Chapter 2: You don't count so good, huh?
The piece of paper that Selina swiped from Bane is a mystery. She studies it in the morning light as she lounges in her bed.
The paper is marked with a scattered collection of letters and numbers with occasional lines connecting them all together. It looks vaguely scientific – not that Selina would know, really. She spent her high school science classes daydreaming about killing the teacher. When she was actually in school, that is, and not incarcerated in a women's penitentiary.
Selina has a friend in the PhD program at Gotham U's chemistry department. Pamela Isley. Selina likes her; her sense of humour is just poisonous.
She sends Pamela a photo of the paper accompanied by a brief line of text.
SK: Puzzle. Help me?
PI: Where'd you get this?
SK: Found it.
PI: Liar.
SK: Just tell me what it means. I'll take you out for Greek later.
PI: You pay.
SK: Fine.
PI: It's a formula for an anaesthetic. Analgesic gas, actually.
PI: Like, ridiculously strong.
PI: Couple milliliters could knock out a horse.
PI: Is this a new street drug or something?
SK: Something like that.
PI: Well tell them to be careful. This stuff is potent. Could kill someone.
PI: Actually, don't tell them. Less hobos panhandling and shit.
SK: Noted. Greek on Tuesday?
Selina breaks into Pamela's office that night and leaves her a gorgeous and expensive bouquet of orchids as a thank you, because Pamela loves flowers.
So the rumours about Bane's mask may be true. Selina has heard that he uses it to keep painkillers in his system. Painkillers to combat the pain from what, though? Is his face a nasty mess of skinless flesh below the mask? Does he have a nose? A mouth? Selina's thoughts keep her morbidly occupied, imagining the possibilities.
She wonders if Bane has missed the paper yet. Apparently, it was kind of important.
Oopsie.
VVVVV
Selina has always been a light sleeper. A useful quality, especially in moments like these, when a man is stealthily opening her bedroom door in the dead of night.
She keeps her breathing regular and listens to the sounds of the man moving closer, those soft sounds of cloth on cloth that no one can quite mask no matter their stealth.
She catches a whiff of a medicinal smell and hears the distinctive slow breathing all at once.
She did wonder when she would be hearing from him again.
"Hi Bane," says Selina. The words are husky, as she just woke up – perfect, hides the tremor in her voice.
Her heart wants to escape her chest but apparently her ribs are in the way.
She hears Bane stop. With a long, languid stretch, Selina turns around. Bane is standing at the foot of her bed, wearing a bulletproof vest over a black shirt and his apparently perennial cargo pants. His hands are hooked into the collar of the vest – Selina is not sure if this is just for comfort's sake, or because it makes his arms look even bigger. If it is the latter, it is working. Holy bulk, Batman.
"You have no security system, Ms. Kyle," says Bane by way of greeting. "An interesting decision for a burglar."
That queer amplified voice. It gives Selina the creeps.
"I know from experience how useless they are," says Selina with a sleepy smile, not permitting a single iota of her discomfort to show in her behaviour or her voice.
She yawns widely in Bane's face and props her elbows on her knees. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"Two nights ago, one of my men came back to me with broken hands."
"Oh my," says Selina, holding her fingers delicately over her lips. "That sounds terrible. Who could have done such a thing?"
Bane loosens one hand from his collar and makes a dismissive gesture. "I am not here to avenge him. It was a... just punishment for incompetence. He no longer serves me."
Bane moves to the side of the bed and looks down at Selina. She tenses, ready to vault up and away.
He sits on the edge of Selina's bed, slowly, either trying not to spook her, or trying to lull her into a sense of security. His calmness has absolutely the opposite effect. All of Selina's senses and instincts are lit. She is counting the steps to the door, to the gun in her desk drawer, assessing his profile, the hugeness of the arm nearest her, the broadness of his over-muscled back, the ways he could hurt her from where he is right now.
He frightens her. Selina waits, a slingshot ready to fly – but Bane does not move beyond placing his hands slowly and deliberately on his knees.
"This broken-handed man came back to me delivering a threat," says Bane. Threat. The word is said with a breathy hiss through the mask.
Selina tilts her head, the picture of innocent curiosity. "Oh?"
"He told me the Cat sent a message. That she would kill any more rats I sent after her."
