Title: Duplicity Part 1
Fandom: Gotham
Pairing: Bruce/Selina
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing. And this is unBETAed.
Selina
From the safety of an old shade tree's limbs, Selina watched the boy as he moved around his study. She had developed the nasty habit of spying on him long before his butler had caught her or even knew she existed, and just because he was on to her now didn't mean she was going to stop.
His image passed by the half-curtained windows, flickering in and out as he passed by each one oblivious to her gaze. She hadn't been wrong about that growth spurt of his, it looked like his limbs were growing too fast to let the rest of him catch up, but she had to admit it loaned him a sharp sort of elegance.
His brow creased as he opened another file, his face between the folds as he navigated his way around a stack of unopened banker's boxes. He bent over his desk, jotting something down, probably in that tiny handwriting of his.
She frowned at the action. She knew what was in those files, what he had tacked up to that useless board of his.
She hadn't been bull-shitting him, when she'd told him that he should try to move on with his life. This was Gotham and in this city anything was possible. His parents' murders really could be a conspiracy that went right to the top. Now, to the top of what? She didn't know. Or it could be as simple as a random 'wrong time, wrong alley' coincidence. But seeing as the average mugger rarely sent trained assassins after a kid who might have seen something… In the dark… Fifty feet away… Given the chance she would be betting on the former.
His head raised up from the folder he was reading and she watched as he rose from his chair and walked the length of the room disappearing into the windowless hall.
She didn't know what compelled her next, curiosity or invasiveness, but before she could consider her actions she'd already swung down from the tree, landing so softly she didn't even leave a boot print in the soft earth.
Keeping to the slim shadows and out of the many cameras' sights, she moved across the bricked porch and soundlessly squeezed past the slightly ajar French door. The last time she'd been in here she had caught the lonely little genius playing chess by himself and she'd had to stop herself from smiling as his innocent face had instantly brightened when he'd seen her. She highly doubted that he'd be so happy to see her now, but she also didn't have any plans on getting caught.
Slipping past the heavy curtains, she immediately noticed the heavy feel of the room, the unwelcoming atmosphere as if the actual house didn't want her here. Sniffing the air, she caught only the faint traces of the familiar house. The fireplace had gone cold and a single tray of warm but forgotten food sat on the coffee table. Ignoring the depressing image, she moved further into the room, deftly snatching a potato wedge off his plate and popping it into her mouth.
She had to resist the urge to close her eyes at the taste.
Alfred Pennyworth might have a lot of faults but being a bad cook is not one of them, she thought, quietly hopping the oversized bench.
She eased over to his desk, her eyes narrowing at the state it was in. His desk was usually neat and organized, but now his files and notes were scattered, weighted down with different makeshift paperweights. Taking a quick glance toward the open doors, she carefully picked up a magnifying glass that had been weighing down the file closest to her.
'Just wanna check on him,' she told herself. 'Make sure he's not getting his baby billionaire ass into any more trouble.'
She had just eased the corner of the file open when the hair on the back of her neck stood up, goose bumps breaking out on her arms.
"What are you doing here, Selina?"
She looked up as Bruce stepped out from the shadow of the hall. His dark eyes were fixed on her without even the faintest trace of surprise and she couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been watching her. She gave him a rueful smile as she straightened and let the cover fall closed.
"You're the little junior detective," she accused, lifting his magnifying glass and looking at him through it. "You figure it out."
He stared back at her his too serious face not amused by her answer.
Slowly, she lowered the antique back to the desk, shrugging one slim shoulder, "Was just wondering what bored little billionaires did with their free time," she answered.
He exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes as he advanced toward her. If he were any other boy, she would have expected him to try and go toe-to-toe with her, crowd her space and try and intimidate her but Bruce wasn't any other boy. He stopped just shy of the open French door and right in the middle of her escape route, trapping her without trapping her.
"What do you want?" he asked, pushing the cuffs of his dark sweater to his elbows.
"Just wanted to say thanks," she said, lazily moving around his desk.
"For what?" he asked, his normally soft voice hard with suspicion.
"With the whole rent-a-cop thing," she answered, strolling to meet him half way.
"Why would you feel obligated to thank me?" he asked, not a thread of humor in his voice. "The security guard ran into me, it was
coincidental that at the same moment you were trying to escape from a man I can only assume you were stealing from."
She scoffed as she watched his fingers curl by his sides. "You're a terrible liar," she accused, giving him an insolent smile.
"Then I suppose that's simply one other thing that we don't have in common," he replied, his princely tone tinged with finality.
