A/N: weirded out by the ship? I was too at first, but if written correctly, I found that this can actually work quite well :) let me know what you think! I posted this yesterday and it was deleted without explanation so I changed a few things and am trying again. Anyway, let me know what you guys think! :)
It was the second time he'd been here this week. It was out of character - he wasn't normally one for graves. He had avoided his mother and father's graves nearly his entire life, because when he stood before the gray stones that marked where they lay, he felt only emptiness. There was no cathartic aspect to the experience, no sense of being closer to them, because wherever his parents had gone when they passed, he didn't believe that it was under the dirt. Their bones held no emotional draw for him.
But this was different. He had just been given the keys to a future he hadn't bargained on but had accepted without a second thought, despite all of the considerable reasons why maybe he should have at least slept on it, and all he wanted was to sit down and talk to the man who'd given it to him.
This was impossible, of course, and coming to his grave wouldn't solve anything. He knew this. He was nothing if not logical. But something kept him coming back, some missing piece of the puzzle that he wasn't sure even existed, some strange lack of closure that left him feeling as if there was more to all of this than he was aware of right now.
The grave didn't get many visitors, so his time here was always spent in solitude, like the rest of his time usually was nowadays. So, as he walked across unseasonably dry, cracking grass towards the headstone that stood in memorial to Bruce Wayne one chilly spring afternoon, he was surprised to see that somebody had beaten him there.
It was a woman, as evidenced by her slim, dark figure, and he could have recognized her just by her body language. She wasn't someone that he had dealt with a lot, but she was the kind of woman that you never could quite forget, even after the briefest of encounters.
It was curious that she was here. He knew that she'd helped in the final battle, and had redeemed herself enough for Commissioner Gordon to turn a blind eye to her efforts to leave the country. He thought she'd already gone, and if she had the certain small USB device that she was rumored to have, he especially couldn't understand why she was still standing here in Gotham - let alone at Bruce Wayne's grave.
He waited a moment before continuing his walk, and it was only a few more moments before he got close enough for her to hear his footsteps.
She was dressed in all black, like she had been the day he'd arrested her last year. Her hair was long and straight, shining in the sunlight, and when she turned her head just far enough to see who it was approaching from behind, her eyes were darker than he thought they'd be.
He expected coldness and hardness from this woman, not the sadness that her very quick glance betrayed. It was like looking into a mirror.
"Long time, no see."
Selina Kyle's voice was flat. So was John Blake's when he replied, "I'm surprised you aren't halfway around the world by now."
He took a few more steps forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with her in front of Bruce Wayne's headstone. Both pairs of eyes were fixed upon the stone and didn't sway towards one another. "So am I."
A few robins chirping as they pranced through the grass on the other side of the plots was the only break in the silence that hung in the air before Selina turned her eyes on the former detective and asked, "What brings you here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
Her lips quirked in what should have been a grin, but she didn't seem to have it in her. "And it looks like neither of us wants to answer."
"He was my friend," John said, eyes still straight ahead.
"I didn't think he had any of those."
John gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "There were a lot of misconceptions about him."
"I guess that's how he wanted it, being the Batman and all."
Finally, John looked at Selina. Her eyes were forward again, and something about them looked different. Like they were dead.
Even Blake could see the waves of guilt and regret rolling from those eyes, though others may not have caught it. She wasn't the type to feel such things very often. Maybe her hiding skills were rusty as a result.
He'd seen a flash of the same emotions the day he'd arrested her, and she'd told him she wasn't sure of Bruce Wayne's fate. It had been fleeting, and obstructed behind years of walls that a woman like her would have had to build up to stay alive and safe, but it was there.
"He wasn't anything to me," she said unexpectedly.
"Doesn't look that way," John replied, glancing at her again.
She smiled an empty smile and looked up at him once more. "I'm only here to thank the man who saved me from turning into a pile of radioactive ash. Even I'm capable of gratitude."
"Well," John muttered, "he can't hear you here."
"And yet you're here too," she pointed out. "You look like hell, by the way."
He wasn't offended by this, because he knew it was true. Sleep didn't come easy anymore, and the evidence lay under his eyes. "There's something different about you, too."
He looked at her. Now it was her turn to stare forward. He added, "It's okay to feel what you're feeling. You're human."
"What could you possibly know about what I'm feeling, Detective?" she asked, turning amused eyes on him.
