Title: Dreams I (1/2)
Fandom: Gotham
Pairing: Bruce/Selina
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Selina
Crutch-less, Selina rounded the sharp corner into the deserted kitchen. It was well after dinner and every surface in the dark room shined having already been scrubbed clean by Alfred earlier that evening before he'd chosen to meet her in the game room.
She and the old man had spent most of the evening playing game after game of pool and her' shoulder already aching from the exercises he'd been putting her through was suddenly feeling every strike of that pool stick on cue ball that she had taken. It wasn't so much the muscles she had used, but the extreme and awkward angles that Alfred's own turns had forced her into. He would manipulate her stripes against the rails making it almost impossible for her to take a clean stroke. She had been utterly shocked by the butler's skill. Alfred had been pulling out ridiculous trick shots and sinking balls that had both annoyed and though she would never admit it had impressed the hell out of her.
She had wondered why when she had offhandedly challenged Alfred to a game of pool, that Bruce had made a rude sound almost like a snort and had quickly excused himself to go work on one of the million projects he seemed to be always working on. Now she knew.
It had taken her one game to realize that she might've been in over-her-head, but despite the giant hit to her ego, Selina had found herself actually having fun. She and Alfred weren't exactly chummy, but they had drifted into a somewhat comfortable sort of co-existence. It was like when he helped her with her shoulder or with her ankle the two of them didn't speak much, but they had shed some of their open hostility and some of their awkwardness.
When she'd let out an involuntary whistle at a particularly good break, Alfred had begrudgingly offered her some insight. He'd told her he'd learned the basics as a 'lad,' but hadn't really enjoyed playing until he'd been stationed in a city that she couldn't begin to pronounce. If she had been the kind of person that cared, his story would have probably raised more questions for her than it had answered, but the dog tags she'd found in Bruce's room now made a lot more sense.
Even after he had sunk the eight ball for what had felt, at least to her, like the tenth time, she had continued to antagonize him for a rematch and even at the time she wasn't sure why. She knew herself well enough to know half had been her pride demanding retribution for the old man's hustling, but she suspected some it was the same reason that when he had declined she had decided to take the long way back to her room.
She would like to think that it was hunger and hunger alone that had sent her down stairs to the kitchen, but Selina was aware that sometimes there was no sense in lying to yourself.
She didn't want to sleep. Sleep meant dreaming and lately her dreams had been nothing but a steady reminder of things she was determined to forget. She didn't want to be confronted by those kids and their soft pain filled voices. She didn't want to hear the reedy twang of that boy or his father's warm clipped words. No matter what she tried, she just couldn't seem to shake them.
And if she wasn't dreaming about them. Well, she'd found herself dreaming about things she would much rather ignore. Dark hair and intelligent eyes and a stubborn mouth that when she'd wake up had left her feeling confused and oddly frustrated. She almost wished to dream about the forest and the hunters, at least those things seemed to make sense to her.
She had been half-way back to her room, when the thought of climbing into that bed and laying amongst nothing but shadows and the deafening sound of her own thoughts that had had her detouring and taking a flight of stairs that just happened to run past the study.
She had not even taken a single step past the threshold, when it had become clear to her that from the cold fireplace and the almost tomb like stillness of the room that Bruce had already gone to bed. Ignoring the sudden and very unwelcome disappointment she felt stirring in her, she had quickly redirected herself to the kitchen.
She certainly didn't need Bruce Wayne to entertain her. She had been living alone for most of her life; she had no problem entertaining herself.
By the time she had reached the kitchen she had already formed a plan in her head, steal a snack from the fruit bowl - Bruce's kitchen was great like that, it always had food just lying around - and then she was going to sit by the fire in her room, until grey light started creeping past the curtains and her lids would finally begin to grow heavy and she had worked her way through that book she'd thieved from the study.
She had discovered it a couple of weeks ago, when she'd woken up to find the Manor completely empty. It had been around the time her dreams had started, the morning before she had found that newspaper among all the clutter on Bruce's desk. She had still been in the heavy air-cast Alfred had strapped her in and so she had spent most of that morning, either in the kitchen eating or in the study gazing at all of the things Bruce's family had acquired over the years. She wasn't even sure what century some of this stuff had come from, but it was all so… Foreign to her. Unfortunately, it was at times like this that no matter how close they were, or had drawn to him she found herself, she truly felt apart from Bruce. But that wasn't something she had needed to dwell on.
