Chapter Text
Wendy expected a lot of things from her job. Or rather, both her jobs. She was always prepared for every emergency. Every contingency. Every single possible event.
What she was not prepared for was billionaire Irene Wayne lying sitting on her desk in front of her, legs parted, collar undone, and clearly expressing interest. All after Wendy had lost a night of sleep wondering if Gotham was being overtaken by a violent supernatural conspiracy that even her alter ego as Superman couldn’t handle and she was very very stressed about it.
Irene smirked, just a few inches away to touch, impossibly tantalising. “Anything on your mind, Wendy?” she asked, voice gravelly.
Oh yeah. There was a lot.
*
Three weeks earlier.
“So….you got shipped off? Why?” asks the girl next to her, straining to look over her cubicle wall.
Wendy took a sip of her green tea. It was now slightly cold and bitter, but it wasn’t like the anti-oxidants had any real effects on her alien body anyway.
“I just thought I needed a new challenge,” she said.
Yoohyeon looked out of the office windows and at the grey day outside. “Well, we’re happy to have the person who busted the Green Lantern smuggling ring but honestly, there hasn’t been a real crime to cut your teeth on for a while.”
Wendy followed her gaze. The skyscrapers of the office district loomed around them, steel glittering despite the relative lack of light. Wendy had been to Gotham multiple times, but always as Superman and only when Batman needed backup, only when buildings were crumbling and crowds screaming.
Right now, as the other girl settled back into her seat, she was struck by how old Gotham was. Metropolis had turned into a proper city over the last few years, but something about the place retained its shininess, a sense of bubbling life. Maybe it was the weather, or the sheer scale of the city, or just the constant bad press, but Gotham, despite its many facelifts, had an odd kind of foreboding air.
She could see why the city was famed for its crime, the object of many a horror story, with a vigilante that was associated with fear and darkness.
Or at least used to be. Since the defeat of a major alien invasion two years ago, crime had magically receded. Wendy had written several high profile articles, won several journalism awards, and even had enough time to help her mother with the farm on the weekends. In the absence of an emergency, Wendy had gotten what felt like a normal life, like her biggest concerns were career changes.
No one had seen either Batman or Superman in two years.
Wendy tugged her shirt collar over her already concealed superhero costume out of habit. She took a deep breath, sipped her tea again and turned on her computer.
*
Irene put her can down, ignoring the grease caking up her fingernails. The lights at the batcave were all off with the exception of the one directly above her, throwing the batmobile in sharp relief. Irene stood with one foot on the exposed hood, and another in a stiletto. Her dress was half unzipped, leaving her arms freer to carry out repairs.
"You're going to ruin both the dress AND your ride, sis" complained Yeri in the background. She was supposed to be inputting stats on the computer, but Irene could hear Minecraft music every time her back was turned.
Irene huffed and wiped her brow, ignoring the speck of grease it left on her face. “According to Robin’s surveillance, there’s suspicious activity on the docks. I need to patrol, but first I need to make sure that the Batmobile is sleeker for the narrow road there. I’m not ruining the ride, I’m making it better”
Yeri spun around in her chair. She was wearing what appeared to be an oversized hoodie with a comm hooked over her shoulder instead of her ear, inscribed with her code name ALFRED. “Okay but hear me out” she said, instead of doing anything helpful. “What if: you washed your face and you made it in time for your fundraiser?”
Irene snorted, resisting the urge to drag Yeri off the seat and input stats herself, even though her fingers were covered in grease. Damn snarky orphan. “Or maybe you could actually be helpful?” she said.
“I am being helpful. There’s a crowd of six hundred who expect you at the launch of the Wayne City Donation initiative in twenty minutes. You need to put your tits back in place, wear your shoes and go there”
“Irene Wayne has cultivated a reputation for being unreliable and careless. No one’s going to blink an eye when I miss this”
“Okay but you don’t have to,” said Yeri, sounding exasperated.