"More than you think." Reading people had always been one of his strengths. It wasn't everyone who could deduce that Bruce Wayne was Batman by simply noting the presence of a forced smile on his face, but he had. And Selina's eyes were an albeit cloudy but still visible window to her humanity. "And I'm not a detective anymore."
"So I heard," she said. "How's the job search going?"
"Like you'd expect," he lied. There was nothing expected about the job he was taking.
"Well," she sighed, squaring her shoulders and moving her hair behind them with one small motion of her head, "good luck with that. I'm going to go buy a plane ticket to the earliest flight out of the country tomorrow morning."
She turned and he waited a moment before turning his head to watch her go. When he did, she turned back to him as well, briefly stalling her steps. "You look like you could use a drink, Detective."
"Thanks for the suggestion," he muttered.
"It wasn't a suggestion. It was an invitation."
Looking back, he couldn't be sure why he'd accepted the invitation. Maybe it was because he did need a drink, despite his general avoidance of alcohol, or because she was another link, however tenuous, to the person he really wanted to sit down and talk to. Either way, it would at least be a distraction, and maybe if he drank enough, the alcohol would help him get a decent night's sleep.
He met her at a bar that wasn't seedy but wasn't entirely the kind that put you at ease, either, and it seemed analogous to the woman who had invited him here. He used to think that she didn't look at the world in terms of right and wrong or good and evil, but simply in terms of what served her best at the time. Then she went and fought for Gotham alongside Batman, and now he didn't know what to think.
He was already seated at the bar, looking at the beer in front of him instead of drinking it, when her voice rang out low and smooth from behind him. "I didn't think you'd show."
He watched as she slid on to the stool at his left, a smile gracing her lips as she nodded to the bartender. The man nodded back and shuffled off, and Selina turned a critical eye to John's beer. "At least you chose a dark brew."
He shrugged and took his first drink of the dark golden liquid. "It'll get the job done."
"And what job is that?"
"You tell me," he replied, setting the glass down. "You're the one who told me I needed it."
"Honey, you look like you need a lot more than a few drinks from where I'm sitting," she said, smiling to the bartender as he set down a small tumbler of single-malt whiskey before her.
It figured that she'd drink like a man. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She took a graceful sip and then looked him over as she said, "I can tell when a man hasn't gotten laid in months. You guys carry all of this extra tension in your shoulders and face, mostly your eyes and eyebrows. It's obvious if you know how to look for it."
Well, she was right, and he didn't feel like arguing. But now he felt distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation. "I didn't really have time to think about 'getting laid' when there was a psychopath holding Gotham hostage with a nuclear bomb."
"No, but you do now," she pointed out. "There's a nice little blonde sitting across the room at a table with her girlfriends. She hasn't taken her eyes off you since I sat down."
Slowly, he turned his eyes to scan the room, and indeed, there was a blonde who was observing him quite intently as she sipped some fruity cocktail with her friends. She smiled at him. He returned the smile half-heartedly, more to be polite than anything. She was pretty, but he didn't like blondes much. Especially ones who immediately turned to her friends and giggled after he smiled at them.
"Vapid, yes, but she could help take care of some of that tension."
John took another swig of his beer. "No thanks."
She chuckled and finished her drink. "You're a strange man, Detective."
The bartender set down a second beer in front of him without being asked. Sheesh, did he really look that stressed out? "I've never been much for one night stands. Or blondes."
"Even stranger," she said, accepting a refill of whiskey. "But you've never struck me as a typical man."
"I guess I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, finishing his first beer and taking a drink of the second one. He didn't feel anything yet.
"Take it however you'd like."
"So you know, you have your own blonde admirer," he said, glancing to his left and taking note of a sandy haired man, younger than he was, gawking at Selina. John knew the man wouldn't stand a chance, and not just because of the margarita in the guy's hand.
"Unfortunately for him, I share your distaste for blondes."
She scanned her eyes over his dark hair as she said this. He pretended not to see it. "So where did you buy your ticket for?"
She sighed and looked down into her glass. "I didn't."
"What's keeping you here?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Ghosts."
She could have meant a lot of things by that. But he didn't press her for an explanation. Then she added, "What about you? What is there in Gotham that's keeping you here?"
For a moment, he really did consider telling her. He hadn't told a soul as of yet. But instead, he decided to give a much simpler answer. "It's home."
"I've never found home to be all it's cracked up to be."
"Me neither," he replied, but it was a lie. He had never once felt at home anywhere since his father died, and ever since then, he'd longed for the sense of home that died with him. But Gotham was a brutal city, and he hadn't come remotely close to finding it.
