Batman/Bruce Wayne, Batwoman/Kathy Kane, Catwoman/Selina Kyle, and Nightwing/Dick Grayson belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.
Based (loosely) on 'Your Face is Your Fortune', Batman Comics 15, 1943; and on 'The Batwoman', Detective 233, 1956. (And no, I'm not old enough to have read them when first published.)

Rated PG : language; violence, some mature concepts.

This takes place in the AU created in 'Birds of a Feather'. (For those who haven't read it, Bruce never went to the circus the night the Graysons were murdered; Robin never existed; Nightwing came to Gotham City and first teamed up with Batman as an adult.) It's mostly based on the Batman comics of the 40's and 50's with some elements from the present-day version, taking place in the present day, or perhaps a few years ago. It includes only the Golden/early Silver Age characters: principly Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, and Kathy Kane (the original Batwoman).

Any differences from current canon are probably because I'm starting from the Golden Age version of the characters and their origins. Think of it as taking the Batman and Robin of the 1940's, modernizing them, and giving their story a twist.

Many thanks to Rach (aka The Fink) for help and general encouragement.

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one.

A Woman Scorned

Catfight

I should have known this was a bad idea. But to be honest, even if I had, I would have done it anyway. Sometimes you've just got to do something that means something, don't you? Have to do something, even if it's crazy, just to prove you have a place in the world...

Nice little Kathy Kane, sweet little Kathy Kane. If they could see me now, all my nice and very predictable society friends, they'd never believe it. Bruce most of all. But, of course, I don't care what he thinks, not anymore. Now, my old friends from the circus; they'd believe it in a heartbeat. Crazy Kathy, Kathy who'll do anything, who'll try anything.

That was a lifetime ago, of course, my circus days. I was a flyer - a trapeze artist, to spell it out; and a stunt rider - motorcycle stunts. I was, in fact, one of the best, even if I never made it to the big time. Lack of ambition, I guess. While I loved the thrill, the excitement - yes, the danger - somehow performing in a show, all dressed up in a glittering little costume, giving the audience their money's worth of entertainment - it seemed unimportant. Especially after the Batman began to hit the news.

How had I gotten from there - the big top - to here - crouched on an uncomfortable perch in a dusty storage warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham City? I had a few more minutes to wonder about that one, as I saw more movement down below. Dark figures ran almost silently across the floor. As they clustered around the locked door to one of the compartments arrayed below me, I took the time to glance at my surroundings.

It was a huge building, almost as dark as the night outside, only a few dim lights here and there. A large part of the interior was simply one big open space with a few sections roped off to separate the contents. The area I was in was being used at present by a movie company to store props; I recognized the giant typewriter, pencils, pens, and other outsized desk equipment from a not-very-good science fiction film I had suffered through recently. Not to mention the gigantic world globe I was on top of.

More relevant to the situation at hand, this was also a place where several of my wealthy friends stored some of their valuables: things like antique furniture, sculpture, paintings, and so on that wouldn't fit in a safe. I'd suspected that was what they were after as soon I saw where the five characters below me were headed, after picking up a police radio alert that the silent alarm here had been triggered.

Yes, the cops would be here any minute. But someone else was here now. Besides me, of course. Two more even darker and more silent shapes moved after the small group of thieves, melting into the shadows. I had seen the Batmobile pull up as I had slipped into the building through the same window the crooks had used. Needless to say, my heart had done some flip-flops worthy of an acrobat. The Batman, here, in person, where I could see him go into action with my own eyes; and his new partner Nightwing, whose recent appearance had given me the courage to think I could do the same thing. Maybe I'd stay up here, hidden; it would be enough just to watch.

The thieves had turned on a small light to see by as they worked on the lock. I was just about close enough to be able to make out a few details. A woman. Black hair, slim, dressed in a deep violet outfit, a green cape draped from her shoulders, a violet mask over her eyes and head, coming up in cat-like ears on the sides... and I realized just whose attempted robbery I had blundered into.

