Put on the costume.”

Her eyes grew wide. He’ll actually shoot me….

She had no choice. She did as she was told, feeling rather sick as she pulled her clothes off to change. She felt so violated, so… alone…. Her mask was oddly welcome… He smirked. She narrowed her eyes.

“Come here,” he said.

“No.”

“I said come here!” he yelled, pointing the gun once more at her.

Her eyes trailed to the window on her right. “No.”

He cocked the gun.

She bolted.

The window crashed in her ears as she threw herself through it, trying to latch her whip onto something… anything. As her whip wrapped around a fire escape, however, a bullet rang through the air and right into her side.

She howled, her hand slipping from her whip. She was falling, falling, falling…

Am I going to die?!

She hit the ground, a bolt of pain shooting through her system and making her writhe on the sidewalk. The thunder boomed in her ears, rattling her to the core, and the pain in her side – God, the pain in her side! She stumbled to her feet and began to run down the sidewalk, her heels shifting awkwardly as she fought the urge just to lie down and die.

I can’t do this. I need help. I need help!

But how was a criminal supposed to get help without getting arrested? The rain was so cold now. She could barely feel it. Her skin was trying to take in so many sensations at once, that she knew she was going to shut down soon. She knew Stan would come after her, and as tears stung at her eyes, she rushed into one of the only places she’d ever found solace… the museum.

She’d stolen many a painting, many a sculpture. She knew how to get in by heart now, just second nature, and when she was surrounded by the art in the Wild Cats Exhibit, she felt a little more at home. The empty echo that bounced frighteningly off the walls seemed so lonely this evening however. She gazed across the room with blurry eyes, her vision fading in and out, and she stumbled over to a statue.

This… should do it…

She promptly knocked it off of its pedestal and sent it crashing to the ground.

…

“The Bat-Wave,” Bruce stated rather quickly as he slipped on his gloves and mask, hearing the sound ringing over the Bat-Cave.

“Looks like we’ll be just in time,” Dick, or perhaps now Robin, stated. “Gotham Museum of Art…”

“There’s a Wild Cat Exhibit,” Batman said jumping into the Bat-Mobile.

“Sounds like we’re going to be dealing with Catwoman, eh, Batman?”

“Yeah.”

It seemed normal enough. Every few months or so, Catwoman would commit a crime, sometimes more often than that. Every time he’d fought her, but she’d gotten away with quite a bit of art. He’d also noticed that when she got away with something, she tended to go under the radar and not appear for a certain amount of time. Getting it was the thrill. Now that she had it, it didn’t matter.

The Bat-Mobile swerved out onto the Gotham city streets.

Still, he couldn’t shake that bad feeling in his gut. As normal as it seemed… something was off.

“You okay, Batman?” Robin asked rather sincerely.

He glanced over. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“But… you’re not sure about… everyone else?”

Batman’s silence was the only answer.