Title: Duplicity: Part 2
Fandom: Gotham
Pairing: Bruce/Selina
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Bruce
Comparative to the scale of his house, the kitchen was and had always been surprisingly small. He could only assume this was because it was built at a time that kitchens were meant for cooks and servants and not much else. Years of remodeling by both his parents and his grandparents had left it with a rustic charm, like something a far-fetched movie producer would imagine a French farmhouse to look like. However, even on the brightest of days, little light penetrated past the large Wayne crest that emblazoned each white paneled window that lined the wall over the farmhouse sink and more for looks than practicality, the wood burning stove.
Today was no different. It was almost past midday, and the daily snow shower that was so frequent this time of year was swirling around, casting shadows against the stained-glass windows. Bruce glanced at the rhythm-less darkness, then to the clock hanging by the door, then to the man standing by the high-lipped sink.
Despite boasting of his sandwich making skills, though if he was being honest he tended to cut the bread too thick, Bruce had nearly been overwhelmed when he had finally gotten into the kitchen. It was not that he did not know how to cook, he understood the mechanics and science of it, but some things just baffled him. There was too little structure and too much instinct involved in making anything. He had been in the midst of analyzing the instructions on the back of a soup can when Alfred had found him.
At first, he had been reluctant to accept his butler's help- he was at least trying to be more independent- but then Alfred had pointed out that the tremor in his hands meant he would probably end up with one less finger than he had started out with this morning so he had conceded.
Bruce did not see himself as having a particularly nervous disposition, but after his encounter with Selina that morning he could not quite still the energy that seemed to be shooting through his body. He felt shaky and bruised and something else that he could not quite work out yet.
Half aware, he had watched as Alfred had moved around the kitchen, chopping up winter vegetables, tossing things together, adding spices that didn't quite make sense to him. Completely confident in his tasks, his guardian had been talking the whole time, giving him advice on how to care for Selina. He knew he should have been listening, should have been taking the words to heart, but he could not get the sight of her out of his mind.
It was not just her appearance that had left his usual self-control fissured; it was the edge of anxiety he had felt the last few weeks, the concern over the blizzard that had nearly wrecked the city, and even the fact that his daily run had somehow exhausted him without putting him at ease. It was everything.
The dry heat from the stove was making the kitchen grow uncomfortably warm bordering on oppressive. Pushing up the thin sleeves of his sweater to his elbows and wiping the sweat from his brow he tried to focus on Alfred's usually pleasant voice, but it seemed to be lost among the sharp clang of the pans, and the gentle sizzle of meat in the iron skillet.
Frowning down at the wooden table in front of him, Bruce tried to take stock of the symptoms he had grown so well acquainted with over the last two years: shallow breaths, lump in his throat, the over stimulation…
Taking a deep breath from his stomach, he ordered his body to center itself.
Inhale.
One, two, three.
Exhale.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Inhale.
Exhale.
He was pulled from his thoughts as Alfred set down the last tray of food, a pie of some kind filled with chicken and vegetables. He had not known what Selina might be hungry for, but if memory served him well, she would eat just about anything.
"You're sure you don't need me to stay," the older man asked, casually cuffing one wrist behind his back, in a strictly military gesture.
Bruce gave him a grim smile. "I think we both can safely assume that Selina wouldn't care very much for the company," he answered, looking back down at the food spread out. It was beginning to look more like a feast than a light lunch. "I'll be okay, Alfred. I can handle the situation," he said not feeling as confident as his tone lead on.
"Well, it's not really the situation I'm worried about, sir."
Bruce narrowed his eyes as he looked back up at his butler. Alfred was staring back at him his lined face and calm blue eyes leaving no doubt to his thoughts.
"I can handle Selina," he said, his voice flat.
Alfred's normally stoic expression broke on a scoff, and Bruce felt his eyes narrow further, but the older man quickly made a valiant effort to cover his laugh behind a cough.
His cheeks began to burn and he involuntarily clenched his jaw. It was not that he did not understand Alfred's concern, he did, but that did not mean he had to appreciate it.