Irene snorted in response again, but Yeri got up, walked to Irene, and stood there with her arms folded.
Irene looked at her hands instead, refusing to make eye contact.
“The stuff at the dock sounds like a bunch of bums causing public nuisance, which even Robin isn’t dealing with right now.” began Yeri, “This doesn’t require Batman. You don’t need to miss this event. Why do you want to so badly?”
Irene looked down at her feet instead, at her manicured toenails, now scuffed up with grease and staining her shoes. Opposite to her, Yeri was wearing fluffy pyjama slippers, which was so aggressively Yeri it almost made Irene smile.
She finally looked up.
Yeri was still staring, her gaze a mixture of teasing and pleading and gentle. She looked so young that sometimes Irene forgot how many years had passed. It felt like just yesterday Yeri had run away from her orphanage and broken into the Wayne manor. Irene, who’d been living completely alone at that time, wandering aimlessly through the halls and formulating the idea of Batman, had found her stealing food out of the fridge and invited her to stay instead. She’d been impressed with the level of technical skill it would take to bypass the security system, and a very tiny part of her could admit she needed the company.
But now Batman was gone. Or at least the need for him was gone. There was no need for Yeri to work the comm systems during missions, or for Robin to scope out possible sites. No need for repairs to the Batmobile. The entire operation was a waste of resources, and Irene couldn’t bring herself to explain why she was still doing it.
She chucked her can down instead, as a sort of bratty concession. “Fine. I’ll go to the next event, to keep in character. Does that help?”
Yeri laughed, and then Irene forced a laugh, and then the both of them traded easy jokes as they made their way upstairs the manor.
Late that night, when Yeri was fast asleep, Irene made her way back to the Batcave and worked till the early hours of the morning.
*
The water glittered under the moonlight. Far away in the distance, a dog howled, a sound of wings and fury. There was no one at the docks except a lone figure leaning against the factory door, a glint in his eye.
Smoke blew from the chimminies. In the distance, the dog’s howls tapered off into a final, anguished whimper. Something was happening.
*
“Thank you so much for seeing me,” said Wendy, giving Seulgi her most professional smile. Kang Seulgi, artist extraordinaire, and gallery owner, glanced back at her with the kind of professional yet impossibly bright smile that immediately told Wendy that she was going to be a hard interviewee.
“It’s your first time in Gotham,” noted Seulgi drily as a response.
Wendy let herself raise her eyebrow in surprise. Out of habit, she did a quick scan of Seulgi’s heartbeat and breathing, but there was nothing to indicate that Seulgi was spooked or nervous or anything that seemed to indicate suspicion. She was also, Wendy subconsciously noted, definitely human. A human heart pumping blood in her human body, the kind of way Wendy’s never would. No aliens to worry about.
“What gave it away? Was it the optimism?” Wendy joked, flipping to an empty page on her notepad.
Seulgi draped herself on the couch more comfortably, impossibly elegant in her floor length black gown. Her eyes were lined and her minimal jewellery glinted in the sun; she gave off the appearance of a luxurious sleek cat. “When I called to confirm my interview for the third time, apparently you were the only one who would do it. Most people don’t like this part of town, even people born in Gotham. They’ll do anything to avoid it”
Wendy had noticed the area on the way over. She’d walked past squalid overcrowded houses, the cheap corner stores, and through graffitied alleys to see the gallery, with its floor to ceiling windows and glittery chandeliers. The building shone in the sun, looking like an expensive sci fi construction rising out of the squalour. An enigma, and the lone recipient of a $2 million investment from Wayne industries.
“That was going to be my first question actually,” said Wendy, clicking the button on her ballpoint pen. “I want to learn not only about the donation Wayne industries made, but also the gallery itself. What made you choose this neighbourhood instead of the art district?”
“The one that’s North of the city, right next to Wayne offices and the biggest bank in Gotham?” asked Seulgi, her lips curling into an amused smile, “where you can only get a coffee for twelve dollars?”
