Author's note: Yickes, the first iteration of this chapter was a royal formatting mess. Sorry about that!

So, this story. It's a bit of a series finale sequel, with Bruce returning to begin his Batman vigilantism, but also kind of a retcon of how well (i.e. rebuilt) everything is in the finale. While Bruce was gone, the city devolved and became at the mercy of those with means, who began rebuilding, gentrifying and expanding a "safe haven" territory known as "Victory". And Wayne Enterprises is at the center of it all. Bruce obviously has no idea how this all came to be; it's a mystery to everyone. So he strikes a bargain with Selina to help him figure out what happened.

Throughout the story, my Bruce and Selina were inspired both by the TV show and by the Tom King run of Batman comics. I feel his is the most human and realistic characterization of the characters in the comics. And I tried to emulate some of the speech patterns from the TK run while also keeping true to the speech patterns of the Gotham show.

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

Story's rated M already because I've already written like 10 chapters, and there's... good stuff coming ;)

CHAPTER ONE

A few years ago, Gotham would have greeted you quite differently. The streets, the people, everything, was once an industrial gem of a metropolis, vibrant and bustling with men, women and children going places and toiling hard. It used to have an awe-inspiring skyline and its underbelly had soul.

But, now, somehow… Gotham was in shambles, nearly razed to the ground after what people had come to call the Cataclysm ten years ago. The streets now oozed danger, and what few civilians remained had lost all hope that Gotham would one day return to its glory days. It just seemed impossible.

And with the cold, freezing rain drumming down tonight, hardening the winter-bound city into a frozen wasteland, it just seemed even harder to understand that it had once been a beautiful city to behold. Its destruction now lay quasi-suspended in time, with gutted housing boarded up against the elements to survive the winter and keep criminals out.

And then there was the thriving Victory neighbourhood, whose gated community consisted of the virtually untouched glittering palazzos of the gentry. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Wayne Enterprises lay in the midst of the frenzy of mostly uninhabited condo skyscrapers and office buildings.

Selina didn't make it a habit to slip into Wayne Enterprises events, not because it was a boring pain in her posterior, which it was, but because the stuffiness and bigotry made her skin crawl. When her funds ran low, though, these kinds of events raked in the dough. So, she couldn't argue that it was always worth it despite her trepidation regarding these galas.

She'd already hit her goal for the night while mingling and faux-reminiscing with a young tart whose glass had been refilled one too many times, a dapper financier whom she'd robbed blind while he'd been entranced by her salacious overtures, and more who'd be befuddled when they'd regain their senses and realised they'd been fleeced.

For now, she'd just hang back and take in some free food and drinks until she couldn't take the stuffiness anymore. That moment was fast approaching, but she still had a plate or two to go before she herself was stuffed.

Suddenly, polite applause rang throughout the room. Surprised, Selina turned from the buffet and toward the elegantly dressed dais where a man was adjusting the microphone. Ah, yes, the mandatory trite speech to soothe the souls of Victory that their generous donations would be well spent on rebuilding the city in its previous grandeur. Except the rest of Gotham would barely see that money, now would it…

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

That voice, Selina thought, her glass of champagne clattering to the floor as the applause continued, masking her silly reaction. But she didn't hear it.

"My name is Bruce Wayne."

She didn't hear the rest of his speech. Couldn't, for the rush of blood in her ears. Reeling backwards, she grasped at the buffet table for balance, not trusting her legs to not give out on her. She sucked in a gulp of air, staring at a complete and utter stranger. Except not really.

And ten years older.

She'd heard him last month when he'd demanded he return the diamond she'd stolen from the museum. But she hadn't seen him. Both of those things were now butting her and the past and all its whirlwind emotions were rushing up to meet her. She just felt numb and nauseous.

He was taller, his shoulders wider, his face more defined. Stubble darkened his patrician jaw, and his eyes seemed… darker. His dark hair was tamed back loosely. And his skin had the telltale burnished shade of the outdoors.