A rare sense of guilt settled into the pit of her stomach and she let the words sit between them for a minute as she openly glanced around the room. It had only been a few months since the last time she'd been this close to him but he seemed older, wearier like it had been a century since he had smiled.
"Why are you really here?" he asked, his voice surprisingly devoid of emotion. "What do you want?"
She couldn't help but stare back at him.
'That was the question wasn't it,' she thought.
She shrugged, noncommittally.
He nodded his head in defeat.
"I'm busy," he began. "And you know you're way out," he said, taking a step away from her as if her very presence offended him.
'And why wouldn't it,' asked a little voice. 'You just lied about the most horrific moment of his life.'
She'd half expected him to run straight to Gordon after that, to let the man know his star witness was nothing more than an opportunistic liar so she'd been very surprised that day in Barbra's apartment when Gordon had looked at her with confusion at her confession. Bruce could be funny like that, even with someone who had just ripped at his heart.
Swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat, she moved to walk past him. From the corner of her eye, she watched his lips thin as he took a step in her direction.
"See ya round, B," she said, stepping through the threshold.
"I'm glad to see you're not dead," he almost shouted at her retreating back, causing her to pause outside the door.
"What?" she asked, turning back to him.
"I said," he continued, taking another step in her direction and for just a fraction of a second, she saw his eyes narrow on her face with curiosity. "I'm glad to see you're not dead."
"Right backatcha, kid," she replied, turning to leave.
"Was it worth it?" he asked, his confusing question halting her exit once again.
Staring at the well manicured lawn ahead of her, she knew she should just keep going. It was the smart thing to do, get back to the city and maybe do some hunting before dinner, but when it came to Bruce, she rarely ever did the smart thing. Sighing, she stepped back into the room.
"Was 'what' worth it?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Whatever you did to earn that," he asked, gesturing to the bruise along her cheekbone. She'd almost forgotten about it.
"Oh that," she asked, judging his degree of curiosity. "You aint got time to hear about that, you're busy remember."
"Say that I do…" he answered coyly. "Have the time," he said, taking another step toward her. "Would you tell me?"
"Depends," she answered, feeling him taking the bait that she hadn't intended to hook.
"Of course it does," he breathed deeply, clearly disappointed. "On what?"
"You finished with that?" she asked, gesturing to the untouched dinner Alfred had left him.
She watched his lips curl up at her answer. "It's yours," he said, offering it to her as he moved to sit on the couch.
"So are you going to tell me… The truth," he asked, gesturing to the empty place beside him but she ignored it taking the couch on the opposite wall.
"Well," she began, moving his plate in front of her as she grabbed a leg of chicken. "It was a good idea at the time."
Selina shook off the memory as hopped miserable and breathless one footed down the long hall. Using the crutches left by her bedside, she managed to limp her way into the bathroom. Like everything else in this oversized house, the bathroom was huge, larger than some of the apartments she'd lived in as a kid and her eyes quickly and instinctively ran across every item in the steam filled room. In one corner a towel warmer had been filled with fluffy white towels, the vanity with toiletries and clothes, and against the far wall beside a frosted bay window sat a delightfully full claw footed tub steam subtly rising from its depths.
Looking down at the robe she'd been given, she sighed. Admittedly, it was a nice robe dark blue with the Wayne family crest over the left breast, but underneath all that soft cotton she could feel the grim clinging to her body and she wasn't even sure where to begin scrubbing it off.
Taking a deep breath and letting the warm air feel her lungs she decided to start with the body part that had been neglected the most. Actively avoiding the fog proof mirrors, she moved slowly to the sink and grabbed the unopened toothbrush. She made quick work of the box and paste her body naturally responding to such a natural routine. She rested her bruised hip against the waist high vanity as she brushed the nasty film from her teeth and continued to ignore the mirror as she spat mouth wash into the sink.
Ignoring her cracked lips and the pain in her cheeks, she couldn't but smile as she ran her tongue against her clean teeth.
Just one more step to being civilized.
She stripped off the old monogrammed robe, letting it fall uselessly to the ground as she glanced at the vanity tray. A couple of high end products littered the top, as if someone had haphazardly left them there. With her good hand she lifted an unwrapped bar of soap, a light green bar, to her nose. It smelled faintly of black hair and grey eyes, and she made a note to pocket it later. The other was pink but it smelled clean, no underlying scents or girly perfumes, and she placed it next to the tub. Shampoo and conditioner came next and after feeling the impossibly coarse matted clumps that used to be her curls she took all the bottles.