Wendy chuckled as she doodled on the edge of her notepad. “I mean you make a valid point, I wouldn’t pay twelve dollars for my coffee, but having an entire building here to avoid it?”
Seulgi genuinely laughed at that, going from glamorous to looking impossibly cute. “I grew up here” she said, “I was born in a house down the block, and I lived on these streets for a while. When my art started selling, this was the only place I wanted to build a gallery in.”
Wendy noted that down in shorthand, making it a point to do more research on Seulgi’s past even though instinct suggested that she wouldn’t be very forthcoming. “Gotham has changed so much in the last few years, It must be an experience going back and building a gallery in your old neighbourhood.”
Seulgi raised an eyebrow. “Has it?” she asked.
Wendy scanned her notes. “I mean, Batman took down some major crime syndicates in this neighbourhood, which helped the crime rate, and the city as a whole has massively changed in the last year thanks to the unprecedented era of peace. According to my research, the investments back into the city have completely changed-”
“-Nothing has changed.”said Seulgi flatly, “This neighbourhood went to shit when I was a kid, and now it still is. No matter how many years have passed and how much good press the mayor gets, people still refuse to come here. People in Gotham are nowhere as happy as the mayor wants to pretend they are.”
Wendy tilted her head to the side, fascinated. Fucking finally. An interesting interview.
“Feels like you have very strong feelings about the current management of Gotham” she said politely, keeping her tone professional.
“I’m not stupid enough to give a journalist a clickbait headline” said Seonghwa, but the smile curling at the end of her lip showed she was hardly turning hostile, “but I do think maybe you should think about why I chose to keep the gallery here. Maybe your readers should too”
“I’ll keep that in mind” said Wendy, turning the page on her notepad. For a second, there was a flash of recognition in the way Seulgi’s eyes had narrowed, and the little smirk of her lip, but Wendy dismissed it. She was seeing things.
“You’re from Smallville, aren’t you?” asked Seulgi unprompted.
Wendy’s eyes widened. “Well-yes” she managed to say out loud. “I am actually. A farm girl through and through. How did you know?”
“I looked up your website. After the third call. Your resume is impressive” said Seulgi, idly tracing the soft lining of the sofa.
This was clearly leading to something, though Wendy couldn’t guess for the life of her what it was.
Haha. Life. What a funny joke.
Seulgi stood up and held out her hand, like she was inviting Wendy to a dance.
Fuck. Was she being seduced? Wendy’s hand instintinctively went up to her shirt collar, deeply aware her Superman outfit was right underneath.
“I would love to walk you through the gallery and show you the pieces that the public can’t see,” said Seulgi. Her smile seemed to deepen the more flustered Wendy got.
Fuck.
*
In the warehouse, something was set free.
*
Seulgi really did seem to just want to see the gallery. At first. Wendy nearly relaxed for the first round of things.
Wendy felt herself get less hot under the collar the more and more they stepped around the different rooms, Seulgi stopping explaining the theme of each room but otherwise letting Wendy wander around unencumbered. Art critique was hardly Wendy’s strong suit, but she did her best to take in every single piece, from a big whorling installation that she had to crane her neck to see to paintings with details so fine that she had to squint behind her glasses to examine them more closely.
She scribbled whatever info she could in her notepad, honest to god sweating a little at the thought of Seulgi immediately realising she didn’t know anything about art.
When she looked up, Seulgi was leaning comfortably against the wall, just watching and smiling that strange little smile at her. Expectant. Waiting for something.
Everything was normal until Seulgi led her down a corridor that wasn’t earmarked. “I have some pieces here I think you’ll enjoy,” she said, extracting a key from God Knows Where.
The lock gave away with a soft click.
Wendy gulped again.
The door swung open to reveal just…..more art.
“Oh! Wow!” said Wendy stupidly.
Seulgi snorted. A very polite elegant little snort, but a snort all the same.
“You’ll have to examine it more closely before I trust your impression, I’m afraid” she said.
