Perfect Dark pt. 13

[The_NewCatwoman]

**December 24, 1:19am, 1966**

Monica pulled herself up with aching arms, succumbing to the unbearable pain of Donald's repeated blows. His foot inching further into her abdomen with each horse-worthy kick.

But she refused to cry out, it was what he wanted right, for her to cry, to whimper at his feet. To acknowledge his superiority.

She'd die first.

"What's--the--matter--Monica?----You--don't--wanna--play--anymore?" he asked in time with his beating. Blood seeping over his thin lips.

"Go to hell." she said, bitting her lip until she herself bled.

She could feel her thighs and stomach bruising, deep purple spots of pain.

Where the f**k was Doc anyway.


**

Present Day-


His eyes were like glass. Reflective tiles of all the unholy that was his life.

Memories played silently throughout his head.

He took another sip, gin flowing down his throat, "Choose your poison." he said with a hopeless grin.

He'd told her his name was Nathan Dayland. A lie. "Her" was Jessica, his mistress. She was also dead, found all cut up outside of the hotel where they met twice a week.

He'd lied and said his wife was on her way so they'd rush, the faster, the better, the harder, the sooner he could get home to his daughter. Despite it all, he always had her. Little Bianca, with her strawberry-red hair.

She was there with her sweet, innocent laugh when his wife Charlotte left him, after the police traced Jessica back to him.

She was there with her bright, beautiful smile when he'd come home, announcing his termination at Wayne Enterprises.

If his life was a clogged toilet, she was the plumber, all he needed to get things back in respective order.

He'd told her he needed her to be brave when the police carried him out of the house in chains. Her small pale face littered with tears, tiny hands reaching out for him.

He was back home now, but only until the trial started, then he would be judged by a jury of his "peers" in the mysterious death of Jessica Waters.

He was Donovan Finnland, bitter salt until the end.

But she, Bianca, was his sugar, softening the scorpion's sting.

[The_NewCatwoman]

Donovan flinched at the sound of a muffled scream coming from upstairs. It was probably Bianca having a nightmare or something.

He rose from his chair, deciding that now would be as good a time as any to check on her.

"Don't worry sweety-pie, Daddy's coming." he called, downing his last shot. "There goes another 10,000 brain cells." he said smiling.

--#--

Caine turned to the doorway, listening for any tell tale signs that voice he'd just heard was from upstairs. "Looks like this abduction is going to have to be a rush job." Caine said, while wrapping her in her covers and picking her up.

"Honey, I'm almost there, just a few more feet." said a slurred voice, from somewhere down the hall. Whoever it was, they were drunk.

"Too bad, Honey won't be here." Caine said jumping out the window, and then down onto the lawn.

Taking off into a heavy sprint, he raced down the street, weary of any cars, or neighbors who could be potential witnesses.

--#--

Angel tight-roped across the laundry wires that bridged the gigantic apartment buildings Gotham was so famous for. Taking a moment to survey his surroundings, he was surprised to see a lanky figure running down below, a medium sized bundle held protectively in his arms.

Angel stared at him a minute longer before getting the distinct twinge of warning in the back of his mind that a vampire was in his presence. He focused on the bundle, a few stray locks of strawberry red hair hung out from the folds. It was probably a girl, and by the size of the "package" he guessed, it was also a child.

He felt his senses heighten, adrenaline pushed through his body. A low roar filled his ears, too many sounds at once experience had taught him.

Not too many vampires had even a wanning interest in children, not even as food. Their not-yet-full grown bodies couldn't take the punishment that vampires sexual activities could ensue. And they weren't much when it came to food either.

But seasoned vampires, the kind that had centuries of life on their side as opposed to possibly a few months probably knew what kind of advantages children served.

And even if they weren't of much more use than as a snack, every old-world vampire knew that children's blood was the sweetest.

Nevertheless, Angel was prepared for whatever this guy threw at him.

Be it life or death.

[The_NewCatwoman]

You are the scum of the earth, something even the rats won't touch.

You are my enemy, sworn from birth.

Your kind is dying, leaving this world for a much worse place.

