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There were less than ten minutes left until the old year died and, cosmic disasters or multiversal apocalypses allowing, the new would be born. The East End was located far from the official New Year festivities in Gotham Square and showed little sign of caring about marking the moment. Its alleys and defiles were as dark and cramped and ever, its buildings as cracked and crumbled, there was no bunting or lights. The odd window showed a yellow glow but here, that could mean anything, and almost certainly not merrymaking.
One such light shone from a top floor brownstone apartment, splashing out onto its balcony and catching for a few fleeting seconds, the lithe, black shadow that landed into a crouch before sinuously uncurling itself and with a swift glance around, entered through the French windows.
*****
Counting the differences between her and Bruce’s upbringing was an endeavour Selina had given up long ago. How did you keep a tally of something that seemed so infinite? The disparity in wealth was almost too obvious to note, while the massive house and the Butler versus Seagate Juvenile Detention Centre and its tyrannical Superintendent made their experiences as orphans barely comparable. But one difference Selina always noted was the place of family history and tradition. Everything to him, whereas for her…
…Brian Kyle, the man who Selina called father but looked at her as a stranger and who she, the more she remembered him, regarded as someone ever more foreign (for reasons that were very apparent, but she had left unexamined) was Irish, although this extended to only the barest and most superficial meaning of the word. Beyond the drinking, various platitudes mumbled at the local priest and a three day bender around March 17, there had been little of the substance of that heritage communicated to his children. Selina would always remember her Cuban relatives and the culture they brought with them fondly, recalling the warm embrace of her aunts and the gold-flecked grins of her uncles every time she smelled the Cubano’s being served from Cabrera’s cart on Cooke and Grand or she heard the tinny refrains of Habana Blues through the windows of La Rampa’s as she swung by its fire escape on a prowl. But such fond moments were always tinged with pain, their warmth giving way to ice as she remembered that day, those red stripes painted down the sides of the bath, the glassiness of Maria Kyle, nee Alliegro ‘s eyes…
But the Waynes, founders of Gotham and America, if you will, still retained allegiances and habits that came all the way from the old country, whichever country that was. Especially on holidays; The Jewish traditions that came through Martha Kane were one very obvious example, Bruce always made a dual nod to Hannukah each December while he made a point of attending the Passover Seders with Kate.
And then there was New Year.
It had been ten to ten on a cold night on the 31st December when, having jauntily wished her Bat a ‘happy new year’ he had immediately – almost automatically – suffixed it with ‘when it comes’ that she learned just how seriously the Scottish part of the Waynes took the holiday. She discovered that wishing ‘happy new year’ before the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve – or rather, Hogmanay - was incredibly bad luck.
Parking the revelation that Batman. – yes, BATMAN– was actually superstitious about something, she’d gone on to learn that Hogmanay was a tradition that particular Wayne strain had packaged and brought wholesale from the old country – where Hogmanay/New Year lasted until at least January 4th and was bigger than St Andrew’s Day, Burns Night and until very recently, Christmas.
For example Grandfather Wayne had treated Christmas Day like any other working day giving out gifts on ‘Handsel Day’, the first Monday of the New Year . He also insisted on a proper ‘Ne’er Day’ Dinner involving some kind of dead cow and refused to go back to work until the 3rd of January at the very earliest. Even Bruce, now much more Americanised insisted that a beef rib, roast or steak pie was cooked for the first dinner of the year, even if it generally went cold and leathery as he swung through the city to deal with some New Year-themed rogue’s incursion. Just a year or so before things changed between them forever, Selina had (unknowingly) played her own part in ruining Alfred’s carefully marinated and brined feasts. Repaying a favour owed to Harley and Ivy, she had staged an audacious jailbreak timed to coincide with the high point of the New Year celebrations in Gotham Square. Unfortunately, the girls had repaid THAT favour by not only getting themselves caught before the 1st of January had come and gone, but leading Batgirl plus Robins right to Selina’s apartment during the ‘chase’ section of the clusterfuck. Of all the ways Selina liked to ring in the New Year, bat-roped to a lamppost outside of GCPD with the uber-bitch and the eastern seaboard’s loudest (and most talkative) criminal came very low on her list. And if there was one thing worse than impending incarceration, it was having to listen to a manic pixie nightmare girl play ‘I Spy’ mostly with herself for over 40 minutes, without any ability to clamp your hand over her mouth. Or hit her. Or both.
