Title: Dime Novels and Secret Rooms 2/3

Fandom: Gotham

Pairing: Bruce/Selina

Rating: T/YA

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Bruce

The remainder of the day passed quickly in a whirl of lessons and growing shadows. The "February Revolution" and the subsequent fall of the Romanovs had proved to be just as bloody as he had assumed it would be. Bruce liked to think that he was beginning to harden himself against such violence, but there was only so much torture and death he could stomach in one day. He had been quite eager to move to his English assignment and eventually onto one of his more favored subjects.

His interest in Science was less particular and more generalized. It was the rules that governed it that drew him to it. Science wasn't as concrete and rigid as Math. No matter how one looked at it, two plus two would always be four. And it wasn't nearly as loose as English, which seemingly decided every few years to change its rules and even its vocabulary on a whim. It wasn't as exhaustive as learning a foreign language and it wasn't written by the victors like History. No, Science was different.

It had the factual structure of Math (facts were facts after all) but it also had the fluidity and ability to adapt itself to new discoveries and new ideas like English. It chose to learn from its sometimes dubious and misinformed past rather than repeating it. No matter the branch of Science he chose to study, the subject was always fascinating.

But no school lesson or project, no matter how fascinating, could ever fully appease or contain his sense of curiosity.

He exhaled a sigh against his knuckles as he began to read the last pages of his correspondence. The study's low-light had already caused his eyes to itch and skipping his afternoon tea had left behind a slow throbbing ache low in his head. It wasn't that Alfred didn't try to keep him well fed. He tried. But Bruce rarely listened. So, he had been only dimly aware of his butler's presence when he had brought in the now cold mint tea and untouched biscuits that sat beside the remnants of Selina's afternoon snack.

Turning the page in his Biology textbook, he began the dull task of memorizing another diagram of the human heart. His eyes had just begun to feel as if they were full of sand when an unusual noise caught his attention.

He was quite proud of himself for not jumping in surprise, and felt something almost like mirth as he recognized the familiar sound. He had no need to look up to know what or precisely who had produced it.

Despite the concentration, he had given his school work, he had found he could never fully ignore Selina's presence. The few times that he had glanced at her in the last few hours, her lips had been either titled down in a frown or up in a sneer. While it was a mood that was not completely foreign to Selina over the past few weeks, it still had compelled him to lift his eyes every few hours.

Glancing up, he was actually surprised to find her still perched on the headrest of his couch. Along with her spells of agitation and general surliness, lately she had begun retreating to her room after lunch. He liked to think that it was still her body's way of recovering from whatever ordeal it had suffered that night, and not an excuse to escape his presence.

A sudden quiet growl of frustration from her spot on the couch had him lifting only his eyes in time to observe the book she had been reading sail across the room landing with a sounding thump against the couch.

Keeping still, only his eyebrows lifted at her sudden loss of composure. While uncommon, he wasn't completely surprised by her show of temper. If driven to it, she could be almost frightening in her wraith, but when it came to him her anger was more prone to manifesting itself in displays of cruel words and quick barbs. She had an unusual talent for driving her bald opinion as deep as any knife.

But it was unusual to see her temper aimed at something as trivial as a book.

Exhaling slowly, he leaned back in his seat as he watched her reaction. The fire burning behind her, almost gilded her hair, casting her in a contrast of gold and brown shadows and her chest was rising and falling. He thought he could almost hear her angry exhalations as she stared at the book she had thrown.

Slowly, as if she had just realized she wasn't alone, her bright eyes turned in his direction. He could see the slightest tint to her cheeks, and he tilted his head at her questioningly.

She sucked on a canine, before she gestured to the opposite couch with her gloved hand. "I read that whole shitty book," she explained. "And they didn't even end up together. The chick just left him for some douche bag and then he went on to work for his dad… Like, what the hell?"

Bruce felt everything in him go still. Out of all the possible answers Selina could have given him, Bruce had not expected that one. His brows drew together as he dropped his unused pen onto his text book and stood from his chair. "Well," he began, trying to keep his voice neutral and gaze diverted. "Not all stories were written to have a happy ending. Actually, most weren't."

Not looking up, he could feel her glare as he rounded the side of his desk and stepped toward the opposite couch, "But that doesn't mean that they don't have merit," he explained, matter-of-factly.

She scoffed, gracefully sliding from the headrest back to the seat. "Screw merit, B," she said, crossing her arms as she rested her bare feet against the edge of the coffee table. "If it's not gonna have a happy ending then what's the freaking point?"