It seemed that in every other aspect of his life that Alfred rarely tried to shield him from the harshness of the 'real' world. In training, the man had nearly broken his nose and knocked him down more times then Bruce could count. There were the times he had made Bruce confront bullies, attend parties he didn't want to and talk to people that had made his skin crawl. All in the name of toughening him up.
However when it came to a certain green-eyed girl, Alfred took up his sword and shield as if Selina Kyle was some kind of mythical dragon and not a ninety pound teenage girl. Alfred acted as if given the opportunity she would eat him alive, that her very presence would irrevocably break something inside him. As if when it came to her, Bruce had neither the walls nor the skills to deal with such a complicated matter.
Even now, Alfred had found the idea that Bruce thinking he could "handle her" was… Comical.
He could not help but feel the insult burning through him.
Alfred must have recognized the look on his face because he quickly sobered, visibly clearing his throat as if for good measure.
"Do you really think you can get her to tell you what happened?"
"No," he admitted. "But I have to try."
"And if you fail?"
He sighed. "I don't know."
He felt Alfred's gaze on him, but he did not need to look up to know it was a look of concern. 'I don't know' was not a phrase he applied to a situation lightly.
"Very well then, will that be all, sir?"
He glanced over the food that Alfred had set for them. "Yes, thank you, Alfred."
Alfred moved toward the door, but paused before he opened it. "Remember what I told you," he said.
"I will."
Listening to his butler's fading footsteps, his eyes unwittingly moved to the slow moving clock in the corner. He sighed at the time. It had been nearly three hours since he had left Selina. In that same stretch of time he had showered, found a change of clothes, and watched a man cook an entire meal and she had not even made it down the stairs.
He understood he had to be patient with her and to remind himself that she did things in her own time, but where was she? Hadn't it been her idea to eat an early lunch or had that just been an excuse to get rid of him? Maybe it wasn't her fault, she could have overestimated herself. He knew from experience that her ankle had to be aching and that bruise on the side of her face looked like the promise of a potential migraine. Or maybe she'd simply changed her mind about eating in her room?
He bit into his bottom lip. He felt twelve years old again, just like he had that first day when had sat all morning in his study, waiting in vain for her to come down to breakfast. He had been so filled with nervous energy, his hands had shaken as he had tried to drink his orange juice and come up with something to talk to her about. But she had never shown up and he had been forced to shove a couple spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth before Alfred had brought him outside for his first boxing lesson.
He looked over the food on the table feeling a sense of disappointment beginning to mix with his anxiety as the little light from outside began to dim.
Maybe Alfred was right.
Maybe when it came to her, he really was in way over his head.
Because when he had opened that door to her room and seen her standing there, pale eyes wide open and finally aware. He had wanted to go to her; he had wanted to wrap his arms around her and to feel her breathe. If for nothing more than to prove to himself that she was real, she was here, and she was alive. Really alive, not in that half-conscious state she had been struggling through the last few days. However, he had fought that unnecessary urge. There was a chance she may not have balked, may have even welcomed his embrace but the odds were too great and he could not take that risk.
It had been almost three years since Detective Gordon had shown up at their door with a grim smile and a proposition. When the Detective had informed him that he had found a witness to his parent's murder, Bruce had felt a combative mixture of cynicism and optimism. He had been told it was a girl, a thief not much older than himself that had somehow seen the killers face before he had donned his disguise. As he had looked down at the composite sketch in his hands he had felt his insides turning over, his thoughts moving too fast and he knew that he was going to be sick.
He had tried to think of something, anything else to focus all of his useless energy on. He could not remember if had asked or if Detective Gordon had offered, but at just the sound of her name he had felt something, a distinctive twinge like a distant memory had been knocked loose in his mind. Heat had colored his cheeks and shame had flooded him, shame that someone had seen everything, seen his fear and his cowardice as he had stood frozen in that alley.
Anger had always been easier to deal with than shame and Alfred's fierce objections had finally brought him around. The decision to have her live with him had been easy. He could provide for her, food and shelter, buy her new clothes if she needed them. He had more than enough; it would only be fair to share some of it especially with the person who could help him give his parents justice. Surely being brave enough to come forward should be rewarded.
That day he had finally felt something positive beginning to take root in his chest, things that he later recognized as hope and purpose. He had felt so much lighter as he had taken the corner from the dimly lit study into the sunny back hall. He had been feeling more optimistic than he had since before his parents… Well, he refused to think about that.