Two December 31st’s later and things were rather different. For one thing, her relationship with Barbara was far less contentious…unless you counted that time when Babs discovered Selina had a library book she’d ‘forgotten’ to return after borrowing it from the East End District Library when she was all of 13 years old. The narrowed slits and stony expression was the closest she had seen Babs get to Bruce’s level of intensity. And the fine had been astronomical.
Speaking of intensity, that New Year’s Eve Bruce had shown just how fierce and intense he could be, this time with the feral Cat at his side, matching him blow for blow. They had broken up a’ celebration’ that had nothing to do with either weird old traditions or the Ball Drop at Gotham Square. It was a ‘party’ – a sick party, for sick men, where girls who had not yet seen sixteen were laid on like exotic candies, reserved for the stroke of midnight. The guests would never get to partake – not this time, not ever again. Selina had no problem baring her teeth and popping her claws for such ‘men’ – and ‘women’ - and felt no compunction to rein in her lover’s fury ether – a cold, deadly rage he reserved for the very worst their city had spawned.
In the aftermath, as they caught their breath and wiped blood from claw and knuckle Selina looked to the clock. 11pm. The girls had avoided a terrible end to their year but what did the next hold for these wide and puffy eyed girls who huddled in the overcoats she’d ‘acquired’ from the cloakroom, as they tried to warm the gooseflesh exposed between short skirts and tanktops. As Batman finished his clean up, she crouched down and spoke quietly with them, soothing, reassuring and gradually unravelling something of their terrible, awful, all too familiar stories. As she kept her anger just below the surface and her head clear, Selina soon understood that these bruised and damaged children still had much to fear in the year yet to come.
Also yet to come were the GCPD, whose sirens she could now hear. Never fond of the prospect of meeting Gotham’s finest up close, Selina rose from her crouch, already balanced on the balls of her feet and ready to move. She nodded to four of the girls she had been speaking with. ‘Time for me to go.’ she said as she stepped over the prone form of the party host, making no effort to keep either toe or heel from treading on him. ‘Beth, Sue, Stacey, Lee? That means you too.’
His head snapped round, the blue eyes locked onto hers. ‘Go? Go where?’
She moved in close to him, where she could smell and feel him best. ‘To safety.’
‘Safety is….’
‘.. child services for these other girls, yes. Although fuck knows what happens when they get into that system...’
‘I’ll take care of it.’
She nodded, satisfied, then gestured to the girls she had named.
‘These four…they have warrants.’ His eyes narrowed and he tensed, but this was no time for his boy scout crap. ‘It’s the kind of life they’re in, and as for what those warrants are? Right now, tonight that’s none of your fucking business.’
The jaw clenched a moment, then relaxed. ‘And then what?’
‘I’ll take care of it, Bat. They’ll be looked after. I’m taking them to Lesley’s tonight, and I’ll work out what happens next with her.’
He nodded, also satisfied. It still felt weird, being trusted, although he had always given her the benefit of the doubt when it came to matters such as this.
‘How long will it take you?’ His voice was still gravel, but it had softened somehow.
‘Ten…fifteen minutes? Lesley’s expecting me…’
‘Good. Meet me at the Penthouse. I’d…like you to come with me, to celebrate the New Year. But we need to change first.’
It was 11.35 when she arrived. He greeted her at the door and had already shed cape, cowl and Batsuit. He wore instead a dark brown tweed suit and a tartan tie. He’d even shaved, somehow.
‘Very nice Bruce…but don’t you think we look a little…mis-matched? People might think I’m holding you hostage…’ She smiled at the thought. Kidnapping Mr Wayne? Even as a joke that sounded…fun.
‘I’ve laid something out on the bed I think you might like. You’ll have to hurry though if we’re to make it for midnight.’
Nine minutes later Selina stepped out from the bedroom. The off the shoulder dress he’d left for her appeared black, but a closer look revealed a tartan pattern in different shades of black and grey, it’s hem swished pleasingly across the carpet. ‘Will this do?’ she asked with a playful smile.
‘Very much’ he said, his lips kinking in a shy smile. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like you to also wear this’ He raised his hands – those fearsome fists with the clever fingers and pinned an intricately shaped brooch above her right breast. Its design was a white rose carved in ivory, interlaced with a golden thistle. ’These are the national flowers of Scotland, where we first came from. It was my grandmother’s. I’d like you to wear it tonight.’
She looked shyly at the brooch. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Very fitting then. Shall we?’
To Selina’s surprise they were not headed for Gotham Square. Instead, the Batwing swooped in on autopilot and picked them up, landing them at the rear of Wayne Manor at three minutes to midnight. Selina made to enter the back door into the kitchen, but Bruce placed a gentle, but firm hand on her forearm.