He stilled his momentum, taking a deep breath as he contemplated both her words and his choice of seats. He knew the empty couch would have been the practical decision, but something inside made him pause. He had noticed, whether it was a chair, a city block, or sometimes even a human being, Selina had the tendency to be territorial about her space, and wherever she chose to lounge was typically no different.

From that first week he had met her, and had learned how easily she would run if spooked. He had always tried (and sometimes failed) to respect those boundaries that she had so blatantly demarcated for herself. But then she had chosen to embrace him that day in his study, and last week she had climbed onto the seat beside him in the solarium…

Breathing deeply, he looked down at the closed book sitting harmlessly on the couch cushion. He had never feared Selina. Or at least he had never feared her physically. But lately something suspiciously in that same primal vein had started to build up inside him in her presence, and the closer their proximity the easier it grew. It had caused him to get lost in her face as she'd laughed herself tearful sitting beside him in the moonlight, and also forced him to step away from her outside her bedroom when she had gazed up at him so expectantly.

No, he would not keep running from her.

Ignoring the book and the opposite couch, he shrugged and turned on his heel.

"Sometime it's about the journey," he explained, watching her as he lowered himself onto the cushion beside her. "It's about realism."

From the corner of his eye, he watched her sneer as she uncrossed her arms and rested her wrists on her upturned knees. "Life's miserable enough," she said, facing forward. "Why in the hell would someone go looking for more?"

Per usual, Bruce had already lifted his head a rebuttal already formed in his mind. Some of the best literature in the world had been written without happy endings, but something in the tone of her voice caused him to pause.

He wouldn't have expected such a fanciful response from someone like Selina. On her best days, she typically came across as cross and cynical and on her worst, she could seem only a hairsbreadth from being nihilistic. He hadn't thought he was capable of underestimating her, but maybe…

Like a projector moving slides, memories flitted through his mind.

"But that's just a cover… Really, she's a secret agent for the government."

He could see her sitting on his divan. Her old gray hood pulled over her unruly curls as she'd spun a story about her mother being a famous entertainer and working undercover for the government.

"Hit me, and… I'll let you kiss me."

She'd dared him. A wiggle in her hip and a challenge in her smile as she'd thrown a roll at his head.

"You gotta learn to protect your left side better, and stop letting the old man mess up this pretty face."

He could still feel the gentle scrape of her nails as he had looked up at her that not so long ago night in the solarium.

Like all the other scraps of her life she had bestowed upon him, Bruce carefully laid that piece out with all the other pieces that never quite fit together. He didn't understand how he had not seen it before.

Maybe he was just like everyone else, had been too caught up in her misdirection; her ruse. Because it was hard grappling with the idea that Selina could have such an unusual but such an ordinary facet to her personality.

Or maybe, it was like his movies. Somewhere between all of the horrible things she saw, and honestly, all of the not so morally upstanding things he knew she did, maybe Selina was just looking for something that made sense to her too. If only for a moment.

Looking across at the harmless book a thought ran across his mind. A very dangerous thought…

He watched her, watched the slight tilt of her lips, and the creases around her Cossack eyes. He tried and failed to keep the grin from his face. "I didn't take you for a romantic," he said.

Something like fear and anger flashed in her eyes as she whirled on him. Her full lips were drawn tight, her cheeks suddenly a darker shade of pink as if he had just cast the worst of aspersions on her character. "I'm not," she said slowly.

Bruce felt the tiniest seed of victory sprouting in his chest. It was uncommon for him to find himself with the upper-hand in a situation with Selina. When she studied him, questioned him, teased him, he felt as if she could see him. Really see him. That she could see every molecule that made him up as a person.

But when he looked back, when he studied her, questioned her, teased her, he felt as if he was like everyone else. That he was only seeing what she allowed him to see. But this was different, this was new, a piece of her that he was sure no one else in her life had ever even suspected.

He clenched his teeth, trying hard not to worsen the offense by smiling. Instead he began crafting a sentence that he was sure would border on teasing. "Well, for someone so indifferent to these characters plights, you seem very passionate about their fates," he said, deploying as many of the "ten-dollar words" he knew she hated.

She snorted. "Whatever," she replied, her tone flippant. "Look who I'm talking to, a kid who's still wet behind the ears."

"Wet behind the ears?" he parroted dumbly, before he could stop himself.

She sneered, "What? You don't know what that means?"