And whose robbery was about to be stopped. The Catwoman and her four pals were concentrating on breaking through the compartment door. The other two whom I had seen crept into view again and moved closer. I watched, hardly even realizing how fast I was breathing, seeing a tall, powerful-looking man wrapped in a blue-black cape, followed by a smaller man in black with a dark blue V across his chest. Magnificent, I thought reverently, in the moment before Batman spoke.

"You seem to be having trouble with that. Maybe we can give you a hand." His voice was low, quiet, almost whispery, with a silky element of menace in it. An electric shiver ran down my spine.

The five thieves whirled. Catwoman caught sight of Batman and hissed, just like a cat. Honest to God. "Batman!" she exclaimed.

"You have the usual talent for stating the obvious."

"Get them!" She didn't waste any time. With a quick yank Catwoman pulled something from her belt. A coiled whip, I realized, as the men with her charged Batman and she attacked the weaker target, swinging the whip at Nightwing with an audible crack.

He yelped in surprise but recovered quickly, taking the blow with the thick glove on one arm and grabbing at the whip, yanking it out of her grasp. With a quick toss he disposed of it and leaped at her. She cried out in fear, or maybe rage, as he tackled her, sending both of them rolling on the floor.

But that wasn't all I was watching. Batman had dodged one crook's fist, turned to the side and neatly kicked him in the belly, knocking him off his feet. Now he was dealing with the other three: a backhand to the jaw, a leg sweep, a step, whirl, and sidekick, swift and graceful as a dancer. There were no guns in sight, I had heard Catwoman wouldn't allow them, she didn't want murder on her record...

Catwoman was tougher than she looked; she had managed to get to her feet again after kicking Nightwing off. One of her men abandoned the fight against Batman and came to her rescue. He occupied Nightwing for only a few seconds, but it was long enough for her to start running.

"Batman! She's getting away!" Nightwing called to his partner and sprinted after her. Batman was on his last opponent; he leaned to the side to avoid a clumsy punch, grabbed the man's hair, hooked a foot under his ankle, and slammed him into the floor. Before he had stopped moving Batman was on his way.

And so was I. Quickly I slid down the surface of the giant globe, over Europe and Africa, then dropped to land on my feet on the floor. They were several yards away, a line of three running figures, Catwoman still in the lead but both men gaining on her. Then I saw her duck behind a six-foot-high paperweight and emerge on the other side, slinking away with a pencil cup for cover. Batman and Nightwing stopped and hesitated, looking around.

I was the only one who could see where Catwoman was. This was my chance, and I took it, all the while wondering exactly why I had thought I could do this - but this was hardly the time to chicken out. I moved as fast and as quietly as I could to cut her off. Stopped right in her path. She didn't see me, yet, she was backing towards me, concentrating on avoiding Batman and Nightwing...

"Going somewhere?" I asked. Nothing like a little heroic quip. Yeah, nothing like it to warn your enemy you're there. I should have just hit her.

At least my appearance startled her. She whirled, glared, and demanded, "Who the hell are you?" But she didn't even wait for an answer. Obviously deciding that her easiest avenue of escape was through me, she jumped.

Did I mention she was tougher than she looked? Understatement. I had trained for this, but apparently not enough. And she fought dirty. As she came at me, hands reaching for my face, I saw the gleam of something sharp. Claws. Instinctively I ducked away and down, twisting, and then came up again to hit her in the stomach with my shoulder, knocking her off her feet. With a grunt she fell, hit the floor, rolled back to her feet, and was coming at me again.

This time I was a little better prepared. I grabbed her wrists, keeping those claws away. She snarled and tried to yank out of my grip, twisting one arm free. I avoided her hand, pulling her other arm across her body to turn her away from me. With a kick that connected painfully with my leg, she got loose, staggering backwards and bumping into the giant pencil cup. Quickly she turned and shoved it, tipping it over to send pencils as big as logs rolling and bouncing at me.

I was mad now too, and I charged at her, leaping over the pencils. We grappled again; she tried to scratch me; I swung a hand to slap her, my fingers catching one of those cat-ears and pulling. The mask resisted. I held on, fending her off with the other arm as she tried to get at me again. With a ripping sound, her mask came off, giving me a quick glimpse of a beautiful face and green eyes snapping with fury as she jumped back.