As someone who was rather acquisitive herself, like Bruce's relatives before him, she had an appreciation for pretty things, so she had been aimlessly trailing her finger along a row of leather spines when she had felt it. She'd heard that you weren't supposed to judge a book by its cover, but she had done just that. Even in her hands, it had been small but it had looked expensive and so she'd snatched it up. Leafing threw it, she had quickly discovered she had been right about it being old, like really old, so old she was pretty sure even if she had the idea to do it; she wouldn't have been able to find a fence to take it.
It had been sheer boredom and her need for a distraction that had eventually driven her to crack it open. It had taken her more than a few tries to start reading it, the language was old and hard to read, but once it had started clicking, it was just like breaking a code once you did suddenly everything just kind of fell into place. It had started off boring, but she had figured the more boring the book, the easier it would be to fall asleep. She had gotten less than half-way through, when Selina had found herself frowning and closing it. Well, it certainly hadn't been boring. She just couldn't believe that Bruce would have that kind of book in his library, when there were passages that had made even her cheeks flush. She didn't even know they had thought about stuff like that back then.
Shaking off thoughts of lost pool games and inappropriate books, Selina leaned across the spotless kitchen island. Her gloveless hand was poised just over a bright green apple at the top of the fruit bowl when the sound of brushing fabric reached her ears.
It wasn't really a sound, just a disturbance of air that had her spinning around, her bare feet barely audible on the floor. The solarium was dark, but the kitchen was much darker and Selina knew instinctively that if someone were in there, she had the advantage, a slim one, but still and advantage.
Movement from behind the half-closed solarium door caught her eye and she stilled. Facts raced through her mind: Alfred was upstairs, Bruce was in bed. With a sudden pain in her chest, she knew that whatever was behind that door probably wasn't supposed to be.
She felt her muscles tense beneath her skin, her ears trying to desperately to hear anything besides the steady rhythm of her heart. She could feel it beating in her chest, the sound slow and thick, as she held her breath.
Unlike most crooks and thieves, Selina didn't think of herself as a very superstitious person. She had no special rituals, no lucky talisman, no qualms about thieving under a full moon, but for one terrifying and humiliating moment her mind was filled with all of the old stories her Mae had told her: old ghosts like the Cuca and even the Sack Man. She knew they weren't true, knew they had no basis in reality but the ideas were hard to shake when she was sitting alone, in the dark, in the creepiest house she'd ever stepped foot in.
Brushing off her childish fears she focused on the reality of her situation and the beveled glass that stood between her and whatever was on the other side. The thought of alerting Bruce or the old man didn't even cross her mind as she crept quietly to the half-opened doors. She had been taught, when in doubt, to never enter a room at eyelevel, so she was careful to keep herself concealed as she peeked around the corner of the door.
In the last week the daily snow showers had dwindled down to just flurries and Alfred had had the cat-slide roof swept clean of the snow and ice and all the debris that had collected there since the storm. Unobstructed the full moon shined trough the panes bathing the solarium in shades of purple and highlighting the lone figure sitting silently in one of the overstuffed armchairs his pale fingers full of white rope.
Surprised, Selina caught herself before she stumbled out of her crouch. Feeling almost amused, she watched the figure hold up a looped piece of cord, the knot he had tied shining a brilliant white in the night lit room.
She almost let out a sigh, the sound born of relief and incredulity.
What kind of weirdo sat in the dark and the cold playing with rope?
Ignoring her own thought, she watched Bruce as he efficiently pulled both ends of the rope seemingly popping the knot he had formed free. His dark brows drawn together, he immediately made three loops between the fingers of one hand. With his free hand, he absently, he reached down by his feet grabbing a mug of tea she hadn't noticed, and wrapped his long fingers around the body as he took a sip. It was an absent and some-what masculine gesture and a far cry from his usually pompous manners.
Placing it back on the floor he stayed sitting forward, his elbows on his knees as he worked at the edges of the rope. He was wearing a dark fisherman's sweater, the thick sleeves bunched at the elbows exposing the rolled white cuffs of his undershirt.
Silently, she climbed to her feet and leaned her weight into the door jamb as she watched him. She tried not to think about what he might've been like had he grown up with his parents. Would they have brought him up any different? Would he have been just like the rest of the rich kids she had seen around the city?
Would he have changed his hair, stopped taming it in that severe side part that made him look like he was in some old black and white movie? Would he have let it grow out, embrace that little curl on the end when it got too long and worn it like the other kids his age. Maybe his eyes would've been different, more lines around the corners from smiling and laughing and not the permanent line between his brows from concentration. Sometimes when he was reading she had the unnerving urge to reach over and try and smooth it out, but she always resisted.