‘Wait just a moment. We ‘first foot’ when the clock strikes midnight…’
‘First foot?’
‘Scottish Hogmanay tradition. The first to cross the threshold and bring the new year with them to family, friends – sometimes complete strangers whose lamps you see burning. Here…’ Bruce reached into the bag he was carrying and passed out various items – a lump of coal ‘for the hearth’, he explained; a sachet of salt ‘for health and hospitality’; a dark, rich cake he called ‘black bun’ and lastly; a bottle of very fine malt whisky.
‘And the booze?’ she had asked with a smile
He shrugged. ‘Well. It is a Scottish tradition…’
The clock in the kitchen chimed and far off in the distance, Selina could hear the bells and the fireworks in the city.
‘Now?’ she asked?
‘Yes’ Bruce said, as he took her into his arms and a long, slow kiss. ‘Happy New Year, Kitten.’
‘Happy New Year darling. But I had been talking about going inside. It is…or was…a little cold.’
‘Yes it’s time but…I need to go in first.’
‘And they say Chivalry is dead…Let me guess? Tradition?’
‘The first foot should always be a tall, dark haired man…if there’s one available.’
She smiled. It was nice to see this side of him. ‘Is handsome part of it too?’
‘Optional…’
‘Preferable, I’d say.’
‘That’s why we call in Dick on the nights I’m too busy to do this.’ Bruce knocked on the door. It opened a second later to reveal Alfred, dressed casually in a cardigan, a glass of whisky in hand. A waft of something – was it juniper? – dissipated into the cold night air.
‘Happy New Year Alfred. May we come in?’
‘Of course sir, Happy New Year, and Happy New Year to you, Miss Kyle.’
They entered the kitchen to find a table laden with food and bottles, mostly of stuff with a hard leading edge and a warm afterglow. Much like the night -or morning - that followed, enlivened greatly by the influx of the wider Bat Family some ten minutes later. Selina learned how to sing Auld Lang Syne to its original melody and in its original Scots language, although the singing could not even begin until Bruce had given a detailed lecture as to the correct pronunciation of ‘Syne’ (which seemed to Selina both the most and least ‘Bruce’ thing ever). In fact her lover showed Selina a very different side to him that night. It wasn’t just how he laughed more - and often: it was the pleasure he took in showing her something of who he was, beyond the trappings of the Bristol Brahmin or the weight of past tragedy. He seemed younger, almost boyish -there was a glimpse perhaps, of what life in Wayne Manor had been like before that fateful night in Crime Alley.
After Auld Lang Syne the singing continued, with each of the family having to do a ‘turn’, his being a surprisingly good rendition of ‘Galway Girl’. Selina was glad to take her turn early, belting out a half decent rendition of ‘These boots are made for walking’ (an hour later and the drink would have made her forget the words). As she nestled into Bruce’s arms on the sofa to watch Cass sing a very impressive version of ‘Royals’ she realised she was going to see a very different side to all of the family that night…
…or rather morning. When she and Bruce finally climbed into bed it was to birdsong and the muted chatter and laughter of the younger members of the family.
********
So it was that for all her success that night, Selina felt a little rueful not to be with him right now, standing on the doorstep to the Kitchen at Wayne Manor, ready to cross the threshold at the strike of twelve. Still this…the small pen drive she had taken such pains to steal, would ensure a Happy New Year for more than just her this year. It had been worth it, even if it did make her late to ‘first foot’ her lover – and risk the equilibrium that they had reached these past couple of years.
Because this was something he could not endorse, that he needed to be looking the other way for her to pull off. And to do that…well, there were two fairly reliable ways to bamboozle the Batman: one was to overload his senses, create a noise of distracting events and emerging threats. Effective but…dangerous. The other was to exploit your insider knowledge and pick those moments you knew he would much sooner be elsewhere – and ensure that he was.
Selina had accordingly used her underworld connections and savvy to defuse, betray or delay any plots that had centred on tonight, leaving Bruce’s schedule clear. More than a few of what she would have once regarded as her peers and colleagues were now laying low or reclining in a cell as a result, but for this to work she needed Bruce at home, eating Black Bun and being a lightweight on the single malts. Once she’d plugged this drive into her desktop and made the transfers, she had every intention of taking him to bed herself…
The clock struck twelve as she pushed the drive into the USB slot. The distant rumble of fireworks at Gotham Square thrummed through the open window.
