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trying to find those perfect places

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Start small, Alfred had said, and that was the plan. A petty robbery should be no trouble for his first night back.

The chase, however, hadn't been expected. Over buildings and through the skylight he tried to catch the jewelry robber, out of breath and practice. He shouldn't have spent so much time drinking, he was out of shape.

The robber stopped on the edge of a building, one of Gotham's many Italian restaurants. It was a woman, he could tell by the curves evidenced by the leather clothes, and she had a whip that had been helping her go from building to building. She looked at him smirking, her painted lips the only part of her face visible through her mask.

"Do you always patrol on rooftops, Mr. Vigilante?" she asked. Her voice was slow and purring, like a cat's, and she had claws – he knew.

"Where are the jewels?" he asked keeping his voice low. She turned around to face him and opened her arms in a careless shrug, the whip lazily hanging from her right hand.

"What jewels?"

It was true, the bag she had been carrying after she left the charity event was nowhere to be seen now, and it made no sense. Bruce frowned confused, sure he'd followed the right person. She must've dumped it somewhere.

"Who are you?" he asked, and her smirk grew.

"Oh, so you stalk me and now you want to know me? Cute." She said smugly.

He stepped forward and she stepped back, falling from the building gracefully, and perhaps a minute too late he heard the whip cut the air. She'd be fine. And he'd get to know her soon, he was certain. That was not the last he'd seen of her.