Chapter 3
Fandom: Gotham
Pairing: Bruce/Selina
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes at the bottom.
Selina
She'd stayed awake, covers pulled to her chest, listening to the small groans and aches of the old house. By all accounts she should've fallen right to sleep, for the first time in a long time, she was warm, she was dry and her belly was full. But something was under her skin, a restlessness she couldn't shake.
She didn't like this place. It was too… Big. Too open. For a moment she'd thought of simply taking the blanket and climbing under the bed, but that seemed a bit weird even for her. Exhaling, she threw the heavy covers off.
She already knew that their security was a bit lax, but she tried not to make too much noise as she walked down the first hall she came across. She was surprised to find most of the doors were locked.
The Old Man's not an idiot.
She huffed at the thought. That presented a bit of problem for her, but overall it was probably a good thing, for the boy that is. He needed someone around him that had a lick of sense. For everything he'd been through he didn't seem overly concerned with securing his possessions, but she noticed that he didn't really seem all that concerned with his own well being. Who in the hell left their doors unlocked with a rich-kid stealing psycho on the loose?
She shook her head absently wiping at her brow as she tried another door handle. She was beginning to think the night was just a bust, when the last door's handle finally gave.
Her only sources of light were the dying embers from the fireplace and the thin slivers of moonlight from the half-curtained windows and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. She paused just inside the door, making sure to leave it ajar, as she tried to get a good feel of the room. Her eyes scanned left to right quickly taking in the sparse furnishings, the ornate fireplace with its winged back chair, the large bed with its posts like tree trunks and its small nightstand and the simple wardrobe that stood on the opposite wall. Unlike the rest of the house, the walls were bare, no ridiculous portraits or suits of armor cluttering it up.
She was debating, wardrobe or nightstand first, when something in the bed moved. Her entire body froze mid-stride as she focused on the small mound of covers. How in the hell had she missed that? Missed him?
Despite her mouth going dry, he slept on, completely oblivious to the girl standing nearly at the end of his bed. She glanced at the wardrobe. It was within arms reach now, but she ignored it, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.
The nightstand beside his bed was empty save for a thick book and a plain black box. She ran her hand over the leather binding, the book looked old and expensive, but it was heavy and she doubted there was any market for it.
Resting her hip against the windowsill behind her, she used both hands to test the box's weight. It was heavier than it looked and she felt herself frowning as she put it down and lifted the lid.
Immediately moonlight reflected off the band of a watch. The side of her mouth turned up as she lifted it out examining the watch face before she quickly slid it onto her bare wrist. She could fetch quite a bit for this, more than a bit.
After the watch, there were only a couple of more items left, a black velvet bag and a necklace of some kind. Ignoring the bag, she grabbed the chain pulling up a pair of what she could only assume were dog tags, though she'd never seen any dog tags like that before, they were small and circular. She flipped them over reading the information engraved on one side and felt her eyebrows lift up.
Weird.
Shaking her head, she set them aside. Her attention moved back to the small velvet bag. It looked like something you would keep jewelry in, but she felt her eyes narrow as only a few loose pearls landed in the palm of her hand.
Disappointed and the slightest bit confused, she stared at the white beads contrasting against the black of her gloves until a certain memory flashed across her mind.
How in the hell had he gotten his hands on those?she asked herself, letting them fall back into the bag and quickly cinching it.
She didn't need those. She didn't need any of this.
A low sound broke the silence of his room and her hand went immediately to the latch on his window. She could make the leap, it wouldn't be easy but she could do it.
Wait!
Grimacing, she turned back to the room. It was still dark, still silent. She hadn't been caught. A low mumble sent her eyes in the direction of his bed and she had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.
How had she forgotten what a noisy sleeper the boy was?
He sighed, the sound magnified by her fear and the nearly empty room, but he just snuggled deeper into his covers.
What did she have to worry about really? He was a traumatized twig of a boy. She felt her head tilt as she watched him. His lashes were too dark and too long, his skin too pale and his cheeks too sharp for him to be handsome, but on the other hand his mouth was just a little too thin and his ears a little too big to be considered pretty. He was stuck somewhere in the between, but she found it oddly interesting to watch him none-the-less.