The air in the room was a lot cooler than the rest of the gallery, and the windows were at half blinds, meaning there was a little interplay of shadows all over the floor. The art in question was a little taller than Wendy, a mishmash of clothing and fabric draped in interesting ways, with solid pieces sown in. It looked slightly eerie, almost alive, especially in the half darkness of the room.
Instinctively, Wendy scanned the piece with her x-ray vision. Fabrics of all kinds, especially a lot of black leather. Wendy was about to say something non committal about the texture,to try and convince Seulgi she was totally getting the piece, before something made her physically stop in her tracks.
“No,” whispered Wendy quietly, unable to believe what she was seeing.
She scanned it once again, just to make sure. And yes.
Blood, dirt and grime.
A very distinctive mask, even if it was partly obscured by layers of fabric.
It was the very same Catwoman suit, with the same speckles of blood and grime that would be impossible to clean off after repeated years of alleyways and crimes.
Her head spun slightly. There were two choices, maybe three. One was that Catwoman’s suit had been lost, and Seulgi had found it. The second was that this was just one of many suits that Catwoman had, and that Seulgi had found it. The third option was-
-Oh god she was an idiot. The rough back story. The odd familiarity. The sophisticated knowledge on Gotham. Seulgi was Catwoman, and she wanted Wendy to know. Most likely because she knew Wendy’s secret identity too.
She turns around and Seulgi is just there. Standing in the doorway, wine glass in hand, and waiting.
Wendy just nods, the way the two of them did on that battlefield together, after the world had exploded in a blaze of fiery red. Seulgi nods back, smiling slightly-and now Wendy can see it so clearly, it's the same smile she sees on Catwoman’s face.
“You know” said Seulgi casually, “you should really dig deeper for your art feature about the Wayne foundation. Get some more interviews. Especially with Ms Wayne herself”
*
Twenty days ago
“If you don’t fucking pull that over your ass I swear to fucking god-” yelled Yeri
“You said the prototype would work! Why is it flimsy?” demanded Irene
“I said it would work after we tested it, not right now when you’re supposed to be somewhere else you fucking idiot-”
“Ladies” said Sooyoung crisply, watching Yeri and Irene appear to be wrestling with Irene’s underwear. Irene was wearing a long evening gown, the hem of it hitched up unceremoniously up to her stomach, and Yeri appeared to be crouched in between her legs, yelling up at her. “What the fuck is going on?”
Yeri whipped to feet, but she was still at least a head shorter than Irene in heels, so she had to yell through the gap under Irene’s armpit. “What happened is that Irene, instead of just fucking going to the event, decided to try on a discreet weapon I made-”
“-YOU SAID IT WORKED YOU BRAT!” yelled Irene, wacking her on the head with her paper fan. Which she was holding for some fucking reason.
“Can we please just go to the event?” said Sooyoung. She was exhausted. She wanted to drink some nice champagne, maybe enjoy getting a handsy with a pretty secretary before she had to don her stupid Robin outfit and check out that dock disturbance she had been putting off for ages.
Well. Two days wasn’t alot but Irene had drilled it into her head that anything more than twenty four hours was pushing it, and while Sooyoung would never admit it, she’d internalised that lesson. Even if they hadn’t been a serious threat to Gotham for years.
Irene huffed and threw the hem of her dress down, letting it fall the way it was supposed to, draping elegantly over her shoulders and back, a slit up to her thighs. Sooyoung resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Irene Wayne, famed billionaire, secretly the terrifying creature of the night, could be so fucking childish.
If she was extremely honest with herself, it was deeply endearing. On most days. Right now though, she desperately needed someone to pour her the tallest glass of champagne possible.
The little rag tag group made their way to the garage; Yeri and Irene still arguing while Yeri held the hem of her dress. Sooyoung was personally a body con girl, though she’d thrown on a fancy tailored coat to fit in with the guest list better.
“I want to see you on a tabloid tomorrow because you actually had fun,” said Yeri threateningly, waving the little weapon directly into Irene’s face. “You better have had FUN, you hear me?”
