Waller sat in her office, looking at Catman.
“I'm not sure I understand you,” she said.
He was in full costume, but that wasn't what bothered her. He was strapping on all sorts of extra weapons, slipping knives into his boots, readying small pistols. He looked like he was gearing up for a small war. Which, of course, he was more than capable of normally.
“That whole business in Markovia taught me that I need to be myself again. Get back to the basics of what I do. Even when I've done hunting and tracking on the team, it's been chasing footprints that lead nowhere. I need to get back to basics.”
“Like when you went on that Vegas trip you don't talk about?” Waller suggested, arching a brow.
“Yes,” Catman said simply.
“When will you be back?”
“I don't know.”
“
Will you be back?”
“I don't know,” Catman repeated. “This place has some advantages to me as a base, but it has it's limitations, too.”
Waller had no answer to that, and watched him slip out.
She massaged her temples. People came and went from the Squad all the time; that was the reality of this business. In a sense she had done it herself, when she was comatose in the hospital for all that time. And there was an endless supply of potential new recruits in Belle Reve. But the fact was, she didn't want to lose Catman so soon after losing Terra. Not that she would ever admit that aloud, of course.
***********************************
“I'm back, baby,” Catman muttered to himself, grinning a fierce grin.
It was good to be back in the game, in Gotham this time, crouching on top of a dingy apartment rooftop. The city felt tense in a new way, as though something big was coming. The city was as keyed up as he was.
He wanted work, but nobody was just gonna call him out of the blue and offer him work. So he would have to find something to start with. Something to claim his stake, and make his reputation anew.
Catman snapped his head to the right; there was a deep, bass-toned alarm ringing. Not a simple smash-and-grab jewelry heist; a professional job for a much bigger prize. There were any number of people who could pull that off, especially in Gotham; but he had a sneaking suspicion of who it might be.
He moved toward the alarm, hoping he got there before the Bat did.
***********************************
Catwoman was frustrated.
There hadn't been a feline-themed big score in Gotham for months. Apparently they were learning about her activities in the jewelry world. She supposed she should be pleased by that, but it meant it was becoming harder and harder to find the sort of targets she favored most.
Naturally, she had always gone after other targets to help “finance” her standard of living. But to go so long without a target of choice galled her mightily.
She had hit a bank vault, but not for their cash; she had instead gone after some gold and silver coins that they had been holding. Officially, it wasn't happening, but word had a way of getting out anyway, and Catwoman was able to hear things easier than other people.
One of the facts of being a professional thief--a costumed thief, no less--who managed to survive and even thrive in a world full of fools whose idea of theft was smash-and-grab, was that you had to spend a lot of your ill-gotten gains on keeping tabs on the street, on keeping your own gear up-to-date, on knowing what new security measures banks and museums were using and how to counter them.....it was as much a full time business as any “honest” occupation. She had enough to keep herself comfortable, it was true, but not enough to stop “working”. There was also the matter of feeding her menagerie of felines, of course.
So it was that she had spent extensively on bribes to find out about this particular little cache of coins, and selling them off would only net her a thin profit.
Unbidden, an image of her ex-husband came to mind. With a scowl she banished the thought, waving it away.
From unpleasant memory to unpleasant corporeality; a shadow fell over her.
For only the briefest of moments she thought it was Batman; but then she saw that it was, in fact, Catman.
“Hey, kitty. Good to see you.”
“Oh, not
you again. I thought you went to ground out west somewhere.”
Catman spread his hands. “Hey, take it easy. Surely we've no need to be enemies.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know what you want, and quite frankly you don't deserve to wear a cat costume. Leave me alone.”
Now his eyes flared. “That's not fair, kitty, and you know it. And I'm not looking for anything like that at the moment, anyway.”
Catwoman gave a genuine hiss. But it didn't sound like a cat, and it wasn't theatrical or cute, she was just that furious. “I don't care what you're here for. And don't call me kitty.” She turned and stalked away from him.
***********************************
Catman stood very still and felt very cold for a moment. He had told her the truth when he said he didn't want to be her enemy, nor was he looking for anything carnal. He had only wanted to network, trying to set up a new contacts as he got his feet back under him.
But if she wanted to brush him off, he could always start over by making his reputation...and taking her down.
“So that's how it is, then,” he said softly.
Not so softly that she didn't hear, though. She whirled to face him, hand going to her whip.
“So be it,” he continued, in that safe soft voice.
She shook her head. “Idiot.”
“So be it,” he repeated, and drew a blade in each hand; a bowie knife in his left, a katar punch-dagger in his right.
She cracked her whip at him, but he jumped over it and came down towards her in the moonlight, blades pointing at her like fangs.
She rolled backwards and his blades punched uselessly into a rooftop. He knew he couldn't pull them free before she counter attacked, so he didn't try; instead, as she tried to whip him, he grabbed hold of it and it clattered behind him uselessly.