I'd say good riddance, but what good would that do?

You've done worse things in your life, and they deserve punishment.

But you had to know that. That I would come for you eventually, catch up to you, whoever you are.

You've outstayed your welcome, been here too damn long.

I'll go with you if I have to, but then other's will come along, it won't end until you end.

I'll make sure of that.

--#--

Angel crouched down in the shadows; behind the figure. Making sure not to lose him in the winding streets.

He kept reminding himself not to hold his breath.

The figure slowed down, and then stopped.

"I know you're here, I can smell your virgin little body." he called out.

No need to ignore the invite.

Angel stood up straight, revealing himself against the hard shadows. He held his hand at chest height, he needed to be able to get to his sword at a second's notice.

"What's the matter kid, you scared?" the figure said, not bothering to turn around, but instead setting the bundle down, and striking it. Probably to knock the girl unconcious.

"Never." Angel whispered, breaking into a run.

"Is it true, what they say I mean, is it true?" the figure asked.

"What?" Angel asked, not slowing down.

"That the only way to kill you is with your own sword?"

Angel stopped two feet short, his face's expressionlessness giving him away.

The figure turned around, with his hands in the air. "I take that as a yes." He looked slightly younger than Tim, smiling he extended his hand, "Caine."

Angel, true to his father, didn't return the gesture. "I'll spill your blood blue." he said, his voice etched with emotion, true to a grandfather he never knew.

"Before you do that, could you answer another one for me, then we can continue on with this."

Angel remained silent.

"Is it also true, that you supposedly are the best combatant on earth. That you can kill with a single blow, although you've never done so, and that from ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, you're trapped in this." Caine pointed at Angel's suit, particularily at the white cross emblazed on his chest. "And finally, you are forever in debt to your family's sins."

The devil smiled.

[Panther]

Wow. Vampires and Batman, together at last - to put it flippantly.

But seriously, you've got a great dark gritty suspensful story going here. I don't usualy go for this type of R rated graphic and sexual stuff, but I'm really intrigued by the different elements you've woven into the story.

Later,

[Daughterof_Evil]

Disturbing, yet fascinating. I loved it when Caine said to Dark Angel, " I can smell your virgin little body," That was endlessly creepy, something a sicko like him would absolutely say. But one thing had me confused: you said Caine was slightly younger than Tim, and since Tim is seventeen in this story, would that make Caine a teenager? Until now, I had imagined him as being in the appearence of Bruce's age.

Great story. This is definitely shaping up to be suspenseful and engaging. You've widdled the characters down into sick, pathetic souls who don't deserve salvation or damnation because both are a little too easy. You have done a spectacular job.

[The_NewCatwoman]

**This is the third time I've had to try and post this because it keeps getting erased, so I'm not going to waste time replying until my next post. (No offense.)**

**December 24, 1:24am, 1966**

Donald stared at Monica's bleeding form on the carpet, an uncontrollable rage ran through his body. He couldn't help but adore the pain-filled gasps of tortured women. Like music to his ears, it sustained him, fed him, kept him coming back for more. Each blow more painful than the last, harder and harder. A violent symphony played out on the perfect instrument of a woman's body. His version of water colors, bruises ranging in every shape and color all on one beautiful medium.

He kicked her again, a short breath of wind left her body, but still she relented to hold out.

What the hell was wrong with her?

He bent down and cupped her cheek in his hand, "Monica, you know how much I need this, with such a beautiful accent like your's, your screams would be worth so much more than anyone else's."

She answered him by spitting a bloody luggee into his face. Donald screamed in rage before slamming his fist down so hard into her ribs he could have swore his broke her entire rib cage. This time she wailed, it was low, almost inaudible, but he still heard it. "See what you made me do Monica?" he said lifting her unconcious body into his lap, while pulling up her shirt to expose her horribly bruised bust and stomach.

A few "Tsk's." left his mouth as he stared at her, not sure if she was dead or not.

"You should've listened to me Monica."