"That does sound a bit like me," says Selina with a crooked, only slightly rueful, smile.
"I therefore decided to come in person," says Bane. "With my query."
"Query?"
"Yes. I believe you have stolen something of mine," says Bane. He turns to look directly at Selina. His eyes are cold and penetrating all at once.
"Did I?" says Selina with a sad face. "Your heart?"
Bane's eyes narrow a fraction and Selina smiles.
"I am a patient man, Ms. Kyle," says Bane. "To an extent. But in a moment I am going to hurt you. Badly."
He is not bluffing. Selina hears his breathing accelerate a touch. Hers does as well, involuntarily, because there is a serious war going on between her flight and fight instincts right now.
This strikes Selina as a good time to 'fess up. "If you mean that paper I pickpocketed from you in the sewers, thanks for nothing. What was that supposed to be? Alphabet soup?"
"Where is it?" asks Bane, intense and insistent.
Selina sighs and points at a pile of books on the desk. "A Tale of Two Cities. Somewhere in the middle."
Bane rises and makes for the desk. All of his movements are deliberate and controlled, save for an impatient twitch in the fingers of his left hand. A twitch that Selina does not like.
He finds the book and shakes it by the spine. The scrap of paper floats out like the wing of a dead butterfly.
Selina does not much care for the loss of this physical copy of Bane's formula, because of course she has made copies on her phone, her laptop, and in cloud storage under twelve different usernames. Maybe it will come in useful, maybe it won't. Selina always hedges her bets.
Bane pockets the piece of paper and returns to his seat on the edge of Selina's bed with the same deliberate slowness as before.
"You know what it was," says Bane.
"Yeah, okay," admits Selina. "Some kind of anaesthetic."
Bane studies her. Selina has never been in a position where her fate is actively being decided before her eyes, but there it is.
"I am keeping you alive because I need the Batman, and you are one of those who would be able to bring him to me. Do not make me regret this decision with further foolishness of this nature."
"Seriously?" laughs Selina, and she is delighted with herself because her laughter sounds genuine. "Are you scolding me right now?"
"Scolding? No, Ms. Kyle." He lays a hand on her bare shoulder, a friendly, patronizing gesture that is heavy with threat. "I am merely warning you."
Selina wants to shrink away from his touch, but doesn't. Instead she sighs a profound and dramatic sigh.
"I guess I should refrain from further foolishness tonight, then," she says.
Bane is unsure of her meaning and looks at her questioningly.
Selina puts on a pouty face and hands something to Bane. It is the knife he had tucked into the side of his vest. The side opposite from where Selina is sitting right now.
He is genuinely surprised, as far as she can tell. At any rate, his eyebrows have risen a fraction and a huff of static-y breath emerges from the mask.
Bane looks at her with a new look, a thoughtful one. A re-evaluation.
"Sorry," says Selina, not sounding sorry at all. "Such foolishness is just in my nature. Plus, it was a nice knife."
"I have heard tales of your exploits, Ms. Kyle. Some of them I thought rather – exaggerated," says Bane. "But I see that you have some skill. What else have you taken from me tonight?"
Selina drops two keys and some strange coins onto her bedspread. "Also, your underwear," she says as the items clink softly together.
To his credit, Bane does not immediately check his pants. Yeah, so she's not that good. But she's pretty freakin' good.
And she knows that Bane values competence. And she knows that she values her life. Maybe they can find a happy middle ground.
Bane rises. Selina feels that the threat of critical danger has lifted. Now it is just regular danger, you know, the kind where there's a strange man in your bedroom and you're lying in your bed wearing only skimpy lingerie. Bane's eyes linger on her exposed shoulder for the briefest moment. Selina does not pull the cover back up, though she really wants to.
But no. This one is all about control. He turns away.
"Bring me the Batman. Then we will speak further."
He leaves.
Selina moves her .22 to the bedside table and lies awake until dawn.
VVVVV
Selina does not hear from Bane again for weeks. He keeps himself occupied with whatever nefarious deeds one gets up to in sewers, and Selina keeps herself occupied with hers.