She'd never given too much thought to her own looks, good looks weren't always a good thing, not where she was from, but neither was being hideous. When you were in the homes, it sometimes got you a second look; it's why Ivy Pepper hadn't stayed on the shelf long. People saw that sheet of red hair and those clear blue eyes and thought they saw potential. Those same people had looked right through her.
Maybe that's why when the boy had looked at her, she'd felt so… Well, she couldn't put her finger on it, but no one had ever looked at her like that, like she was something he'd never seen before.
Her eyes dropped to the watch in her hand. It would be so easy to leave. She could do it from here grab the box and whatever these things were whatever they meant to him she reckoned he'd probably pay a good bit of money to get it all back and she could just slip out of his window. She'd be back in Gotham before daybreak.
Her fist clenched as he mumbled something that sounded too much like, 'dad'.
She felt herself exhale a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and quietly started to put his things back in the box. She slid the watch from her wrist, laying it on top, she couldn't recall the exact place he'd had it, she wasn't in the business of putting things back, but she hoped he wasn't overly paranoid. She wasn't sure how long she planned to stay here and there was no sense in drawing attention to herself so early.
Stupid girl.
The sharp scrape of wood on the stone floor compelled Selina to jolt sideways on her mattress. They'd snuck up on her again. They were getting very good at that.
She tried to even her breathing as she stared down at her breakfast. She shook her head as she tried to focus back on the moment. She had to stop doing that. She had to stop losing herself in her head. Memories were doing nothing for her in here.
The Windego
Wesley Barton flexed his fingers inside his leather gloves, his hunting gloves. He followed the last bits of twilight, the sky a dull grey against the tree line promising nothing but misery and heartache. He should be at home with his wife and son, and he always hated hunting on a Sunday but there was nothing for it. It was the last day of the lunar cycle, the moon would be waning, and he didn't want the other two host's sacrifices to be in vain. They had given too much.
As tempting and scary as it could be, he tried never to cheat when it came to his practices. He didn't believe in baiting or snaring. This world was unfair enough as it was, and besides where was the victory in shooting fish in a barrel? These were the kind of important lessons that he was trying to teach his son, that if you wanted something in this world, hard work was the way to get it not shortcuts, not cheating. You kept your head down and nothing stop you.
Not even addiction.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, flicking on his high-beams, as he continued to put distance between him and the city. He hadn't seen it coming. For all of his training, for the days he spent crouching in tall grasses or sleeping in makeshift stands It had been the one to sneak up on him.
It, or 'The Need' as he liked to call it, had hunted him through his thoughts and there had been nowhere to hide. Sometimes it whispered to him, whispered things much worse than what he did every month. He'd moved his family back here, back to Gotham, hoping a new practice, a new school, and all in a fresh town would have silenced it, but after a few months it was abundantly clear that there was no cure for it.
Desperation could make a man do crazy things, but there was nothing crazy about what he was doing. It was savage and heartless but it wasn't crazy. It filled that empty pit if only for a few days, a few hours. He would do anything to get a reprieve.
He'd hunted his whole life, a Barton family tradition, it was rumored that his great-great-uncle had helped hunt the man-eaters of Tsavo. His own father had brought him hunting for big game all over the world, he froze hunting brown bears in the North-west, tracked elephants for days on the plains of Africa, and they had even hunted alligators along the southern coast.
He'd always loved the tracking, the stalking, if it lasted for days that were even better, elusive trophies were the only ones worth the effort. But then there was the kill. His least favorite part was taking the shot, watching something previously so full of life drop to the ground, its life extinguished in a blink, its existence no longer relevant.
He glanced over at his son, sleeping so soundly in the passenger seat. He was a sensitive boy more interested in his projects, his taxidermy, than he had even been in his family's traditions. Once again, he'd seemed disinclined to come, something about a 'Snow Party,' school being cancelled for the week on account of the storm.
But this was too important. Four months he'd been at this, dragging his boy with him, and though Barty still hadn't caught the hunting fever yet, there was nothing for it. It had to be done.
Jim
Jim Gordon rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at the pile of folders on his desk, papers and pictures peeking out from behind the buff edges.
Two months.
Five people.
Zero leads.
One commonality.
Type-A personalities. Overachievers every single one of them.
"Hey Jimbo," Harvey Bullock's gruff voice pulled Jim from the case file sitting open on his desk.
