Lance opened his eyes and found himself back in Gotham at last, just as he had hoped.
For now, he set aside the matter of Captain America. Nick Fury still had not fully handed over the identification and related documents.
Lance could not help thinking, somewhat darkly, that Fury had rushed to bring Captain America to him simply to exploit his services, using him to give Stephanie some completely unprofessional psychological counseling for free.
After all, it was Nick Fury. That man's reputation spoke for itself.
Tsk.
Down in the first-floor kitchen, the little crocodile twitched her nose. Only after confirming that her master upstairs was fully awake did she finally shove the roast chicken into the oven.
After this period of training, Waylana Jones felt her cooking skills had improved dramatically.
Lance, however, had nothing but silent ellipses in response.
Jones poked her head out of the kitchen. "Sir, the roast chicken is ready."
"Coming." Lance walked over and took a seat at the dining table.
Jones brought the roast chicken out. A third of the skin was charred, and the rest was barely passable.
Lance cut off a piece and tasted it.
It was extremely salty.
He said nothing, only gave a small nod.
"There's progress," Lance said.
Jones's eyes lit up. She sat down and began devouring the food.
Well, since this was the pet he had chosen himself, he might as well indulge her.
Though Lance did not want to admit it, he had already come to regard Gotham as his safe haven.
Even in relatively peaceful New York, he had never felt as at ease as he did here.
Lance did not know what others would do if they arrived in a world where superheroes and supervillains coexisted, but he believed he had done fairly well.
At the very least, he had not joined the ranks of the corrupt, nor had he given up on himself.
"So this is why you've been chasing me over the balance? Sending the bill directly to Wayne Manor?"
The uninvited Batman stood with his arms crossed, staring at Lance with a dark expression.
Lance shrugged innocently. "It can't be helped. You know I'm not living alone anymore. I have this little one, Jones. As the sole breadwinner, I have to budget carefully. When I realized the balance from my last case hadn't been settled, I was quite panicked."
He clutched his chest in exaggerated distress. "After all, without that money, my adopted daughter and I might be starving on the streets tomorrow."
Batman listened to Lance's complaints without expression. He knew that outside a courtroom, not a single word out of this man's mouth could be trusted.
Choosing to ignore the endless chatter, he simply pulled out a chair at the table and sat down.
"Hm?" Lance paused, slightly taken aback. His instincts told him something about the Batman standing before him was off.
But what, exactly?
He closed his mouth, rested his chin on his hand, and began examining the other man without restraint.
From the edge of the cape damp with night dew, to the fresh scratches on the armor, and finally to the corners of the mouth beneath the mask, drawn just a little too tight.
Being scrutinized so openly, Batman felt a growing sense of discomfort, as if his privacy were being peeled away layer by layer.
He frowned. "What are you looking at?"
Lance suddenly laughed.
"Are you in love?"
"Wha…"
Wha… what?
The instant the word left his mouth, Batman realized something was wrong. He should not have reacted so quickly, nor exposed even a hint of his thoughts.
Not that those were his thoughts to begin with.
Love?
That word might have something to do with Bruce Wayne, but Batman?
Putting Batman and love in the same sentence sounded like the premise of a horror story.
At least, that was what Batman had always believed.
"You're too bored, Prescott," Batman said coldly.
"You're in love," Lance repeated with absolute certainty. "Who is it?"
He leaned forward like a gossip reporter chasing a headline. "Who managed to thaw Gotham's coldest man?"
"I am not," Batman replied, irritation creeping into his voice.
"No?" Lance chuckled. "You'd better be."
"Because I'm not the one walking around with joy written all over my face, looking like an idiot."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Now pay what you owe me and get out of my house."
Then he added with cutting precision, "The way you look right now makes even the air in the East End feel contaminated."
A terrible review.
Unquestionably terrible.
Batman handed over the check he had prepared in advance and left without a second glance.
Prescott was completely wrong.
His heart held nothing but order and vengeance. Love had no place in it.
Batman reached his conclusion without hesitation.
He moved swiftly through Gotham's streets and alleyways, his gaze sharp as he searched for any trace of crime.
Then he saw it.
A shadow slipped through the back door of a jewelry store.
Small, agile, and strangely familiar.
Seeing the familiar outfit, Batman moved almost on instinct, silently giving chase.
The figure turned back sharply, alert, then broke into a grin the moment she recognized him.
"Hey, Big Stuff," she called, her voice light with laughter.
She was dressed like a thief, her face partially hidden behind a mask. By sheer coincidence, the mask also had a pair of ears.
Not as sharply pointed as Batman's, but positioned in the same place, perched atop her head.
"Catwoman." Batman landed at the far end of the alley, cutting off her escape. "I told you, you shouldn't be stealing anymore."
"Since you haven't killed anyone, I'll let you go this time. But you're returning everything you took."
His stern tone did nothing to intimidate her. Instead, Catwoman flicked the cat ears on her head and tilted it slightly, smiling.
"Do you remember how many times you've let me go?" she asked.
Without waiting for an answer, she raised three fingers.
"Three times. This makes four."
"This is the last time," Batman said.
"No." Catwoman shook her head. "I don't think there will ever be a last time."
Before he could respond, she ignored the weapon trained on her and sprang lightly onto the wall at the end of the alley, vanishing in a blur of motion.
Her voice lingered behind her.
"Next time we meet, I'll return what I took today. And you… remember, you owe me one."
What a strange woman.
Batman narrowed his eyes.
He had first encountered this Catwoman a week ago during patrol.
She had been dressed exactly the same, attempting to make off with a valuable sapphire from a jewelry store.
They had clashed, chased each other across the city, and fought atop the rooftops.
Because she had never used lethal force, Batman had held back as well. Catwoman was not suited for direct combat, but she moved with the agility of a real cat, slipping away at the last possible moment every time.
They had repeated this pattern more than once.
Each time, Batman failed to capture her, and each time, he refrained from seriously injuring her.
This had nothing to do with love.
He simply found her somewhat interesting, and she was not entirely a villain.
As for what Lance had said about him being in love…
Absolute nonsense.
Batman would never be charmed by anyone.
Never.
___
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