Bad Timing and Loose Women [Catwoman/Question]

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Gotham’s East End was never very dull. And that’s was part of its allure for the underbelly of Gotham. The real whack jobs could go anywhere in the city, but in the East End, the right surname could get you any respect you want, or any bullet in the head. The right outfit could open doors, and the right armor could help you get more information out of a goodfella. At least that’s on a good night when a girl has her head completely on her shoulders. But when she kicked the door in of the back room, she wasn't prepared for what greeted her. This was a meeting she had busted in on, and not just some random drug drop. Huntress was not going to be having a good night. She could call for backup, but who the hell would come?

She landed in the alley, hoping she had outrun the gang. Surely the commotion was enough to set off someone's alarm. Huntress's aim was not to get into trouble, but she had slipped up. She had followed the wrong lead. Someone had planted evidence on a corpse pointing to a different family, and instead of leaving evidence where she found it, she’d taken the cell phone and run it through a system. She hadn’t realized it had been cloned by the opposing family and that she led herself into a trap. She cursed herself for being overzealous. She really thought she found a thread that led to Maroni, she needed him off the street and then her personal vendetta could continue. Let Batman handle the big fish, Huntress would handle what he chose to ignore. Until she was now badly beaten after a long mob attack. Because that’s what it really was. Sure, she fought her way out of it, but she was paying the price. She was bloody, bruised, and she had a few more injuries than just her beaten pride.

She leaned against the wall. She couldn’t stay up on her bike as she was bleeding too badly after the fight there. She had a gash in her stomach and a bullet wound in her arm. She was lucky these guys weren’t crack shots like herself. Though, she felt like she should have ignored her promise and killed every last one of them. But that was the pain talking. She pulled the first aid kit from the seat of her bike and began bandaging some of the deeper wounds. Burns from the gunshot wounds stung but she had to endure. She couldn’t call for help. She went over the night in her head again as she patched herself up. It was a routine shake down. Listen to the intimidation tactics, lure the meat head towards the alley, knock him out and pull him to the roof. It was routine, and she didn’t even leaving him hang from a questionable gargoyle. She had been a good little vigilante tonight, but now she was paying the price.

With her back pressed into the wall she breathed through her teeth at the pain she was feeling. Okay, so aside from lacerations from knives and bullets, she may have suffered a few cracked ribs and a possible fracture in her arm. She knew it would be a long night getting back to her apartment on her own like this. Even a trip to the nearest confessional for a quick break was too much. She slid down the wall and shook her head, feeling the urge to puke, rise in her as the anesthetics from the first aid kit began to kick in. She was definitely not in any condition to drive right now. Maybe, just a little nap would be okay. Her head slumped forward slightly as she relaxed. While the other side of her brain was telling her to not let this happen.

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They say it's almost a necessity to know yourself to succeed. Hell, even to survive, especially in a place like Gotham East End. A name here can get you the key to anywhere, or the bullet from a freshly fired gun. Being the right person can mean living through the night, or laying in a gutter until it scabs over with blood. But a man needs to anchor himself, to an identity, so he'll know whether or not to keep his head down. But what happens to the man without the name? He has no loyalty, no true name, not even a recognizable face?

That man is invincible. Like Odysseus blinding the cyclops. With no identity, there is no blame, no direction to point the finger of vengeance. There is just... The Question.

Though, invincibility doesn't come with the most graceful of setbacks. Occasionally this means getting your gloves dirty. Your nice crisp blue suit as well. The man without a face was digging through a dumpster, his fedora hanging off of one of the handles of the receptacle. Not the most prestigious of investigations, but Question wasn't the most prestigious of heroes. Not that it mattered. Covering bases was more important than image. The right dumpster could hold more answers than a computer in a cave.

Vic heard something, though, in the alley. He certainly wasn't alone. His head popped up from the can as he surveyed the terrain. Well... Of all of the dark alleys, she had to come to this one. Coincidence was for chumps.

Question adjusted his tie then vaulted out of the dumpster. He brushed himself off, then grabbed his fedora, putting it on. His hands went into his pockets as he began to approach The infamous Huntress. As he moved closer, he saw the blood and the bruises. He knelt down, "Stay awake." He warned her, "Who did this to you?" Question asked as he went to the first aid kit. She needed to be moved out of here, but moving her was out of the question while she was still bleeding.

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Helena was dreaming? Or having a hallucination, right? She wearily opened her eyes and saw the faceless image of her knight in a blue overcoat. The thought that he was just her imagination picking on her nearly brought up the rest of her empty stomach. She looked up again, letting her eyes adjust to the sight and stared in awe at him for a moment. She was using her hands to keep herself up against the wall, though it felt like she was fighting a losing battle.