"The kid's here," his partner finished, inclining his graying head toward the arched entryway.
The use of the word kid, Jim's mind immediately jumped to a certain teenage delinquent, which confused him. He didn't think that Selina Kyle had or ever would voluntarily step foot in any precinct. Seeking out dirty curls and a surly expression, it took him a moment to recognize the young man.
Bruce Wayne looked suspiciously out of place inside the walls of the GCPD. His narrow shoulders were squared under his black coat, his chin tilted up as his dark eyes scanned the gothic archway. He didn't pause to ask for assistance, as he passed under it, his eyes slowly drifting to the men and women meandering through the noisy hive that was the GCPD bullpen. His hooded eyes barely widened at the three prostitutes that sat crossed-leg staring at him as he passed them, before his gaze immediately went to the floor.
There weren't many teenagers in Jim's life, but the two that came in and out like two strands of a braid were as different as night and day.
Even after two years, Bruce's natural insight still surprised him. His eyes tended to linger on things, like a pair of scales, they weighed and measured. His mind dismantling it, building it back, seeking out every bit of knowledge he could squeeze from it. He hadn't known Bruce before that night and wondered if it had been a trait instilled by having such pro-active parents or if it had been a result caused by losing them.
Selina tended to lean toward indifference, but she was no less observant. Her eyes were quick and sharp, like a camera, point and shoot. Her evaluation never seemed to look past that initial impression, her mind having already sought out the danger or the advantage. He imagined that was one of the many skills that had managed to keep her alive on the streets for so long.
Jim sighed, sitting back in his chair. With the worst storm in half a century coming and a serial killer on the loose the last thing he needed right now was to be worried about two kids who hardly wanted it.
"I'm gettin' a coffee," Bullock said, pulling away from his desk. "Gonna be a long night."
"Yes, it is," Jim agreed giving his partner a non-committal nod as Bruce Wayne climbed the stairs.
"Good to see you, Bruce," he greeted, standing to meet the boy.
Bruce shifted the notebook he was carrying to one side before shaking Jim's offered hand.
"Does Alfred know you're here?" he asked, gesturing to the seat beside his desk.
"I'm nearly sixteen, Detective Gordon," he replied curtly, slowly lowering himself into the chair. "I'm perfectly capable of navigating the streets of Gotham by myself."
So that was a no.
Jim let his eyes linger on the boy. Sometimes the best push was none at all.
"I called a taxi," he admitted, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"And is it still waiting for you?" he asked, hoping it was. In a few hours it was going to be hard enough to find one, much less trying to find one to bring someone all they way out of the city. Billionaire or not.
"I'm not here to discuss how I travel around the city, Detective Gordon," Bruce said, his tone clipped.
Jim felt his eyebrows lift at the boy's reply. If there was one thing that the two kids in his life did have in common it was the well of patience one required to deal with them.
Jim sighed, consciously changing his body language.
"Of course you're not," he started, softening his voice. "I'm sorry I haven't been out there lately. It's been pretty busy here."
"I understand," Bruce replied, his shoulders beginning to round.
"Now, what can I help you with?"
Jim watched as his dark brows furrowed and he looked down at the notebook in his pale hands. It only lasted a moment before the boy swallowed and brought his chin up defiantly, his dark eyes meeting Jim's with a familiar intensity that Jim had never quite grown accustomed to.
"I'd like to file a missing person's report," he declared, his voice thick.
Jim felt himself blink.
"What?" he asked, his eyebrows rising again. "For whom?" he asked, his voice sounding unprofessionally disbelieving.
"Selina Kyle," he answered, firmly.
He sighed, before he could stop himself and regretted it as he saw Bruce purse his lips. He wasn't trying to belittle the young man's concern, but Selina was hardly a creature of habit.
"Okay," he said, dragging out the word as he opened his notepad. "And how long has she been missing?"
"Three weeks," Bruce answered, his voice betraying his agitation.
Jim's pen froze at the young man's reply, his eyes involuntarily glancing at the folders on his desk. He didn't believe in psychics or clairvoyance, but intuition was a different thing all together.
"Three weeks?" he asked, consciously keeping his voice even. "You're sure?"
"I'm positive," he answered, his eyes returning to the notebook on his lap.