She wondered if he would've looked different more round and less angles. He would've probably held onto that baby fat longer, his cheeks would've been softer, letting him slowly grow into all those sharp edges that had been exposed too soon.
He probably would've been a little less awkward, his skin a little more gold from vacations in exotic places. He might've even have been charming, learning to handle children his own age, learning to manipulate his parents and his teachers and his friends' parents. His personality a little less intense from being tempered over time instead of forged.
Would he have passed her on the street, not even looking her in the eye as he brushed passed her. Maybe, he would've had that kind of smug disdain for the rest of Gotham that kids that came from his class did.
She didn't think so. She didn't know much about the Waynes, just what B had let slip every once in a while, but they seemed proactive, like they had truly given a damn and put their money and their time where their mouths had been.
Whatever time they had gotten with their son, they had done a pretty damn good job. He was weird, yeah, but she suspected that was unavoidable. The only other smart kid she knew was certifiably insane, so weird wasn't the worst side-effect to genius.
Looking at him now, all pale skin and too sharp angles, his winged-brows furrowed in thought it was almost impossible to picture that other boy. But she felt something inside her tighten at the version that sat in front of her.
She knew he had mourned his parents and every time he spent a night pouring through Wayne Enterprise boxes and files he was still mourning them. It was a strange idea she knew, but had he ever taken a second to say goodbye to the easy life he had lost that night, to the boy he would never become?
Selina almost laughed at herself. What in the hell had she been doing thinking about shit like that for? Bruce had more, had way more, than ninety-nine point nine percent of the world, why in the hell was she worried about him?
Still, she looked back at him. His attention was still completely focused on the rope in his hands but she didn't take it personally, Bruce's had tunnel vision at the best of times.
"Sup," she said.
Much to her disappointment, he didn't startle, but stilled at her voice, his eyes watching her as he straightened lifting his tea from the floor.
"You didn't jump," she observed, pushing off the door frame and moving into the room.
He calmly finished sipping his tea, "Why would I jump?" he asked, titling his head. "I knew you were there," he said, lowering his mug to the floor.
"What gave me away?" she asked, smiling mirthlessly.
"Nothing," he replied, shrugging. "I just knew."
"So, why didn't you say anything," she playfully accused, stepping further into the room, the black tile beneath her foot surprisingly cool.
"I assumed you would come in when you were ready," he answered, watching her. "I could wait."
"I've known you awhile B," she said, taking another lazy step. "I certainly wouldn't've taken you for the patient type."
"You would be in accordance with Alfred on that assessment, but some…" he looked at the rope in his hand as if searching it for the right answer. "Projects," he said, delicately. "Require time and patience, so I'm willing to learn."
Selina almost rolled her eyes. "How come you always have to use like twenty words when less than a handful would do?"
He looked back at her, seemingly unaffected by her observation. His head tilted to the side, his silhouette shifting imperceptibly. "I thought you were instructing Alfred on the finer points of billiards."
Selina flattened her expression. Didn't he know that this was exactly what she was talking about?
"Us normal folks just call it shootin' pool, B," she said, crossing her arms and giving the wicker loveseat a glance as she passed "And I was," she admitted.
He stopped fiddling with his rope and his grey eyes so dark in the moonlit room quickly ran the length of her. She watched the side of his mouth quirk up at his assessment. "He won didn't he? He beat you."
She let out a sigh, unfolding her arms, "Like I stole something."
His brow lifted and his lips parted on a half-smile at her choice of phrase. "I imagine that must have been quite the shock for you."
She glared back at him. "It's not everyday I get hustled by a three-piece," she paused looking at him. "You sure he's just a butler?"
His half-grin faltered. "I think we can safely assume that Alfred isn't just anything," he said quietly, his eyes moving back to the rope in his hand.
She felt her eyes narrow at Bruce's words, but chose to ignore it.
Not looking up from his task he asked, "So what did you wager this time?"
"How'd you know I wagered something?"
"Because, you're not likely to play a game for the sake of competition or the mere enjoyment," he said, his thoughtful voice taking the sting out of his words.
She shrugged lightly, "Just your first born," she answered, lazily crossing from a black tile to a white one as she moved toward him.
"That was rather careless of you," he deadpanned, but she could see the slight curl to his lips.
"Well," she drawled, watching his head tilt up to watch her as she stood next to his chair. "I figure he's done a pretty okay job with you. So," she shrugged, moving to the balls of her good foot and sliding onto the arm of his chair. "What the hell? Why not let 'im have another?"
Bruce didn't turn in her direction, she knew he was accustomed to her habit of perching, and he only nodded his head in agreement, "That sounds logical."