"Of course, I know what it means," he replied. "And it isn't true, I'm not a kid."

She scoffed at his answer. "Coulda' fooled me."

"We're barely a year apart," he argued, "So I don't understand why you continue to bring it up."

"That's funny," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "'Cause I don't understand half the crap you do."

"Like what?"

"Where do I start," she said, her voice taking on a most unflattering tone. "How 'bout thinkin' that having a good right-hook is gonna somehow stop you from gettin' killed."

"I've already explained-"

"Or that you literally can't just let shit go," she said, gesturing to nothing.

"That's not true."

"Really," she asked. "So, you don't spend all day starin' at pictures and files and newspaper articles about your own parents' murder."

It was as if all the air had suddenly been pulled out of the room. He felt the sudden and vicious quip like a blow to the stomach. That was the harsh truth of Selina, when she did choose to cut, she cut to draw blood. Before he could breathe through her honest observation, he swiveled his head in her direction as he felt his own temper snap back.

He had words on the tip of his tongue. He did. Ways he could have defended himself and observations that he knew she would find rude and callous. But he couldn't bring himself to say them. As he took her in, his eyes roaming from her curly hair to her bare feet, he could feel a change in her. Something in her demeanor, an iciness, a caginess, a foreign thing that seemed to be almost radiating from her.

He had seen her with men before, not boys, but men. She had always held herself the same, wide legs and squared shoulders. A position he had recognized from their first interaction, but one she rarely used with him anymore. No, when she was with him, nearly everything about her changed. After all this time, her appearance and temperament were still so mercurial. She had the ability to change, like a heavy liquid sliding and evolving with grace. Her movements sometimes close enough to being described as preening. Something he would never be bold enough to say to her face.

He knew she wore masks. She wore them every day and for everyone. She had been born and raised in a place where cruelty was not just essential it was celebrated. It was more than just a survival skill, it was a badge of honor. But she was neither preening nor dominant as she sat beside him. A pair of bright green eyes trained on him as she impatiently awaited his response.

He wanted to respond. To engage with her in kind, but he couldn't shake the feeling that, like so many times before, she had wanted to bait him. That she hadn't just wanted him to snap. She had needed him to.

Selina was so rarely needlessly cruel. Her reactions never so disproportionate to his teasing. So, what could he have possibly done to cause that kind of provocation?

He glanced away from her, to her half-eaten plate, to the book she had so violently discarded.

No, it wasn't what he had said. It was what he had seen. What he had inferred. What he had dared to imply.

Selina could care less if he knew what kind of books she read or even about how she felt about them, but he had done more than that. He had seen a crack, had looked beneath her mask. He had seen a part of her she had possibly not even seen herself. It had been too close. He hadn't insulted her. He had seen her and to Selina she would rather take a punch than to be seen to be vulnerable. Vulnerability, as she had told him, could get her killed.

He cleared his throat of the sudden lump in it. "I don't do that anymore."

He met her eyes as he felt her head shift in his direction and those green orbs were narrowed in disbelief.

He sighed at the wordless accusation. "Well, not as much," he admitted.

There must have been something she had heard in his voice because he felt her relax beside him. Her posture softening as fast as she had tensed up.

"I shouldn't've said that," she admitted, dropping her bare feet to the floor.

He felt his eyebrows knit in confusion as his head came up, "Are you trying to apologize?"

"I'm out of practice," she said, dryly in lieu of an answer, nudging him lightly with her elbow, "But it was a shit thing to say, and I'm sorry."

He met her eyes, her eyebrows were drawn and he could see her lips disappearing behind her teeth. She really was trying to be sincere. He stared forward, focusing on the useless painting that hung so ostentatiously against the far wall.

"But it was the truth," he said, taking a deep breath. "I know," he gulped. "I know that it's not normal to keep looking at them-"

'Then why do you still do it?" she interrupted. Her voice having lost all its sardonic notes.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "Compulsion, I suppose…" He took another deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I guess, I just… I still need to understand."

"What's there to understand?"

"The why?" he said truthfully.

"Sometimes, there is no why," she replied, her tone barely on the civil side of patronizing.

"I know," he said.

"But," she said, drawling the word out. "I think I know what you mean."

Shocked, he turned his head in her direction.

"I mean, it's not the same," she continued. "Shit. It's nowhere near the same, but I think I kinda understand.