Jim watched the knuckles of his clasped hands pale. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it when they boy had first entered the precinct, but now that he'd had a good look at him, he actually looked a little paler and thinner than usual. This was clearly something of great concern to the young man.
"Twenty-one days really isn't that long," he lied, closing his notepad. "Selina's taken off for longer than that before. I'm sure she's fine. I'll call Bar- "
"I've already spoken with some of her acquaintances," he interrupted, his rigid manners abandoned. "And they haven't seen her either."
"You have?" Jim asked, trying to envision the boy in front of him talking with some of Selina's 'acquaintances.' The thought was unnerving. "Does Alfred know that?"
"He's aware," he answered, dark eyes moving to the top of Jim's desk.
"Bruce," Jim sighed, carefully positioning his arms to hide the folders spread across his desktop and to get the boy's full attention. It was important that he listen. "Kids like that can be dangerous."
"Precisely," he answered. "That's why I came here."
Jim resisted the urge to rub his face in frustration. He wasn't exactly sure what the young man wanted to accomplish but whatever it was he was going about it the wrong way. Street kids, traveling before a snowstorm, even the GCPD, all were dangerous, but he figured all the warnings in the world weren't going to stop the young man. Bruce Wayne was a surprisingly stubborn kid, just another trait he and Selina Kyle seemed to share.
"Look, I'm sure Selina's fine," he repeated, raising a hand to stop the boy's mental protest. "But I promise you," he continued quickly. "I'll look into it."
The boy's shoulders slowly rounded like he'd been holding a breath.
"But Bruce," he continued. "I know its frustrating, but you have to let me do my job, so no more questioning kids at 'The Flea' okay. That's why we have CIs."
If he hadn't been trained to see it, he would never have noticed the slight flicker in Bruce's eyes at his knowledge of the abandoned building.
"I would imagine that they would be more inclined to speak with someone their own age than someone in law enforcement," Bruce replied, his tone, unusually haughty.
And more inclined to leave you dead in a ditch, Jim thought nervously, refusing to acknowledge the image.
"Yes, but that's not the point, Bruce," he said, hoping his clipped tone would give weight to his words. "So do we have an understanding?"
"Yes," Bruce answered, his teeth digging into his lip. He stared at the ground for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "Thank you, Detective Gordon."
"Not necessary," Jim answered, giving the boy a grim smile. "Now," he began. "They're about to start closing the main roads soon. So," he continued, grabbing the telephone from atop his desk and placing it in front of the boy. "Call Alfred."
Bruce narrowed his eyes, but grudgingly took the phone he offered.
Selina
Whatever reason they had for keeping you alive is over.
The thought sent a strange stirring in Selina's already aching belly. They were gone. The kids were gone. She'd noticed Rana missing first. How they had moved the girl so quietly she still hadn't figured out. There had been no screaming, no pleading, just a heavy silence when she'd woken up two days ago.
She'd stayed awake as long as she could the night they took Ty. She'd listened to the whine of the iron doors, the echo of footsteps, but she couldn't fight the drooping of her eyelids, the weight of her arms and legs as she screamed at herself to wake-up.
How could they have just taken them so quietly? She was a light sleeper, years of sleeping in alleys and abandoned buildings had trained her body to wake her at the slightest sound. Her eyes roamed over to her untouched dinner. Was it something in the cookies? Some kind of drug maybe?
Sneering, she stared at her uneaten meal. Her stomach had begun aching hours ago, the pain in her head following closely behind. But she could ignore it; hunger wasn't a foreign concept to her. She'd gone a lot longer than this between meals. She could do it again.
She didn't know what they wanted, but if those assholes thought that she was gonna go out peacefully like those other two… Well, they were mistaken.
That right there is a lion's heart, her captor's voice, his words, rung in her mind.
Unexpectedly, anger flared inside her. Quickly, she crawled across her mattress and grabbed the Styrofoam bowl left by the door. She was reaching back to throw it across the small room, when it's unusual weight made her pause.
Her breathing slowed as her temper ebbed and she brought the bowl closer to her face. All thoughts of her dinner disappeared as she absently carried it to her bed.
"Why give this back to me?" she asked herself, sliding down the wall onto her dirty mattress.