She watched him readjust his position on the seat, but she didn't know if he was making room for her or putting more space between them. Ignoring Bruce's need to retreat, she crossed her legs putting her good foot on the cushion beside him and letting her bad ankle dangle loosely between them. She could have sat on the wicker sofa, it would have been more comfortable, but she liked him in the light here. It suited him. His dark head tilted the smallest degree toward her as if he was examining her new position from the corner of his eye.
He cleared his throat. "How's the ankle?" he asked.
"Been worse," she answered, shrugging as she studied the top of his perfectly combed head. It felt like it had been forever since she'd had the opportunity to look down at him. She had never been overtly taller than B, but at least for awhile they had been eye-to-eye and then they were typically so far apart that their height difference didn't matter. Now, they were so close she could see the shadowed dip below his cheek bone.
"So what's with the rope," she asked, gesturing to the cord in his hands. "You going fishing or something."
He snorted that little airy half-laugh of his that reached the corners of his eyes. "Or something," he answered.
He quickly made three loops again, and completed the knot he'd made earlier pulling both ends until it dismantled itself.
"Lemme guess," she drawled, her voice taking on a teasing note. "You read it in a book?"
"No," he answered, giving her one of those sad half-smiles that seemed to pull at some unnamed thing inside her. "Actually my father taught me, sailing was a favorite past time of his."
She felt a single shoulder tense under her ear as that unnamed thing was pulled harder. "And he brought you with him?" she asked, reaching down and gently pulling at the rope he was holding.
"Yes," he answered, letting it slide from his grip. "I believe, he thought of himself as quite the outdoors man. He insisted on bring me hiking every year for my birthday, and even tried to bring me mountain climbing once, but I wasn't very good at it," he added matter-of-factly.
"I bet you'd prolly be better now," she absently observed, trying to duplicate the loops he had so easily created.
"Maybe," he replied, watching her fingers as he fully turned in the seat to face her. "Have you ever seen one?"
She felt her eyebrows knit at his question. "One what?" she asked, not looking up from the rope.
"A mountain," he answered, as if it had been an ordinary question.
She narrowed her eyes and lowered the rope, "Of course, I've seen a mountain, B."
Under the bright moon she could only see the suggestion of a blush against his sharp cheekbones, "I didn't mean to offend you," he said, quickly. "I only meant-"
Selina half-snickered, half-sighed at his tone. "Yeah, I know what you meant," she said trying to keep her voice light, and seeing no reason to lie she finished, "And no, I haven't."
"Would you like to see one?" he asked, cautiously.
"Why?" she asked, her tone teasing. "You asking to show me."
"Yes," he said automatically.
Selina bit back a groan. She hated when he did that, when he was so frustratingly honest.
"Don't' be stupid," she fussed, and without thinking slid off the arm of the couch and onto the seat cushion.
The moment she sank down beside him, something inside Selina instantly regretted it. Watching his rangy body stiffen by her side, she could feel heat crawling up her neck and settling in her cheeks. Okay, so maybe she and Bruce weren't quite as small as she had remembered, but when had her hips started taking up so much room? On the other hand, when had Bruce? She had honestly thought that there would be more room.
Fortunately, Bruce had already moved, instinctually making room for her, but they were still shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the lone freckle on the top of his ear, the slight curl on the ends of his hair where he was letting it get too long. She could feel the constant warmth from his body radiating through his layers of clothing. He was so close she could even detect the sweet smell of the product he used in his hair over the tea he was drinking and the pleasant scent that always clung to him.
She felt his muscles harden as he went to stand, but the action was suddenly aborted, as he exhaled and his body relaxed a fraction. She expected him to sigh, to make that sound he always made when he was annoyed, but he simply looked at the thigh that brushed his own. It could not have been more than a minute, but it already felt as if they had gone too long without talking.
She heard a rough sound as Bruce cleared his throat before he said, "We could move to the sofa if you want."
She shrugged, her cotton sweatshirt rubbing against his wool sweater. "I'm cool," she said, giving him a sideways glance. "You?"
"I'm-" he swallowed. "Comfortable."
"You sure," she asked, raising a single eye-brow as she absently twined the white rope through her fingers.
"Of course I'm sure," he said, his voice tinged with slightest bit of annoyance at her patronizing tone.
She snorted. "Alright," she said, her voice betraying her amusement at his annoyance. "So you're into ropes now? What happened to the carving?"
"I sent it off to Mr. Fox to finish," he said, his head tilted as he watched her fingers.