The party was unspectacular. It was held in a huge gothic mansion, a former church, that some fucking millionaire at some point had decided to renovate to host parties. Huge chandeliers installed in what would have once been the church hall, a tower of bubbling champagne where there was once the foyer the preacher would have given his sermons. Sooyoung made a face at one of the stone gargoyles as she made her way to the catering, but nobody noticed.
Not when all eyes were on Irene anyway.
Sooyoung had to make her way through the crowd. Irene didn’t. The moment she stepped in through the door, there was a marked hush, and then everyone resumed talking at once, like they were embarrassed to admit how much her presence affected them. And then everyone parted, stepping aside to let her make way across the room, the black hem of her dress gliding across the floor, heels glinting, as she surveyed the room with disinterest, like Gotham’s finest were simply below her attention.
Sooyoung had grown up watching Irene slip in and out of her personas, and even then it still amazed her just how practiced Irene Wayne was. To a casual onlooker, Irene assumed no expression, but Sooyoung could see how she consciously glazed her eyes over, the way her little laughs were calculated to sound coquettish and uninterested all at once, even the delicate swagger in which she plucked a champagne glass out of a waiter’s tray.
It looked fucking exhausting. Sooyoung drank her own champagne, not bothering to hide she was chugging it. Yeri was right. Irene needed to fucking lighten up. Or atleast explain what was bothering her.
*
The steel doors swung open, unlocked even though they’d been chained shut the night before. A dock worker screamed.
*
Everything had been going absolutely fine until the official announcement.
Irene didn’t even have to do anything. Just stand on the stage while the mayor toasted to another successful round of fundraising for Wayne enterprises and everyone took pictures. She didn’t even have to smile at the journalists, just look in the general direction of the cameras.
Instead, she stepped onto the stage and suddenly froze.
Bad.
“Sorry, have to go powder my nose” she singsonged to the mayor, who looked absolutely flabbergasted. Fuck. It was out of character for Irene Wayne. That bitch loved attention.
The crowd parted for her as she speed-walked to the direction of the bathroom, all whispering among themselves. She could hear Sooyoung shoving her way to the front, yelling excuse me, but she didn’t stop until she’d left the hall and found her way in the general direction of the bathroom.
Irene stopped, right in the middle of the hallway. The room shifted around her, walls tilting. She gritted her teeth as her knees gave away, and she hit the ground with an awful thud. Pain was flooding her body in waves, every muscle shaking as she felt it surge through her like electricity. She felt like she was being taken apart, like her organs were giving up on her, like her form was being split into two.
Two years ago, Batman had stopped a hostile alien race. She had fought their ring leader, bruised and battered all over, while Yeri screamed instructions over the comms and Joy, her leather jacket stained with blood, had pulled the kill switch. She had caught sight of Superman limping away out of the corner of her as the alien took her down, their blade inches away from her exposed throat. She’d only shoved her claw into the alien’s chest in a split second, when the alien was so close she could feel its breath on her face.
The alien had shrivelled and died, the kill switch had been activated and people had cheered. Superman had patted her lightly on the shoulder, carefully looking away from the gashes in her mask. It had been a triumph that day. The defeat of an impossible evil, and now a time of endless peace.
Except she’d never been the same since. She had no idea what she’d been exposed to, or why. One test had come out perfectly fine. Two days later, a repeat test showed something cancerous was eating her body. Now, she would suddenly get attacks out of nowhere, chest tightening and bruises all over her body. Batman had saved the city, and now Irene Wayne was probably dying.
She wasn’t ready to admit it.
She took another deep, shuddering breath, the room spinning in and out of focus until she realised she was staring down at someone’s foot. Specifically, a pair of converse, attached to a leg in grey slacks.
“Ms Wayne?” asked a voice in the general periphery. She managed to look up. A lady blinked at her from behind her glasses, sounding distinctly concerned. “I’m Wendy Kent. Are you okay?”