"I think it's why I held onto my mom's necklace for so long, ya know? Why I used to look at her picture so much. I think at first I just missed her, and then… I just wanted to know why. Why she just took off? Why she left me? Why she didn't lov-"

He could hear the slight hitch in her voice, the moment she realized that she had just told him entirely too much. She rarely ever spoke about her mother or spoke so honestly about the woman that had abandoned her. It was times like this that he could feel that separation of their worlds that Alfred and Detective Gordon were always implying about.

He knew that no matter the sympathy he could feel for her, he couldn't truly understand what it felt like to be forgotten by the people who had brought you into this world. Did he know what it felt like to lose a parent? Unfortunately, he knew that pain all too well. He was an orphan after all, but his parents hadn't abandoned him, they had been taken. Selina's had left her to face the cruelties of life in Gotham through choice.

She sniffed, but the sound was much too delicate for her. He watched as she squared her shoulders, trying to pull that heavy cloak of pride and apathy around her. "But B," she said, knocking her knee into his own. "Gettin' stuck in that kinda mind loop… That kind of crap is just gonna eat you up."

"I know," he agreed, her words conjuring an all too familiar sense of foreboding.

He listened to the soft shuffle of cotton on leather as she turned in the seat, bending her knee so her foot was curled beneath her. Her shin bumped his thigh as she sat facing his side. He could feel her studying his profile. She was so good at that. Sizing people up, breaking them down. It was probably one of the many things that made her such a successful pickpocket. But he didn't want to think about that at the moment.

His gaze wandered to the remains of her meal and he felt his eyes narrow. When he had been sitting behind his desk, he had assumed that Selina had eaten at least half of her snack. Alfred's cantuccini was typically one of her favorites, but by the looks of her plate he would be surprised if she had taken more than two bites.

It was an unsettling observation. As long as he had known Selina she had never left any food behind. But choosing to pass on some of her favorite foods was a habit she'd developed over the last few weeks. At first, she'd simply stopped taking seconds, and then her plate had slowly become less and less empty until Bruce had seen her pushing nearly all of it away.

He tilted his head to face her blunt scrutinization with one of his own. He needed to remind himself that Selina was keeping secrets from him. Not harmless things that she kept to herself, but things that had the potential to be fatal. In spite of all she had said, something had happened to her. Something she couldn't seem to shake, no matter how quickly her cuts and her bruises had faded. And he needed to see it, needed to see the denial in her eyes that stayed at war with the constant purple half-moons beneath them.

But what stared back at him, only seemed to confuse him more and he suddenly wished that he had taken his seat across the room.

Like most humans, Bruce had always had an appreciation for beautiful things. It was a weakness his father had teasingly said he had inherited from his mother. And as he gazed at his friends face as he wished all the lights in the room were on, so he could see every detail of her: the gold strands littered through her hair, the dark green striations threaded in her pale eyes, every misplaced freckle she swore she didn't have. He knew his father was right. It was a weakness.

She was mostly backlit by the fire, but it did nothing to diminish her effect. She had an arm casually slung over the back of the couch, the collar of her old overused sweatshirt exposing the gentle curve of her shoulder. But what caught his attention was the unrelenting way she was studying him. Her new interest was most likely not due to his appearance, but what he was thinking. Not for the first time, it seemed she had as much curiosity about his thoughts as he had about hers.

Turning from her, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying and failing to sweep it comfortably to one side. He could already tell the product he had used that morning had lost the battle against the too long strands. But he couldn't be bothered with such a vain trivial matter when he was trying to wipe his mind clear of the thoughts that had invaded.

"It's getting too long," she observed, her voice surprisingly light.

"What?" he asked, confusion knitting his brow as he carefully refused to look at her.

Alfred often told him that one of his biggest weaknesses was his inability to read his opponent. But Selina telegraphed nothing as she leaned forward. Before he could react, her fingertips were already smoothing the overly long lock behind his ear.

"Your hair," she explained, her fingertips lingering on the back of his neck.

He stifled an unwanted shiver at the dull stroke of her blunted fingernails and the smell of leather from her new gloves. Briefly, he felt his lungs cease working as he fought the urge to sink back into the couch and trap her hand there.

He knew she meant nothing by the gesture. It was just the way Selina was sometimes, like when he had walked her back to her room and she had brushed against him, so naturally invading his personal space. She was just playing with him, teasing him, distracting him.

He gently pulled away from her. Resting his elbows on his knees as he took a deep breath.

