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The thing about Gotham was that everyone knew to mind their own business. Stay out of the way of rogues and the Bats, and you’ll be fine; it was easy enough to fly under the radar so long as you weren’t stupid.
The other thing about Gotham was that outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb. That’s why Selina was surprised to realize she didn’t recognize the man who had moved into the alley behind her building while she was on a trip with the Sirens. Despite blending into the Gotham aesthetic perfectly, he was either an outsider or had for reasons unknown decided he’d rather be homeless in the East End than anywhere else in Gotham and moved in from across town.
Strangers in Gotham were dangerous. Selina knew better than most just how little an appearance of innocence meant, and this man wasn’t hiding just how dangerous he could be if needed. Even hunched in on himself, his aura bled blood and nightmares into the Gotham air.
This man was occupying the alley where she fed the cats. She would have to keep an eye on him. If he hurt her kittens, she didn’t care how dangerous he was – she’d scratch his eyes out.
— — —
“A new group has been circling Gotham.” Selina deliberately didn’t startle at Bruce’s voice behind her.
“Hello to you too, darling,” she purred, glancing over her shoulder at him and giving him a flirty wink. “So nice of you to drop by for a chat.”
“Oracle has identified most of them as likely belonging to the terrorist group known as HYDRA,” he continued, ignoring her overture like the buzzkill he so often was. “Patterns of movement indicate they are lying in wait for something to exit the city. What they are after is unconfirmed; chatter we’ve picked up only refers to ‘the asset’.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Selina asked. She allowed herself a nice stretch and pouted a little when Bruce kept his eyes on her face. Chivalry was nice and all, but sometimes a girl just wanted a (specific) guy to notice her more physical assets.
“Are you aware of any plans for movement of physical assets from the city in the next few days?” Batman was silent for a moment before reluctantly adding, “Oracle can’t find anything that seems a likely target.”
“So you thought you’d ask the local cat burglar?” She smirked and drifted closer, walking one clawed hand up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck. “I’m honored. Unfortunately, though, I haven’t heard of anything. Especially not anything a Bat wouldn’t be able to find.”
“Keep me updated if anything changes.”
“Of course.”
— — —
Cats, even those scared of humans, listened to fellow cats when it came to where food could be found. Selina had over the years fed many strays who would never be fully domesticated along with the ones who would eventually demand entry to her warm apartment and its plush furniture. Some cats would always prefer living free, and she respected them for it. Still, when one of them stopped coming around, she would always check on them if she was able. With the strange man camped in her back alley, Selina found herself doubly concerned when a small white cat stopped showing up at meal time.
Despite what Mr. Bat-stick-in-the-mud might think, Selina was never careless with her safety. She was aware, however, that approaching an unknown man dressed as a potential threat was more dangerous than appearing as harmless as possible. With that thought firmly in mind, she wore street clothes and carried from her Catwoman tool kit only a small perfume bottle of knock-out spray. She exited the front of the building and made her way around back.
If she hadn’t seen him beforehand from above, Selina might not have spotted him from the ground, tucked as he was amongst the various detritus that was strewn along the alley walls. As it was, she allowed herself to slowly make her way along the alley, calling out a low, “Here, kitty kitty!” every few feet and passing out treats to the ones who came out to rub against her ankles. Despite her desire to appear non-threatening, she didn’t tone down her searching gaze as she sought a flash of dirty white amongst the trash. By the time her eyes found the stranger’s, she didn’t have fake a startle; he was so well-hidden and Selina so focused on her missing cat that she wasn’t expecting to catch his eyes.
“Hello,” she said, keeping her tone conversational even as her heart rate increased. “I feed the alley cats, and there’s a young white one who didn’t show up today. I’m just looking for her to make sure she’s not hurt. Have you seen a white cat around, about six pounds, medium-length fur? Possibly a bit dirty?”
For a long moment, she took in his wide eyes and expected him to simply bolt. When he did move, she was surprised that it was to open the front of his jacket and show her a small form curled up against him.
“She hurt her paw,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want her walking and hurting it more. And she’s warmer like this.”
That… Was adorable. It was also incredible when she remembered just how against being touched that particular cat was just yesterday. “Does she need a vet?”
He shook his head. “She stepped on a piece of glass. I got it out and cleaned and wrapped it, so now it just needs to heal.”
The cat cracked an eye and glared at Selina before snuggling deeper into the man’s coat. He gently wrapped his jacket back around her and looked back up at Selina.
“She is safe.” It had the weight of a promise behind it. Selina nodded her understanding.
“Thank you. Is there anything I can get for either of you?”
His brows scrunched up in confusion, and when he spoke, Selina got a glimpse beyond the danger to someone surprisingly lost. “I fed her this afternoon. How often do cats need to eat?”
Selina hummed. “Depends on how much they eat at a time. If it’s a large meal, once a day is okay, but at least twice daily is preferred. My kitties eat when I do; keeps them from trying to steal my own food quite as determinedly. Any break longer than 12 hours can irritate their stomachs, but some cats are more sensitive and some less. Cats are just as varied as people.” She took in his obvious confusion and changed tac slightly. “When was the last time you ate?”