She went for a kick at the same time he went for a punch with his free hand. Both blows connected; her head was knocked back, and he was suddenly gasping for breath.
Both of them got up slowly. She cracked her whip around him; he let her, groaning in pain, then grabbed the whip out of her hands and kicked her away.
He untangled himself from the whip and cracked it himself, grinning nastily. “Now what are ya gonna do, kitty?”
“Congratulations,” she said. “Now you've managed to really piss me off.”
She charged. He cracked the whip; she ducked, and it snagged the shoulder of her costume. Angrily she continued her run, and kicked where the kicking was good.
He went down, unable to even cough. She started kicking him in the head. His spare weapons were dropping off his costume like rain.
After the fourth kick, the loss of a tooth woke him up. He grabbed her foot on the next kick and yanked. She tried to recover into a backflip, but couldn't control her landing and smashed her back into the rooftop.
They both staggered to their feet. Catwoman's eyes blazed with fury, and she charged him. His eyes widened and he tried to move, but too late; she speared into him and they went over the roof edge.
***********************************
Catman was desperately clinging to a fire escape, Catwoman hanging off him. The street seemed very far below. What few spare weapons he had left were falling down. One or two of the guns went off as they hit the ground.
“Have you lost your bloody mind?!?” He shouted.
“You started this,” she answered, then let go with one hand and started clawing him with the extended nails of her costume. He cursed and tried to slam her head into the fire escape; she responded by letting go, and crashed painfully into the next landing of the metal structure.
He waited for her to get up, then used the fire escape for leverage and kicked her with both boots. She slammed into the brick wall. He joined her on that level of the fire escape and started punching. She grabbed him by an arm and threw him into a window.
There was a loud smash, and then a scream from inside. Catwoman considered for a moment; she could probably shake him off now. But she was too angry.
She grit her teeth in something that wasn't exactly a smile, and followed him in.
***********************************
He was waiting for her; he threw a punch which she ducked. She went for a kick; he caught her leg and slammed her into the floor.
She lashed out with her other foot, but he grabbed it and tried to throw her into a wall. But she grabbed the bed with her claws as he swung her, and kicked free, knocking him back into a bureau.
On the bed, the woman whose home they had invaded was more amazed than upset. Oh sure, there was a whole property damage issue, but she had been a “costume groupie” since she was a kid, and watching two villains duke it out in her own home was too good to miss. She got over her initial shock and started scrambling for her cell phone amongst her piles of clothes.
Catman dived for Catwoman, leading with his fist, and punched her in the gut. She retaliated by clawing at his face. He ducked his head just enough that she ripped through his cowl into his scalp instead. He shouted with pain. Catwoman made no sound; her breath was knocked out.
Catman stumbled out of the bedroom and into a tiny kitchenette/living room. Blood was running down from his scalp and into his eyes.
Catwoman came out after him, eyes gleaming with hate. He matched her with his own psychotic stare, and they charged each other.
The resident carefully leaned out of her room, holding up her cellphone and watching the action as best she could. She was so gonna upload this on the net......
***********************************
Neither one of them had weapons anymore; they had long since been lost. It was his brute strength against her agility and claws.
Punches were dodged, kicks traded. He kept trying to get a hold of her so he could slam her down. She kept trying to kick him in the groin or slash out his eyes.
He went for a low sweeping kick, which she jumped over, hands reaching for his throat. He stayed low, turned sideways, and met her with his shoulder; the shock sent her stumbling back to the second and last window the small apartment had.
It was far too cramped in the apartment for her liking. She started to open the window so she could clamber out.. Catman grabbed her legs but she kicked him away, and slipped out into the night.
Enraged, Catman stormed after.
When they were gone, the woman stood in her shattered living room, eyes wide.
“
Awesome!” she breathed.
***********************************
Catman whipped his head around, looking for her. He didn't see her.
He started climbing the fire escape back to the roof, then stopped himself. Some instinct warned him...she hadn't done the obvious...
He turned and looked down to the street below. Sure enough, she had just gotten off the fire escape, and was walking casually along, in costume. Trying to get away. Sure, a cop would notice her eventually, but she could handle cops. It was him she was worried about.
He didn't know wether to admire her for her strategy or be annoyed by her cowardice. He settled for some of each.
He raced back to the rooftop. Let her think he had fallen for her gambit.
The buildings were relatively close together here, only short alleyways between them. It was easy enough to leap from rooftop to rooftop, and follow her progress below.
He waited, and sure enough, she ducked into an alley, almost certainly to change out of costume. While he was interested in Catwoman's secret identity, and certainly would love to see her strip, his task now was to defeat her. He could admire her looks afterward.