Had she changed as much, Selina wondered as Bruce ended his speech to the polite claps of the assembled Victorians. She took mental stock of herself: leaner, harder. Disguised in a delicately glittering number, with her hair swept up just so, she looked soft and pliant. Gentle. Alluring. Gentry. But that veneer covered the fact that after this she'd go home to a dilapidated house outside Victory and curl up with her cat under a pile of blankets to stave off the shivers. She'd fall asleep eventually, with a hand on the knife under her pillow.

The string quartet picked up where they had left off before, and a man excused himself past her at the buffet. A waiter silently bent to clean her mess. Selina muttered an apology, extricating herself away before he could look up in confusion. No one excused themselves in this crowd.

Another waiter passed by, holding champagne glasses. She grabbed one on the fly, gulping it down quickly before placing it down on a nearby table.

All right. Enough.

She'd known Bruce was in town. They'd spoken last month on the rooftop after all. Or rather, she'd spoken at him, and he hadn't said much to make her feel any better. He hadn't said anything for ten years either. Nor for the past month, either.

So, seriously? She had to get the hell out of here.

Hissing with the beginnings of a headache, Selina looked up, and there he was. Mere meters away, mingling with some glitzy socialite girls, smile in place. Then she spotted the cane. And he glanced over.

Selina froze an instant too long, because by the time she started turning away, he'd already excused himself from the pretty group. Selina hauled ass in her high heels, but it was already too late.

"Selina."

Shit. Selina weaved more quickly through the throngs, unceremoniously pushing gentle patrons out of the way.

Reconnecting was not on her agenda; it hadn't been for a long time. "Should've thought about that before you left, asshole," she gritted to herself against her teeth as she reached the gala's entrance. There, Selina groaned, remembering that she'd have to grab her coat from the concierge. So much for a quick exit.

Warm fingers, then a palm, slid onto her bare shoulder. Selina exhaled shakily, hating that her heart skipped a beat. She whirled, cornered. "Hi."

Bruce's hand slid away. "Hi." The deeper voice still confused her.

"You're spry for a cripple." She nodded coldly at his cane, very much aware that it was a disguise. No invalid could have followed her this fast.

Bruce glanced down at the extra appendage. "When needs must."

Selina scoffed. "Oh, don't worry, you don't must." A cool gust made her shiver as someone came in from a cigarette break. "I was on my way, have a nice lif-"

Bruce interrupted her. "Did you return the diamond?" he asked quietly.

The nerve! She glared. "You followed me all the way here to ask me that? Wow, Bruce." She clapped slowly. "You're impressively boring!"

As she began moving away again, Bruce grabbed her back, bringing her in close. "Listen, I'm trying to fix Gotham, Selina. Are you in trouble? I'll help you if that's why you stole it," he finished softly.

With a guffaw, Selina drew back. "Bruce… you have no right to waltz back into my life and assume I'm a damsel in distress. So, kindly return to your little party and leave me the hell alone, thanks."

Moving towards the coat check, she handed the valet there her ticket and waited, glaring at Bruce's immobile form standing there in the middle of Way Tower's entrance. When her coat was handed to her she slid it on, and then against her better judgment she walked back towards Bruce, who wasn't even acknowledging patrons greeting him. There she sighed. "Bruce… welcome back, but… open your eyes. This…" she said, encompassing the lavish gala behind him, "doesn't help Gotham."

He sighed, pinching his nose. "I know."

A Wayne Enterprises board member called his name, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble over his cane a bit. "Bruce Wayne! Just who I wanted to see!"

"Mister Farley, I-"

Selina took that as her cue. "Have a nice life, Bruce," she muttered in his ear, before marching resolutely towards the door.

She needed to put as much distance between them as possible, because right now her heart was thudding in her throat and she did not want to look back. She'd glanced his look of dismay in her direction as the board member all but dragged him away, but didn't want to deal with him anymore. She'd already said her piece on the rooftop last month.

You were all I had… I wanted you…

The cold bite of winter greeted her as the door was swung open for her.