"You need a haircut," she stated matter-of-factly, as if she hadn't just robbed him of air. "I could do it."

Despite the lessons in etiquette he'd suffered, the friendship and the respect for Selina he carried, he couldn't help the feelings of incredulousness. He sniggered.

"What?" she asked, mockingly offended by his response. "I cut my own hair all the time."

"Yes, I know," he replied baldly.

He fought a smile at the sudden lift of her eyebrows.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone unusually playful.

He turned to face her. "Well, it wasn't like that," he said, gesturing to his own nape but indicating the golden-brown lock that was much shorter than the rest. "Before you woke up."

He watched the joviality slowly drain from her face as her hand moved to the back of her neck. It was such an instinctive motion now, paired with her habit of rubbing over the scar on her shoulder. "How'd you even notice that?" she asked, her voice slightly thick.

Bruce shrugged, "I notice a lot of things."

When she just stared back at him, he sighed, "The night of the storm, when you arrived, I had to hold you while Alfred…" He felt the beginnings of something climbing into his throat and swallowed before he exhaled. He didn't want to think about that, he met her eye line. Her green eyes were staring back at him, guarded but curious. "You really don't remember anything?"

She gulped, her eyes moving to the hand she had opened on her lap. "Bits and pieces," she admitted shrugging.

"Do you even remember getting into the car?" he asked, trying to keep his tone from sounding accusatory.

"Car?" she asked, her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Yes," he answered, feeling something cold taking residence inside him. "The car you-"

"Yeah," she interrupted, her eyes going wide. "No," she breathed out.

"Selina," he said, hope springing forward at her willingness.

"I don't-" she said, pulling her sleeves down. "I don't remember what happened and it doesn't even matter," she finished, crossing her arms.

Despite her sudden defensive posture, he felt too encouraged to relent.

"Then how do you know it was a car accident? How do you know it wasn't- "

"I don't want to talk about this anymore!" she snapped, her voice carrying a tone of finality that made his jaw clench.

He knew his line of questioning was getting him nowhere and now was clearly not the optimum time to push to her. He needed to be practicing patience, gaining her trust, not chasing her away with his untempered questions and insatiable curiosity. Sighing, he sat back, letting his hands fall harmlessly into his lap.

"Then we'll talk about something else," he said, hoping to modulate his voice into something more civil.

"Like what?" she questioned.

"What would you like to about?" he asked.

"Not this," she answered. He could hear her temper easing.

"Understandable…" he answered, dragging the word as if was searching for a new subject. "So, why'd you try to cut it?"

"Cut what?" she asked, bemused.

"Your hair." he said, once again gesturing to the missing lock.

"Oh that," she laughed softly, the change of subject severing her anger. "I don't know. It was a freaking mess and I thought what the hell…" She made a dismissive gesture, "I don't make the best decisions when I'm hungry."

He nodded his head, despite the fact that he wasn't sure what exactly she was talking about. "Seems practical," he offered, for lack of a more informed opinion.

"More like impulsive," she snorted. "I'd've probably ended up looking like a boy or something."

"That's unlikely," he said, not thinking. "With your coloring and bone structure I'm sure you would have still looked beau- "

Hoping Selina would overlook the color rising in his face, he quickly pursed his lips to stop anymore words from spilling out.

Normal, his mind barked suddenly. Act normal.

Usually he exercised caution with his words, but when he was with Selina they had the tendency to spring forth unbidden. But, he reminded himself, I'm not normal and neither is she. He didn't have to try around her. He didn't have to pretend to be someone else, someone more acceptable.

"Looked like what?" she asked, her tone overly obtuse.

Her lips curled into a smile that could only be described as mischievous and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Are you calling me pretty?" she asked, her voice a mixture of teasing and conceit.

He studied her knowing smirk and the prideful tilt to her chin. If she could knock him down with the truth he could knock her down as well. Suffusing his voice with a confidence he didn't feel, he replied, "And say that I was."

He watched her eyebrows lift with curiosity at his boldness, "Then I would say," she paused, biting her lip. "That you really need to work on your pickup lines."

Something in her demeanor, a flirtatiousness behind those green eyes, had his face suddenly flooding with heat. "I didn't," he stammered. "I wasn't trying to-"

The edges of her full mouth tilted up at his answer and it was remarkable what that simple gesture could do to his mind.

Her burst of laughter, despite being at his expense, caused his own lips to twitch and he bit down to stop himself from smiling. "It's okay, B," she said, nudging him with her free foot before she gestured to the bookcases that lined the walls. "I'm sure you got a book of lame-ass come-ons somewhere in here."