Relying more on testosterone than brains, he made a leap off the rooftop. He didn't exactly bounce off the walls, and he did not quite have claws on his gloves the way Catwoman did, but he nevertheless grabbed the occasional window ledge on the way down, slowing his fall just enough to turn what would have been a painful crash into a calculated pounce.
Catwoman must have heard him; he caught a glimpse of her startled upturned, and unmasked face, She backed away and he landed as she yanked her mask back down.
“Cute,” he said. “Pity you decided to fight instead of network.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am a great deal more than cute.” She lashed out with a kick. Catman caught her leg easily, too easily--it was a feint. She used the leverage of his own grip to lash out with her other foot and connected with his head, nearly driving him into the alley wall.
He let go, and took a moment to recover while Catwoman got up. When she rose to do battle again, he reached out and made a consciously contemptuous move; he shoved her back down with open handed palms.
When she bolted up again he simply lashed out with a kick, connecting with her head. Down she went again.
Catman blew out a breath of satisfaction. “I knew you were gonna be tough, but not that tough. Credit to you, kitty. But you should have negotiated.”
Very quietly Catwoman said, “You really are an idiot.”
Then she kicked him hard in the groin.
He fell over and gagged in agony.
She gave him a kick in the head just as he had done to her, and stalked off.
***********************************
Catwoman had decided not to change again anywhere near where that crazy bastard had been; she would get back into the heart of the city, change and then casually walk back to her own digs.
So she used an old trick; she clambered across the rooftops until she reached an elevated railway, and waited for a train to pass underneath. She flexed her knees and jumped; landing hard on the next to last car.
She took a deep breath. That idiot had ruined her score--the coins had been left far behind--but at least she'd had the satisfaction of fighting him off.
She blew a long breath out. About the only good thing was that Batman hadn't shown up. Oh, she almost always enjoyed seeing it, but---
Her train of thought died and she stared down the track, back the way she had come.
Catman was chasing the train.
Chasing her.
He hadn't given up.
He was determined to take her down.
She swore in amazement, anger, and yes, for the first time....fear.
***********************************
Catman ran.
He ran harder and faster than he ever had in his life.
He ran out of anger, and fury, and pride.
He ignored the injuries he'd suffered, partly on adrenaline, partly on the slight enhancing abilities of his suit (that were not as great as he claimed they were but real nonetheless), but mostly it was simple determination.
The train was fast, faster than he should be able to go.
He ran anyway.
Slowly but surely, he was catching up. His feet had exactly the right rhythm so he always landed on a board or trestle, and he never fell into a gap.
Catwoman was watching him from the last car, face expressionless. He grinned, knowing she had no whip now with which to fend him off. And she couldn't escape off the top of the car.
This time he would win.
He lunged for the back of the car and got it, feet scrambling desperately. He clawed his way up.
Catwoman was there instantly, trying to kick him off. He grabbed at her foot but she backed off. Grinning triumphantly, he hauled himself up.
They traded punches and kicks atop the roaring train. Catwoman no longer went for the groin shot, knowing he would guard against it. Instead she went for his eyes, and throat. Catman, in his turn, merely tried to wear her down for the finishing blow.
Both of them wished they still had weapons, but it was down to hands, fists, and the claws on their costumes, such as they were.
Catwoman ducked two punches, then lashed out with a kick. Catman partially dodged, wincing as the blow glanced off his ribs. He went for a kick of his own, and Catwoman skittered back.
Both of them leapt for the other, leading with the right fist. Both missed, punches going over each other's shoulders, leaving them face to face. Catwoman shoved Catman away.
Then they both had to duck as the elevated train went under a highway overpass. As they rose again, their eyes locked; and they knew that this was it.
She went for a jumping kick, and he grabbed her leg and flipped her over into the top of the train car.
She tried to counter with a kick to the gut with her other leg, but he simply grabbed that one as well. For a moment a smug smile began to form, but she smiled in answer.
She grabbed him by the throat and rocked backwards, kicking out with her legs. Even still holding them, he couldn't counter her momentum and agility. He lost his grip on her and went flying off the train.
He sailed through the air. Desperately pivoting, he looked around, praying he wouldn't hit concrete. Luck was somewhat with him; he landed on the back of a sixteen wheeler truck, feet first, and his momentum carried him into a roll. He managed to stop before he fell off.
Sitting up and breathing heavily, he spat out a string of curses. There was no way he could catch the train now. He had failed.
She had escaped him.
He could crawl back to the Squad after this, yes. Lick his wounds and start over. But he wasn't prepared to do that. Wasn't prepared to admit failure. Even if the Suicide Squad wouldn't see it that way, he would.
In the end, it was no real decision at all.
***********************************
The next day Waller got a call in her office. “Yes?”
“I won't be back,” Catman said, and hung up.
For a moment Waller stared at the phone, then slammed it down in irritation.
“I'm getting too old for this,” she sighed, rubbing her temples.