She hears through the grapevine that Mr. John Daggett of Daggett Industries is hosting a soirée at his house, just a "small affair" of 200 or so of Gotham's wealthiest citizens. Selina did not receive an invitation. Perhaps Mr. Daggett does not know that, despite her lifestyle choices, she actually ranks among the 200 or so wealthiest citizens. Perhaps after skimming some wallets and jewel-adorned necks tonight, she will rank among the 150 or so wealthiest instead. Because by not sending Selina Kyle an invitation, Daggett has inadvertently invited the Cat to prowl his halls.
Selina gets ready. Sleeveless dress – black, of course. Nice heels, high enough to turn heads, but not so high as to impede her movement too much. A sleek updo. A simple silver necklace that highlights her delicate collarbone. A few weapons tucked discreetly here and there.
She has a cab drop her off two blocks from the Daggett residence. As Selina nears the house, she identifies her way into the party: a middle-aged corporate-looking type in a tux who is checking his phone before heading up the crowded stairs to the front door.
Selina brushes by him and accidentally drops her clutch. Laughter, thank you so much for picking that up for me, small talk, a flash of the smile – he is hers now. They make their way up the stairs. The doormen recognize Selina's escort from the photos on their invitation list and are too well-trained to ask about the woman who accompanies him; there's always a new woman in these circles. They open the doors with polite words of welcome. Selina brushes past them with the socialite smile but with just enough friendliness in her eyes that they decide they like her.
Inside, Selina helps herself to hors-d'oeuvres, nurses a glass of Italian red, chit chats, laughs, and in a few hours has made a few friends and about ninety grand. Some industrialist's wife was wearing the most breathtaking ring, and there was a lovely set of diamond earrings on another that seems to have disappeared.
Selina delights a great many men with her beauty and her wit that evening; a few have decided that they are actually in love with her. The women are less impressed, but many will wear a black sleeveless dress and sleek chignon to the next party.
It is eleven o'clock. The living rooms and sitting rooms have filled up and begin to offend Selina's sensitive nose, stinking of too many bodies, too many dowagers' perfumes, too many men sweating in black tie, too many mouths opened in superficial conversation. Selina is relieved when the party begins to spill onto the lawns and around the pool.
She makes her way to the far end of the garden and melts into the treeline at the end of the yard, studying Daggett's house from the back. There are no doubt a great many interesting things locked away on the second floor. She counts windows, locates gutters, identifies soft landing points, and decides to go explore.
A deep breath of the early summer air before plunging back into the overfull house. Selina makes her way up the grand central staircase to the second floor, where she casually leans on the massive mahogany bannister that opens to the floor below, fanning herself lazily with her clutch. To all that glance at her it, looks like she has come upstairs for a moment of respite. Meanwhile, she counts doors and matches windows to those she saw outside.
A man in black tie passes and asks her how she is enjoying the evening.
"Marvelous," she says with a smile. "But these affairs fatigue me. I just need to take a breather."
"Of course," says the man. "You know, there are quieter rooms this way. May I?"
He offers Selina his arm and leads her to the back end of the house, where more salons have been opened up for the evening, with furniture just as gaudy and ostentatious as one might expect of a classless nouveau riche like Daggett.
They find an empty sitting room. Selina collapses onto a chaise and speaks with the man, one of Daggett's VPs, as it turns out. His name is William Baker. Mid-forties. Divorced. No kids. In pretty good shape. They talk of the weather, parties, hating parties. Selina enchants him. Sometimes it's a problem, being so charming. Now she has a hanger-on when all she wants is to be alone and start scoping out the second floor.
Selina tries to hold back a yawn but fails. Baker is well-mannered. He sees the yawn and apologizes for having tired her even further – his fault entirely, he knew she was already fatigued. He suggests that she lay there quietly for a few minutes. He snaps his fingers at a passing server and tells him to see to it that the lady is not disturbed. He turns back to Selina, tells her that he will be downstairs. He hopes to see her there again shortly; the night is young, and he has enjoyed their conversation so much. Here is his card, in case they miss each other. He shuts the door behind him.
The door mutes the music and hundred conversations emanating from below. Finally. Selina sits up immediately, alert as ever. There is nothing of interest in this room except for a bowl of chocolate bonbons on the coffee table. She pops one into her mouth, then exits the room by a side door.
It opens onto another salon with a few scattered groups of people having quiet conversations. Selina smiles shyly at them as she passes through. She tries other doors – a guest suite, a powder room, storage, a media room...