His face went unnaturally blank and he replied as though giving a status report for a piece of equipment. “Last intake of sustenance at o-fourteen hundred hours, Tuesday. Next intake to avoid decreased function required in three days and sixteen hours. Next intake to prevent severe limitation required in twenty-four days and three hours. Fifty-eight days without intake remaining before expiration.”
“Fuck,” Selina muttered into her hands, scrubbing her eyes before she looked back at the – apparently severely-damaged – man before her. “You haven’t eaten since Tuesday. Okay,” she motioned for him to follow her, “come inside. I’ve got some soup I can heat up for you.” She turned and didn’t look back as she made her way back around to the front; best not to stare down a stray, after all. They’ll follow or they won’t.
When she felt someone slip into her apartment behind her and heard the door close softly, Selina smiled.
— — —
After the asset had visited the Smithsonian to try to figure out why the blond man (“Stevie” a little voice in the back of his mind whispered) was familiar, his main goal was to hide somewhere Hydra wouldn’t get ahold of him again. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want them to have him, but he didn’t, so he went the one place no sane person would ever look: Gotham.
(“Never go to Gotham,” he vaguely remembered a handler saying once. “Gotham is insane. It chews up normal people and spits them out dead or irrevocably insane.”)
Living in a back alley in Gotham didn’t seem too different from living in a back alley anywhere else. Sure there were more sirens at night, or during the day for that matter, but he spent most of his time amongst boxes and trash, only venturing out when he needed food. The few times someone had tried to mess with him, they hadn’t been any more difficult to deal with than a non-Gothamite. Occasionally they were significantly easier, as they didn’t seem to expect any resistance; the guys in purple suits and clown masks had been particularly surprised he wasn’t scared of them, and had put up no fight worth mentioning. Thus the asset continued in relative safety, ignored by the average Joe and left alone by shadier characters after the first week.
Then he found the white cat with the injured paw.
He wasn’t sure why he’d followed the woman home. Maybe it was how clearly all the alley cats had loved her, and how she’d smiled at them. Maybe it was how she’d been genuinely distressed he hadn’t eaten in five days. Maybe it was because, despite the large number of cats surrounding her, she had still noticed the small white one was missing. Whatever the reason, he found himself sitting awkwardly on a stranger’s sofa with a cat in his jacket and seven more sniffing at him from all directions.
“My name’s Selina, by the way,” she called to him from the kitchen. “What’s your name, tomcat?”
His first instinct was to reply with, “I am the asset,” but that didn’t feel quite right anymore. The blond man had called him “Bucky”, but that didn’t feel right either. The museum said his birth name was James. That was as good as anything, he supposed.
“My name is James,” he replied, feeling rather awkward over how long he’d taken to respond. Selina didn’t acknowledge the wait, but instead leaned around the corner to smile at him.
“A pleasure to meet you, James. Do you have any food allergies?”
“I don’t know? I don’t…remember.”
She blinked a couple times, surprised. “Fingers crossed then, I suppose.” She disappeared back into the kitchen and the sound of pots and pans clanging reached his ears. The calico by his shoulder licked his ear. A driver a block away honked his horn. A pair of flies buzzed around each other in the windowsill. A thud sounded from the apartment below them.
The cat inside his jacket bit him and started purring. James’ focus snapped back from the oncoming zone out. He took a deep breath and released it, letting himself feel present in the current moment.
The calico licked his ear again as Selina came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl full of something that smelled incredible. She smiled when she saw them.
“That’s how Nedjem asks for attention. You can rub her head between her ears; she really likes that.”
He blinked at the calico as he took the bowl Selina offered. “Her name is Nedjem?”
Selina nodded and pointed to each of her cats in turn, “I’ve currently got Nedjem, Isis, Tao, Félicette, Nala, Felix, and Cleo. They come and go as desired, but these ladies are here more often than not. I’ve got others who winter here and will probably come inside in the next few weeks.”
“How many of them do you name?”
“All of them that spend any length of time living with me.” She sat down cross-legged on the other end of the couch with her own bowl. “If they don’t want to be domestic, I let them keep their independence. But those who let me take care of them? Well, they all deserve their own names, because they’re a delight, not a burden.”
The asset – James – James swallowed and looked down at the tip of a white nose sticking out from his jacket. “What’s the white cat’s name?”
Selina smiled softly at him. It made a strange feeling lodge in his upper rib cage.
“She hasn’t let me get near her. Even when I put out food for everyone, she won’t approach to eat it until I’m back inside. I think, since you’re clearly her chosen person, that you should name her.”
That was a strange thought. Not just being chosen, but being a person. Although James supposed that technically, that’s what he was.
He pulled back his jacket and looked down into vibrant blue eyes slightly darker than his own. Her fur, though dirty, was unmistakably white, like that snowstorm in the Alps.
(He couldn’t quite remember what snowstorm, or when he’d been in the Alps, but he was pretty sure the blond man had been there too.)
“Alpine,” he said softly. She blinked slowly at him, and snuggled herself even closer. The strange feeling in his chest grew. “I’ll call her Alpine.”