Hey guys, hope everyone's safe during this pandemic. Keep washing your hands and social distancing; that's the only way we'll beat this asshole ;)

CHAPTER THREE

The gigantic front door opened to Alfred in his eternal elegant butler uniform, looking smug as a bug. "Just a cheeky security upgrade," he quipped by way of greeting, his voice just the timbre of hoarse she remembered.

"I noticed," Selina replied tartly. She'd tried her old mode of entrance into the manor and had met with stubbornly locked windows.

"I'll let you experience the front door. It's quite something," he said, motioning her into the vast foyer regally, and then clasped his hands behind his back when she entered. "How's it feel then?"

Selina shrugged, thoroughly unimpressed. "I feel like a home body."

"It grows on you."

"I'll find a crack. There's always a crack." She'd relish the challenge.

Alfred gestured for her to follow him into the depths of a large hallway. She fell into pace. "Cracks get patched, miss."

Selina chuckled. "So, what, ten years ago you were too lazy to care?"

"Ten years ago someone nearly died in the old manor, and then it exploded," Alfred replied carefully. "One rethinks one's defense measures after such events."

She dipped her head, unwilling to delve into that can of worms. Looking around, she busied herself studying the new construction. "I could swear it looks the same but… not really."

Alfred paused in his footsteps, gazing around wistfully. "Ah, yes. The structure is much the same - Master Bruce insisted on the old blueprints tucked into the town hall - but the artwork and furniture were destroyed in the explosion, and so this is a bit of mixture of old and new. We had some pieces in storage, and some are new acquisitions."

Selina leaned in. "What's your preference?" she asked conspiratorially.

He played along. "I'm rather partial to the old manor's styling, I'm afraid," he whispered back. Sighing dramatically, the butler resumed walking onward. "Of course, Master Bruce has developed his own... preferences."

Selina didn't technically need the guidance through the manor, considering Bruce had favoured the old layout - she'd stayed at the old manor often enough, especially during her stint as a key witness to the murder of Bruce's parents - but she allowed herself to be accompanied as she threw little peeks into every room they passed as surreptitiously as she could. They all embodied the spirit of their previous incarnations, but were a little less anchored into the baroque and rococo styles they'd displayed that was so linked with old money.

Ornate Corinthian columns scattered throughout the old manor had been replaced with more sober Doric ones, with less emphasis on rich woods and detailing, and more so put on clean lines and a breathier, paler, more modern look.

While she'd often felt overwhelmed in the old manor, Selina had felt the warm touch of every generation of Waynes in their home, from genuine carved cherrywood furniture and walls to gigantic paintings of ancestors in the corridors, with elaborate, priceless crystal chandeliers and authentic Italian marble floors. She'd felt… tiny. Humbled beyond belief.

She remembered acting nonchalant, nonplussed, but actually feeling like she really didn't belong, and yet… yearning to belong. She'd never quite gotten over the unsettled feeling, actually, but at least repeated visits had dulled the non-conformance that would cloy at her.

As she and Alfred neared the room she knew to be Bruce's father's old office, where Bruce had seemed to spend the majority of his time as a boy, Selina's heart thudded louder in her chest, and a dull ache spread in her belly. This was, after all, the room where she'd once brushed with death. Walking back into that room was the last thing she'd ever wanted to do afterwards.

Alfred rapped the door softly; Selina swallowed around a dry throat, her hand crisping around the strap of her shoulder bag. Fight or flight, she thought to herself.

"Come in," came the deep voice from within.

In they entered, Alfred briskly, Selina gingerly. Her eyes fell on the man seated at a large empire style executive desk, clacking away at a laptop with large document sheafs piled next to him and a huge library of thick tomes behind him. Everything was different, and yet nothing was.

"Miss Kyle here to see you, Master B," Alfred announced, standing back. "Will that be all?" he requested of his employer.

Gingerly, Selina stepped further in, staring longingly out at Wayne Manor's snowy grounds, where she would have preferred to be at present instead of feeling trapped inside the manor itself. Sighing, she turned her back to the huge windows, resigned to her current fate.

Bruce emerged from his focused typing, his eyes falling on her. He stood, lowering the flap of his laptop but not entirely shutting it. Whatever was on it was seemingly not sensitive information, she thought.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, directing the question at her.

