A/N: Welcome, one and all, to my new Gotham series, The Escapades of Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle! Like I've said in previous posts, this series will be a collection of interconnected oneshots. Some of these will be multipart events with several chapters, but most will be singular stories set at an unspecified time in the timeline (between December and February). Like I've said before, I've been kicking this idea around in my head for almost a year now, so I'm really excited to finally bring it to life.

I'm gonna make a promise here that I probably can't keep and say that I'll post at least twice a week, although that means that the chapters for this series will be shorter than the ones for my other series Roles Reversed, which you should totally check out after this if you haven't already.

I think that's all the introduction this series needs. So without further ado I present you the pilot chapter of The Escapades of Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle. Hope you enjoy!

Pilot: Day Zero

Selina slipped into the alley from behind a dumpster.

Bruce was standing there. His eyes were jumping around the alley at the slightest movement, and he seemed paler than normal, but he wore a hard-headed, determined expression.

"Hey," she greeted, approaching him and casually reaching into her coat pocket. From it she removed a small revolver, fully loaded with live rounds, the safety on but unreliable. She hated guns. Sure, she used them on occasion, but this was Gotham.

Bruce simply stared at the weapon, hands glued to his sides.

"What?" she asked. "You asked me for it."

"I know–" he replied apprehensively.

Selina shook her head. "If you don't want it…" she started, already moving to put the gun back into her pocket.

"I want it," he stated firmly.

She stared at him. "You look scared."

"I'm not," he replied, sticking out his hand for the gun. His hand was visibly shaking and she could see the fear in his eyes. She should've just said no, taken the gun back to her place and gotten rid of it. But this was what he wanted.

Who was she to stop him from seeking revenge?

She shook her head and placed the gun firmly in his palm.

"Is it loaded?" he asked.

"Ain't no point in an unloaded gun," she retorted. "Guns aren't for show, Bruce. They're dangerous."

He nodded. "Of course. They're only good for one thing."

He turned, throwing a small thank you over his shoulder, and stalked off. She watched him go. She should've stopped him, but she didn't.

She didn't intervene when he needed her to.

That was the second time she'd done that.

The first time, her hesitance had gotten his parents killed. This time…

She tried to go about her day as normal, but her mind was somewhere else. She kept her ears on the streets, waiting for the news to be broken that Matches Malone was dead.

It eventually came, just not how she'd expected it to.

Suicide.

Malone had been found by Jim Gordon in his apartment, surrounded by alcohol, a gun in his hand, and a bullet in his mouth.

Selina didn't know what disturbed her more: Bruce killing Malone and making it look like a suicide, or it actually being a suicide…

What could've happened? Bruce had a gun, which she'd made sure was cleaned and loaded properly. It should've gone off without a hitch, unless…

Unless Bruce Wayne decided to be noble, to do the "right thing", as he called it.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, causing her to jump in surprise.

When she looked at the number, relief washed over her like she'd never felt before.

"Bruce?" she asked into it.

"Hey, Cat," he responded. He sounded exhausted.

"Are you okay?" she asked apprehensively, realizing how dumb of a question it was as she said it. Of course he wasn't okay. Whatever had happened, his parents' murderer was dead. On some level, that must've meant something big to him.

"I need a place to stay for a while," he replied, ignoring her question. "Can I stay with you?"

She was very concerned now. Had he done it, faking the suicide? She'd been on the run from the police before, but this was different. Murder was not something cops played around with.

"Sure. Yeah, yeah, of course," she answered hastily. She paused. "Bruce, what's happening? Are you okay?"

The other end went so silent for so long that she started to think he'd hung up on her. "I'll meet you at the 9th Street overpass on the East Side," he stated.

She nodded. "Okay, I'll be there." She went to hang up, but hesitated, taking note that the other end hadn't gone dead yet. "Stay safe," she said softly.

Several seconds later, the line went dead.

She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. She wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Whether he'd killed Malone or not, he needed her help.

And no matter how many mistakes he made, she'd be there.

She owed him at least that.

She'd only been standing under the overpass for a few minutes when she saw him approaching, eyes on the ground, dressed in dark colors and a large backpack slung over his shoulder.

As he got closer, he glanced up at her and her heart caught in her chest.

It'd been just twelve hours since she'd last seen him, but he looked like a completely different person. He looked so much older, his face sunken and expression grim.

But his eyes hadn't changed. The endless fire inside them was still there, maybe with less intensity than before, but still burning.

He joined her by the bum fire she'd lit, warming his hands. It was the start of December, but winter had come late that year. The temperature was just now dropping; the wind which used to be pleasant was now biting and sharp.

Things were changing, but, just like always, she'd adapt.

Adaption was all she knew.

Bruce gave her a weak smile. She nodded and turned away from the fire, walking along the railroad tracks towards the city.

They didn't talk much on the way into the city, which she was thankful for in some ways. She didn't know what'd changed in Bruce exactly, but she knew she didn't like it.