"You remind me of him," she said quietly, looking him in the eyes. "I wonder why that is."
He didn't need to ask who she was referring to. "Our backstories are similar."
"The billionaire part, or the orphan part?"
He almost laughed. "I'm sure you can guess."
"Sorry," she muttered.
It was a rare show of empathy, and her tone made it clear just how rare. He appreciated it.
He didn't notice that his second beer was gone until a third one was set in front of him. Now that he did notice, he also noticed the pleasant effect that it was having on his overloaded brain.
"I've been thinking France," she said absently. "Or Spain."
"I'm surprised you would tell me," he said. "You're still a wanted jewel thief."
She grinned and flashed her bright eyes at him. "You won't turn me in."
"I did before."
"If Gordon won't, you won't either."
She was right. He had no desire to see her pay for crimes that today seemed almost petty and juvenile, after the sort of things he'd seen in the last year. And she was punishing herself more than adequately for her worst crime in his opinion, her betrayal of Bruce. That much was as clear to him as the oddness of this entire situation.
"Have you ever been to Paris, Detective?"
He shook his head. "I've never been outside the U.S.."
"That's a shame," she replied, still wearing a small grin. "There's a whole world out there, you know."
He did know. But his world was here, now more than ever. "Yeah."
"You really remind me of him," she said, eyes intent on him again. "And I think it's more than just your sad childhoods."
He looked at her, but didn't say a word.
"I'm almost willing to bet that he left you your own little... inheritance."
He wanted to ask what gave him away, but he suspected it was the same sort of thing that had given Bruce away to him all those years ago, without the older man even realizing. Selina was good at reading people, just like John was. And she had been reading him since her first glance today at Bruce's grave.
"If I'm right," she said, her tone implying that she really didn't think there was a question if she was, "then good luck. You'll need it."
Indeed he would. He took a drink.
She drained her glass and then lightly licked her lips, examining her nails as she held them out in front of her. The alcohol was starting to loosen his lips. "What will you do in France or Spain?"
"Maybe I'll go straight," she mused. "Maybe I won't. I'll have to see where the cities take me."
For the first time in his life, John found himself just a little bit jealous of a criminal. There was such a carefree air about her, such freedom and possibility. What an idea it was, to hop on a plane and touchdown somewhere very foreign, and simply see "where the cities took you".
But that wasn't his place in the world, and he wasn't going to spend much time being disgruntled about that fact. He had the privilege of picking up the mantle of someone, and something, that he believed in with all of his heart. And as daunting as that was, he knew that in some way, he'd been waiting his whole life for this.
Her eyes fell upon him again. He stared back, feeling the alcohol doing its job. "Send a postcard when you settle down."
She chuckled. "I'll try to remember to, Detective."
"You can call me by my name," he replied, unsure of why he'd decided to say that. "Instead of calling me something I'm not."
She seemed to consider it for a moment. Then she leaned in closer than she should have and whispered, "It is what you are. Because the Batman is a detective."
She smelled like the whiskey she was drinking as well as some classic feminine scent, probably a perfume that had been around for years that never went out of style, and the combination made his head spin a little more than it already was. She gave him a look as she retreated from his personal space, and he wordlessly drained the rest of his beer.
If he'd spaced out the drinks more, and if he drank often enough to have a tolerance to the stuff, he knew he wouldn't have already felt as impaired as he did, but as it was, the room was starting to move a little bit as he looked around it. He refrained from any more refills, not wanting to end the night hugging a toilet because of his lightweight status.
Selina, on the other hand, was enjoying her whiskey without a slurred vowel or consonant in sight. But her body language was much more relaxed, and some of the darkness in her eyes was gone. Not all of it, however, and he wondered if it ever would leave her entirely. He'd never felt that sort of guilt before, so he had no experience to base a guess on.
"Well," she said, polishing off her last drink, "I really should be going. I may decide to jump on the next flight out of here in the morning, and I'll need an early start if I do."
She placed a handful of cash on the bar and then stood up, tossing her hair back before raising an eyebrow to John and saying, "Care to share a cab?"
He shrugged and dug his wallet out from his pocket, and she waited as he counted his payment to the bartender. Then he stood and wanted to curse as the room spun, but he did his best to hide how drunk he actually was as he followed her outside of the bar.
She waved down a cab and a moment later they were sharing a backseat, and Selina was staring at him expectantly.
"Where do you live?" she asked for a second time.
