Larry Boodry: Here she is! Just warning you, there'll be another Selina-centeric chapter shortly, but after that, things will focus on the heist mainly and we won't see as much of her for a bit.

4EverAGallagherGirl: Thank you! Yes, the well scene was supposed to pay homage to Batman's origin. I have a bunch of stories planned if there's interest. If I continue with these, Batman himself probably won't show up for another few stories, but I think you'll see Bruce taking big steps toward that even in the next story. Here, he's mostly just broody and lost, not sure what to do with himself.


CHAPTER 9

The door clicked as Bruce turned the handle to the kitchen, stepping inside. He was drenched, dripping water onto the floor tiles. Alfred was still in there, back turned, no longer on the phone, but jotting something down on a notepad. Bruce opened a kitchen drawer, rummaging around for a first aid kit. He knew there was one in there somewhere.

"Well, I spoke with Gotham Gazette," Alfred said, back still turned. "Cleared up a few things, and there should be a full clarification in tomorrow's newspaper. Also did a little PR work and called Gotham's Homeless Foundation. Doubled our donation to them from last year, so if they have any complaints, they certainly won't now." He finished writing something down on the paper and turned, taking in Bruce's soaked and battered appearance for the first time. "Good God! What happened to you?"

Bruce winced, finding the first aid-kit and pulling it onto the counter. "Fell," he said. "Down the well on our property."

"Isn't that filled in?" Alfred asked, rounding the counter to get a better look at the gash on Bruce's face.

"Not very well," Bruce said. He took a seat on the stool. "The sand's sunk over the years and the boards covering it rotted through. Didn't realize, and fell in. Wasn't very deep though," he added, as Alfred inspected the cut. "Only about three or four feet."

Thunder sounded outside.

"Right," Alfred said, pulling an alcohol swab from the first aid kit and ripping the packet open. "I'll add that to the list of things to be repaired around here once I've fixed you up. This will probably sting," he added. Bruce closed his eyes as Alfred cleaned the wound, his skin burning when the alcohol made contact with the open flesh. The pain seemed to radiate to his core, oddly warming him through despite his sopping clothing.

"Almost done," Alfred said when he finished dabbing antibiotic ointment on. He began applying butterfly bandages. Lightning flashed outside the windows. "Good as new," Alfred said, closing the first aid kit with a snap. "How about I make us tea while you get some dry clothes?"

Bruce pulled a sweater over his head, eyeing the reflection in his bedroom mirror. His hair was still wet and hung over his eyes. He hadn't cut it in months. The butterflies on his face held the gash mostly closed, though a thin red line still ran down his cheek. There were bags under his eyes and he thought he looked a little pale. His throat felt scratchy. The sky was dark outside, though it was only early afternoon. Bruce left his room to head down the staircase to the kitchen, pushing his wet bangs out of his eyes.

"Ah, Bruce," Alfred called as he came into the kitchen. "Why don't you come sit in the living room with us?" Alfred placed biscuits on a tray already holding a teapot and cups.

Bruce frowned at Alfred's choice of words, following him toward the living room. He noticed there were three cups on the tray Alfred was holding. "Who-" he began, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer. Sure enough, Selina was in the living room, hair wet and tousled, sprawled in an armchair, her legs hanging over the armrest. She was reading that days' paper.

"You can't leave well enough alone, can you Bruce?" Selina asked seriously. "You know, I'm living in that Square 4 Housing complex. I can't believe you're destroying my home."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, taking a seat on the couch.

She grinned. "I'm joking, you selfish ultra-high-net-worth individual." She frowned at the newspaper. "That's what he called you, right?"

"Very funny, Selina," Bruce said, pouring himself a cup of tea as Alfred set the tray down.

"If that's the same Timothy Alvareck I knew back in the day, he's full of it. Manipulative little liar." Selina looked up at Bruce, narrowing her eyes at the cut on his face. "Nice bandaids. Pretty."

"Thank you," he said seriously.

"Your tea, Ms. Kyle," Alfred said, handing her a ceramic cup of steaming eucalyptus. "And some gauze," he pulled a white roll of bandages from his apron pocket and handed it to her before taking his own seat on the couch.

"Ah, thanks, Alfred," Selina said. She set the cup of tea down and began bandaging her left wrist with the roll of gauze. "Slipped," she explained to Bruce, wrapping her hand up. "In the rain. Just around the corner from here. Sprained my wrist when I fell." She didn't explain what she had been doing 'just around the corner', and Bruce did not ask.

A brief silence fell over the room as Selina finished wrapping her hand. Bruce drank from his mug, the hot tea soothing against his throat. The sound of heavy rain pounded against the windows.

"How's the physical therapy going?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Uh… good," Selina didn't seem convinced. "It might be a little longer than I expected though." She pursed her lips, indicating that she did not want to talk about it. She picked up her tea, taking a sip and scrunched her nose with distaste. She set the cup down firmly on the table. "Oh, that's… good," she lied, glancing at Alfred.

"It's a luxury blend and excellent for your health." Alfred appeared amused. The rain grew heavier, hammering on the glass windows. "Would you listen to that downpour? Beautiful, isn't it?"

Selina snorted. "I hate the rain. If you go outside, you get wet." She tilted her head, considering, and picked up her tea again to take another sip. "I suppose it's nice if you're rich and live in a warm mansion without a leaking roof," she mused. She didn't say it with anger, or bitterness, just a statement of fact – something she had just realized.