**To be continued**

[The_NewCatwoman]

**DoE- I wasn't sure if I had to clear this up or not, but it appears I do. Tim is like 28, mostly because he was 14 when A.J. was born in my story, and he's just getting to college now because he traveled the world. Caine appears young because that's when he decided to become a demon. So he gives on the appearance of never aging. He was like 23.

Panther- Thanks for the praise, I'm really underconfident about my writing skills, so its great to hear things like that from you guys.**

**December 24, 1966, 1:30am**

Doc stood outside the threshold of the hotel room for what felt like years, soaking in the scene before him. He felt a twinge up his spine that left him with a cold sinking thought and the one emotion he avoided as much as possible:

Confusion.

Beyond the open door he stared at Monica's half-naked, lifeless body, spotted with blood; her chest barely registering that she was breathing. Her head lay on Donald's lap as the poor bastard stroked her hair; that itself lay behind her in unnatural tangles.

Feeling the chill expel from his body immeadiately, Doc drew his gun, cocked, aimed, and fired. The pot-heads rushed out the room, only further feeding Doc's fury.

Donald fell back onto the carpet, and howled in pain. Eyes darting back and forth, he searched for the source of his pain; the boiling of his flesh, and burning of his bones; the blood.

All that blood.

Doc rushed over to Donald's body, his eyes boring into Donald's eyes. "What the hell did you do to her Donnie?!"

Donald's mind froze, as his mouth shuddered in fear.

Doc grit his teeth, and balled his fist as looked back to Monica's body. Reaching out, he grabbed Donald around the neck and pressed the barrel to Donald's temple. "Coma el terminal de componente, Jackass!" Doc hissed as he cocked the gun again.

"What?" Donald asked desperately, "I'm not very good in spanish anymore."

"I said 'Eat lead'" Doc said as he began to squeeze the trigger, feeding off of the fear Donald radiated.

"Daddy?" a small frightened voice asked from behind them.

Doc relaxed his hand and turned around. In the doorway stood a small, skinny, blond haired boy wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt.

"Go back to bed D.J." Donald said as if everything were fine, "Daddy's having a business meeting right now."

Doc turned back around, "You brought your f**king kid up here?!"

"Oh like your little tyke wasn't out there pissin' herself scared an hour ago." Donald hissed.

"Shut up!" Doc yelled, as D.J. began to cry.

Donald seemingly lost his bravado as he began to shudder, "O-Oh God, oh p-please, please don't k-kill me, for the love of God on Christmas Eve for God's sakes, just don't kill me." he stuttered.

Doc took a deep breath, and pulled the gun away, "You better be thankful you're such a doting father, even I wouldn't kill a guy infront of his kids. So consider yourself blessed."

Donald began hyperventilating, not sure if Doc was telling the truth or not. He watched as Doc walked over to Monica's body. Taking a moment to cover up her bare breast with his coat, he scooped her up into his arms. He then began to rock her slowly like a baby, whispering into her ear: "Usted será ángel aceptable, le mataré para esto, juro!"

Apparently he was willing to walk down the street in Gotham City with a dangerous knife, and an unregistered gun for her. Who knew the devil had a heart?

D.J. rushed to his father as Doc carried Monica out the door.

--#--

Standing outside the restaurant where Selina couldn't see, Doc tried to get his brother's attention.

When Marco came outside he asked where Doc was going.

"To see a man about a horse." Doc said, "Watch Selina for me willya?"

"Sure." Marco agreed, then watched his brother dissappear into the night.

[The_NewCatwoman]

"Dad, come on, The Grey Ghost is almost on, you promised you'd watch it with me this time!"

"Alright, alright, making chocolate milk takes time and patience Bruce, you and I both know that."

*A groan*, "Alright, but going this slow, we're gonna miss the opening scene!"

*Pause as stirring continues*

"You're gonna end up with more mix on the counter than in your milk stirring that fast."

"I can't help it, besides you're such a slowpoke."

"A slowpoke huh? All right, now if you'll just get the cupcakes, we can begin."

*The scraping sound of a stool being pulled across the kitchen floor, and the slamming of various cabinets being opened and closed.*

"Why do you always do that, you know they're right on top of refrigerator."