Slowly she lifted her bracelet into the air, making the charms catch the little available light. There weren't that many. She didn't see the point in useless little trinkets but she felt herself smile as she caught the biggest charm between her fingers. She bit into her lip as she opened her mother's heart-shaped locket. That was how all this bracelet business had started wasn't it, her stupidity and her mother's locket.
It had been her fault really, she could accept that, expecting it to uphold after all the abuse she'd put it through over the years was foolish. Granted at the time that it had finally broke, she'd been trying to stop a stupid billionaire from falling out of a stupid tree that he'd had no business trying to climb in the first place.
She hadn't noticed when it had snagged and fell, but figured it would be fine, it always was, and she'd eventually find something to hang it on. But the moment she'd found it on the ground, her face must've betrayed her disappointment at its state, cause the boy had immediately offered to fix it.
She'd already known that he'd started learning blacksmithing earlier that month, but she'd still had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. She would never understand why the boy had to learn everything about everything, but he'd looked at her so sincerely that she felt herself handing it to him before she could stop herself.
Weeks later, when he'd presented it to her, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, for one moment she'd almost thrown it back at him. It wasn't her necklace. He was supposed to fix the clasp not change the thing entirely.
She'd thought she'd schooled her expressions well enough, but they way he'd rushed into explaining what he'd done to it, she knew she hadn't. His voice was unusually soft as he told her how he'd melted down the chain, combining it with a stronger metal to make her bracelet, how he'd used a split ring to connect her mother's locket, and how he had added a lobster clasp so she could put it on by herself.
She'd felt her eyes widen at his words, she had never told him, but that had been one of the reasons she'd never worn her necklace. Dependency on others wasn't something she had ever been comfortable with. The gesture had been too insightful and knowing about his awareness of her was becoming unnerving.
She wasn't sure how long they'd stood alone in the study, her silently staring at her new bracelet and him staring at her. A small part of her had known or had hoped he wasn't expecting anything in return, but too many years of living in Gotham were ingrained in her and she'd waited patiently for the other shoe to fall. At her 'thanks' he'd simply smiled and moved onto the dinner she had interrupted.
Selina's eyes went to the present dinner on her mattress. Eyes narrowing, she closed her locket before she draped the chain across her wrist. Using her thumbnail she closed the lobster clasp, before twisting her wrist and listening to the soft jingle of the remaining charms. She didn't know if it was her lack of food, lack of sleep, or both, but she smiled at the sound.
"Cat?"
Selina froze at the unexpected whisper. Had she really heard her name?
"Cat?" the disembodied voice asked again. "That's what the others called you wasn't it?"
Selina squinted against the sudden light, quickly bringing her hands up to shield her eyes. Blinded, she heard the tell-tale squeak of iron hinges moving. Quickly, she climbed to her feet making sure to keep the wall at her back.
This is it.
"What do you want?" she asked, trying to relax her posture as somebody moved into her cell. She wouldn't be able to take a swing at him, not until he was within striking distance, and the bastard must've known it as he stilled just inside her cell door.
"Come with me," he whispered, thankfully lowering the light enough to give her a peek at his features.
Her eyes adjusted quicker to the sight of the boy in her cell than her mind did at processing his appearance. What the hell?
"Look, I don't have time to explain," he whispered quickly, still lingering out of her reach. "You have to get out of here."
Huffing, he took a step closer to her and instinctively Selina pulled back.
"I'm trying to help you," he explained, exasperatedly taking another step in her direction "If you stay here my dad's going to kill you!"
Author's Notes:
I'm sorry:
-For any grammar or characterization mistakes. I'm still kicking out the cobwebs.
-This took so long. Real life suddenly got crazy and I had to re-write this chapter about 3 or 4 times. I'll try to update the next two chapters soon.
-Unfortunately, these last two chapters have been rather boring.
-I really suck at writing from Jim and Bruce's perspectives, but especially Jim's. He's such a great character, and I kind of feel like I butchered him here. I'll try to steer clear of him in the future.
Not an apology, but a thank you to Byzinha (hope I spelled that right) and the guests who took the time to review. Also a big thank you to MDawn who unknowingly kept this fic going. If you're reading Gotham fics, you've probably already read:
Safeword by MDawn but if you haven't I suggest you do. She's brilliant.