Who did this to her? Everyone. Her father, who ran a mafia, and beat her mother, and then selfishly died with the rest of them to leave Helena alone. Sal, her loving cousin who taught her that in this world, you’re the victim or you’re the monster. Batman, who gave her an image that struck fear in the people she wanted to destroy. Catwoman, a friend, and sister that helped her find her way in Gotham. But these weren’t people she could blame. Not for this royal screw up. No, this was all Helena’s fault. If she hadn’t been over zealous, she’d would have done her homework, and not gone off trying to make a difference without a brain. She coughed a little and looked up at him. He was still there. Trying to help her stand, and being a perfect gentleman. Damnit, why did he have to do that? “It was me…my fault…” Her words were labored, her breathing was shallow. Ribs hurt when they’re broken. And that pain tends to radiate throughout the body.

She pulled herself up along the wall and looked up at him again, holding herself against the wall as tightly as she could, looking at him as if she was still in some weird wish fulfillment daze. “I wasn’t ready. I fucked up, Vicki.” She didn’t think about it as she used her pet name for him. Hell she didn’t care whether or not he liked it, she’d call him that until Batman decided it was time to retire and move to Italy. There was a pained look on her face as she tried to move. Oh she was not going into work tomorrow. She didn’t have a boyfriend to blame this on, not that she would, but this pain was making her think crazy things. “Apartment…need to get home…”

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"You need to stop bleeding." Question replied to her, supporting her weight. She was weak, he could feel it. He wouldn't say it. No, that wouldn't help. "Stay with me." He said, making their way down the alley, "My car is around the corner. Can you make it, or do I need to carry you?"

It was stupid, stupid for her to go wherever she did unprepared like this. Part of him wanted to scold her on being short sited and overeager, but... The part that won out was the one that was more concerned about these few moments. 

"Who were you after tonight?" He asked her, trying to keep her awake, focused, get her to talk. Find out whose spine he should remove. 

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Huntress winced as he took her from the wall. The wall was safe. Movement hurt. "Thoug..Thought I was following a drug bust..." She chuckled inwardly, but the paint main her stop. "Guess I got busted up instead." She had a morbid sense of humor but it helped her ignore the pain she was feeling. She walked against Question, putting more of her weight on him than she wanted to, but she couldn't help it. She was human and squishy and someone tried to find out just how squishy.

"Car's fine....you're driving though." She joked again, trying not to make him worry. That was a funny thought, making Vic worry. If she told him aliens had done this he might be more interested, but no, just a bad night on her part. "Water too if you have some." She winced again as she bumped her boot into a garbage can, nudging a cat from it.

She was still avoiding the obvious, she hadn't told him who she was after. She didn't want him to get involved. And after tonight, she definitely wanted to take these guys out on her own terms.

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"You're avoiding the question." Vic replied to her, looking down at her for a moment, though she couldn't see his eyes. She was proud, it was obvious, and tonight was just another walk of shame. If she walked away from this, it would be between them, Vic swore. "Working alone like this will get you killed. You should consider a side kick." That was his attempt at human, trying to make lighter of the situation. 

"Alright, I'll drive, but no funny stuff. A cop sees me with a pretty woman in my lap and things could get awkward." 

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She nodded and tried to void smile. Smiling hurt as well. "Sure....But..." She paused as she winced once more before they reached his GTO. "This is the East End...cops don't come here unless one of their own goes down." Helena tried to pull herself up right and move on her own, but she ended up collapsing once more into Vic's arms. Thank God he happened to be around. She wasn't even going to question why he was here this time.

"And no sidekicks." Her tone was adamant on that. She refused to put a kid through what she did. Batman could do what he wanted. But she didn't agree with him having sidekicks that weren't even out of daycare. But she was once again avoiding his question. She was proud, but this was something she needed him to stay out of. And if she decided to go back to her old habits to finish this job, she didn't want him feeling the sting.

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Question reached into his coat pocket and unlocked his GTO, opening the door to the back seat. He led Huntress in, giving her the first aid kit back. "No sidekicks. But you need to patch up. I hate cleaning up blood." He wanted to squeeze her shoulder, or hold her, or tell her it was going to be fine. But for some reason, he didn't. He closed the door when he was sure she was in.

Vic jumped into the driver's seat and the engine roared to life. A shift of gears and squeal of tires and he was off. It was no batmobile, but it was American made. 

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"There's not that much..." As she was talking she pulled a gauze pad she had pressed to her most bloody injuries prior to his arrival. She was a little unnerved by the amount of blood there. "Okay, maybe there is some bloody." She muttered in the back seat as she went back to leaning into the back door. She couldn't will herself to sit up, she knew the anesthetics were working but they weren't the heavy doses that she needed.

As Huntress leaned back into the car's interior should could almost feel herself drifting, until he hit a pothole. Thank you for not caring, Gotham Citty Works.

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"Atta girl, stay positive." Vic drove, gripping the steering wheel tight. His worry waned a little as they were in motion. Maybe, just maybe they could make it. He looked at her for a moment in the rear view mirror. She seemed to be slipping away. His car hit a pothole, which woke her up. Convenient. 