Bruce watched her, a sad feeling rising in his stomach. He never forgot, certainly, that she had lived most her life on the streets, but sometimes he would catch a glimpse beyond what he knew street-life entailed. He didn't feel sorry for her and he never had – she was certainly strong enough to take care of herself – but it saddened him to think of a life where rain meant you had to find a new place to live.

Selina noticed him staring and shifted in her seat. He looked away.

Silence fell over the room once more. Alfred took a long sip of his tea, looking at the two of them. Bruce didn't know what to say. He was glad Selina was there, not fighting with him, even making jokes, but it was still an odd dynamic. He didn't know where they stood exactly in their relationship. Was she still upset with him? It helped having Alfred in the room. He was easy company that they could both be themselves around, and his presence meant that they did not have to deal directly with the complications in their relationship.

Yet.

But Bruce preferred it this way for now. Between being kicked off the police force and falling into the well, he'd had enough drama for one day.

"Uh… How's your police work going?" Selina asked, breaking the silence.

Bruce grimaced. "Not great. I've been acting as an intermediary between our plant and the police, but with my name plastered over every newspaper in Gotham," he indicated the paper Selina was holding, "I'm just going to lie low for a while. I'll be at the gala to help out, but then…" he glanced at Alfred, not sure what to say. "I guess I'll have to figure something else out."

"Sucks," Selina said, shaking her head. "Cops. They always turn on you, right?"

Bruce gave a wry smile. "Probably for very different reasons."

Selina grinned. She set her mostly untouched cup of tea down on the table and made to stand up.

"Thanks for the tea Alfred. And the bandage. I'd better get going though. Have another physical therapy session today."

Alfred nodded his head in acknowledgement of her thanks.

"Bruce. Will you walk me out?" Selina asked.

Bruce looked up in surprise. "Course," he said.

Alfred glanced at Selina. "Right." He said. "I'll go call you a cab." He exited the room.

Bruce and Selina stood for a moment, standing on opposite sides of the coffee table.

"Shall we?" Selina asked, tilting her head toward the door.

"Mmm." Bruce nodded, stepping around the coffee table to escort her out. They left the living room together, Selina limping alongside Bruce. He wasn't sure if he had just never payed enough attention before, but he thought her limp seemed the slightest bit heavier than the last time they had seen each other and wondered if she had hurt more than just her wrist in the fall.

"I just wanted to thank you," Selina said. "For lending me Alfred those two years. It must have been hard for you without him." She said simply, looking up at Bruce.

He said nothing, wondering if this was a set up. He felt suddenly on edge again. What did she mean by that? Was it a condescending remark about how Bruce couldn't live two years without a butler, or a genuine comment recognizing that, for her, Bruce had given up the closest thing he had to family? They walked down the hall and stepped outside onto the covered porch. It was still pouring rain, but they were able to have a clear view of the road without getting wet while they waited for Selina's taxi.

She smiled. "You know, he really helped me through some tough times. When I thought I might not walk again, he was always the one telling me not to listen to the doctors, pressing them to look for other options. Always optimistic. And then after the surgery, always positive, encouraging." She grinned. "And I've developed a taste for fine wines because of him. And Egyptian cotton linens. But don't tell him his taste in tea still sucks," she winked conspiratorially. "To be honest, I think I've grown a little spoilt over the past two years. It's hard, adjusting to Gotham city life after Swiss chocolate and Turkish cotton towels."

Bruce grunted. "Where are you staying, Selina?"

She pursed her lips. "Do you really want to know? There's a maintenance room in the Concord Towers that's got a lot of supplies."

He drew his brows together in a frown. Concord Towers was one of the wealthier sections of Gotham, but he couldn't imagine that their maintenance rooms were very accommodating. "Really? Selina, you don't have to be there. You know you're always welcome here."

She waved his offer away. "I know, but it's just temporary. A friend and I are planning to rent a place together soon."

Bruce looked skeptical. "You know I can tell when you're lying."

She smiled. "Not always, Bruce. Not always."

They watched the rain come down in silence for a few minutes. A yellow cab finally pulled into their driveway.

Selina said goodbye to Bruce and even gave him a quick hug before leaving. Bruce stayed outside, leaning against the wood barristers, watching the yellow taxi pull away in the torrential downpour. When the cab finally drove out of sight, Bruce turned to head back inside. He opened the front door, realizing as he stepped through it that it seemed each time Selina had left through here, they had been on better terms. The thought struck him that he could probably count the times Selina had ever used his front door on both hands.

"Taxi arrived?" Alfred asked as Bruce made his way into the kitchen.

He nodded.

"You alright?" Alfred asked, looking up at him.

Bruce was always impressed with Alfred's ability to read him. "My throat's just been hurting. I think I may be coming down with something."

"Off to bed," Alfred said sternly.

"It's only four o'clock in the afternoon," Bruce protested.

"When you need sleep, it doesn't matter what time of day it is," Alfred said wisely.

Bruce deliberated. He had literally nothing better to do, and if he was coming down with something, he probably should rest it off. He headed toward the stairs.

"I'll bring you an Aspirin," Alfred called. "Your body is probably just reacting to the change of weather."

"Or the fact that I have nothing to do," Bruce mumbled.