[ Gotham University, Gotham City ]
At the end of the meeting, Felicity reminded everyone that she was still very much part of the team. While the others chatted, she casually hacked into two commercial surveillance drones. Though the drones carried no weapons, the sight alone was enough to startle Commissioner Gordon, whose eyes widened behind his glasses like a startled owl.
Barbara, who'd always fancied herself a tech whiz, looked over with the unmistakable expression of someone realizing, Why settle for bronze when you've got gold?
Impressed and mildly overwhelmed, Gordon wasted no time. He practically whisked Felicity away to begin establishing a defense line, casually telling the rest of them they could rest for now.
That was fine by Thea. In fact, it was ideal. Part of her larger goal was to shift herself from front-line heroics to second-line logistics. Someone had to make plans and coordinate movements from behind the scenes. Let the Bat Team run around in leather and bruises; she would handle the map.
After all, there were plenty of things vigilantes were simply unsuited to handle.
Like evacuating civilians, for example. Police could just knock on the door and say, "City inspection, please open up." People would take one look at the badge and follow orders. In a city at war, nobody questioned a uniform. They didn't care if it was a water meter check or a relocation order—they'd go.
But if a hooded figure in black tried that? Who in their right mind would trust someone who looked like they'd walked out of a slasher movie? What if it was a trick? The city was crawling with psychopaths in costume. These days, it wasn't just women who were in danger. Equal opportunity fear was Gotham's only real export.
Barbara insisted on lending a hand in her civilian identity, partnering with her father. As always, Robin followed her lead, switching to civilian clothes to accompany her.
Catwoman lingered at the edge of the room, clearly conflicted. She wanted to help. Truly. But the thought of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a squad of uniformed cops made her skin crawl. Some childhood reflexes never really died. She half-expected one of them to suddenly pull a badge and a gun and shout, "Hands up! GCPD!" That scene had haunted her dreams for years—and though her record had mostly been wiped clean, the ghost of it still sat heavily on her shoulders.
Seeing Catwoman dazed and uncertain, Thea didn't bother with words—she simply grabbed her arm and pulled her along. It was a rare chance to explore Gotham firsthand, and wasting it on campus corridors would be a crime in itself. Catwoman, quick to justify her own unease, muttered something vague about "helping" before following Thea out of the university grounds at a brisk pace.
...
[ Gotham City ]
Though Gotham was an international metropolis soaked in perpetual gloom, it still offered temptations here and there. Unfortunately, its culinary scene had long suffered from the curse of British blandness and American excess. Burgers, steaks, and pizza—Thea felt like her stomach had been marinated in grease. Her soul practically wept for some other flavor.
That made the discovery of a Chinese-style restaurant in one of the quieter neighborhoods feel like stumbling upon an oasis. Thea's eyes lit up with rare excitement. Catwoman, ever the realist, casually pointed out that the place was run by a triad group. But considering the current state of Gotham, small-time gangsters practically counted as civic-minded volunteers.
If the rich girl wasn't afraid, then Selina certainly wasn't. These backstreets had raised her—this chaos was her rhythm. While she wouldn't call it swimming like a fish in water, it was at least easier to breathe here than in the sterile, polished world Barbara Gordon came from. It might've even explained her ongoing friction with Barbara.
Barbara's mother had left when she was ten, but not before leaving her daughter several prime properties around Gotham. Even with Commissioner Gordon's ascetic sense of duty, their household was far from struggling. Barbara had grown up in a comfortable middle-class bubble, untouched by the dirt of Gotham's alleys.
And therein lay the rift. To Selina, it was maddening: "I clawed my way up and I'm called vulgar. She floats above it all and calls herself refined." Meanwhile, Barbara likely thought: "I studied, trained, and behaved—and yet I'm called arrogant by a thief in heels."