He remembered he had needed to be on top of his game. He had never been good with children his own age and he didn't think that being from a world so far removed from his own would change that, but he would try to find them common ground.
Normalcy. That would be the behavior he strived to emulate.
When he had entered the hall and had seen her manhandling that centuries old vase, he had not been able to believe his luck. Despite his youth new acquaintances had always been presented to him. At such a young age, it had been a strange practice but his father had believed that the reverse in etiquette would help Bruce to grow more comfortable with the power and the responsibility that he would have one day. It was such naked introductions that had worried him, but with her back to him, her fingers on his mother's vase he had found the perfect topic of conversation.
But then she had turned around and thought had fled him.
In hindsight, he knew he must have looked like an idiot, but he had been dumbfounded. Curious green eyes and a curling but generous mouth had stared at him from a Cossack face and something inside him felt like it was clicking into place. She had looked back at him with an all too familiar amusement, as if she knew him, as if she had always known him.
It took him a moment to mentally shake free from his shock. Of course she had seen him before. She had been there that night. She had seen everything.
He had been talking. He knew he had been saying something but he could not quite remember what it was.
Normal, he had reminded himself. Act normal.
People had told him that wealth could impress and intimidate but he had every intention to dispel that, to make her feel comfortable. Judging by the look she had given his outstretched hand, he doubted Selina Kyle had ever been impressed or intimidated by anything.
A sharp pain and the taste of salt and copper on his tongue made Bruce shove the memories to the back of his mind. Reaching up, his fingers found the evidence that he had bitten too hard into his bottom lip. It had already been too dry from his earlier run and his nervous habit had not done it any favors.
He heard the disturbance of air and dropped his hand as the object of his thoughts hobbled into the kitchen, the majority of her weight leaning against a crutch. He had not remembered seeing the crutch in her room, but he had not really noticed anything beyond the pale figure of his friend. Even now, he felt the need to relegate his breathing.
Despite Alfred's care giving and the bath that she had so desperately needed she still looked wane and miserable. Her usually thick hair had begun to dry, the now fine pale locks curling softly around her too thin face. The clothes he and Alfred had found for her were far from stylish but he knew that they would be soft and comfortable. Two things he assumed she would need right now. The old knit sweaters, the zippered hoodies, and the jogging pants would have been a little roomy for her before but now she seemed to be overwhelmed by the material.
Sighing deeply, she ignored him, her eyes darting to the high windows on her left and the wine cellar door behind him. He couldn't help a tight lipped smile as he recognized her habit of always planning for a break. Her instincts were right, there was a way out down there, a special wine rack that pulled the right way swung into reveal an old oak door, but Selina had no way of knowing that.
The windows were her next target, but he had foreseen that and had put just enough obstacles between her and the window to make it uncomfortable but not impossible for her to escape if she wanted. Physically he had outgrown her, but he was not naïve enough to think he could ever match her ruthlessness. Everything had to be her choice, he could not even risk the illusion that it wasn't. Making her feel trapped would accomplish nothing.
She was still wearing the same grey sweatpants he had seen on her earlier, but had somehow pulled on of his old knit sweaters over the plain racerback. The sleeves were a touch too long but he noted the dark cuffs pulled intentionally to the tips of her fingers. It was a nervous habit of hers, one of the very few he had observed.
"This all for me," she said her voice rough as her head nodded to the food that was spread across the table. It was not really a question and Bruce could not help but grin.
He felt a familiar disappointment as she unceremoniously took the chair on the other end of the table. She swung her injured foot up, plopping it rudely onto one of the empty chairs. Leaning over, she wasted no time filling her plate with some of the different foods Alfred had left out for them.
"It's nothing fancy," he explained, his voice sounding too loud in the unused room. He cleared his throat. "I'm sure dinner will be better."
"It'll do," she said. Her eyes still on her lunch plate as she grabbed a warm croissant.
For several moments the only sound in the room was the harsh metallic scrap of silver on porcelain and porcelain on wood as she noisily served herself and scooped the food from her plate. The familiar sound did nothing to loosen the sudden knot in his stomach.
