When that was left of Raven's tea was a slight brown stain at the bottom of the cup, the demoness gathered her wits and addressed Mr Wayne.

"Thank you, Mr Wayne, for letting me stay here. I should be going soon."

"Your strength is regained?" Bruce asked. Alfred raised a wispy eyebrow at the stern man's concern.

Damian, like the rest of his adoptive family, was thrown off guard by his father's sincerity. He had known his father to be sceptical-bordering-hostile toward magic (hence, magical beings also): he presumed that his father would not be too welcoming to the witch.

She is hard to dislike, Damian. Raven has an aura of trust around her, regardless of her patronage.

You don't know my father.

I think I'm beginning to.

Raven nodded, "Yes, I think so." and she tucked her fringe behind her ear, bringing the gemstone on her forehead in to view.

Bruce looked at the little jewel. It sat inoffensively between her dark eyebrows and hairline, glinting innocently under the light of the chandeliers. That sliver of hellish rock and a teen witch were all that stood between this universe and the destroyer of worlds. Lord Trigon. And yet, when Bruce watched the courteous, gentille manners of the teenager, he could scarcely believe that creature to be her father.

"It's been a pleasure having you, Miss Raven." Alfred said, standing besides Bruce's chair, collecting the empty mugs.

Stephanie handed Alfred her purple mug, "Yeah, it's been nice meeting you Raven. You're super chill." She reached a fist out across the table and spudded the witch. "You should come round again. We've at least proven that Dami actually has friends." She laughed at the glaring green-eyed boy.

Tim snorted, "What if she's the only friend?"

"What if they're not even friends?" He goaded. "What of Damian's going die desperately alone having never ever made a single friend? Tragic."

"TT. Quoth the depressed incel."

I don't know what that mean, but I believe an 'oof' is in order.

You assume correctly Anubis.

Stephanie wailed like an ambulance siren, "WEEEWOOWEEWOOWEEWOO! Man down! Man down! Get some ice! He's got third degree burns!"

Patiently, Bruce waited for his children to calmeth-the-fuck-downeth, sharing a look of despair with his butler. As expected, the only sensible one out of all the bat-brats was Cassandra Cain, who simply smiled and drained the last drops of hot chocolate from her mug (they were unfortunately cold).

At last, there was a break in the commotion and Bruce had the opportunity to speak. His offer ceased the fuss altogether. "You could stay another day, Raven, if the Titans won't suffer too badly without you."

The half-demoness had trouble getting her mouth to say actual words.

"You wouldn't be any trouble, and it's nice to see Damian actually interacting with someone his own age." Bruce cracked a seldom-seen smile. "If you don't mind, that is."

Damian looked at his...Raven expectantly.
Her irises made brighter and clearer against the whites of her eyes as she gaped in mute bemusement.

After a moment, she said, "I'd be happy to, thank you."

Damian, your father is a stern man, correct.

Yes.

What does this mean then?

Damian's mental voice was incredulous. He doesn't hate, dislike or even mildly tolerate her. By the heavens, I think father likes Raven! He approves!

There was a little bubble of giddy laughter that built in Damian's chest. One of the greatest worries he'd had regarding the witch was that his father (a notorious magic-sceptic) wouldn't approve of her. That was a huge hurdle overcome.

"You know, recently, I haven't seen much magical combat," Stephanie opened, "and by 'recently' I mean 'hardly ever'. Sooo, once we've safely digested Alfred's wonderful cooking-"

"You flatter me Miss Stephanie."

"- you're welcome Al- how's about we hit the training room and see what you're made of?"

Raven considered her proposition, then answered, "Fine by me." And thanked Alfred for taking her used mug.

***

The witch's cloak hang around her shoulders, her hood down, and she had exchanged the garish purple pyjamas for a better purple alternative: her leotard. Conscious of the eight eyes trained on her, Raven clenched and unclenched her fists, causing a visible sphere of magic to flicker around her hands. She consoled herself that at least it wasn't fourteen eyes watching her: Dick and Timothy had left to patrol the streets with Cassandra.

Nonetheless, it was unnerving the way they studied her, as if they were noting every slight movement of her feet or shoulders. Once the simulation machine was switched on, Raven knew she'd loose her worries. In combat, there was no reason to care about people goggling at her: it was Raven against an enemy, that was her primary concern.

Damian's observation, she could deal with, having been used to training with him. Stephanie too, wasn't a huge concern. The new Batgirl was still shaky on her own technique and eager to prove herself: Raven recognised those feelings when Stephanie had told Mr Wayne they were going to train.

Critical and wizened, Alfred Pennyworth had seen a series of Robins pass through training with Batman. There was no doubt he had a fair base of fighters to compare her too. Raven only hoped that his experience with magical combatants wasn't so much that his expectations were too high.

She had no such hope with Batman. There was no trace of the faint warmth he'd shown her in offering to let her stay at the Manor; this was a cold machine processing the information she gave him. Batman had seen Raven in combat, but never so singled out, never as a spectacle, never as the subject of his unfiltered examination.