#

Selina drew her coat lapels closer together as she clopped through Victory's well-lit and well-cleared main boulevard. Most of the neighbourhood was attending the Wayne Enterprises gala tonight, so the road was mostly empty save for a few late attendees driving in or the rare intoxicated ambler just waiting to be robbed… which she gladly obliged once or twice.

Soon her path would become a little more complicated, as she'd have to move to rooftops so she could traverse into unsafe territory. Victory had enacted a moratorium on low-class entries and exits a few years ago. Essentially a curfew. Lower class workers and the like must remain on the other side of town at night. Then again, it prevented overtime.

Selina didn't possess a Victory licence, of course, which was why her Victory activities were always executed under clandestine measures.

Slipping between a boutique and a hotel, Selina breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her bag at the end of the alleyway. Bending down, she unzipped it, quickly pulling out the boots she desperately needed. Her toes positively melted as she slid them on, groaning in pleasure. Next came her mask. Tonight didn't call for her usual alter ego's complete disguise, which comprised a slick figure-hugging suite and cat-eared cowl. Her old face mask would suffice to get through to her neighbourhood. Ah, and her trusty whip, just in case. She stuffed the gala shoes and her loot into the bag.

Selina slipped on the mask and shouldered the bag, then got to work climbing the boutique's fire escape. The trick about Victory was being quiet. Not many people came out at night in the area, so the periphery guards were especially wired about any noise.

Reaching the roof, she crouched and watched for any activity close by. All good. From her squat, she padded across, careful not to slide across the slick frozen surface. She'd kill for a Victory licence. Most of her targets resided in the area, so she often ended up hopping over the territory lines like this. But then again, where would be the fun in legally crossing over?

The Victory perimetre approaching, Selina hunkered low, watching the guards below and on the watchtowers that they'd erected in recent years. Timing was everything. Once she got their boring routine down pat, she backed away, counting down in her head.

Three, two, one.

And soared across the divide, planting first one boot then the other down noiselessly on the watchtower's roof. Another soar, this time with the help of her whip, and she was safely across the border without a hitch, disappearing behind a structure.

Selina smiled. God, she loved the feeling of defying gravity. With a small hum of satisfaction she slid and jumped her way back to the gutted mansion she called home. Looted beyond belief, it was now just a shell of its former self, but it did its job of homing her and no one came to loot it anymore.

Sometimes she liked to imagine the house in its former grandeur, with a butler and a cook and perhaps a governess since no one took care of their own in houses like these.

The place had begun to grow on her, she had to admit. Selina tended to move from place to place every few weeks, wary of habits and leaving trails. But this one… well… the master bedroom had done it. That room alone was at least four times the size of one of the largest hideouts she'd ever squatted in her life, and it also somewhat reminded her of…

Selina sighed.

A few times over the year before he left on his grand inner search adventure of the century, or whatever, Bruce had shared his king-sized bed with her. They were young, then, and so fucking innocent.

She'd loved his bed. It was warmer than the guest bedroom's, with his scent embedded in the sheets, and she'd fall asleep to the lulling sound of his breathing in the darkness. In the mornings she'd feel like the proverbial cat's meow, stretching languorously as the sun filtered through the gossamer curtains and the smell of fresh international coffee and butter pancakes wafted up the grand staircase from Alfred's station in the kitchen. Sometimes she'd even hear the butler hum an old band tune when he felt particularly jovial. And then sometimes she'd wake up to Bruce watching her sleepily with a soft smile on his lips.

Selina shook her head, climbing in through the window and placing the boards back where they belonged. Another successful night's work, done.

Bending down, she kissed her purring tabby Isis hello and proceeded to take off her gloves and mask. Then she shook off her boots, slipping her feet into thick slippers.

"Isis, we did really well tonight," she announced, digging into her knapsack. "Look at the goods… Should hold us till next month."