"Let me guess," she drawled, "you forgot to eat." Alfred coughed a chuckle from the doorway. Bruce's contrite expression said it all. Selina rolled her eyes, turning back to the butler. "I could eat," she decided.

Alfred nodded, taking that as his cue. "Excellent. I'll grab Miss Kyle's new communicator as well. It's just ready for deployment."

"Thanks Alfred," Bruce said, watching his butler leave with purpose. Once he was gone, he came around his desk, grabbing one of the folders on the way.

Selina's eyes tracked him as he came to stand before her, where his eyes darted to her crisped fingers on the strap of her bag. Realizing her fingers were starting to cramp, she let her hand fall down, and grabbed a rogue book to pretend to study it. Some corporate finance and valuation mumbo jumbo. Puke. She put it back down, resigned to acknowledging Bruce, who seemed to have missed nothing of her act.

"Hi," she said finally, a bit shriller than she'd have liked.

"Hi." He frowned. "Being here must be… uncomfortable."

"Surprisingly astute of you," she replied tartly, and then exhaled nervously. "Understatement of the century."

"It's strange for me too," he confessed softly, gazing down, his finger tapping the back of the sofa where… where he'd kissed her. Before she'd stood, protecting Bruce, and been shot point-blank by Jeremiah. "I couldn't bring myself to design new blueprints but I also didn't want exactly the same. Except this room. This one I wanted as faithful to my dad's office as possible." He took a deep breath. "To remember."

He'd pretty much succeeded in recreating it. Out of the rooms she'd glimpsed, this one was the most faithful one to the old. It was… disquieting. She'd much rather he didn't stand right in front of her, too. "So," she started. "Why am I here?"

With a clear of his throat, Bruce held up the folder in his hand, gesturing at her to follow him to the other settees, and placed it on the small table before sitting down opposite her. Gingerly, Selina reached over and flipped it open to the first page. It showed a copy of a page from a ledger bearing the Wayne Enterprises logo on top.

Lots of numbers. She flipped to the next few pages. More numbers. "What's this?" she asked, not particularly interested in spreadsheets.

"Irregularities," he replied, pointing to rows that he'd highlighted post-copy. "Since the Cataclysm."

Selina frowned, following the lines. "I see." She didn't, really.

"I looked into the companies listed. They're shell companies. Cold trails. Unregistered. And whoever created them knew how to sweep those companies off legal records."

As she stared at the numbers and dates, though, an even fishier thought began to form in her head. "Bruce…" She flipped back the pages, her eyes darting from date to date, piecing together memories. "I can't be sure, but these dates… I think they coincide with Victory creeping out and gaining territory." She looked up into his piercing, suddenly hard eyes, knowing she'd have to explain. "It didn't all happen overnight. At first the militia was just a few masked men taking over the block Wayne Enterprises sits on. Then it grew. More masked men, more blocks. Now, it's like Gotham's split into two, and Victory keeps slowly growing and taking over."

Bruce sat back, inhaling deeply for a moment. His gaze found her again. "What's the mayor doing about this?" he asked, voice gone cold.

Selina's sharply raised eyebrows spoke volumes.

"The GCPD?"

She shrugged slowly. "They tried, at first. But No Man's Land, and then the Cataclysm… They've got a lot on their plates trying to deal with the more violent crimes that have been happening since the city's gone dark. People just tend to quietly move away from the Victory borders now."

"You didn't," he pointed out softly.

"I'm on the Arkham side," she replied smugly. "You think the pearl and silk crowd want to get closer to the ghosts and degenerates breaking out?"

"That does not mean," Alfred began, wheeling in a lusciously laden lunch cart, "that it can't happen eventually." Arriving by Bruce and Selina he transferred the tray over to the low table and then reached back to the cart, grabbing a small flat object, just the size of a coin. He handed it to her almost ceremoniously. "Miss Kyle, your communicator."

Grabbing it machinally, Selina felt awkward with it in her palm.

Bruce nodded at her shoulder bag she'd been keeping near her, almost protectively. "You brought your suit? We'll need to secure that communicator in your head piece."

Selina stared from the tech in her hand to the butler back to Bruce, and blinked. It was all a bit much. "Hang on, what's the plan anyway?"