There were a few items that she didn't quite understand, bottles with oils and tiny crystals, so she left them unopened and where they were. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as she noticed a pair of scissors set among the shampoo and soap. Glancing down at her crusted sports bra and the crude stitches in her shoulder, realization dawned on her.
She breathed deeply, again letting more warmth flood her lungs as she stared down at her body. In that place it had never been warm enough to strip down to her underwear so she'd had to satisfy herself with just a whore's bath and now she was paying for it with the sores on her sides and back.
Selina shrugged in resignation and grabbed the scissors. Outside of her jacket, she wasn't attached to rest of her clothing and only felt a light satisfaction as she snipped the straps of her sports bra before she did the same with her panties. She gritted her teeth as she tried to peel away the fabric and after finally prying apart a stubborn bit of material that felt like it had melted to her skin she had to sit down on the curb of the tub as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes and once again met the stitches in her shoulder. He had been aiming for her throat. She knew that instinctively, knew that he had had every intention to kill her. Holding up her hands, she saw her fingernails were cracked and still bloody around the beds. The nails on her right ring and middle were almost completely gone. Traveling down she barely acknowledged the shallow cuts in her arms as her eyes landed on the circular bruise against her wrist. There was something vaguely important about that bruise, but she couldn't quite remember…
Realization hit her like a punch to the gut.
Her bracelet.
Blinking her eyes against the sudden burning, she traced the thin purple and green line with her calloused fingers.
She'd lost her bracelet.
The only thing she had left of her mother and she had lost it.
She gritted her teeth as something akin to rage suddenly swept through her. No, she hadn't lost her mother's locket. It had been ripped from her. It had been ripped from her when that bastard had tackled her. Or maybe it had been when he had been chocking her. Or maybe when she had…
She felt an inappropriate giggle at the back of her throat and quickly stopped it. If she started to laugh, if she choked on a cry, she was done for. They would just have to lock her up. Lock her up and throw away the key.
And she couldn't afford to lose it now.
Climbing into the bath, she nearly blacked out the moment her body hit the scalding water, all her cuts suddenly burning at on time. Immediately the water started to change shade, pink and brown swirling against each other.
The pain and smell of old blood were nearly overwhelming and she closed her eyes, but it didn't help. Despite herself, once again she was in that creek, once again that face loomed above her. Her eyes flew open in frustration.
She had never wanted to kill, had never wanted to take someone's life.
Sure, she had known that she could, survival was her constant companion, but…
Bile rose in her throat at the memory. She'd killed a man. Beat him with a rock. Beat him well after he was already dead. What she had done had gone well beyond self-defense. That had gone well into rage… That had gone into revenge.
She didn't regret what she'd done. Some small part of her, a tiny voice at the back of her mind, knew that she should but she couldn't drag up even the tiniest bit of remorse.
That bastard had gotten what he'd deserved and put in the same situation she would do it again. She'd only been defending herself, giving into her primal urge to survive.
But would the police see it that way? Would they even care? Would anyone?
Selina swallowed the movement painful in her bruised throat.
Her memories of the last few days were hazy, but there were fleeting images of a young man by her bed. At the time her mind had been too confused and exhausted to assign any significance to him, but now that she was rested she felt heat flood her cheeks.
She had only been truly conscious for a few hours, but already she needed to make a decision about Bruce Wayne. Undoubtedly the boy would be filled with a million questions. His mind would start running a dozen different theories from the bizarre to the boring and then he'd start trying to coax her for information right before he'd start to try and demand the answers. He was curious and stubborn, two traits that she normally enjoyed about his personality, but that was usually when they were being directed at someone else.
This was different.
A part of her wanted to tell him, wanted to unburden herself, but she knew she couldn't tell the boy, couldn't let him find out what she'd done. It would be too risky, his reaction too unpredictable. She couldn't even begin to guess how he would take the news that she had killed someone. Regrettably, he wasn't as naïve as he had been when they had first met. He was well aware that she was no angel, but taking a life was a far cry from thieving and instinctively she knew that that would be something he wouldn't take well.
He would insist that she go to the authorities; that she at least try to play by society's rules. After all this time, after everything that they had been through in the last two years, Bruce still believed in the system but more than that he still believed whole-heartedly in Jim Gordon.
At that thought, Selina drew her dirty knees up to her chest, wincing at the bruises and stiff muscles. It wasn't that she didn't trust Gordon for any particular reason. She didn't think he was inherently a bad guy, but she'd lived too long in Gotham to really trust anyone.
The GCPD had never really caught the people responsible for snatching up street kids. They were quick to clap themselves on the back for catching a couple of traffickers and shipping the remaining kids upstate to people who didn't want them. But they didn't really stop it. Bums had continued disappearing for at least a year after that. Why would this be any different?