Selina narrows down her options until she comes to an unlit hallway at the front of the house. This must be the master suite, perhaps the study is this way too. She follows the hallway until she reaches a thick door. Selina tries the handle then rolls her eyes. Why do they always waste their time with locks?
Anyone who really wants to get in, will get in. Fact.
Selina swings open the heavy door thirty seconds later and closes it behind her.
Three things happen simultaneously: the faint light from the hallway is shut out, the sounds of the party fade to almost nothing, and a hint of camphor tickles her nose.
At least she smells him before she sees him; it gives her enough time to compose herself. But, can she just ask, what the bloody hell is he doing here?
"We have to stop running into each other like this," says Selina so calmly that she almost sounds bored.
Her eyes are still adjusting to the darkness and so she does not know where to turn to speak to him. For all she knows, he is behind her. Her ears strain for a hint of his amplified breathing.
"Indeed," comes Bane's gravelly voice. His tone is agreeable, genial almost. "It seems we are destined to cross paths."
Behind her. Of course. Selina pivots.
"May I ask what you are doing in the private wing of Mr. Daggett's residence tonight, Ms. Kyle?" asks Bane. "I believe he had locked the door."
Selina shrugs in exaggerated nonchalance. "I could ask you the same."
Bane makes a breathy sound that might be a scoff. "You could."
There is a pause during which Selina can feel herself being studied. "You look different when you are not outfitted to burgle, Ms. Kyle. You make a very passable high-society lady."
Selina raises an eyebrow. In truth she wishes she was in her catsuit now – it is extremely difficult to pull off a proper roundhouse in a dress this tight. "Thank you. I think."
Her eyes adjust and she can make out Bane better now, three feet away from her. He is wearing dark, vaguely military clothing, leaning against the door she just came through, arms crossed comfortably on his chest. He is the picture of composure, ease, and control.
The sound of Bane's slow, mask-filtered breathing confirms it. Though Selina has barged in here unexpectedly, he is utterly unconcerned. She, on the other hand, is really not enjoying the surprise company.
There is a power imbalance here and it is not in her favour. For Selina, that is not the usual order of things.
Selina notices a brace on Bane's right wrist and makes a note to hit him hard there one day.
"So. Here to relieve Mr Daggett of some of his possessions?" asks Bane. Selina thinks he is trying to be humorous, but it is hard to tell. The mask does strange things to his inflections.
"Oh, you know… just exploring," says Selina. She begins to look around the room and in the darkness spots a desk, a computer, and in the furthest corner, a safe. Her eyes light up and she makes her way to it. It is an excellent pretext for getting out of Bane's immediate vicinity.
"I cannot allow you to do that," says Bane as Selina squats in front of the safe. He still hasn't moved.
"Whyever not?" asks Selina in her most honeyed tones.
"This is the home of my current employer," says Bane. "I feel a degree of… responsibility."
"Employer?" repeats Selina. She unglues her eyes from the safe long enough to look at Bane incredulously. "What, are you one of Daggett's rent-a-cops? He must have some pretty damn nice stuff to protect, if he's hired you. Now I'm really curious about what's in here."
Selina has heard that Bane is a mercenary. But it seems unaccountably strange that someone like Daggett would need to hire a mercenary. He's in the construction industry. Why are they even associated with each other? What is Daggett protecting, or hiding, or plotting?
Does she actually care? No, not really, as long as whatever naughty thing they're up to does not interfere with the many naughty things that she's up to.
"Anyway," says Selina, examining the safe despite Bane's warning, "I thought you were Gotham's liberator, not Daggett's personal po-po."
"The two positions are not mutually exclusive," says Bane. "For now."
The for now is ominous, or it would be if Selina were remotely interested in Daggett's affairs or well-being. Sucks to be Daggett, apparently Bane is eventually going to off him.
The safe makes small beeping sounds as Selina experimentally touches some buttons. It is partially instinct, partially ten thousand hours of practice, that makes her so good at cracking these things.
She unlocks it on the third try. A small light shines green, indicating that the door can be opened.
"I would not be much of a mercenary if I allowed you to rob my employer before my eyes," says Bane. He still has not moved from his spot by the door, but he has shifted his stance. His breathing stays regular.
Selina is now powerfully curious about what is in the safe, unlocked in front of her, but the old adage about curiosity and the untimely death of the cat has always rung very true for her. She will bide her time on this one.