"Oh - 30th and Circle," he said quickly, feeling wholly stupid. He remembered all too well now why he avoided alcohol, and Selina was trying not to laugh at him.
His place was first on the route, and he was grateful for this. He planned to go home and fall in his bed, hopefully get more than the three hours of sleep he'd been getting, and start fresh in the morning. And avoid drinking with thieves in the future, when he could.
They didn't say more than two words to one another until the cab reached his apartment building and came to a stop in front of it. When it did, he pulled out his wallet, grabbed some more cash, and placed it back in his pocket when the driver was paid. Selina gave him a smile and said, "See you around, Detective."
"Yeah," he nodded, doubting she would, and exited the cab. "Take care."
He concentrated hard on not stumbling as he walked up the staircase to his third floor apartment, and when he got his door unlocked and made it inside, he made a beeline for his bedroom.
The place was a mess, which wasn't normal for him, but he hadn't been spending a lot of time here lately. He peeled off his shirt and threw it into a growing pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room, tossed his keys on his nightstand, and when he went to grab his wallet and place it next to his keys, he found that it was gone.
He checked his other pocket, and nothing.
Dammit, he groaned. She had to have plucked his wallet right out of his pocket as he had been getting out of the cab, and he must be stupidly drunk to have not noticed.
Cursing, he grabbed his shirt and put it back on. He did manage to recall where Selina had instructed the driver to take her, and suddenly feeling quite sober, he set out to retrieve his wallet.
He used cash that he kept inside of a drawer in his room to pay for another cab, this time one that brought him to a modest set of apartments on a rougher side of town. After the cab had gone, he scanned the windows of the apartments and was able to determine the first one that he would try due to it being the only one with a light still on and not having male residents clearly shown through the windows.
To his relief, the apartment was only on the second floor, so he didn't have to worry about scaling anymore long staircases while trying not to fall on his face. He approached the suspected apartment and knocked twice on the door.
Rather quickly, the door opened, revealing a highly amused looking Selina. "Couldn't stay away, Detective?"
"Give me my wallet back," he said flatly.
"Ask me nicely and I'll think about it."
"I'm not playing games with you," he said, taking a step towards her.
"Who said anything about games?" she said innocently, taking a step back.
He was not in the mood, and this was getting old fast. "I'm only going to say it one more time. Give -"
He was cut off by her unexpectedly holding up the wallet in question. "Come get it."
He looked at her for a moment, wondering what she was planning, because he couldn't imagine her actually handing it over that easily. But he stepped forward and reached for it anyway.
As soon as his fingers brushed against the small leather thing, she yanked it away and grabbed his arm and pulled it. He stumbled forward, and she kissed him.
It was the last thing he expected her to do, and yet, when it happened, he wasn't shocked by it. Maybe it had been the looks she'd been giving him all night, or the way her scent was still making his head spin, or how she'd so annoyingly pointed out the evidence of his recent celibacy, but whatever it was, this somehow felt like it was something had been building all night.
She pulled away, and her eyes bore into his with a look that appeared to dare him to do something. "You really should do something about that tension in your shoulders," she said in a low, equally daring voice, while taking his wallet and slipping it into his back pocket.
She waited for him to to make his choice, taking a step back from him and into her apartment.
He had what he came for, and maybe, in retrospect, he should have gone. But instead, he stepped forward and took her face in his hands as he brought his lips crashing against hers.
He may not be the type to hop a plane to a country across the globe, or play life like a game that he may or not win, like her, but he did know that a little bit of impulsivity could go a long way.
He turned her around as his mouth moved with hers, and he pushed her not entirely gently against the door, slamming it shut with a loud thud. Her fingers were threaded in his hair as she pulled away and breathed, "Don't hold back, Detective."
Then she pulled him back down, and everything became a blur of lips and hands, nails and stumbling as they moved towards what he assumed was her bedroom, though the only things he was aware of at the moment were his racing heart, wildly pumping blood, and the feel of her body pressing against his. He never would have imagined that this would happen, or that she would elicit such an instant, nearly unstoppable reaction inside of him, but here he was, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be relieved of that tension she'd been talking about.
By the time he realized they were standing inside of her room, she'd managed to claw his shirt off and he'd nearly torn hers off when he'd gotten it off of her, but then she wrenched her lips away from his and broke free from his arms. She moved back and lowered herself down on the bed, seemingly giving him another chance to choose his next course of action, though by now there could be no doubt what that would be.