All she would be doing is putting herself in the cross-hairs and for what? The bastard was dead. He wouldn't be hurting anyone else. He couldn't.
No, she couldn't tell Bruce. He would never understand.
She just had to play this close to the chest. She had to heal up. Get back home. Get back to Gotham.
Selina stared at the bed in front of her resisting the urge, the pull, to climb back in. Strangely, instead of invigorating her the warm bath had worn her out. She had wasted a lot of energy as she had scrubbed at her exposed skin, careful to avoid her open sores and the rough stitches in her shoulder, until her skin had turned pink.
By the time the water had grown cold around her, her head had begun to throb and her shoulder and ankle didn't feel much better. Painfully, she'd toweled off and quickly donned the clothes she'd seen earlier. They had looked like a set of the boy's old training clothes and as she had gingerly pulled the racer-back tank over her head she had been instantly enveloped in his scent.
Pulling the neck of the white top to her nose she inhaled the complex smell of leather couches and old books sprinkled with tea. Yes, that was definitely him.
Letting the collar fall back into place, she stared back at the bed. While she'd been bathing someone, presumably Alfred, had changed her sheets. Fresh linens were pulled tight across the mattress, just begging for someone to climb in and disturb their military neatness. For now she would have to be content with dumping her bathroom finds, unused soap, a pair of scissors and couple of rolls of fresh bandages, onto the duvet. The fire that had been dying in the fireplace when she'd left had been extinguished, and the lingering smell of burnt pine and clean cotton filled her senses. The thick curtains had been pulled back bathing the room in a muted grey light and by the degree of brightness she guessed it had to be sometime around midday.
Denying her urge to nap she turned to eye the only mirror in the room. Standing beside the unused wardrobe it was an expensive looking thing, a full length oval with too many ornate swirls framing it. Sighing, she limped to stand in front of it.
She gritted her teeth at the reflection that greeted her. From her aching muscles and the constant pain when she moved Selina had assumed that she probably didn't look great but the girl that stared back at her felt like a stranger.
The thick white straps didn't conceal much from the naked eye and Selina found herself absently roaming the exposed skin with her fingertips.
How had she not felt all of these?
The bruise that had kept her eye swollen for so long had now darkened half her face and purple and green fingerprints ringed her throat like a macabre collar. Her cheeks were too sharp and her lips were still pale and chapped, giving her an almost ghost like appearance.
She looked down at the stitches in her shoulder, the darkened skin around them flared out like a purple starburst against an impossibly pale canvas. The low neckline of her top exposed the severity of her collarbone and the bruises that resulted in being tackled onto a creek bed from twenty feet high.
Her eyes moved back to the top of her head. She had been careful not to wet her stitches when she had washed away all the blood and mud from her hair. She had painstakingly rinsed and rinsed until the water had run clear, but despite her ministrations and using both bottles of conditioner, her seemingly thinning hair was still a mess. The tangled locks were mixed with the matted curls that stuck out from her head. It would take forever to comb out.
Fuck that.
The pain in her ankle forgotten she moved toward the bed mindlessly snatching the scissors out of the pile. Dazedly, she grabbed a loose piece from her nape wrapping the curl around two fingers before she cut it away. It came loose with relative ease, and the released tension sent the side of her head banging into her bad shoulder. Pain shot through her like a slap and she stared down at the curl just lying in her freshly bandaged palm.
What in the hell was she doing?
Angry and confused she dropped the scissors and the useless lock of hair onto her bed, before she reached for the zippered grey hoodie she'd left there. She couldn't continue reacting so irrationally.
And chopping your hair off because of a few knots definitely counted as irrational.
The heavy pound of footfalls pulled her from her thoughts and she quickly pulled on her jacket. She narrowed her eyes at the squeaky screech of a rubber sole coming up short.
She had barely flicked the hood up on her jacket when the door was flung open. Dark eyes shot to the doorknob in his hand as if he had just remembered that he had forgotten to knock. Blinking, he stepped into the room.
He was in his training clothes, his black jacket zipped all the way to the collar and bits of snow and mud clung to the matching bottoms. His normally perfect hair was mussed the black locks sticking up at angles as if he had just pulled a hat off. His cheeks were flushed, beads of sweat slowly dripping from his temples and jaw line and his chest rose and fell too rapidly, as if he had run too far too fast.
Her stomach clenched as she stared at him. Despite his wealth and his intelligence, Bruce Wayne wasn't an overwhelming human being and she had thought that she'd prepared herself to see him. But standing here with him, seeing him in the flesh, something suddenly clawed at her.