Having spent years around Bruce, Catwoman couldn't help but draw comparisons between him and Barbara. To outsiders, Bruce's humility was just good manners. But to Selina, it was proof of something more profound—a kind of noble grace. The Wayne family stood atop Gotham's elite, yet Bruce never flaunted it. So when she looked at Barbara—middle-class, chip on her shoulder, acting like the world owed her reverence—Selina couldn't help but think: Look at the Waynes—so much wealth, and still polite. And you? Acting high and mighty over your family's handful of properties and a secondhand piano.
The cracks between them had started small—misunderstandings, personality clashes—but they grew fast. Each woman magnified the other's flaws, not out of reason, but resentment. It didn't help that both had sharp tongues and too much pride.
Batman—self-taught psychologist and honorary doctorate-holder—had noticed the tension and tried mediating. Commissioner Gordon, seasoned by sixty-plus years of living and a short-lived marriage, also made his efforts. But neither had any real grasp on a woman's mind. Bruce had never successfully dated anyone, and Gordon had spent more years single than not. They approached the issue like a mission briefing or a suspect interrogation: rational explanations, logical arguments, calm deconstruction.
But women didn't clash over logic.
The fights were never about ideology or tactics. They were about eye-rolls, tone, posture, unspoken judgments. And when their would-be peacemakers tried to solve it with flowcharts and pep talks, they only made it worse. By the end, what could've been a fixable cold war froze solid.
These days, the most Barbara and Selina offered each other were bland greetings about the weather—or nothing at all. Sometimes they stared through each other like strangers on a sidewalk.
Their final verdict on each other? Neutral. No hate, no warmth—just wary detente.
Now, standing beside Thea—another wealthy woman, but one who moved through the world with calm ease and dry humor—Catwoman felt something unusual. She felt comfortable. Maybe they weren't best friends, but they clicked. And when she'd reached out for help, Thea had shown up without drama, without demands.
It made Selina all the more certain of her personal theory: The richer they are, the nicer they act.
...
[ Chinese Restaurant, Gotham City ]
The two women slipped into the restaurant and ordered a modest selection of dishes. Of course, the food here was really just the American version of Chinese cuisine. Thea couldn't understand what foreign food critics were thinking—maybe they'd all taken bribes from McDonald's and KFC. How else could they explain their collective push to declare fried food healthy? Somehow, they even managed to claim boiling ruined nutrients, while deep-frying magically preserved them. The entire Chinese culinary tradition had taken a hit, not to mention Japan's raw food culture.
Japanese restaurants, proud and stubborn, clung to their sashimi and soba in silent protest. Chinese ones, more pragmatic, bent with the wind. If the locals liked everything fried, then fine—they'd fry it. Meatballs, fish, vegetables—tossed in oil, salted beyond belief, and served with a smile. Thea searched the menu for anything remotely light or subtle and came up empty. In the end, she settled for a few token dishes and one braised fish, then started eating with Catwoman.
Whether it was Selina's namesake or simply her personal taste, she zeroed in on the fish the moment it arrived. Her eyes sparkled with a predator's focus, and she devoured it with impressive speed. For someone born and raised in Gotham, she wielded her chopsticks with the finesse of someone who'd grown up in Chinatown.
Thea watched her tear into the fish and took a bite herself. Not bad. Braised, rich, slightly sweet.
And then she couldn't hold it in any longer. "So… what's going on between you and Bruce?" she asked, chopsticks paused mid-air. She'd been dying to ask. Childhood sweethearts, decades of history—and still not official?
Didn't she realize Talia had swooped in the moment she saw an opening? That woman hadn't wasted time. She'd cornered Bruce, taken what she wanted, and now had a son who was already helping around the house. The original "other woman" had become the first wife. For Selina, the childhood sweetheart, this was practically a tragic case study.
Catwoman froze. There was no easy answer. Logically, she and Bruce had crossed every line—they'd synced their hardware, upgraded their software, practiced enough martial arts moves in the bedroom to earn black belts in acrobatics. But despite everything, something had always felt off. And after learning he had a son, that unease curdled into a deeper problem. The arguments started. And with each one, the rift widened.
To Be Continued...
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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]