Catwoman shot her old lover a sideways glance—he was standing there, perfectly fine, not missing so much as a finger.
Honestly, she felt a little annoyed.
If he'd at least come back with a limp or a scar, she could've bargained with Shiva.
But now? She had no excuse at all.
Pasting on her best forced smile, she tugged Bruce behind her and went to negotiate with the mercenary queen about installment payments.
Bruce Wayne, for his part, couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if he tried.
Sure, he was rich—technically.
But most of his wealth was tied up in frozen assets: Wayne Enterprises shares, cross-holdings in Queen Consolidated, Merlyn Global, even a few tied to LexCorp.
And per the unspoken rule among the world's billionaire elite, those kinds of assets couldn't just be liquidated without reason.
Add to that the dozens of properties he owned around the globe—Swiss ski resorts, Belgian vineyards, you name it—and you had a man rich on paper and broke in practice.
His liquid cash went straight into maintaining the Batcave's endless arsenal of gadgets, vehicles, and surveillance systems.
In short, Bruce Wayne and Thea Queen had more in common than either wanted to admit: both looked glamorous, and both were, financially speaking… broke.
So as Shiva leaned in, smiling that predatory smile that made even assassins nervous, all Bruce could offer Selina was moral support.
The room went dead quiet, everyone watching the two women haggle like market vendors.
"You were supposed to pay me after one month," Shiva said coolly. "It's been three days past due. Late fee applies."
Catwoman bristled. "I haven't even charged you for travel expenses! You know how hard it was tracking him down? I sliced my finger on the first day and didn't even rest!"
Back and forth they went—two elegant, lethal women reduced to arguing over invoices and penalties.
Bruce cleared his throat pointedly.
"Ahem. Maybe we could—perhaps—return to the subject of rescuing Gotham's citizens?"
No one listened.
This was premium entertainment.
Even Commissioner Gordon, the eternal workaholic, wasn't interrupting this one.
Thea, sitting cross-legged with her chin in her hand, was enjoying the drama more than she'd admit.
Eventually, the financial battle ended in defeat for Catwoman.
Hands trembling, she pulled out her phone and began a transfer.
Everyone in the room could practically feel her pain.
Ding!
The cheerful chime of success made Shiva smile like a satisfied cat.
"Good girl," she said smoothly, glancing at her screen. "You're richer than you look. That'll cover your first payment. Next installment—beginning of next month."
She pocketed her phone without missing a beat, ignoring Selina's near-death expression, and turned to the rest of the room.
Her eyes landed on Thea.
"You've improved," Shiva said casually, waving her hand. "Haven't been home in ages… wonder if my daughter misses me. Anyway—gotta run."
And with that, the infamous Lady Shiva flipped her black hair over one shoulder and strode out, leaving behind a room full of stunned silence and one mortified cat burglar.
Thea blinked.
So that's it? No certificate? No graduation speech?
Still, she couldn't deny the pang of disappointment.
For all her ruthlessness, Shiva had been her sparring partner, her teacher, even—on her best days—a kind of brutal mentor.
And right now, Thea could really use someone who could fight.
But she also knew better than to wish Shiva stayed.
If Catwoman's empty bank account was any lesson, hiring Shiva again would bankrupt her faster than any supervillain ever could.
Shaking off the thought, she turned to Gotham's greatest invalid.
"Mr. Wayne—have you fully recovered?"
Subtext: Can you actually fight, or are you just here for moral support?
Bruce, of course, caught the implication instantly.
He lifted his cane with a small smile.
"Walking's fine," he said mildly.
Thea stared at him.
Internally, she was screaming.
Great. One mentor gone, one hero crippled. We're right back where we started.
Trying not to groan aloud, she gave him a brief rundown of everything that had happened: the Arkham experiments, the enhanced soldiers, the radiation data, and her tentative plan to use rain and boric acid to neutralize the effects.
When she finished, Bruce nodded thoughtfully.
"Please—just call me Bruce. And, Thea, Gotham owes you more than you know."
Then he straightened, his tone shifting to that familiar, measured confidence that made him who he was.
"As for your idea—it has potential. But I might have a more efficient approach."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, disk-shaped prototype.
"Years ago, I developed a sonic pulse emitter. Harmless to normal people, but with the right tuning, it can target specific biological frequencies.
If we can analyze the enhanced soldiers' unique physiology, I can modify the emitter to disrupt them—induce dizziness, even temporary paralysis."
That—right there—was the difference between Thea's cautious pragmatism and Batman's genius.
While she was talking about spraying boric acid from drones, he was talking about building precision bio-frequency weapons.
No wonder Ra's al Ghul had seen him as a once-in-a-generation prodigy.
Earning multiple doctorates on his own time wasn't something mortals did for fun.
Within minutes, the two were deep in discussion, bouncing equations and countermeasures off each other like lifelong lab partners.
Felicity, at first too shy to speak in front of her lifelong idol, soon got swept up in the excitement and joined them, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses.
That left everyone else—the scientific illiterates of the group—utterly lost.
Catwoman was still brooding about her lost money, calculating how many jewelry stores she'd have to rob to make it back.
Gordon and Robin looked politely attentive but might as well have been listening to alien radio.
Even Lyla, the most pragmatic of them, gave up trying to follow the technobabble after a few minutes.
Bruce, on the other hand, was thrilled.
For the first time in ages, he was surrounded by people who not only understood his ideas—but built upon them.
He'd spent years in Gotham surrounded by allies who fought well but thought terribly.
His only true intellectual equal so far had been an immortal madman who kept trying to marry him off to his daughter.
But now? These Star City girls were sharp, focused, and clever enough to keep pace.
Finally—someone who could speak his language.
And as he glanced around the table, his gaze briefly resting on Robin, who was visibly fighting sleep, a small smile tugged at his lips.
Maybe… just maybe…
It was time to consider sending the boy to study in Star City.
Their education system, it seemed, produced miracles.
(Though, of course, Bruce had no idea that both Thea and Felicity were entirely self-taught.)