"You're no fun," says Selina. She twirls out of her squat and seats herself lightly on the safe instead, one foot on the floor, one heel resting on the safe. It is a beautiful, elegant pose, intended to distract – and it also gives her leverage to vault to the desk and from there to the partially-opened window. Her muscles are primed for the trajectory, because Bane has tensed as well.
Bane doesn't move, so Selina does not leap yet. She looks at him unconcernedly, then pulls a chocolate bonbon out of nowhere and takes a slow bite.
"Want some?" asks Selina, holding the half-eaten buttery sphere of chocolate out towards him.
A muscle in Bane's arm twitches and she sees his jaw clench along the edge of the mask.
Selina shrugs when Bane doesn't answer and eats the bonbon herself. Distraction tactics. "How do you eat, anyway? The mask must make things a little difficult."
There is a pause as Bane digests Selina's understatement. "Yes, Ms. Kyle. It does."
"So do you just, like, drink Ensure through a straw?"
She knows that she is pushing it; the guy has his pride. He confirms this by taking a step forward. One pace.
She didn't flinch when he moved. Gold star for Selina.
"Your tongue will get you in trouble, little cat," says Bane.
"It also gets me out of it," says Selina, licking her fingertips free of melted chocolate quite significantly.
"So we've covered why I'm here tonight," says Selina. "Why are you here?"
She wants Bane to lean back against the wall and give her another second of flight time. He does not grant her silent wish.
"Business," says Bane.
His eyes follow her legs, then take in the way her palms are pressed casually, but firmly, against the safe. He knows what she's about. He's good.
"Really?" says Selina with a raised brow. "Business. With Daggett. You're looking to get into the construction industry?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Selina gives Bane a very cynical look.
"Perhaps reconstruction would be more accurate," says Bane after a beat.
"What are you reconstructing?" asks Selina.
"Everything," says Bane.
"Are you always this cryptic?"
"My meaning will become clearer to you in time, Ms. Kyle."
"Why can't you just say what you mean?"
Bane's eyes bore into hers. "I only ever say what I mean."
Selina sighs. Her patience and curiosity have run out simultaneously. Time to blow this popsicle stand. She glances at her options – window or door? Bane knows about the window. Let's be daring.
"Well, it's been nice chatting," says Selina, all grace and politeness, as though Bane is one of the businessmen in love with her downstairs and they have idled too long over cocktails and caprese brochettes.
She stands, rearranges her dress, touches her hair. "I'd better get back downstairs before I'm missed."
It amuses her that Bane is slightly incredulous as she walks directly up to him and brushes by him to reach for the door handle.
Only, apparently she wasn't supposed to do that. Apparently she was supposed to take the coward's exit. Apparently he decides that she is not afraid of him enough.
A hand rests heavily on the side of her neck.
Selina would rather not be unceremoniously killed right here, right now, and so she freezes completely. She doesn't even frisk him, which is saying something.
There is a moment that lasts an eon, when Bane's heavy hand rests against the delicate skin of Selina's neck, when they stand unmoving and their eyes lock and they think of a hundred ways to kill one another here in this dark, silent room.
And then they blink, and that is the state of affairs when Daggett bursts into the study. Selina recognizes him from downstairs; short, greying, talks with a lisp.
Daggett stares open-mouthed at the tableau in front of him for a few seconds.
"What exactly is going on here?" he asks, finally, blustering with indignation and self-importance.
Selina's reaction is immediate. Righteous indignation colours her words. "I took a wrong turn to the ladies' room. The next thing I know, this guy is manhandling me and accusing me of trespassing. I'm here with Colonel Tully," she says, using the name of the first unattached man she can remember meeting that evening.
Daggett looks from one to the other. Oddly, Bane does not blow Selina's cover.
Selina is an excellent actress. She looks at Daggett expectantly, and, when he dithers, stomps a heel and imperiously asks him to call his dog off of her.
Daggett gestures at Bane, who holds Selina for one more long second before letting her go.
"Frankly I'm not sure why you keep such a hothead in your employ, Mr. Daggett," she says, touching her neck. "You'd think you were keeping state secrets in your study. The Colonel will hear about this."
Before anyone can say anything further, Selina brushes angrily past the men and stabs her way down the hall in her stilettos.
VVVVV