Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham or any of the characters.
On a newspaper in the town of Gotham, the day after Halloween:
"... The items stolen include a diamond bracelet, a silver lighter, a platinum coated pen, a gold pendant, the combined net worth of which is estimated to be in millions. GCPD is conducting interviews with the guests at the party and still searching for a viable suspect, but so far, they have only been able to..."
Halloween night:
Perhaps their whole lives have been leading up to this point- her hands in his hair and his arms around her waist that could easily be mistaken for an embrace between young affectionate teens, and God, he hates to admit it, but a part of him wishes that it was just that. It almost is, except for the fact that he can feel the sharp metal nails attached to her fingers under her gloves lightly scrape his scalp, a silent warning, or maybe a screaming plea, to just let it go. But he doesn't. He instead applies pressure to the knife that he has started carrying ever since he realized his life is in constant danger, the light touch on the small of her back a challenge to her to take things further. They both know they won't, this is as far as they will ever go, but neither is ready to accept defeat and step away. His thoughts drift away from him, in tune with the silence in the secluded room in the second floor that they have found themselves in, in rhythm with the adrenaline infused beats and laughter ringing from the party downstairs, in sync with the soft beating of her heart, thud, thud, thud. He can smell the mixed aroma of her perfume and his cologne, an intoxicating enigma floating through the air, and it is yet another testimony of how good they can be together, as a team.
But they are not a team, here and now. What they are, he cannot define, but he knows they are both waiting for the other to make the first move, like a wave frozen in time an inch away from the shore.
Three months ago, on the streets of Gotham:
He is rarely this fortunate to be out of Alfred's sight in the dangerous nooks of Gotham streets, but here he is, with his guardian inside a shop running an errand for him, while he waits outside, his eyes fixed on the girl at the fire-escape of the third floor of a building across the street.
She is so high above him, so unreachable, untraceable, unobtainable. Sometimes he wishes he could fly. Not like a bird- free, wild, and soaring through the blue skies, not with the weight of his parents' death rudely cutting away his phantom wings. He wishes he was a bat, a creature of the night, hidden in plain sight with the uncanny ability to sneak up on its prey.
Maybe then he could have flown to where she is and had a chance to have a conversation with her before Alfred calls out to him and he has to leave with a last glimpse at the girl who is now smirking in triumph of slipping through the gaps of his fingers like ever flowing water yet again.
Halloween night:
He is brave enough to take the bait. "You look beautiful."
Her eyelashes flutter in a dreamy way and her eyes blaze with anger. "Barbara's dress." She explains curtly. Beauty never did anybody any good, it's always the skills you have and the cards you hold close to your chest that ensure your survival in this doomed city, but she has learned that looking like a certain posh crowd that she cannot stand is the easiest way to get into certain kinds of parties, and that's another skill she has- playing any part she wants to.
"Why did you dress as a cat?" He asks.
"Would you have preferred a playboy bunny?" she counters.
He thinks he might have, but he decides to keep that inappropriate line of thought to himself. "I can get you arrested."
"I can get you killed."
Empty threats and meaningless chatter, a nip in the air and warmth in his heart, he thinks he might die of frustration and happiness- this is the closest they have been to each other in months.
Two months ago, in his study in Wayne manor:
There's an entire board in front of him filled with pictures of Gotham's most wanted and most revered criminals, there are books sprawled on the table on every subject imaginable, but his attention is captured by the two objects placed as bookmarks on his notebook.
One is an invitation to a party at Halloween, hosted by some friend of the Wayne Enterprise, details that he skims over in favor of studying the other object, a mug shot of Selina Kyle. Her eyes ooze catharsis, speaking to him in an unspoken language, as if offering him a respite from his ever tiring existence. He wants to reach out and touch it, but he's afraid the water will rise above his neck and he will wake up.
Halloween mascarade. If he knows her at all, which he thinks he does, then he knows she will be there. If he knows himself at all, which he is sure he does, then he knows he can spot her in a crowd of dozens of masked faces.
The only question that remains is this: What shoes should be wear with his wicked wizard costume that she cannot make fun of?
Halloween night:
"You should be careful about the company you keep." He tells her, wondering briefly if he means the criminals that she has recently sided with, or her current company, the teen who should have been partying and laughing and chasing girls and being annoyed with his parents, if not for their sudden death.
"Same goes for you." She warns, eyes flashing with hesitation. She wants to speak more, to tell him of the dangerous tempest that is about to sweep through his life, but she can feel the bullet in her skull that will result from that, so she keeps her lip-glossed lips tightly clasped together.
He nods, studying her meaningfully to see if they have reached a truce yet.
One month ago, on the streets of Gotham:
"You're turning into a creepy stalker, Bruce." She tells him when they are within a few feet of each other for the fifth time in a fortnight. She really dislikes being the one hunted in this cat and mouse chase.
He studies her figure, her eyes robbed of the hope that once shone in them, the ones that made him think 'happiness is this'. In the constant tug of war between happiness and truth, he is almost ready to take her hand and run away and get lost and find themselves- a clean slate, a fresh start, without the fame of his last name and the stain of her juvenile criminal career dragging them down. But despite his young age and his foolish reckless daydreams, he knows that the past has a way of catching up and delivering a cruel punch in the face of happiness, and that's the truth.
And also, she's still too far away, so unreachable, untraceable, unobtainable.
"I don't want to have to fight you." He tells her earnestly, wishing she would cross over to his side instead of that of the low lifes of Gotham. He believes in redemption, in second chances, and in her. And he believes he isn't capable of bringing himself to take her down if such a dreaded time comes.
"Then don't fight me." She offers simply, unafraid, because she knows that should such a wretched fate await them, he can never defeat her, and she will never hurt him, so this thing that their whole lives are slowly leading upto is really rather pointless.
Halloween night:
He's no match for her, she knows, has known it all along. She could have escaped any time she wanted, and yet she didn't, a fact that gnaws at her a little, at the affect this wealthy little heir has on her even now, but she decides to chalk it up to just her need for amusement and a little fun, and knees him in the stomach.
He feels a sharp pain radiating through his body and hears the sound of his knife hitting the cold pale marble floor, and when he looks up, all he sees is the still fluttering curtain of the window through which she escaped.
There's the embarrasment of being so easily defeated and the worry that he's not ready yet to defeat his enemies and the anger at himself for not training hard enough, but what wins out is the smile that tugs at his lips as he closes his eyes and inhales the last traces of her mesmerising scent.
Earlier at the Halloween party:
He catches a glimpse of black leather and familiar eyes and a hint of a playful smile walking up the stairs, and he can tell, he knows, this is it. Happiness and truth. One and the same, but never colliding, like an object and its mirror image.
Isn't that what she is to him?
A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for this pairing. Hope you like it! :D