Bruce grabbed himself a smoked salmon sandwich and sank back into his couch, gazing back at her enigmatically. "We play detectives and find out who's behind Victory, Selina." And then he sank his teeth into it.

#

They didn't have a full plan yet. Bruce and Alfred had installed the communication apparatus into her mask, and they'd deliberated on where to start exploring. As the one with the most exposure to the masked enforcers at the Victory borders, Selina suggested they operate as covertly as possible, without engaging them. Alarming them would alarm their leader, whoever that may be, and they wanted to get closer to him or her without agitating them.

Bruce suggested she become his assistant. She could tag along wherever he met with the board. Selina shot down that idea.

"If whoever runs the show knows us from before, they'll know I don't take orders from you."

"If I may," Alfred interjected from his attentive post by the lunch cart. "They would, however, remember your teenage selves as, er, somewhat inseparable, as it were." Selina already hated the crumbs of that idea, but Alfred wasn't finished. "Perhaps you'd have… rekindled that flame since Master Bruce's return."

Dire silence met his proposition. Then, Bruce swallowed a gulp of tea. "You're saying she'd accompany me to Victory engagements. No one would question her presence as my date and we could use the penthouse downtown as an alibi if people start wondering why we're not returning to the manor straightaway."

"Precisely."

Bruce next considered Selina critically over the rim of his cup as she nibbled at her sandwich, which now felt like lead in her stomach. She ignored them both. Perhaps if she did, they'd see reason and realize what an awful idea they'd just cooked up.

Eventually, Bruce broke the silence. "Selina, what do you-"

"No."

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"No. It's a terrible idea," she shot at him angrily across the table. "You think they'd believe I'd throw myself at you after ten years? Like I waited dutifully for your return with bated breath? Like a lovesick twit? Please, give me credit, at least."

Alfred silently stepped back, as if fading against the wall. Bruce cleared his throat, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Selina," he said gently, "this could work. The last time people saw me before I left, I was with you… at Jim and Lee's wedding. It wouldn't be left field if they saw us together now."

He did have a point. Damn Bruce Wayne. Damn their history. Sighing, Selina dragged her hands down her face. "Fine," she muttered, relenting. "Fine. I'll be your plus one everywhere. What about it, then."

"We stay an hour or two at whatever event, head back to the penthouse, and investigate the neighbourhood to find out who's behind Victory." He nodded to himself, as though he'd come to a decision. "I think for now we can focus on the border guards, listen in on their conversations to get an idea of their chain of command. It won't be a long night out this week, just throwing in some microphones around the perimetre."

"And…" Selina rolled her eyes, hardly believing she was about to ask her next question. But it mattered for their operation, goddammit. She needed to prepare herself mentally. "How close do we need to… look?"

Bruce cleared his throat, clearly at a loss. It was Alfred that answered. "I reckon you two might want to keep the wedding as a template," he offered from his post. "A chance meeting after years apart that becomes sweet and moves off-party." He coughed delicately, clearing his throat. "Er, shall I-"

Selina rose, unable to let Alfred complete his thought. "I will not sleep in his room!" she cried stridently. Blinking, she lowered the accusatory finger she'd suddenly pointed at the butler. He'd tsk at her lack of manners if she hadn't surprised him, too.

"I was merely going to ask whether I might prepare a room for Miss Kyle at the penthouse. And here."

Things were moving fast. Too fast. Living in Wayne Manor? "I can't leave Isis," she blurted out, her face heating.

Bruce frowned. "Your cat's welcome here. Even though she dislikes me."

Selina dropped into her seat again with a grunt. "Bruce, I can't live here. It's too… What's our story then? Moving in that quickly after getting together, that brands me as a tart."

She refused to say 'getting back together'. They'd never officially been a couple, after all. Even when she'd stay over, she'd refused to call him her boyfriend. They'd been… Bruce and Selina. In a good place. Against the world. Close. More than friends. But never, never a couple. They hurt each other too often. He hurt her. She hurt him back. Love was a lie. They only ever enjoyed fleeting good moments together. Nothing more.

Bruce, deep in thought, stroked his scratchy chin, then stood, ambling over to the heavily curtained windows overlooking the frozen grounds. "You're right. I think it doesn't have to be full-time, at least not yet. We're… courting."