She felt older, a thousand years older. So many things had happened, so many terrible things that it felt like she hadn't seen him in years. It was crazy but a part of her wanted to touch him, be near him, wanted to breathe him in, but her little voice warned her away. She'd already told herself that she was going not going to do anymore irrational things.
"Sel-ina," he breathed. "Alfred said-" he gulped in air. "You're awake."
She felt her chapped lips curl and her eyebrow quirked up at his voice and the look of relief on his normally sullen face.
"Take a breath kid."
His dark eyebrows drew together at the unusual sound of her voice. The tone was even foreign to her own ears, deep and scratchy, like she'd eaten a handful of gravel.
At the sudden reminder of why she was here, an unfamiliar pang of uncertainty ran through her and she almost turned from him. She could feel his gaze on her, taking in her appearance with his critical eye, and she felt the need to zip up her hoodie. Some part of her knew that it shouldn't feel this uncomfortable with Bruce. She had never minded his attention before, but she remembered that there was nothing appreciative in his eyes. And she suddenly realized that she felt something that she rarely ever felt around Bruce. Awkward.
His breathing under control, he stepped fully into the room, but left the door open behind him. His manners having finally broken through whatever urgency he had felt before. Swallowing, she watched him finger comb his hair down, the dark locks magically falling back into place. Still when he spoke, she could hear hesitancy in his tone. "Um- how're you feeling?"
She felt her lids lower at his question. Silly boy.
"Not great," she admitted, glad to hear her voice beginning to normalize.
He lowered his head a fraction, but she saw his lip twitch to one side at her answer.
"I'm hungry though," she continued.
"Oh, of course you are," he stated, his voice sounding uncharacteristically dazed as if he should have already thought of that. His dark gaze moved to the opened curtains and she could feel his apprehension. "It's past breakfast," he explained, quickly. "But I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind making an exception-"
She half snorted at his suggestion. "It's cool, B," she said, shrugging a shoulder as she reached to grab some of the things she'd left on the bed. "Don't bother the old man, I'll get it myself, I know where you keep your food."
"No," he said firmly and she turned on her good foot in time to see him staring at her injured ankle. At her movement his dark eyes shot up to hers. "There's no need for that, I can have something brought up for you."
"I'm not an invalid," she argued, feeling a mixture of annoyance and begrudging gratitude. "I can take care of myself."
"I understand that," he answered, his voice grave. "But there is no point to causing yourself any undue stress," he continued. "Or pain," he added, his eyes drifting to her shoulder.
At his tone and the look in his eyes she felt the air in the room starting to grow heavy. Serious Bruce was a very hard animal to control. If she could keep him on his toes, annoyed but playful, she might be able to avoid having to answer any of the questions she was sure were floating around in that overstuffed mind of his.
Lightly tossing the bar of soap that she had in her hand onto the bed. She titled her head at him a motion that always seemed to grab his attention.
"What if I just want out of this powder-puff of a room?" she asked, playfully sneering and using her good hand to display the room around her in a mocking gesture. "It's like being trapped in some cartoon princess's dream."
At her casual observation he took a step closer to her, his brows drawing together and for once she almost stepped away from him. His dark gaze openly studied her face, like when he was looking at a nearly impossible puzzle and she brought her chin up in answer. Recognition and some unreadable emotion flickered over his face, and suddenly the anxious look in his eyes disappeared replaced by a calm resignation.
"Very well," he said, a shade of determination in his clenched jaw. "I'll make us an early lunch."
She felt a moment of confusion at the change in his temperament followed by surrealism at his sudden suggestion. "You?" she asked, unable to keep the disbelief and cynicism from her voice.
If it was possible his cheeks flushed more as he brought his chin up. "I am more than capable of making a simple sandwich, Selina."
Her lip lightly curled at his answer. "Alright, kid."
Author's Notes:
Constructive Criticism always welcome.
In all honesty, this has to be one of my worst written chapters. I definitely have plans to binge watch the series before I start in on the next chapter so I can get those crazy kids back into character. ;)
I also want to apologize for taking so long to update. It has been both a busy and rough couple of months and I haven't been able to read or write nearly as much as I'd like to, but hopefully that'll change.
A huge thanks to justreadingforfun, the Sorrowful Deity, Byzinha Lestrange - I can't wait to read your next chapter, AvalonXNaruto, a Fan, sabsfan2, melissa8816, Annie C.
Your kind words really do keep me coming back to write more for these two kids, and you can't imagine what it means to know people are enjoying their little adventure. I just hope I don't disappoint.