"Speaking of," he said, his curiosity as always getting the better of his judgement. "Where did you find that book?"

"Around," she said shrugging. "You basically live in your library."

"It's a study," he corrected. "But how did you find it, I wasn't aware that we kept books like that in here."

"Well, I didn't think Waynes," she drawled his last name gratingly. "Even thought about stuff like that. Wait-"

Before he could mount an argument, she turned her head. He could feel her gaze studying him and the heat that had been so content resting in his cheeks now felt as if it was invading his neck and chest as well. "You actually know what book I was reading."

He sighed, keeping his eyes on the gentle curve of her knee where it brushed his own, "It may not be very well known, but it's not exactly a literary secret Selina."

"Yeah well, popular or not it still sucked," she said. Her gazing moving around the room until they landed on the neat stacks of correspondence he had piled on his father's desk. "Don't you have like school stuff to do?" she asked, her head nodding in the same direction as her gaze.

He shrugged, not ungrateful for the change in subject.

"How much you got left?" she asked, sincerely.

"Not much," he answered.

"How far ahead are you?"

"Technically," he replied. "Were allowed to complete our work a month in advance."

"I didn't ask how much you were allowed, I asked how far ahead you were," she observed, that lightness back in her voice.

He sighed, "I estimate roughly four and a half months."

Her laugh startled him and he watched the color in her already flushed cheeks deepen. "Of course, you are," she said, rolling her eyes as she began to unfurl herself.

Standing, she stretched her arms above her. As her sweater rose and fell exposing a glimpse of her midriff, her words became almost inaudible to him. "Guess that means you're done then, wanna watch tv or something?" she asked.

Bruce had an answer but his tongue seemed to be failing him as he looked away from his best-friend's waist.

As if she could read his stupefied mind, Selina laughed at his sudden speechlessness. However, despite being dumbstruck, he could feel her intent. Without thinking his hand moved in her direction as she tried to move past him. He had only intended to reach for her arm, a motion meant to make her pause, but like always Selina had been too quick for him. His grip landed on her fingertips.

She stilled at the sudden contact and he swallowed as her gaze landed on their point of connection.

He knew he needed to let her go. She seemed tired and he had no perfectly platonic reason to ask her to stay with him. Reluctantly, he began to loosen his hold, when a soft sound reached his ears. It was the gentle inhale and exhale of air through her parted lips.

He was almost too scared to look at her. He couldn't bear to look up and see disgust in her face, or worse… Pity. But when had Selina ever truly felt sorry for him? Summoning a foreign kind of courage, he wasn't entirely sure he had in the first place, he darted a glance at her face. He had fully expected her to shake off his touch, so surprise shot through him as her eyes began to soften. He didn't know what she read in his face, in his own eyes, but it had definitely given her pause.

Encouraged, he dragged the pad of his thumb along the heel of her palm, the gently-used leather almost tacky against his skin. He wasn't sure what kind of argument was going on inside her head, but suddenly, her lips mumbled something that sounded very much like a "screw it" and her be-gloved hand shifted as she threaded her fingers quickly through his own.

For half a heartbeat, he had the urge to pull her back down with him but he knew that would never do. Selina was restless. She had no intention of sitting back down, but unlike so many times before she was extending him the invitation to follow her. The act was so nonchalant Bruce could only stare up at her.

She was completely unpredictable, an enigma, a puzzle he had a feeling he would never fully understand. Even after all the time he had spent with her, she still never failed to surprise him. Sometimes she could be so callous and indifferent, he worried that Gotham had stolen more from her than even she knew, but then she would crack open that door she always kept so tightly locked and he would have to reset all of his expectations.

His mind drifted back to their earlier conversation, before all of her caustic bravado, and an idea struck him.

If Selina needed happy endings, he knew exactly where he could find some.

Standing he took a deep breath, "Can I show you something?" he asked, squeezing her hand.

Speculatively, she looked down at their joined hands. Unable to read her mood, he worried he had messed up, overstepped somehow, but Selina just shrugged her free shoulder.

"Sure, why not," she said, gently tugging her hand toward the direction of the door.

To be continued.

Author's Notes: I borrowed Selina being a romantic from the Telltale series. :)

Also, I'm so very sorry for not having updated in forever. If you've read this far, I hope you enjoyed it. Constructive Criticism is always welcome.