She quickly flipped her hands palms up, so he couldn't see the crooked silver lines that ran along her knuckles and the thin skin on the back of her hands. "The security guy," she asked disbelief in her voice.
"Yes," he said, "He's also… Into whittling."
"Really," she said, "He's into little thumb sized cat figurines too?"
"It was more of a pendant and it's not unusual for a person to have several interests, Selina," he answered, his tone just the slightest bit haughty.
Selina let her eyes narrow as she threaded the rope through her fingers Cat's Cradle style. On another day, she might have called him on his bull shit, but Bruce was entitled to his secrets. Everyone was.
Sighing, she unraveled it. "So how many different knots are there?"
She could feel his dark gaze on her, studying her, gauging if her interest was sincere.
"Around thirty I suppose," he answered.
She scoffed. "Why in the hell would you need to know that many?"
"Sailings complicated," he answered, matter-of-factly.
"I wouldn't know," she said, handing him back the rope. "Never been on a mountain, can't be surprised that I never been on boat either."
She watched his head tilt, his eyes a touch brighter. "When the weather turns, we could-"
"Gonna stop you right there, B-"
He turned in her direction and she sank back against the arm of the sofa. Choosing the arm chair over the sofa really had not been one of her better ideas.
He continued as if he hadn't heard her, "I know you told me you don't like the water, but we could take one of my father's -"
"I said no!"
She heard his teeth click together as his jaw tensed and he sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. It wasn't unusual for her and Bruce to have words, Selina understood that friendships of any kind were tricky things, but they had rarely been so close together when they did. She could feel the hard and warm curve of his side brushing her arm as he took a steadying breath.
She didn't know why she had snapped at him. She had no real excuse for it. She knew Bruce was just trying to be kind to her, to share something with her, but his unconditional generosity unnerved her. She simply had no defense against it.
"You're being obstinate," he said, clasping his fingers together.
"I don't know what that means," she lied, working the cuffs of her sweatshirt over her fingertips.
"Yes, you do," he accused.
"Yeah," she admitted, "I do and aint that just the pot calling the kettle black."
His head tilted in her direction, "I suppose it is," he agreed, his voice lighter. "But why do you do that?"
She crossed her arms, "Do what?" she asked.
"Pretend," he said, his dark eyebrows drawn together.
Uncrossing her arms, she shrugged, the sudden but familiar tightness in her throat almost robbing her of her voice. "Everybody's gonna think something about you, Bruce. In the City, it's better if you control that something."
He was looking at her, his eyes openly curious. "Like," she continued. "People think you're stupid, that you can't understand them, they'll say all kinds of shit in front of you thinking you're none the wiser. On the other hand, if people think your kind, then they think your weak… And if somebody, anybody, thinks that you're weak you're already dead. Get what I'm saying."
"The Law of Club and Fang," he said, nodding his head slightly.
Confused, biting into her lip, she looked back at him, "What?"
"It's from a book," he answered.
"Of course it is," she said, teasingly. "What else would fill that overstuffed brain of yours?"
She could feel him studying her again and it was too late and she was too tired to try and educate a billionaire about what survival really meant. Sighing, she looked down to the rope in his hands.
"So these knots," she said, "Y'know 'em all, huh?"
"I know most," he said, his voice somehow both soft and determined. She could see by the turn of his mouth that he was reluctant to change the subject, but looking away he looped the cord around itself.
"Which one's your favorite?"
He shrugged. "I'm partial to the hitch knot," he answered, "It's very useful."
"Okay, so if you're really into," she paused and dismissively waved her hands at the rope in his hands, "whatever this is we could make a trade?"
He looked back at her, his curiosity obviously piqued and their earlier tones clearly forgotten.
"What kind of trade?" he asked, warily.
She felt familiar warmth spread in her and her lips suddenly curl up at his willingness. "A knot for a knot," she answered.
His head tilted. "I don't follow," he admitted.
She rolled her eyes.
"You teach me your hitch knot and I'll teach you…" Selina bit her lip as her eyes went to the glass ceiling as she tried to remember what the girls had called it. "Well, it doesn't really have a name but you get the gist."
"Yes, I believe I do," he answered.
"But I gotta warn ya B, my knot aint for boats," she said, smiling down at him.
To Be Continued…
Author's Note: If anyone is still reading this, I am legitimately SO SORRY for taking so long to update. The last few months have been super busy for me, but that's no excuse for not updating more frequently and I truly owe y'all my gratitude and also your individual PMs and Review Responses. I promise to have all of that done by the time I post the second half of this chapter. which I promise shouldn't be more than a week.
I truly hope after such a long wait that this chapter wasn't too much of a disappointment.