"Suspense."

"You don't even know what suspense is."

"Uh-huh, Sister Mary told us that suspense is what makes the reader want to read more."

"Sister Mary's right, and what else did you learn today?"

*The sound of a Drake's cupcake box being slammed onto the counter.*

"Hey, I like my cupcakes whole thank you."

*Another groan*

"We learned our multiplication tables up to 10."

"What's 10x12?"

"Huh?"

"You said you learned them up to 10."

"10x10 Da,..."

*The doorbell chimes several times.*

"Who is it Alfred?"

"A man named William Kyle to see you sir. A dire emergency if I've ever seen one."

"Bruce, stay in the kitchen..."

"But Dad, the Grey Gh..."

"Bruce, this is a little more important than a television show, don't you think?"

*Water runs as the good doctor washes up.*

--#--

Bruce sat angrily at the top of the stairs, wiping stray tears from his cheeks.

Below him on the dining room table, his father was attending to some woman.

"Hello sweety, why the long face?"

"Mom!" Bruce replied, surprised by her sudden appearance. "Why does he always have to work when he's supposed to be with me? He promised." Bruce said, another tear falling down his face.

"Well your father is a doctor Bruce, that's his job, to help people when their sick or hurt. He took a Hippocratic oath saying that he would."

"Hypocritic oath?" Bruce asked confusedly.

"No, no, no, no. HIPPO-CRA-tic oath, it means he promises to try to fix people when there's something wrong with them."

*To be Continued later**

[The_NewCatwoman]

"What's the matter with her, how do they know Dad?"

"That's William Kyle," Martha Wayne said pointing at the man pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. "He's an old friend of your father's. He studied under him a long time ago."

"Before I was born."

"Yes, way before you were born."

"Who's that?" Bruce said pointing at the woman laying unconcious on the table.

"That's his wife, at least I think,... Anyway, her name I believe is Monica."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Why so many questions? As late as it is, you should be in bed, it's almost 3am."

"But Mom, they're showing Grey Ghost all night long, it's for Christmas." Bruce whined.

"Christmas won't be here for another day, and besides, I'm sure they're showing it all day tommorow too, just in case you missed anything."

"Awww, come on, Dad would let me stay up." Bruce said as he rose from his seat, and Martha swatted him playfully on the behind.

"Bed!" she commanded.

Bruce ran to his room to change.

Martha joined him soon after knowing he'd button his shirt wrong or something, what with Alfred assisting Thomas downstairs.

"Goodnight Mother."

"Sweet dreams Baby." she said as she tucked him in, and kissed him goodnight.

--#--

"What happened to her?" Thomas asked, feeling around her chest for any broken bones he might have missed, before he taped her up."

"We were leaving a party, when some guy came up behind us and knocked me out." Doc pointed at a self-inflicted wound that was bruising up around his hairline. "When I came to, Monica was lying just like that on the ground a few feet away. I put my coat on her and brought her here."

Thomas stared at the wound, doubt flashed across his eyes. "Why didn't you just take her to a hospital?"

"It's Christmas Eve for God's sake, who wants to spend Christmas Eve in a hospital, besides I knew you'd help me out, you're a good guy like that, always willing to help others..."

"Well, why didn't you just do it yourse,..." Thomas started, before pausing akwardly. "Uh, well, I'm afraid it looks like she's been raped, and then was beaten when she tried to resist. She's quite lucky to be doing this well, she took it pretty hard."

"Judging from the amount of bones broken, it should take about two months for her to heal huh?"

"It looks that way." Thomas said as he finished bandaging her. "You both can go home as soon as she wakes up." Thomas said as he went back into the kitchen to wash his hands.

Doc followed him, "Thomas, I know you're concerned about me, what with everything from before. But I assure you, I'm fine, everything's fine."

"Will, you're like a son to me, I taught you everything I knew, and if what you say is true, and everything's fine, why didn't you just fix her up yourself?"

