At the end of the meeting, Felicity made sure no one forgot her existence. While the others were chatting idly, she hacked two unmanned drones into their control. They were only civilian models without weapons, but even that was enough to leave the tech-illiterate Commissioner Gordon in utter awe.
Barbara, who had always prided herself as the local computer genius, could only wear the classic "Why was Zhuge Liang born after me?" expression.
Gordon immediately pulled Felicity aside to help him plan their defenses and told the rest of them they could rest for now.
Yes — mundane logistics didn't need "heroes," and that was precisely one of Thea's goals: to move herself from the frontlines to the second string.
There were simply too many tasks heroes weren't suited for.
For example, evacuating civilians from combat zones — a cop could just knock on a door and say, "Police! Open up, checking the water meter!" and people would follow without hesitation. In a war-torn Gotham, no one would even bother packing their belongings.
But a masked vigilante with half their face covered? Who would dare follow that? What if the stranger lured them somewhere and — well, "did this and that"? In this modern age of equal-opportunity danger, it wasn't just women at risk anymore — men had to watch their backs too.
Barbara insisted on doing her part, helping her father in her civilian identity. Robin, helpless, swapped into another disguise and followed her.
Catwoman stood there in a daze. She wanted to help, but honestly, the thought of being surrounded by dozens of cops made her skin crawl. She half-expected one of them to suddenly flash a badge and gun, shouting, "Freeze! GCPD!" That exact scene had haunted her childhood dreams countless times. Even now, though she'd gone straight, she could still picture it vividly in her mind.
Seeing her dawdle, Thea didn't hesitate — she grabbed Catwoman's wrist and dragged her outside. "You're coming with me." It wasn't every day she came to Gotham; she wasn't going to waste the opportunity to explore. Catwoman, relieved to have an excuse, made a token protest about "maybe we should help," even as her feet carried her swiftly out of the campus.
Despite its chaos, Gotham was still an international metropolis — a city steeped in misery yet overflowing with temptation. And one of those temptations was food. After weeks of suffering under the reign of bland British-inspired cuisine, American menus that repeated hamburgers, steaks, and pizzas ad nauseam had Thea's stomach rebelling.
Strolling through a relatively calm district, the two women stumbled upon a Chinese-style restaurant — and Thea's eyes lit up like a child's at Christmas. Catwoman mentioned that the place had rumored Triad connections, but Thea waved that off. In a city where every second person was a criminal, a "little" mafia might as well count as law-abiding citizens.
Seeing that even a rich girl like Thea wasn't afraid, Catwoman certainly wasn't either. She'd grown up among all kinds of street scum and outlaws — this kind of chaotic neighborhood felt more like home to her than Gotham's upper-class districts ever did. Maybe that was exactly why she and Barbara could never get along.
Barbara's mother had left when she was ten, but before leaving she'd gifted her daughter several large Gotham properties. So while Commissioner Gordon lived as clean as a sheet of paper, his daughter had never known real hardship. Barbara had grown up solidly middle-class — comfortable, if not rich.
The tension between her and Catwoman had been simmering for years. Catwoman thought, "I'm elegant, how dare she call me crude?" while Barbara thought, "I'm cultured, how dare she call me arrogant?"
And after years of dealing with Bruce Wayne — the literal face of Gotham's high society — Catwoman had formed her own comparisons. To her, Bruce was the model of polite, restrained nobility. So when she looked at Barbara, she couldn't help but think, "Look at Wayne — rich, refined, and humble. You've got what, a couple of rental houses, and you act like a queen?"
Their misunderstandings piled higher and higher, until even the smallest friction could spark an argument.
Both Batman and Commissioner Gordon had seen the problem. Both had tried to mediate — but with little success. Batman, having spent his life steeped in hatred and trauma, had never had a girlfriend. Gordon's own marriage had been brief; he'd been half a bachelor his whole life. Neither man understood women.
Their attempts at "counseling" came straight out of interrogation manuals — full of logic, facts, and moral lectures. Whatever cracks could have been mended were shattered completely under the weight of their "reasonable discussions." These days, when Barbara and Catwoman met, they might exchange stiff pleasantries if they were in a good mood — "Nice weather today," "Had lunch yet?" — and pretend not to know each other if they weren't.
Their relationship had effectively stabilized at "neutral."
Now, though, facing the straightforward and good-humored Thea — rich but unpretentious — Catwoman found herself surprisingly comfortable. They couldn't be called best friends, but they got along well enough. When Thea had agreed to help without hesitation, Catwoman's faith in her private theory — "The richer they are, the more polite they are" — was reaffirmed.
They sat down and ordered a few dishes. The menu was full of "Americanized Chinese" food — dishes that would make an actual Chinese chef cry. Thea had long suspected that some foreign food critics must have been bribed by McDonald's and KFC to spread propaganda about how "fried food is healthy" and "boiled food loses too many nutrients." Thanks to that, real Chinese cuisine had taken a massive hit overseas — to say nothing of Japanese raw dishes.
The more stubborn Japanese restaurants stuck to their traditions, while the more adaptable Chinese ones went with the flow: You like deep-fried? Fine, we'll fry everything. Meatballs, fish, vegetables — if it could fit in a pan, it went into hot oil.
Thea spent a while searching the menu for something light and healthy but eventually gave up and ordered a few random dishes and one whole fish.
Catwoman, perhaps true to her name or her appetite, immediately went for the fish, eyes gleaming. She handled chopsticks with surprising finesse — her technique almost as good as Thea's own.
Watching her devour the fish with such joy, Thea finally couldn't resist asking the question she'd been holding back for hours.
"So… what exactly is your relationship with Bruce?"
It was the gossip she'd been dying to know. They'd known each other since childhood and still hadn't made it official — how rare was that?
Look at Talia al Ghul, she thought — that woman didn't waste time. She'd grabbed Batman, literally and figuratively, and made sure he wasn't going anywhere. They'd done every unspeakable thing imaginable, and now she'd gone from "other woman" to legitimate mother of his child. Meanwhile, this childhood sweetheart… still stuck in limbo?
Catwoman herself looked uncertain. By all logic, she and Bruce should have been long settled. They'd shared everything — hardware and software both — sparred and trained together, explored… plenty of "advanced techniques." And yet she couldn't shake her unease, especially after learning that Batman had a son. That knowledge had cracked something deep inside her — and the rift between them only kept widening.