‘Happy new year’ she muttered, as the program booted up. Her finger hovered over the mouse ‘and here it comes…’
‘I need you to stop what you’re doing Selina. Now.’
She turned towards the French windows. There he stood, dark, imposing and decidedly unfestive in cape and cowl.
How did he…? She wondered, left as she so often was, both impressed and frustrated at his acumen.
Oh please! Said the Cat voice. You WANTED him to catch you!
So true said that other, equally insistence voice.
Shut UP!!!
Seething though she was, Selina made sure to appear casual and unconcerned. She leaned against the wall opposite and ran her fingers through her hair as the light of her standard lamp glinted against the sheen of her catsuit. ‘So. I’m guessing Dick is pulling first foot duty tonight? Well…he is growing into a dark and handsome kid, no doubt about that….’
‘Selina…’
She knew the tone – knew the doubt, the second guessing it invited and she wouldn’t have that – not this time. Not when she was so RIGHT… ‘You know what this IS Bat? It’s the key to a thousand apartments…crappy, mean, miserable apartments with bare walls that won’t hold wallpaper or a coat of even the best paint. ‘Homes’ riddled with damp and black mould. Take as much coal to these places as you like – their radiators are broken and the hearths are cold. And when the heating does work? Take a look at Oliver Cranston II’s brownstones along Rottenrow. Look at how many of his tenants suffocated from Carbon Monoxide over the past three years from the shitty boilers he installed. Young couples, old ladies, bus-boys, children whole families – and what do you think happened to those cases when they reached the courts? And if you want to boil an egg on the gas cooker? Less risk breaking into Joker’s Funland, and that’s no exaggeration. And if the building doesn’t kill you directly…’ she thought again, of their old bathroom and the red water, of Brian’s easy chair and his slumped form, his skin clammy and pale blue against the Paisley Pattern upholstery, the empty bottle dropped by his cold fingers, the grain whiskey seeping into the stained and mouldy carpet…how could he know? How could he understand…
‘Well. Sometimes you do the job yourself. And these deathtraps are rented for triple their worth, on punitive leases, most of them paying in arrears on high interest, to people who go to the same regattas and galas and shindigs you do – or would, if you didn’t duck them to go and fight crime… Well here’s CRIME rich boy! Do you ever actually listen when Oliver Cranston II talks about his ‘property portfolio’?
‘I see that you did. The Gotham Heights Country Club Halloween Ball, wasn’t it?’ he answered. His eyes still pierced hers, which she realised were now wet with tears. Damnit. How was it he could always make her leak like that? She glared at him, more angry than ever, green to deep blue… except his eyes were curious rather than angry.
‘The first of these things you ever subjected me to. And as you wouldn’t let me work the room my usual way, I had no choice but to pay attention while you listened to your police scanner…and you know what I found? These people are parasites – SLUMLORDS, who squeeze every last penny from the poor bastards trapped in buildings that are slowly killing them. Your mom would know what to do about these people… don’t you think…?’
Invoking Bruce’s mother was a street-fighting tactic, something of a cross between a gouge and a low blow, but Selina needed to win this one.
His face remained impassive as he responded. ‘I’m more interested in what you did.’
Selina gestured to the computer screen, to the clever exploit her hacker had designed, just for this purpose. ‘I did what your ancestors did. Took out the old year and brought in the new. Once I click here …let’s just say the last four years of rent taken from these people will suddenly appear in their accounts on the morning of January 1st. Money they should never have had taken from them, back in their hands. And no one will be able to trace it…’
Her clawed finger hovered over the mouse, ready to click but…as was always the case with this man, he excited her curiosity. He had made no move and showed little emotion so far. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was going to do…
What he did was smile. Just a ghost of one, but she saw it all the same.
‘Impressive. But hardly a long-term solution. Those people can take that money. They can leave, go elsewhere or just take a break from worrying about their rents for a while…but what happens to their neighbourhood if they do leave? And what if they end up giving their money to someone even worse?’
‘Don’t Bat. Don’t let your law and your justice get in the way of this’
‘I’m not.’ He reached into his cape and brought out a folder which he pushed into her hands ‘If you want to execute your plan then I won’t stop you. But please…read this first….’
She leaned against the side table and flicked through the dense folder. It was a lot to take in at first, but soon the plan – his plan became clear. A new housing association under the auspices of the Wayne Foundation. There would be targeted buyouts of existing slum housing, new developments aimed at the existing population, zero interest bridging loans offered to existing tenants to meet their current rent agreements until the association could take over.... It was impressive. And each and every one of the landlords targeted for buyout corresponded to those she’d robbed that night.