"How're you feeling?" he asked, watching her take a very un-lady like bite from a triangle-halved sandwich.
"Hungry," she said lightly, through a mouthful of bread and meat.
Watching her chew so unguardedly, he remembered there was something Alfred had told him, but could not quite remember what it was. Leaning back in his chair, he studied her for a moment. The purple and yellow of her cheek, the finger sized bruises around her neck and even though he could not see it now, his mind's eye supplied the damage along her shoulder.
He almost jumped as he heard her fork hit the table with a terrible clatter.
She was staring at him from across the wooden table.
"What?" she asked, her voice was hoarse and unexpectedly patient.
"Nothing," he responded, the word automatic.
Her good eye narrowed as if she hadn't expected that response, but she gave him a half-grin. "Then why're you looking at me like that?"
Her response was so light so playfully curious he almost forgot why he had been staring at her in the first place.
"I just-" He suddenly felt confused.
She ignored his answer, looked pointedly at his empty plate, and lifted a single winged brow, the same brow that he had wiped blood from not a week ago. "You aint gonna eat?" she asked.
"Not at the moment," he answered.
"Suit yourself," she said, ignoring him again.
He exhaled as he watched her shove another forkful of food into her mouth. He knew she had been on a steady diet of broth and morphine for the last two days and if she did not slow down then she was likely to make herself sick. He swallowed again, Alfred's advice on the tip of tongue.
"Selina."
"Bruce," she countered, her eyes not leaving the food on her plate.
Bruce felt his eyes narrow. There was something odd in the way she was eating, a certain single mindedness as if she had not just gone days without food but weeks. His gaze moved to the shadows beneath her cheeks and down to the sharpness of her collarbone. He remembered all too clearly the sickening feel of her spine against his chest and the sharp cut of her ribs against his arms as she had laid there half-dead.
Breathing deeply, he placed his clasped hands on the table. "How are you…? Really?"
"You've been asking me that a lot lately," she said, tilting her head to the side and for a moment her eyes narrowed and widened on an almost grimace. "I told you I'm fine."
"You've been gone a month," he barked, and quickly checked his tone knowing it sounded like an accusation.
Her fork stopped midway to her mouth before she slowly took a bite and he knew instantly that he had changed her mood. Chewing slowly she balanced the fork, tines down, on her plate before she let it drop. He resisted the urge to clinch his fists as her lids lowered over her eyes like a lazy viper coiling in on itself. "I didn't know I was supposed to report to you."
"I wasn't saying that. I just-" he asked, feeling exasperated. "Where have you been?"
"Here and there," she said, not taking her eyes from him. He watched as her freshly bandaged fingers slid further into the cuff of his jacket. The tell would've been unreadable if he hadn't been looking for it. "Mostly there."
He saw the subtle flicker of her eyes moving from his mouth and suddenly he tasted the salt from his fresh cut and quickly stopped chewing on his already abused lip.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"This and that," she answered, leaning back in her chair. Her green eyes coolly assessing him and Bruce could feel heat beginning to climb into his cheeks. "What happened to you?" she accused, sneering at his appearance. "You're startin' to look kinda like a half-starved vampire."
The insult didn't hurt, but he knew it wasn't designed to. If Selina had really wanted to, she could strike him hard, but that's not what this was about. She was verbally dodging him, using her words to intentionally confuse him. It was nothing more than a verbal deflection.
"Do you think this is funny?"
She scoffed, "Not particularly."
He exhaled audibly and watched her eyes move lazily around the room. There was something slightly feverish in her gaze and her cheeks that had been so rosy earlier seemed to be draining of color.
"You are being quiet flippant about all of this," he said, as she absently grabbed another piece of potato. "Alfred advised me to go to the authorities-"
"And d'you?" she snapped, her green eyes suddenly sharp.
"No," he explained, feeling his temper beginning to rise. "Not yet. I told him that I wanted to give you the opportunity to explain this to us."
"Us?" she asked her good brow arching as she reached for her discarded fork.
"Yes, us," he answered. "Alfred saved your life Selina. I believe he deserves the right to know from what."