Doc shifted on his feet, it was his knowledge of head trauma that allowed him to hit himself hard enough on just the right spot to make his story appear legitimate. But he hadn't been quite prepared with an excuse for that one, count on Tom to ask all the wrong questions... "I'm not really all that confident in my abilities anymore, if you know what I mean."

Tom put a hand on Doc's shoulder, "If you need anything, anything, just ask. I'm your friend remember?"

Doc nodded solemnly.

"Now, let's see about bandaging up that wound of your's huh?"

--#--

Thomas sat in deep thought on the side of the bed, it was nearly 6am, but he didn't feel the need to sleep at all. Something hadn't been right about what Will had said earlier.

Number one, his wound had been counterfeit, but Tom had trusted his old friend to have a good reason why.

Number two, when Monica had finally come to, they had left with barely a word.

"Thomas, come to bed please, that light is driving me mad." Martha said grogily from beside him.

Tom switched off the bedside lamp and climbed under the covers. His thoughts turned to 1955, when he and the then medical school graduate had been stationed in Korea treating the soldiers.

He'd taken the anxious, young man under his wing, watching as he budded into a brilliant surgeon. His record was spotless, and remained so even after they returned to the states. He was touted Medical Science's Miracle Kid, their Golden Boy. Pretty good for a Puerto Rican/Cuban kid straight out of East 104th Street in Spanish Harlem.

Will had received offers pouring in from all over the country, hospitals begging him to come and work for them. But Will remained loyal to Gotham General, and Gotham Children's equally, spending extensive time at both. Even at the expense of being away from his family a lot.

Then in 1959, Will was on his way out the door when two car crash victims came in. Thomas himself was called in. It turned out to be Will's first wife Anja, and their daughter Marilyn. Such a beautiful family he had. Will had worked so hard and long to save them both, but they both died on the operating table. William Warren Kyle had been crushed beyond repair. His first patient loss had been his own wife and child. Thomas himself had hugged his wife extra tight that night. The next year, Bruce had been born, and Thomas had plegded to spend as much time as possible with his own family, but lately he found himself becoming more and more involved in his work, even taking cases at home.

"Oh God." he said, as he turned and hugged Martha tight, "I'm sorry."

[Panther]

Give me a minute to pick my jaw up off the floor

****

Ok, ok, I can talk now.

Wooooooow! That was amazing! You have a wonderful talent for ... what shall I call it? ... I think 'background' is the right word. You have reworked Batman and Catwoman's characters in such stunning way. I loved all the connections you gave them before they even came close to putting on thier cowls. Thier parents totally deserved to have some ink themsleves. Although, I must admit I loved the flashback from a previous story of yours with Selina and Bruce watching Tom and Jerry cartoons. I'm blanking on the title - what was it called?

gotta go,

[The_NewCatwoman]

**Panther- I'm pretty sure that you're thinking of Son of Batman.** :yakko: :wakko: :dot:

Present Day-

Caine smiled widely, "So is it true or not? You know, I know all about "Doc", Monica, Thomas, Martha, the drugs, the money, their lost past, your own parents lost past. I've done my studying don't ya know. But the one thing I don't know about, is you, Alexander --James-- Wayne."

Angel stepped back, "Don't ever call me that again, here or anywhere." Although his voice stayed perfectly even, it was drenched with threat.

"So, now that we've gotten our introduction out the way," Caine said pulling a gun from out of his waistband, "Let's say we dance."

Angel drew his sword and rushed forward, Caine raised his gun.

"That won't kill me." Angel said as he swung, and Caine predictably ducked.

"No, but it'll hurt like hell." Caine said as he ducked, before Angel turned and kicked him in the chin. He grimmaced as he felt his jaw dislocating.

Caine reacted by firing a shot into Angel's torso, and smiling as best as he could watching Angel's knees give out.

Angel grabbed his stomach and lunged forward, driving his sword at Caine's stomach, but only hitting Caine's arm, "What do you know about Mila Raleigh, and why did your kind target her?"

Caine fired again, this time the bullet going through Angel's shoulder, "Mila who? Whoever this chick is, I don't know of her."