Selina shook her head, fighting back even more tears. Either Bruce was the sweetest or the most profoundly irritating man she’s ever met.
Both her three voices said, in rare but absolute agreement.
‘So what are you saying Bat?’
“I’m saying you’re right, Selina. This situation cannot continue. These people have eaten well off the misery of Gotham. And now it stops.’
‘So what - you throw a fat wad into these guys hands and they get to just walk while you play George Bailey?’
‘No. This break in…once it lands on the commissioner’s desk, the GCPD will investigate. The criminal neglect of Cranston and the rest will come to light, their assets seized…and THEN I’ll throw my fat wads of money into the situation…’
Selina cocked a sceptical eyebrow ‘Come to light? It hasn’t before…’
‘It will. Because I’ll make sure it does. I’ll take care of it Selina… WE will take care of it, because I could use your help with this. No-one knows the East End – or places like it, so well as you. But it’s the investigation that will pave the way for the necessary buyout – and with it the upgrades, improvements and rent controls.
‘And what about the perpetrator of this break in?’ She asked, that sceptical eyebrow still straining for her hairline, although her fury had dissipated, replaced instead by something much more akin to amusement ‘does she get caught?’
The Bat was also smiling – just a slight kink at the corners of his lips. ‘I think the police will find that she…they will prove to be elusive. Good at covering her- their – tracks…but what their crime revealed will lead to much bigger fish…’
She chuckled. Notoriety was always pleasing, even when anonymous.
‘Of course’ he continued, fixing her suddenly with a much harder stare ‘…that means that all the money you stole has to go back. Including the funds stashed in that illegal slush fund Cranston and his consortium used to skim their profits...
Selina blinked but kept her face impassive, giving nothing away. ‘Oh. You found out about that?’
‘I did. I notice it didn’t go to the tenants either…’
Selina shrugged. The secret fund had been a sweet bonus she just couldn’t resist. ‘I’d already shared the wealth Bat. Can’t a girl take a little cut for herself when she’s out doing good?’
‘That’s not what heroes do.’
‘Good job I’m not a hero then…’
‘You tell yourself that. But the money they squirreled away from their shareholders and the IRS is the killer blow that will send these people down. But it needs to be there for the investigators to find.
Selina shook her head as the facade broke - into a deep, throaty chuckle. She shrugged and moved in close to him, hand lightly pressed against the Bat emblem on his chest. One thing she still felt when around this man that had not changed in the slightest with their altered relationship; the only thing worse than him catching her was him NOT catching her.
That makes absolutely NO sense hissed the Cat voice.
But it's true all the same said the other, it’s eternal opposite. And it was. Selina had come to realise that one thing she feared more than anything was Bruce losing his edge. She was relieved and excited to find it as sharp - and cutting - as ever.
His chest rose and fell less than an inch from her chin, but she did not retreat. Whether guilty or innocent, this was both the most dangerous, and safest place she could ever hope to be.
‘Ok, Bat, I get it. It goes back. I'll take care of it.'
He nodded as he wrapped his arms around her. That was another thing that hadn't changed; the thrill that passed over her, under and over the skin, all over her body whenever those biceps and shoulders shut out the rest of the world. They stood there, in a comfortable embrace, staring each out, waiting for someone to break the silence.
'So…' she said 'here’s my first foot. tall, dark and handsome – it should be a lucky year for me.’ She let her fingers play along the bumps and points of the cowl. ‘But have you come properly equipped?' she asked, her expression serious although her green eyes shone bright in the lamplight. 'Have you brought me a lump of coal?’
‘I gave you that at Christmas…'
'Yes…' she smiled, wide and wicked ‘you did… but what about the salt?
He touched her cheek, still slicked with saltwater, although new tears had washed away the angry flood of a few minutes ago. 'We have that covered.'
'Black Bun?'
'You didn’t like that, as I recall…'
'…too rich… And the bottle?'
His hand reached into his utility belt and retrieved a vial…a bottle of sorts, albeit very small between his thumb and forefinger. She smiled. ‘Slainte mhath’ he whispered as he let the tiny glass capsule drop to the floor where with a tinkle, it smashed…
…and then, in those opening minutes of the new year Bat and Cat were lost in the smoke that engulfed the room, their bodies taken in a tumble of clouds, fallen cowls, unzipped leathers, sweat and tears, old habits and new beginnings...