I kicked high, aiming for Catwoman's unmasked face. She moved fast, dodging. I pivoted to the other leg and did a half-turn and a spin kick, again at her head. She ducked. And I was in trouble. My own damn fault, my damn cape had wrapped around my arms; I wasn't used to it, and how did Batman deal with the damn thing, anyway... All she had to do now was use those claws on me... but she didn't. Taking advantage of the second or so I was off-balance, she whirled her own cape off her shoulders and over my head, grabbed me and pushed hard.

I hit something that was moving, and fell. Something fell on top of me. There was angry cursing. And the sound of footsteps, running away. When I got the cape off my head, I was sitting on the floor, with Nightwing bending over me.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm... I'm..." I struggled to my feet as he held out a hand to help me up. Not exactly the way I had hoped to announce myself, but...

"Who the hell are you?" Batman was back, without Catwoman, who had evidently gotten away. And he was hopping mad about it, too. I couldn't say I entirely blamed him, I was pretty angry myself. Mostly at myself.

"I'm Batwoman." I raised my chin, doing my best to look proud instead of self-conscious.

"Batwoman?" His voice dropped, with more than a hint of that silky menace in it, as he took a step closer. I could totally see why people would be afraid of him.

"That's right."

"And what do you think you were doing?"

"The same as you. Stopping a crime." Of course, they were the ones who had done the actual crime-stopping; all I had done was fall on my face. But I wasn't about to admit it.

His eyes moved, barely visible in the dim light, sweeping over me from head to toe and back up. Seeing a costume similar to his, black but with a little golden sheen to it, a bat emblem barely visible on my chest, a deep red cape, red gloves and boots, the mask over my eyes sweeping up to give the impression of bat ears. I had thought it was really quite impressive, not to mention flattering. But even through the cowl, I could tell Batman did not approve.

"Didn't look to me like you stopped anything," he said. "You let Catwoman get away."

"I didn't see you stopping her either."

"You got in our way."

"Bull. If I hadn't been here, she would have been out of the building before you knew it. This way, all of us saw her face."

"Only for a second. Not sure I'd recognize her," Nightwing said.

"I would." Maybe it was only quiet confidence in Batman's voice, but it sounded like arrogance to me.

"So I didn't do so badly, after all." I smiled, giving him some attitude back.

I guess Batman knew I was right; he changed tactics. "What makes you think you can put on a mask and a cape and imitate me?"

"Why not? You don't have a copyright. Obviously." I glanced back at Nightwing, who seemed to be trying not to look amused. After all, he had done pretty much the same thing, shown up in Gotham City several months ago doing a fair imitation of Batman. Now they appeared together as much as they did separately. If he could do it, why not me?

Batman took another step, using his considerable height to loom over me. "This is dangerous. No place for an amateur."

"We all have to start somewhere." This was going all wrong. I decided to try making friends. "Look, I just want to help. We're all on the same side, right?"

Wrong move. He glared even more ferociously, if possible. "I don't need your help. Go home, take off that costume, and burn it. For your own good."

So much for friends. It hurt. So many years had gone into this, so much effort, and now this night of hope and fear and danger had ended like this, with failure, and with being disdainfully dismissed by the man who had been such a hero to me... But if he thought I was giving up, he was wrong like he'd never been wrong before. "Not going to happen," I said, matching him glare for glare.

He came closer, until we were almost nose to nose. His voice had gone even softer and colder as he said, "It takes more than a costume to do what we do. You screwed up. If Catwoman was a killer, you could be dead right now."

"Just makes it more exciting." I gave him my best nonchalant smirk.

"Go home. Find another game to play. This is no business for little girls."

And he was gone while I was still sputtering, trying to find a suitably witty and insulting response. With a swirl of his cape, and a last glance from Nightwing that might have held a trace of sympathy, they vanished into the shadows and the rising howl of a police siren.

"Little girl. Little girl? I'm twenty-six years old. Almost twenty-seven. Almost as old as he is, probably." But of course chronological age hadn't been what he meant, not really. How could anyone say such a thing about me, when I'd been taking care of myself for all my adult life... Of all the demeaning, insulting, sexist... Who did he think he was, anyway? How dare he call me a girl, never mind little?