They both fell onto the street, their blood, and pain spreading across the asphalt.

"What makes you think I believe you?" Angel said as he felt the blackness closing in.

Caine sat first, then managing to raise up further, he grabbed Angel by the arm and began to drag him down the street.

"Because you don't have much of a choice when your entrails are making like a road marker."

He turned around to find himself talking to no one.

"Why the hell do I bother?" he asked himself, as he drug Angel down the street. "Your blood would be unbelievably sweet though, but at that, I can't use you dead now can I?"

Angel groaned half-concious.

"I suppose I could just dump you there..." he said spotiing a church.

"You know how long this s**t's gonna take to heal?" Caine said asking no one in particular. Stopping five feet from the steps, Caine took a moment to admire the architecture of the Cathedral, then picked Angel's body up, and threw it onto the steps. "Sorry I couldn't give you a proper 'going-away party' and everything, but unholy, and epitome of holy don't exactly mix. Adios, muchachos." Caine called out as he stumbled away.

[Daughterof_Evil]

Gotta agree with Miss Panther. You've redefined the characters in unbelievable ways...tell me, was your decision to make Monica Kyle a prostitute affected by the fact that Selina herself was a prostitute in the comics? You told me once you thought of the "comic" Bruce instead of the "cartoon" Bruce when you read my stories...are you a fan of the comic continuum?

You said something unbelievably kind to me when you commented recently on Shadows of Angels, and I wanted to thank you on your grounds. I think your writing style is amazing. You have progressed so much since Son of Batman, and your writing has evolved into something dark, and sweet, and deep. You develop the characters so well it's like speaking with them, and you even make the villains someone worthy of consideration. Your newest vampiric stories are inspiring. The young characters, though not totally innocent, seem ill-fated and kind. It makes one hope they come to a sense of peace.

Anyway, waiting anxiously for new parts.

[The_NewCatwoman]

Not, really.

I was watching Law and Order, one of the bad guy's father prostituted his mother out to pay for drugs or something. I knew that would be perfect for this story.

Yes, I am a fan of the comics, but not to the point where I'm chopping my fingers off if I don't get the next issue or anything. I've amassed an okay collection, including the Robin #1, foil cover signed by Chuck Dixon, and Steve Hannan, I believe that's his name.

Reply to continue later.

[Panther]

**Yes, Son of Batman - that's what I was thinking of! What ever happened to Jason and Catlyn? Any chance of a happy ending for /that/ Romeo and Juliet? I suppose not...***

NEway, in this story - we have a word in my Adolescent Psychology class for how Angel and Caine are acting - idiots. That, and also suffering from extreme cases of egocentrism. Which is the only explanation I can come up with for why Angel in effect /let/ Caine shot him. What was up with that? I liked the touch of Caine dumping outside a church. And what /doesn't/ Caine know about Angel - he seems to know all, that blood sucking p. o. s.

Keep it up!

[The_NewCatwoman]

**I wanted to add DoE and Panther, a thank you. You two, and others, have supported me since my humble days of uber-errors and the like, when my story made as much since as a giant cotton ball. Also, don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about “Broken”, it’s just that this story is incredibly time consuming, what with all the research that goes into it and all. I haven’t had much time to elaborate on Melanie, and Terry, and Bruce, and… Well, that part’s a surprise. I’ll get to it eventually. **

**2:18am Tuesday, Selina has been in the hospital for four days. **
Bruce sat uncomfortably, shifting around in the hard backed, “cement-cushioned blocks of evil”, the hospital called a chair. Watching patiently as Selina decided when she was going to speak.

Today was officially November 17th, their anniversary. A time when most couples were either on thin ice because someone (most likely the husband) forgot, or were smushing pieces of chocolate, or vanilla cake playfully into each other’s faces. Bruce sat in a hospital room, watching and waiting as his wife played the silent game. He decided he wouldn’t even think about why they were there in the first place.

On the bright side, atleast his headache was going away.