He kicked his shoes off and quickly climbed atop the bed, lowering himself down over her and kissing her once more and enjoying how her hands came to move up his back, her nails applying just enough pressure as they moved over his skin before finding his belt.
He moved his lips to her neck as she worked on removing his last remaining articles of clothing, and despite his recent dry spell, he found he still had decent bra-removing skills, unhooking and discarding it with one swipe of his fingers.
A few more maneuvers of their hands and then there were no more distractions, only skin against skin and the sound of heavy breathing between them. He couldn't feel the effects of the alcohol he'd imbibed anymore, and when her hand reached between them and took his hardness in her hand, slowly stroking it, he felt nothing but pleasure that he hadn't realized he'd been missing so badly in recent months.
He pulled away to let out a deep sigh and she bit his lip, her eyes open and watching his closed ones slowly open as well. He didn't look away as he took her hand and placed it next to her head, stopping her before the night came to an embarrassingly early end. Then he placed a gentle kiss on her lips before trailing down over her jaw and down to her neck, then her collarbone and chest, and finally the two more than ample breasts that until now had been pressed tightly against his chest.
Her fingers were buried in his hair and she arched against him as he teased her pointed nipples with his tongue, swirling and moving as one of his hands moved lower down her body.
He brought his lips back up as his fingers found her wetness, massaging the swollen nub above it as he kissed her lips, earning a few gasps and the rocking of her hips as they moved with his hand, and the sight of her eyes closing and her mouth dropping open as she arched into him easily took the title of the sexiest thing he'd seen all year.
She tugged on his hair and dug her other hand's nails into his shoulder when she climaxed, and he watched her until she sunk limp into the bed, eyes still closed as her breathing slowly returned to normal. His hand slowly moved back up, running up her side and moving back down and resting on her hip as she pulled him close, wrapping her legs around his waist and moving so that he grazed her entrance.
He kissed her and then plunged inside of her, his breath hitching in the sheer relief of it, and he took a moment to collect himself to ensure, once again, that he didn't embarrass himself. But then she thrust her hips up and caused him to bite his lip while she hid a grin.
He suddenly didn't care how quick or long he lasted, and he pushed into her again, then again, deeper each time, and she matched him, kindly letting him take the lead when she normally would have shoved him down and had her way with him.
She was warm and fit him perfectly, and the way she moved her hips was equal in perfection, and he indeed found that he was not going to last long at all, so he reluctantly pulled out of her and turned her on her side. Then he lay behind her pulled her against him, entering her again and earning a moan when his hand slipped between her legs again, moving in time with his thrusts, and somehow, he managed to make her go a second time before he finally lost his already tenuous control and buried his face into her neck as he came.
His vision swam when he finally opened his eyes, watching as she turned and faced him, an equally spent and sated look in her eyes as was in his.
"Better?"
He laughed breathlessly. "You have no idea."
The problem was, he felt entirely too much better, and try as he may, he couldn't keep his eyes open. Long nights in the batcave coupled with mild insomnia finally caught up with him, and now that his every muscle was jelly, he was finally relaxed enough to sleep.
When he awoke, it was early morning and Selina was still sound asleep. He slipped out of the bed and gathered his clothes, feeling like he could sleep another ten hours but knowing that this was probably best. He dressed quickly and left her place as quietly as he could, saving them both from what would have undoubtedly awkward morning after.
Then he returned not to his apartment, but to the batcave, where he continued his renovations and replenishing of supplies that he'd begun the day that he found the cave. His mind was clearer than it had been in weeks, and the funny thing was, he really could notice a difference in his shoulders.
Meanwhile, Selina awoke to a bed that was otherwise empty, save for a note on the pillow next to hers. She grabbed it and a grin crossed her lips as she read it.
Thanks for stealing my wallet.
One day later, John was carving out a new set of batarangs when his phone vibrated with a new text message from a number he didn't recognize. His eyes widened as he read the words, thinking at first that it must be a joke, but intuition told him otherwise. He smiled and shook his head.
Across town, Selina came home from another failed attempt to make herself buy a ticket out of the city, only to walk into her bedroom to find a strand of pearls on her nightstand, underneath which laid a plane ticket to Italy. There was no note, and none was necessary. She'd recognize those pearls, and the work of their owner, anywhere.
She was gone by nightfall, and John's heart felt lighter than it had since longer than he could remember. That was the first night he put on the suit, and though it was clear that his no longer dead friend wouldn't have appreciated what John had done with his new traveling companion only two nights ago, he knew Selina would never tell. And if she never did, then neither would he.
But he'd never forget.