#

Selina sat up in bed in the dim light, knife already in hand, and shivered. What the hell? She'd closed the window. The fire was still roaring in the fireplace. It shouldn't be cold. Except then she felt it. The tingle of awareness. And then Isis hissed next to her. With a groan she grabbed the tabby in her arms to prevent a savage castration.

"The hell are you doing here?"

Bruce appeared from the shadows, stowing a grappling gun into his expensive coat's pocket. And, noticeably, no cane in sight. A car rumbled from the street. "I could ask the same of you," he said, taking in her digs.

Selina scoffed. "City of dreams, what can I say." Pushing her blankets off, she padded over to him with Isis in her arms, narrowing her eyes. "Did you get lost on your way out of Victory? Wayne Manor's that-"

He grabbed her pointing finger with a scowl. "I know the way, thanks." He nodded at her bedside table. "That your loot from today?"

Selina sighed, putting Isis down. She crossed her arms on the way back up, incredulous. "Did you really traipse all the way here to judge me?" Then another thought pushed that one aside. "Wait, how did you know where I live? Did you follow me home tonight and then wait out in the cold for me to fall asleep?" That was… a whole level of weird.

"Whoa." Lifting his hands up, Bruce took a step closer, moving back when Isis hissed. He coughed. "I… put a tracer on you at the gala before you left."

Of course. When she'd leaned in before hauling ass. Clever. Disturbing. "That is so-"

"Wrong. I know." He stabbed a hand through his disheveled hair. "But I wanted to make sure you're-"

"I'm fine," Selina chuckled. "More than fine." She gestured at the opulence around her. "Living the dream in the Cataclysm. Hope you opened your eyes, Bruce, because this is the real Gotham." From the peeled paint to the chipped furniture.

Her stared for a moment at her, silent, and then attempted again to take a step, reaching a hand out. This time she stepped back. Something dark passed through his eyes, and he balled his fist, lowering it and his eyes slowly. "Selina," he said softly, "I'm sorry for what I did. But I had to. Gotham was-"

"-is worse off than when you left," Selina finished for him. "The gang wars are worse, and the politicians grease their fingers as usual. So you leaving? Accomplished nothing. You-" she jabbed at his torso, "are not responsible for Gotham's fall into even bigger madness." She scoffed. "You thought everything would go back to normal once you left? It didn't."

"I left to train, Selina."

She laughed at his face. "Train for what? The circus? Because that's what this city's become. A fucking circus." She danced away, humming a circus tune. "And everyone's a fucking clown!"

Suddenly tired, she just plopped onto her bed, shaking her head at what her life had become.

Slowly, warily, Bruce sat next to her. "I'm sorry I put you through that," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Selina sighed, accepting his long fingers weaving slowly through hers. She shrugged. "I survived."

"And I screwed up."

Looking up, she caught his gaze in the window's reflection. "You did."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Repeating yourself won't make me forgive you any faster."

He chuckled wryly. "Noted." A beat passed, then he stood up. "I should go. Board meeting tomorrow." He drew his hood over his hair. "Don't be a stranger, Selina… To me or to Wayne Manor. I… You never needed to just survive," he said, nodding at the mansion's musty master bedroom around them.

Selina hugged herself. Many a time she'd gone to the Wayne Manor ruins during his absence. She'd remembered his bed with longing. She'd recalled seeing him walk out from the en-suite. She'd grieved his destroyed belongings. She'd watched crews first clean the bombed site and then rebuild it from the ground up.

After reconstruction Alfred had simply covered the new furniture with drapes, and she'd left with her heart in her throat, confused. Had he died? Was he never coming back? Had he lied to her in his farewell letter? To break things off more easily? She'd grieved the betrayal. Nursed her anger. Vowed to forget.

"I…" Selina bit her lip. Now, she didn't know how she felt. "Bruce, I… couldn't."

He sighed, moving to the boarded-up window. With his hand on it, he thumbed the latch, thoughtful. "Be careful." And then he was gone, and Selina shivered at the gust, then stared at the ceiling as Isis came to cuddle against her.

Funny, she felt like she was grieving again.