I had gone home, and taken off my costume. But not burned it, oh no. It was safely downstairs, in the sub-basement I'd had specially remodeled when I moved here a couple of years ago. My very own Batcave... the thought wasn't comforting now, as I paced the large and very upper-class living room of my large and very upper-class house angrily.

My father had been a circus performer, an acrobat and tightrope walker. My mom had come from a wealthy family. Very wealthy, and very upper-class. Her parents - I couldn't quite think of them as my grandparents - hadn't approved of the marriage. In fact they disapproved so strongly that they tossed her right out, wrote her out of their will, and cut off all contact. When they died in a car crash, I was twelve. I suppose I should have grieved, but whatever sadness I felt was for my mother.

Even without a lot of money, we were happy: Mom, Dad, my older brother Bobby, and me. But that ended with a fire in the circus trailers. My parents were gone. That time I felt something. I don't like to remember it. Bobby had given up circus life years ago, gotten married and settled down; but now he had a young daughter, a wife dying of cancer, and financial problems of his own. He was in no position to take me in. My father's mother was dead long ago, his father had taken off and never reappeared. So many people gone, so much loss. Sometimes I wondered why I was still around, what purpose I was here for... At seventeen I was alone, no parents, no one.

Luckily I was old enough to stay on in the circus. I had to work for a living, of course, but that was easy. My father had brought me up to fly on the trapeze, and I guess I inherited his talent. The motorcycle stunt riding was my idea. It appealed to me, the rush of being on that powerful machine, controlling it; the speed, the danger, second only to the thrill of flying through the air from one flimsy trapeze bar to another, my life depending on a rope and my own skill... No, I wasn't trying to get myself killed. Just the opposite. The challenge of staying alive, of defying the odds and winning, it made me feel good. Strong.

But, after a few years, I realized circus life wasn't enough. It was fun, it was exciting. But it didn't mean anything, it was just - a show, the same show every day, twice on weekends, just mindless entertainment for a mob of faceless people. It didn't make any real difference in anyone's life. I wanted more.

That was just about when the Batman began to really make news, after a few years of speculation about whether or not he was real, or just a myth dreamed up by a few psychotic criminals. He was real, all right, most of all to me. There was a man who had it all. Danger, excitement, and the knowledge that what he was doing was important, that he could really make a difference in the world. It was everything I had always wanted... but how could a circus performer with no money and no prospects ever achieve it?

Nevertheless, I did what little I could. There was a family of Chinese acrobats in our troupe, and two of them were pretty good at martial arts. I begged and nagged them into giving me lessons, not for any specific reason, maybe just to feel I had something in common with Batman. I got books, and videotapes, and studied on my own, not just fighting techniques, but criminology too.

And then, the rest of it just fell into my lap. It turned out not everyone in my mother's family had turned their backs on us. I had an uncle. Or used to have one. When he died from an illness he left all his money and property to Bobby and me. I had never even met him, but in my heart I mourned the loss of one more part of my family - and gratefully took the gift he had given. Now, wherever Mom is, I feel sure she's happy to see me living in the same house she was kicked out of so many years ago.

Money. It's wonderful stuff. I left the circus, moved to Gotham, settled into this house, made friends, started a new life. I also met Bruce - but why waste time on thinking about him? The important thing was that I had everything I needed now to make my dream come true.

I took real martial arts lessons this time, and bought equipment, the kind I imagined Batman used. I even had a motorcycle customized - out of town, and without giving my name - to be a suitable Batcycle, and designed a costume. But still I had waited, not quite having the nerve, until Nightwing had appeared and proved that Batman wasn't the only one who could pull off the superhero act. And tonight, I had finally done it. Not a very good start, true, but this wasn't going to be the end. I was used to falling and getting right back up again.

Little girl... No, I wasn't in it just for the excitement, just for the danger. Of course not. I refused to be discouraged. "Batwoman will be back," I muttered to myself. "I'll show him who's a little girl..."

TBC...