Leave it to Bruce Wayne to sound ancient. She scoffed softly. "Dating, Bruce. Dating's the word."

Bruce brushed aside her semantics as if they didn't matter at all, his back still turned to her. "We'll meet at this Friday's event. I'll have to be heard asking you for a nightcap at my penthouse. Or you'll ask me for a tour?" he asked, inquisitive yet still turned away from her.

"Nightcap," Selina said quickly.

He nodded. "All right." And then he turned back, clasping his hands behind his back, stretching the fabric of his blazer across his wide shoulders. His gaze was matter-of-fact, business-like, shuttered. "Eventually, though, it'll be more strategic for our operation if you move in."

"I'll think about it then," Selina shot back.

"There's an event of some sort almost every week, so we need to be sharp and tactical about both our personas. For now, though, go put on your suit. Alfred, call Lucius and tell him to expect some work soon." He walked over to his desk, grabbing his laptop and brooking no argument.

Off she went.

#

"How's it feel in this kind of weather?" Bruce asked from his seat back at the empire desk, entranced in whatever he was typing on his laptop. He pointed outdoors, not looking up.

Selina shifted her weight, feeling uncomfortable and ridiculous standing in Bruce Wayne's office in her body-hugging leather suit. Alfred had secured the communicator into her cowl and now stood behind Bruce, examining her and murmuring some things for Bruce to note.

It was especially weird wearing it in broad daylight.

"Um, not great. That's why I don't stay out longer than I need to," she answered. "And summer's really bad, too."

"Wayne Tech developed environmental armour for our defense contract with the US army that unfortunately never came through due to financial concerns. My suit was one of the first prototypes. I'm sure Lucius will be able to make a thinner, stretchier material more adapted to your needs," Bruce said. He typed furiously for a few moments. "What about defense? Anything else besides the bullwhip?"

"Retractable claws," she said, admiring them. "Crystal. They cut through glass like butter." She retracted them.

"That's right." He made a note, then sat back, studying her critically. "What do you think would benefit you? I was thinking… makibishi." At her frown he shook his head as though remembering something, and clarified. "They're like caltrops."

"You seem to know your Japanese weaponry." He'd talked about sai, which he'd explained were a type of daggers. She'd… shown interest, but he'd then crossed the idea out.

"I trained in Japan for a few months," he explained quietly, turning his attention back to his screen with a pensive expression on his face. "Infrared goggles," he then said suddenly. "I'll give you stun grenades."

"How generous," Selina mumbled wryly to herself. Louder, she said, "I like the goggles idea. Maybe magnification too?"

Furious typing. "Good idea. Yeah, like those goggles you used to wear."

Something in her jerked that he'd remembered.

"That can probably be integrated two-in-one. How about your hand-to-hand combat?"

Selina frowned. "I kick and scratch when needed," she said, shrugging. "I'm a street cat, not some… ninja, if that's what you're asking. I thought we were investigating?"

"Just a precaution," he replied. "I'll teach you some basics. Now… I think that's it for today. Alfred and I will talk to Lucius about enhancements for your suit. Can you leave it here? Unless…"

Selina rolled her eyes at his implication. "I have no grand larceny plans tonight."

"Great," Bruce said, shutting his laptop and standing. "He'll need your measurements."

"Are we done?"

Bruce glanced at Alfred, nodding infinitesimally at the laptop. The butler readily picked it up, then exited the room. "Be there in a minute," he called to the retreating steps in the corridor. Then, he slowly, gingerly, came to stand in front of her, and met her defiant gaze. "I don't want to fight, Selina," he said softly, his deep voice a near whisper.

Exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in, Selina averted her eyes, then busied her hands removing her cowl. When she still didn't respond he reached out, gently nudging her chin up until she met his gaze.

His touch, that hard calloused hand, sent a wave ricocheting down to her toes. She twitched, stepping back. "Don't," she whispered, then hitched her chin up herself. "I'll play the role of your girlfriend, because Gotham deserves better. I'll take your tech and weapons and training even because it'll give me an edge. But beyond those fake dates I'm not interested in you or our past. It was all fake anyway."

She dropped her mask on the table next to her half-eaten chicken sandwich, pulled off her gloves, and then proceeded to march out of the office toward where she knew a bathroom would be. After all, the blueprints were the same.

As was he.