Finally, they arrived outside an abandoned apartment building, the all windows boarded up or darkened, the structure itself falling to pieces.

"Home sweet home," she muttered, leading him up a rickety old fire escape and entering the third floor hallway through a window. "Front door doesn't open, whole second floor is covered in jagged glass, and the stairs between the second and third floors are knocked out," she told him.

He nodded. "Secure place."

She hummed in agreement and entered one of the rooms. She got a little self-conscious at the appearance of her small, shabby apartment. The room was cramped, had low ceilings, the floor boards were uneven, the windows partially boarded up, the tiny couch was old and in tatters, the fridge needed to be cleaned a decade earlier, and the only artificial light in the room was a dusty lamp which only worked half the time. Still, she shrugged and told him, "Make yourself comfortable. Your room's right over there."

Bruce nodded and opened a door that led out of the main room. The bedroom was even smaller than the other one, but it'd obviously been cleaned up, and quite recently at that. He threw his bag onto the cot, which took up ninety percent of the space, and went back into the living room.

Selina had kicked off her shoes and turned on the television.

"I'm gonna go to bed," he told her.

She nodded absent-mindedly, keeping her eyes on the television. "Yeah, sure, goodnight."

He turned to his room, but paused. He turned back to her and started, "Selina…" He stopped until she looked up at him, which she eventually did. "Thank you," he told her, "for everything."

He started to go back into his room, but she couldn't leave it there. She had too many questions. But one of them stuck out among the rest. "Did you kill him?" she asked quietly. He stopped dead in his tracks, but didn't respond. "Tell me you didn't kill him and I'll believe you, but I need you to tell me that you didn't do it."

Bruce was frozen on the spot, his back turned to her. Selina knew she was being invasive, but she had to know. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she'd let Bruce Wayne become a killer, to get blood on his hands. On some level, she knew that he hadn't done it. But he had to say it.

Bruce turned to her, looking her right in the eye as he said it. "I didn't kill him. I couldn't. He shot himself after I left."

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked pointedly. "If you didn't do anything wrong, what are you running from?"

"I'm not running," he responded defensively.

"Then why are you here?"

He sighed. "I'm here because I need to know how you do it. How people like you do it."

"Do what?" she asked indignantly. He wasn't making any sense.

"Deal with stuff like this," he replied. "How you don't become monsters as a result."

Selina shook her head. "So, you want to what? Study people like me?"

He shrugged. "I guess, so. Yeah."

Selina stared at him. He was holding something back, she knew it. "You've been to the Narrows before," she started. "It's not like you haven't seen criminals in real life."

"So?" Bruce asked, seeming even more uncomfortable.

"So I call bullshit," Selina replied bluntly.

He shook his head in exasperation, and then gave a heavy sigh. "I just…need to get away from it all," he told her.

She scoffed, saying, "You were literally just in Switzerland for a month. How much more time do you need?"

Bruce shook his head, again. "That's not what I mean. It's not Gotham that's the problem. I need to get away from Bruce Wayne," he stated. "And this," he continued, gesturing around to the small, shabby apartment Selina called home, "this is the best way I know how."

She cocked an eyebrow, asking, "Well, if you're not Bruce Wayne, who are you?"

He shook his head with a light smirk. "That's what I'm here to find out, if you'll let me stay, that is…"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna kick you out, B," she told him. "Well, not yet, at least."

He smiled, the first one she'd seen from him in a long, long time. "So, are we done with the interrogation?" he asked mockingly.

She scoffed in annoyance, but nodded.

He gave her a curt nod and bow, saying, "Then goodnight, Cat," and whisking off into his tiny bedroom.

"G'night, B," she responded quietly as the door shut. She shook her head, muttering, "Dramatic much?" and turning in for the night, as well. A weight had been temporarily lifted off of her shoulders, but it had been replaced by another one just as quickly.

He was no longer 'boy billionaire Bruce Wayne'. In fact, she wouldn't even call him Bruce, anymore. He was a street kid, just like her.

In a way, she was a bit nervous to find out who he was without the persona and nicknames and labels she'd given him.

Would she like what she found underneath all of that?

Either way, she was in charge of him now. She'd show him the ropes, teach him how 'people like her', as he called it, survived in Gotham without becoming worse for it.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day for him, she'd make sure of it. If he really wanted to know who he was without the money, without the name, then she'd make sure he found out, the easy way or the hard one.

However, if it was up to her, it'd preferably be the latter path.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Like I said previously, I'm gonna try and update quite frequently, at least by my usual standards, so make sure to favorite/follow so you don't miss my next upload. Also, please tell me what you think about this new series in the Review section! Your feedback is what I write for, after all. And if you have prompts or ideas for Escapades for these crazy kids, please let me know. I want this series to be a long one but I can only write as much content as I can come up with, so your help would be very much appreciated!

Thanks for reading and ciao for now!