Finally losing his patience, in some way of another, Bruce got up and walked to her bedside. There was no way he was going to let her ignore him. She was clean now, and their baby wasn’t harmed because the drugs hadn’t had time to fully rotate through her system. Tomorrow she was going home, and would start six months to a year of psychiatric counseling, but not Arkham. In other city-states, you had to be admitted into a Mental Facility for the duration of that time for treatment. But doing so in Gotham was just an unnecessary risk.

“Selina, we both know you’re not asleep, I’m tired of playing games with you, we have to talk.”

Selina didn’t respond.

Just for good measure, Bruce decided to check her heart rate. 120/80, she was fine. “Selina dammit, what the hell do I have to do to get you to say something? You’re acting immature.”

“You can start by lowering your voice, Jackass.” Selina said coldly, before opening her eyes.

Bruce stared at her momentarily shocked; she hadn’t said a word to him the whole time she’d been in the hospital. Recovering quickly, he tried to soften his tone, lest she jump back into her shell.

“Selina,” he said, running his fingers down her jawbone, “Why does it have to be this way? Back when we were first married, we talked all the time, about anything, not everything granted, but I never thought you’d hold things like this back. Especially when it’s taking this kind of a toll on you.”

“Well Bruce, back then, you didn’t pry. If I wanted to tell you something, don’t you think I’d do it?”

“No, I don’t think you would, you’ve got to many walls up for that, though it’s not like everyone else notices… Besides, I don’t need nor want to lose you. You’re everything to me. Dick, Tim, A.J., yourself, and Alfred, you all are all I have left. And I don’t think A.J.’s up for being in the same position we were. He’s already a bit,… suspect when it comes to expressing his emotions.”

Selina stared at her husband waiting for him to acknowledge his emotional incapacitation, but obviously he hadn’t noticed his “walls” had turned into “The house Obsession built”.

“I think A.J. is just fine at telling people how he feels about things.” Selina said, ignoring her first inclination.

“At what price? That boy puts more people in the hospital in one month than I put there in a ten-year span!” Bruce whispered harshly.

“I’m not the one who let’s him run free am I?” Selina said smiling like a Cheshire cat. Bruce could imagine a mouse-tail hanging out of the corner of her mouth.

“It’s not up to me apparently, it’s out of my jurisdiction. A.J.’s taking orders from a higher-up, if not God himself.”

“Who said God was a man?” Selina whispered.

“What?” Bruce asked.

“Never mind, and anyway, where’s this all coming from?”

“The church apparently, I noticed certain things about A.J. back when he was a child. I spent more than my fair share of time researching. A.J. has some odd characteristics, some just downright arrogance, others of a higher being. It’s all really confusing actually.”

Selina sat speechless, she’d never thought about the depth and passion of A.J.’s cause. Finding her voice, she asked, “How do you know this?”

Bruce shrugged, “Its all part of an extensive Latin Prophecy made by the Roman Catholic Church during the crusades, every few hundred years a warrior is born that’s sole purpose in life is to destroy the enemies of the church. If he survives, which is doubtful, he father’s an heir to his cause. I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, a good part of the scrolls were destroyed by a mob of Pagans in a revolt against the teachings of Christianity. At the moment, only A.J., and quite possibly the church itself has any idea what we are dealing with.”

**To Be Continued.**

[The_NewCatwoman]

Bruce's face suddenly paled, as recognition flashed in his eyes. "You almost had me, my dear." he said waving his finger. "You changed the subject, this isn't about A.J., it's about you."

"Well nevertheless, it's good to know you don't exactly practice what you preach." Selina said, her eyebrows arching defensively.

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked, taken aback.

"How long exactly were you planning on keeping this to yourself Bruce?"

"You're changing the subject again, this has nothing to do with me, or A.J. This is all about you."

Selina took a deep agitated breath, and looked away. "Fine Bruce, whatever."

Turning back around, she found him staring out a tiny space in the blinds. "What is it?"

Bruce pulled the cord that raised the blinds so Selina could see. A giant oval framing a bat illuminated the Gotham skies.

Selina seethed unnoticably as Bruce kissed her on the cheek, "Happy Anniversary." he whispered, his eyes not meeting hers.