After pounding Diana into the ground and claiming her Lasso of Truth as his spoils, Alex didn't dwell on the matter for long.
To him, it was just another brief encounter — a flare of excitement already fading into the background noise of his larger, far more interesting life.
What remained, however, was the undeniable conclusion that fight had made crystal clear.
Diana wasn't his match. Not even close.
And considering that her strength stood among the absolute peak on Themyscira — the legendary island of warrior women whispered about with both reverence and fear — Alex could now safely assume something rather important.
That island wasn't half as formidable as the myths made it out to be.
In short: not a threat. Not anymore.
Over the following days, Alex resumed his routine with effortless ease — eating, sleeping, occasionally teasing Catwoman just to watch her roll her eyes and smirk back. Life went on exactly as if nothing had happened.
Yet, as always, he remained vigilant in his own quiet way. His super senses were never truly at rest. He used them to keep casual tabs on Diana's whereabouts.
And interestingly enough — she hadn't left Gotham.
She lingered there, quietly concealed among the city's restless shadows. Not hiding, exactly, but waiting. Calculating.
Through the heartbeat of the city, Alex could feel her presence moving — restless, determined.
She was investigating him. Gathering information.
Digging into every scrap of detail she could find, likely hunting for a weakness — something to give her an edge in their next confrontation.
The determination would've been admirable if it weren't so futile.
Clearly, she hadn't given up on reclaiming her Lasso. She was planning her grand return.
Too bad for her… the Lasso of Truth had already become nothing more than stardust in the wind.
> "Diana," Alex murmured with a teasing lilt, that sharp smile curving his lips,
"I welcome your next offering. Please, keep working hard."
A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes. He didn't know it yet — but before Diana had the chance to confront him again, someone else would come knocking first.
---
Knock, knock, knock!
The evening was calm, dinner half-finished, red wine glowing under the dim kitchen light. Alex and Catwoman were sharing steak — perfectly seared, aromatic, and leisurely enjoyed — when the sound came.
A sudden, deliberate knock at the door.
> "Someone's here?"
Catwoman blinked, frowning slightly.
This place wasn't supposed to be on anyone's map. It was their hideout — a tucked-away penthouse that few, if any, knew existed.
Sure, in Gotham, no secret stayed buried forever, especially from those with enough power or obsession. But even so — who would dare disturb Homelander here?
> "I'll check it out," she said, pushing back her chair with graceful poise.
Setting down her utensils, she crossed the room in that effortless, predatory stride of hers and unlocked the door.
Silence.
When the door swung open, there was no one. Not a sound. Not a presence.
The narrow corridor stretched out empty, swallowed by shadows.
> "What the hell…?"
Catwoman stepped out, scanning the street both ways.
Her eyes flicked over the rooftops, the corners, the darkness that seemed to hold its breath. Nothing.
Her instincts — honed sharp by years of thievery and survival — told her immediately that something was off.
Then she saw it.
A plain white envelope lying neatly on the doorstep.
Scrawled across it in bold, uneven letters: To Homelander.
Her brow furrowed. A chill of recognition crawled through her.
She picked it up carefully, turning it over in her hands before heading back inside.
> "Homelander," she called out, "someone left this for you. Could it be another wannabe Riddler?"
Her tone was laced with amusement, the kind that carried danger underneath.
After all, Alex had personally killed the real Riddler not long ago.
And yet, in Gotham, someone always thought they could outdo the original — arrogance and stupidity came cheap in this city.
> "Some people just never learn," she added dryly.
Catwoman wasn't worried, though. She was entertained.
Alex, on the other hand, was merely curious.
He didn't move at first — just activated his x-ray vision and peered into the envelope.
Inside: one card. A single line of text.
> Meet me at the North District Abandoned Plaza.
No signature. No clue.
> "That's it?"
He snorted, unimpressed.
Some mysterious stranger was playing at secret messages and cloak-and-dagger theatrics, expecting him to show up like a trained hound.
What a joke.
> "Homelander, someone invited you to an abandoned plaza. No signature," Catwoman read aloud after opening it.
> "Ignore it," Alex said, waving her off as if she'd shown him a grocery receipt. He reached for his fork again.
> "So~ should I just toss it?" she teased, dangling the card between two fingers.
> "Toss it," he repeated, utterly unconcerned.
And so she did — the card fluttered into the trash with barely a whisper.
Dinner continued, laughter returning easily. Within minutes, the mysterious invitation was forgotten, as if it had never existed.
---
Later that evening.
> "Selina, you're already gorgeous. You don't need to keep fixing your makeup!"
Alex lounged on the couch, remote in hand, cycling idly through channels. His tone hovered between exasperation and indulgent amusement.
They'd planned a simple evening — nothing extravagant. A quick stroll through the mall, maybe catch a late movie, enjoy a night where he wasn't breaking bones or being worshipped by crowds.
But simplicity and Catwoman never mixed.
Somehow, that casual outing had transformed into a full red-carpet ordeal — makeup brushes, perfume clouds, wardrobe debates. He'd already finished two episodes of his show waiting for her.
> "Alright, alright! Stop rushing me!"
Her voice called out from the bedroom, playful and sharp.
That "alright" turned into another thirty minutes of silence and muffled shuffling.
By the time she finally emerged, the mall was a lost cause. Straight to the movie it was.
Then — finally —
> "How about now, Homelander? Do I look good?"
She twirled into the room, dressed to kill — radiant, playful, impossibly confident. Her movements were liquid, every step designed to catch attention.
Alex's gaze swept over her slowly before he nodded once.
> "You look amazing."
No flattery. Just truth.
Catwoman was beautiful on her worst day, but when she actually put in effort — she was blinding.
> "Let's go, then!" she said with a grin, looping her arm through his like a woman who knew exactly what she was worth.
---
On the streets of Gotham.
> "It's Homelander!"
"Oh my god, it's really him!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd the moment they stepped into view.
Alex barely acknowledged them. He was long accustomed to the noise — the awe, the worship, the envy that followed in his wake.
To him, it was background music.
He simply guided Catwoman to the sleek black luxury car parked by the curb, slid in beside her, and within seconds they were gone — swallowed by the night and the blur of headlights.
Half an hour later, they arrived at Gotham's grandest cinema complex. Predictably, pandemonium erupted the moment he stepped out.
Fans screamed. Phones flashed. Autograph seekers swarmed like moths around a floodlight.
It took nearly half an hour before the chaos settled enough for them to actually sit down. The price of fame — constant, exhausting, yet faintly amusing.
---
> "Homelander!"
Just when peace seemed within reach, a sharp, familiar voice sliced through the din.
A blonde woman wearing glasses approached, her presence poised and self-assured.
Beside her stood another woman — cloaked head to toe, her face lost to the shadow of her hood.
> "So this is why you didn't come to our little meeting," the blonde said, lips curving in a faint smirk. "Hard to blame you — with such lovely company."
Her tone was teasing, but her gaze was assessing — cool and cutting.
Alex had noticed her long before she dared step forward. He'd felt her eyes on him for blocks. But honestly? He couldn't be bothered. Not tonight. Not when Catwoman was laughing at his side.
> "Sorry," he said flatly. "I'm busy right now. Whatever you want — wait till I'm done."
He tightened his arm around Catwoman's waist, a silent message in the gesture, and walked right past the two women — not a backward glance spared.
The night wasn't over yet.
But it was already far more interesting than it had any right to be.
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