"Bruce lay in the hospital bed, half propped up as Harvey adjusted the frame and poured him a glass of water.
"She's moody, unpredictable—like an actual cat," Bruce muttered, clearly troubled. "I can't figure her out. What worries me more is that if she lashes out, someone else might get hurt. I've got Gotham's best doctors on speed dial. Other people… not so lucky."
"You should be glad your kidney didn't rupture," Harvey said, setting the pitcher down. "That knife was short. Just a shallow cut on the organ. Otherwise, you'd be down to one kidney right now."
Harvey leaned back and, in that steady lawyerly tone of his, began, "Back in school, I fell hard for a girl. Chased her like a fool. Then one night, we were on a date. She tossed a bottle far away just to watch a janitor scramble for it, for her amusement.
"In that moment, I thought: how could she? That's cruel. She wasn't the person I'd built up in my head. But I realized later—I was the one who had painted her as perfect. She was always mean-spirited, always sneering at service workers, always looking down on others. She never changed. My love just blinded me."
"I broke it off. She was furious—felt humiliated. To her, I looked like a lunatic: first obsessed, then suddenly cutting things clean. Anyone would see that as an insult."
Harvey shrugged. "Looking back, it was normal."
Bruce hesitated, embarrassed, but finally admitted, "Her problem's worse than your ex. She could actually hurt someone—physically."
"That's not the point," Harvey said firmly. "The point is: when you met her—when you fell for her—you already knew that, didn't you?"
Bruce froze. Of course, he knew. He'd met Catwoman mid-heist, while she was literally committing a crime.
How could I possibly fall for a criminal… in the middle of her crime scene?
After Harvey left, exhaustion pulled Bruce into sleep.
In his dream, dazzling lights spilled over a jewelry store. Pearls scattered on the floor gleamed in their glow—then, suddenly, darkness. Back to the alley, back to the shadows. Only that strand of pearls still shimmered faintly.
Batman had always hated jewelry, hated things that sparkled. Like a true bat, he preferred the dark.
But now, all he could picture was that sly girl, grinning with a jewel in her hand.
And somehow, in his dream, those pearls no longer looked so hateful. The dream ended with bats sweeping across a shadowy sky.
⸻
The next day, Schiller raised an eyebrow when Bruce walked into the office. "Already healed? Can you walk this soon?"
"It still aches a little," Bruce admitted, "but the organs are fine. I'm almost recovered."
"Good. Then I won't waste coffee on you." Schiller poured himself a steaming mug. Bruce, exasperated, sighed, "Fine. Just give me some water."
When they sat down, Bruce confessed: "Harvey still doesn't know my real identity. I'd rather keep it that way. But I'm stuck. That thief who stabbed me… she's in my dreams every night.
"I'm even starting to resist putting on the suit. When I see her, I don't even know what to say."
Schiller hadn't expected this—Batman's very first therapy issue with him being… a teenage-level love dilemma.
(Comics readers know: Batman and Catwoman are canon soulmates. Countless arcs paint them as the doomed, irresistible pair—a Dark Knight and a seductive thief. Even in Gotham's perpetual nightmare, people eat it up every time.)
"Sounds like Harvey's advice didn't land," Schiller said dryly.
"Harvey's right," Bruce admitted. "I knew she was a thief before I ever liked her. I literally met her during a heist. I don't even know how I could fall for a criminal. It's absurd."
Schiller leaned back. "And what made you become Batman?"
Bruce paused. "Many things."
"And what made her become a thief?"
Silence.
"So here you are, brooding, while knowing nothing about her past, her family, her reasons." Schiller's gaze sharpened. "Are you sure you're in love? Or just chasing some fantasy fling?"
"I haven't even slept with her," Bruce muttered.
"Do you want applause for your purity?" Schiller shot back. His eyes flicked to Bruce's side. "She hasn't even gotten you into bed yet, and she's already stabbed your kidney. Honestly, I'm starting to worry about your life expectancy."
Bruce swallowed. "Should I… talk to her?"
Schiller sighed. "You're in love with her. Not me. You want answers? Go talk to her. That's what people in relationships do."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously. You've been rooftop-hopping together for days, and you still don't know her parents, her past, nothing. You won't sleep with her, you won't actually date her, and you sit here clueless. If it were me, I'd stab you too."
Bruce blinked, then finally muttered, "…Fine. I'll go talk to her."
⸻
The next night, Batman caught Catwoman mid-heist at an exhibition hall. He knew her patterns by now—tracking her was easy. She spotted him and cursed, immediately bolting.
But once again, he snagged her cape. She spun around, furious. "Let me go, freak! Don't make me pull the knife!"
"We need to talk," Batman said.
"What's there to talk about? Stop getting in my way!"
Ten minutes later, they were on the rooftop. Catwoman sighed dramatically, hands on her hips. "Alright, alright, my little Boy Scout. What is it? Gonna lecture me again? Because I've practically memorized your speeches."
"No. I just… want to hear your story," Batman said.
That caught her off guard. She blinked at him, then smirked at his ridiculous cowl ears. "Fine. Since your fashion sense is almost as wild as mine—here goes."
She told him everything: the slums in the East End. An alcoholic mother. A drug-addict father. Raised by a bitter ex-acrobat who beat her, but taught her skills. Running away at twelve when she was nearly sold to a middle-aged creep. An orphanage that wanted to "save" her, until she crossed the wrong staff member—then she stole his diamond necklace and fled again.
A gang leader called Lucky Mama, who trained orphan girls to steal. Catwoman was her star pupil—until Lucky discovered she'd hidden that diamond necklace, worth enough for retirement. Selina refused to hand it over and ran again.
Her friend Maggie, beaten by her abusive boyfriend. Catwoman killed him in a fight, got wanted by the law, and cut ties to protect her friend. Sometimes she sent money back, but mostly, she just survived.
When she finished, she said, almost mocking, "Nothing glamorous. Not as exciting as your epic origin story, right, 'big hero'?"
Batman was silent. "Not exciting? That's… one of the most incredible stories I've ever heard."
She arched an eyebrow. "Sweet talker. Careful, I might actually blush. Honestly, though, I'm happy you listened. Hardly anyone cares to hear it. Maggie—she can't leave her home much, so when we talk, she prefers me telling her about the rich ladies uptown, with their dresses and necklaces."
Batman asked quietly, "Do you really love jewels that much?"
Selina smirked. "Knew you'd ask that."
"At first, it was survival. Lucky Mama gave us better treatment if we brought in more loot. I hated being beaten."
"But when she tried to take that necklace, I realized something. I wasn't obsessed with the money—it was the shine. The light. That glow under lamps—it's the most beautiful thing in this rotten world.
"My dream?" She laughed, eyes sparkling. "A castle filled floor-to-ceiling with glittering gems. A world made of light."
Her tone was playful, almost bubbling over with joy.
Batman didn't smile. He just listened, quietly haunted by the girl who dreamed of light in the middle of Gotham's endless dark."