"Helena, you know if you don't tell me anything, I will find out myself. The shape you're in, someone will think they got lucky and killed you. What do all lucky men like to do?" He looked back at the rear-view mirror for a moment, then back to the road. 

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"They usually get lax and make it easier...or get drunk and be idiots.." She leaned back feeling herself drift again and then pulled herself out of it, looking around. "Q...." She bit her lip feeling a bit awkward about having him help her. She probably shouldn't have done that, she forgot about one of them landing a hit on her mouth and now she seethed with the sting of it. "Ow..." She then proceeded to let out a string of Italian profanities that would have made anyone who understood her blush. The pain was nearly unbearable for her but she had to tough it out.

"I got stupid, and things went south..." She readjusted herself in the seat again, her bare skin sticking slightly to the seats. That wasn't helping anything but it was making her think of a costume change. "There's really nothing more than that...." That wasn't a complete lie and she was hoping he'd keep off her about this for now. But she knew Question. He was obsessive to the point of forgetting everything else when he had a lead. But right now there were no leads, just pain that was starting to rise up again.

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Vic couldn't help himself from smiling under his mask, "You're right on both accounts, but it's not what I had in mind." Lucky men had loose lips. Shooting a cape in Gotham and not getting locked up was like winning the lottery. To survive in the underworld, one must have street cred, that was universal. He gripped the steering wheel as they raced down the asphalt road. Traffic was sparse this late, or early, if you prefer. He heard her say his name, but he didn't reply.

He listened quietly, unresponsively, as she went on. It was a bad night. She slipped up. It was a dangerous gig. But that didn't make what happened to her right. Things needed to be righted. "I believe you." Question said quietly. 

He got quiet again as they drove. Then, oddly enough, he began to sing. "Danny boy, oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling"

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Helena couldn’t help it. She was starting to taste her own blood, but it wasn’t the first time. But her eyes were getting heavier. She needed to wake up! She needed to stay awake! But his voice, it was so soothing. Her head rolled forward slightly as her brain was compensating for the pain she was feeling. It was getting close to that time. Her little field kit wasn’t enough. And Huntress’s eyelids closed and laid back against the seat, comfortable as the taste and smell of blood filled her mind.

The last time she had been surrounded by this much blood, she had been lying next to her mother’s corpse pleading for her to wake and help her clean up this mess. She had crawled over her brothers, her little knees trudging over to them in the blood. Her dress was ruined. But that wasn’t the thing that mattered to her then. She didn’t want to be alone. She had been left alone and there was nothing she could do about it. No. There was plenty she could have done. She could have screamed, cried, or kicked things around. But not Helena. She sat there in the blood of her family in silence, aching in her stomach and heart until she was found by some officers. They thought they were talking softly and hiding their faces, but when they found Franco Bertinelli’s body, there was a look of triumph on their faces. Helena never forgave them for that. Child services had later informed her that everyone she had been related to in the United States had been killed. Cousins, some of them younger than her, had been killed with her aunts and uncles. She was the last Bertinelli.

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Vic may have been singing for a minute or two too long whenever he noticed there wasn't a response. No "Vicky, I'm serious" No "It's not worth it". Vic turned to look over his shoulder and swore under his breath, stopping the car in the streets. Someone yelled and honked their horn before driving off. He really didn't care. His hands went to his glove box, his first aid kit spilling out onto the floor. He shuffled through the items and then grabbed the syringe and bottle. 

He turned fully in his seat so he could face the fading Huntress. He drew some of the adrenaline from the bottle into the syringe. He tore open her top to reveal he sternum. The syringe was now held like a knife in his hand as he slammed it down into her chest, then pushed the fluid into her body. 

"Don't die.. Not tonight." He muttered. was he praying? Who was listening? He wasn't sure in that moment, but whoever could hear him, he hoped they were willing to help. 

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There was a flash of something. It wasn't joy, Helena rarely felt that anymore. She remembered the last time she was absolutely happy. And then it was gone. Her family upbringing hadn't been ideal. Her father was abusive towards her mother. And the example for Helena was to be accepting of this. But for some reason, it never worked on her. She didn't drink the koolaid.

PAIN!! That was the feeling that shot through her. Instant and an insane amount of pain. She shot up, her eyes watery, her mouth dry. Was that blood on the corners of her mouth? She looked around, her muscles here suddenly tighter and her mind was going blurry from the insanity in it.

As she looked around she saw a faceless man. The ugliest man in the world she had once called him, but she knew better. And then her stomach started chiming in. She tried her best to crawl across the seat and make it out the door, but it was such a sudden motion and then she felt all the pain from her fight racing back to her. She held herself up with her trembling arms as she looked down at the puddle of her dinner. Her face was wet and her raven hair was sticking to her skin. "S...sorry...Q" She stammered out between breaths. Okay, sometimes this outfit had advantages besides saving on material. She felt the surge in her stomach again, her breathing was labored. She wasn't sure if she had anything left in her.