Pride. She grasped at the sparse strings of her true demon in her soul. Pride. Pride. Pride. Ah- there it was. She nudged the dark mass and felt it shift inside- waking up. Pride nudged her back: Raven felt a surge of confidence. This would be easy.

She looked at the butler (who stood with the rest in the adjoining control room) and nodded. The simulation would begin in...3...2...1

Street fight. Three attackers directly in front. Two behind. One on either side. Armed with kitchen knives.

Child's play.

Raven knocked the three shabbily dressed frontal attackers to the ground with a burst of magic. She spun and kicked a man on her her right, then dodged another one's blade by ducking. Sliding to the side, she blocked the man's arm and hit the simulated-blade out of his hand. Raven stepped out of the way of a lunging man so that his knife slammed in to the weaponless attacker- who disappeared from the simulation.

The three fallen were back on their feet, trying to circle around the witch. She muttered a word in the ancient tongue and thrust out her palm. The three were consumed by green flames, retreating immediately. Raven spun and kicked the knife out of the hand of another fighter, coupling the move with a strike to his neck.

Only two attackers remained, one of whose knives were lost (having been used to kill another man). Raven dodged the wild fists of the first, then summoned a wave of magic to wash over him. Immobilised, the man was unable to defend against Raven's punch to his jaw.

Almost kamikaze, the last opponent surged towards her, his knife aimed directly at her heart. Raven darted to his left, caught the wrist of the hand holding the knife, and used her free hand to palm-strike his jugular. The man staggered backwards before being removed from the simulation.

She hadn't been fighting for more than ninety seconds.

Breathing heavier than normal, Raven subtly pressed two fingers to her wrist. She had an increased heart rate, but a quickly recovering one. Moreover, she hardly felt fatigued. Rarely did Raven ever use specific spells (such as the fire-casting hex) but she was satisfied to see that it didn't cause great strain to her physical or spiritual self.

"Very good Miss Raven." Alfred spoke to her through an intercom-like devise in the control room. "Let's increase the difficulty then."

Batman met the witch's eyes and folded his arms, mouth hard-set.

Pride grinned: she liked being tested.

***

What a solitary life criminality lead to.

No family, few friends, an empty house.
And lots of wine.

Selina poured another glass of the red stuff and set her eye-mask on her dresser. She sighed, set down the bottle, and drummed her fingers on the table. Selina slumped on to her bed, finding no comfort in its silken sheets or soft mattress. She dragged a hand down her face and groaned, hissing as she realised she hadn't taken off her claws. Wincing at the stinging, Selina reach across to the full wine glass, paused midway, and grabbed the bottle.

She shook the bottle and gauged that it was roughly half-full. Expensive too, she snorted. That bottle could've fed dozens of street kids for at least a week. Selina put the bottle to her lips and took a hearty sip, mildly disgusted at her own avarice.
Money money money...the curse of men. And women too.

Catwoman and her stupid diamonds. Selina took another gulp.
Catwoman and her stupid mask.
Selina chugged the wine.
Catwoman and her stupid incapability of keeping anyone she loved.
Selina drained the bottle of its contents.

The bottle rolled under her bed. A few burgundy drops seeped into the perfect white carpet. Selina pressed the back of her hand to her moth and stifled a sob. Good God, what had she made of herself? All the danger, all the risk, a life or crime: and for what?

She looked around her apartment, with its furniture fit for royalty, its empty bottles, its rich Moroccan curtains, the prowling cats with bejewelled collars...and not a single personal item in sight. Selina pinched her nose shut and cupped both hands over her mouth. She wouldn't let a single sound out, even as the back of her throat stung and tightened and her vision clouded.

She shut her eyes and felt the salt-water dribble miserably down her cheeks and over her hands. They lingered on the tip of her chin before succumbing to gravity and dampening her clothes.

"Selina."

Her head snapped up and her heart thundered.

Nose stuffy and throat clogged with emotion, Selina choked, "W-what...what are you doing here Bruce?"

He pulled the cowl off his head and knelt in front of her, gently pulling her hands away from her face (she'd been brushing the tears away). Bruce delicately kissed her hands, then answered, "I came to see you."

Selina sniffled but made no response, other than to reach forwards and capture his lips in a teary, desperate kiss. She pulled back and leant her forehead against his.

"Bruce, I think I'm a drunk mess." She confessed.

He kissed her forehead, then smiled in a way she'd rarely seen, even at their most intimate moments. "I know a cure for that."

"Oh yeah?" Selina laughed, her words slurring, "What's that?"

Bruce stood up and walked over to the fridge, reached in, and (after a moment) pulled out a large tub.

"Ice cream." He answered.

A.N:

I thought I'd end it on a nice note, my darlings- I think we all need it during Corona Time.

I hope you're all doing fine, my lovelies. Corona's hit the Earth pretty damn hard. Make sure you're looking after yourselves (even if you aren't old or have underlying health conditions, you don't want to pass it to someone who does, or is in contact with someone who does).

Take care, stay fabulous, I love you all and THANK YOU!

-Bats 😁