Perspectives: Watching the Shadows, A Selina Kyle Story
Cats aren't strictly a creature of the night, you know; we are fully capable of lying on a ledge during the height of the day and enjoying it. I, however, can no longer afford that luxury. You see, my name is Selina Kyle and I am addicted to Batman. Not addicted, as in, he is some kind of drug, but addicted, as in, I have seen inside his mind and his world and I am at home there. Three of his four sons I would gladly call my own; the fourth I would cheerfully dress in a Robin costume and hand over to Joker.
Bruce? How do I describe how I feel about him? I love to hate him and hate to love him. If I were one of those women that read trashy romance novels, I would probably use words like "other half of my soul" or "soul mate." Yet these seem both more and less than what we are to each other. I love him, I won't lie about that. And yet, most of the times I'd like nothing more than to have his head on the end of a spear and use it to decorate my lair.
He is by far the most pigheaded, obstinate, hardheaded man alive, and yes, I know all three mean the same thing, thank you very much. He is all "I am the greatest strategist and detective alive" but still managed to let a little desert skank drug him then 'use' his body. Come on, Bruce! We weren't together at the time; at least be a man and admit you were slumming. If you ever wanna park your Bat boots under this kitty's bed again, you better bring me a doctor's note proving you haven't gotten desert crabs.
Is it even slightly obvious that I am pissed at him?
He brought "Bats, the Whiner" by this afternoon to introduce him, and I had to be nice. Why, Bruce? We have three sons. Three boys, all wonderful in their own way. Why did you throw that little bastard in my face? Worse? The kid actually looks like Dick did at his age, except even darker. Ahhh… Dick. Dick was always a sunny, happy young boy; he stole my heart the first time I met him. You remember that, Bruce? Was the only time I ever hurt you bad on purpose. Why the hell did you have an eight year-old boy out fighting crime with you? What were you thinking? Jason was a bit easier, only after you ran off our oldest with your "do like I say, not like I do" ways. I truly wanted to hate Jason, but guess what? The kid was brash and smart-mouthed and I found myself loving him too. By the time you got Tim, I was damn ready to put the costume on myself. You truly needed a Robin and I have always loved him for saving you from yourself.
Almost as much for him bringing Dick back into your life as donning the costume himself.
It's funny, really. As much as I loved Dick when he was younger, the first time I ever spent any time with him was after I met Jason. I'd driven to New York in my Purple Porsche and parked it in the Titans Tower parking lot. I'd been decked out in full costume and sat there waiting for him to join me. It took him less than three minutes to show up. Unlike his father, he never assumed I was there for any other reason than to visit. That was the first time Catwoman and Nightwing ever flew together.
The funniest part?? The first time I ever hunted for criminals was in New York. I had a ball. The criminals there are idiots. Joker would simply shoot these guys if they tried their tricks in Gotham. But that night? It was more fun than I had ever imagined. And then some punk was just lying there already trussed up and waiting for the police he asked "Who are you?"
I couldn't resist, Bruce, I had to do it.
"Catwoman and Fluffy," I yelled back at him as we slipped away.
I'm not really sure Dick has ever forgiven me for that one, especially since it was in the morning news along with our picture. I am told Roy especially loved my brand of humor.
It was purrfect.
When that alien girl he dated showed up, hands glowing and looking for a good scratching, I was amped up and ready to rumble. Then Dick put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Kory? This is my mom, Catwoman."
The girl just deflated. And there I was, all warmed up and looking for an alien scratching post to sharpen my claws when the words hit me.
I don't think there are two words put together that could have touched me more.
I blushed like a school-girl. I don't think I have ever been prouder.
By the way, Bruce?? As much as I hate agreeing with you right now?? You were right; the alien bimbo was no where near good enough for our boy. Although, I have yet to meet anyone who is.
You know?? I like to daydream sometimes about our 'boys' as children. Dick doing back flips off the banister before he'd even turned three. Tim reading Agatha Christie when he was four. Jason walking into the kitchen and pulling all of the pots down onto himself because he wanted to see what was in them.
I love our middle child, but at times the best word to describe him is dense. Oh, he's as smart as the other two, just has no survival instinct. Everyone says that Dick has a temper and yet the quickest to anger is Jay. Street smart, brash, and cocky are the words that best describe our middle son.
And there is only one 'cape' that was ever really like him… Roy Harper. Oh, I doubt Jay's brothers would ever agree, but once young Roy was just like our middle child.
I will admit this here where no one will ever know, and I will deny it elsewhere to my dying day. Outside of our own little family? The only capes I love are Roy and Lian, That's right. Not Lois and Clark. On a good day those two make Kitty want to gouge out her eardrums. Not Ollie and Dinah either. Now there's a dysfunctional relationship. Mr. "I wish I were Batman," and Ms. "I wish you were too" just annoy me. Roy and Lian, however? Those two are purrfect. Lian gave her father exactly what he needed… a reason to live outside of himself or his 'job'. Is it wrong that I often wish Jay could father a child? If no one else is available? Your older brother's ex, Kory? She loves alien princes, so we just wrap your head in tin foil and bingo Kitty has a half alien grandchild. No… wait…
I don't think she's good enough for any of my boys.
Introvert in a family of extroverts. That's Tim, our youngest. I think that's why he pushes himself so hard; he always sees himself as less than the rest. We all know it, and yet we do so little to assure him. At least you and I don't, Bruce. Dick tries, but it isn't his older brother's attention he needs, it's his mother and father's. He is a good boy and has been through so much lately. Yet, how often do you tell him that he is doing a good job? He isn't Dick, Bruce. If he leaves he might never come back to us. That is the main reason I am planning on spending more time with him, and I really think you should as well. He has as much, or more, potential as any of us, and to have him not realize that potential because you and I were 'too busy' to be there for him would be a greater crime than anything the Joker has ever committed.
Finally? We get to the Spawn of the Bitch. I will say this, Bruce. If what I think is true, truly is? The bitch is dead. It might make me try harder to like Damien. But if I am right, it will take weeks before Kitty lets the bitch die. Damien? He's an arrogant, conceited, little self-involved bastard… your general poster child for spoiled rich kid. A young would be hero that faced the Joker, then was insulted, laughed at and humiliated but for some unknown reason he is still sure that Joker ran from him. The boy scares me, and not because the next time it might be Two Face and he will get killed.
No, I fear the repercussions of my sons if I am right about who he really is.
Bruce? If I am right?
Bury the answer so deep that none of us can prove it.
One more thing, Bruce? No amount of flowers is going to make this right, so please quit sending them to my cat lairs.
Think New Purrrrple Porsche.
Is a reference to Mary Brokaw's fic Exploding Pacifiers