She exhaled deeply through her nose, her chin lifting, as she looked him in the eye. Her head was lightly bobbing, a deceptively lazy motion, but he had known her long enough to know what it meant. She was stalling, composing herself, struggling to come up with a believable lie.
"Lookit," she began, pulling her foot down as she sat up straighter in the chair. Her posture mirroring his own. "I got in an accident, okay," she explained, shrugging her uninjured shoulder and stabbing a piece of meat with her fork before shoveling it into her mouth. "I jacked a car and…" She swallowed motioning to herself.
"Car accident?" he asked, not trying to disguise the disbelief in his voice.
"Yeah," she deadpanned. "Car accident."
Something very close to rage shot through him at the blatant lie and Bruce exhaled to keep his temper in check. It was unfair to place the blame squarely on her shoulders, when he was not sure who he was angrier with Selina or himself.
He was not sure why had he assumed that she would do this the easy way? In the entirety that he had known her, she had never done anything easy. She always told him that she didn't intentionally go looking for trouble, that trouble just had a way of finding her, but a person didn't strike up alliances with the seedy underbelly of Gotham because it was good for their health. The evidence to that was glaring back at him from the bruise on her face.
He had planned to be patient, to be calm and in control, but he had known since those first few minutes that he had spent with her in that room that he was going to have to be the rational one. He knew he should be, but nothing could stop his temper from rising, from that instinctual need to try and get the truth from her.
It was counterproductive, this thing they did, no matter what noble intentions of control he had planned, he was always compelled to let that control slip. And before he knew what was happening, his nails would be digging into his palms and Selina would be giving him her back as she walked away.
She can't walk away now, he reminded himself.
"I don't believe you."
"And who said, I needed you to believe me," she countered, her chin raised stubbornly. She shook her head, the frustrated movement sending a golden brown curl across her bruised eye. "Look, why are you so upset about this? It was only a month."
"Because, you almost died," he argued.
"I've almost died half-a-dozen times! What makes this time special?"
He was utterly still as he stared back at her, letting the weight of that outrageous declaration settle between them.
"Do you really have so little regard for your own life?"
"Just the opposite," she answered, her lip curling on the undamaged side of her face. "I have nothing but regard for my own life."
He looked away from her, with no intention of pointing out that her statement had made absolutely no sense, because he assumed that had been her objective.
"Then do you really have so little regard for the people who care about you?" he asked, his voice low.
She gave an offended laugh. "That's rich, Bruce," she accused.
Confused, his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"How many times have people asked you? No, begged you to stop all your digging. All your investigating," she mocked. "Huh? How many times, B?"
He felt something cold sliding into the pit of his stomach. "That's different," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course it is." she said, sneering. Her eyes slowly drifting away from his.
"It is," he reassured her, feeling his palms beginning to sweat and his breath quicken. She might not care about what had happened to her on his study floor, but that didn't mean he had to. "You've never thought I was going to die."
She didn't reply and he looked up at her pale face.
"It wasn't just me, Selina. You thought you were going to die," he paused, hoping his words soaked into her. "I could see it in your face and there was nothing I could do to help you. So please don't act like this was nothing."
Despite his manners, he hadn't looked away from her. For one moment, her eyes were shimmering, pale and blood shot and he could see her lips moving ready to form words.
He felt encouraged. "Selina, the person that did this to you-"
Something foreign slipped into her gaze as her good hand clamped over her mouth. Before her could stand, she had shot to her feet so fast her chair fell back with a clatter and she clumsily moved around the tight space. At first he worried she was going for the windows, was going to try to escape him, but as he quickly stood, prepared to physically restrain her if he needed to, the sound of retching reached his ears.
Closing his eyes, he finally remembered what it was that Alfred had warned him about.
Author's Notes:
Constructive Criticism is always welcome.
Sorry, I had to cut this chapter in to three parts. I am also very sorry for taking so long to update. This was a hard one for me, but I have no excuses, just apologies to anyone still following this story.
A HUGE thank you to anyone who has/had/or is still reading or interested in this story. You guys don't know how much your words mean and that you really give me inspiration to keep writing. Again, thank you so much!
Also: I know I already have a few fics to catch up on, but if anyone has any Bat/Cat fic recommendations I would love to hear of them.