Title: Dime Store Novels and Hidden Rooms 3/4
Fandom: Gotham
Pairing: Bruce/Selina
Rating: T/YA
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Selina
One of the many things that Selina Kyle didn't even attempt to understand about Bruce Wayne's house was the maze-like system of passages that ran through it like empty veins.
They had only known each other a few days when he had turned those innocent grey eyes on her and asked her two things: would she like to see something interesting and if so, could she keep a secret?
When she had merely lifted her brows, Bruce had hurried to explain that Alfred, convinced that the tunnels were structurally unsound, had forbidden him from using them.
So, of course she had agreed to keep it between them.
Though now that she thought of it, Selina could admit that she had probably agreed to go along with him more to spite the old man than to satisfy her own curiosity. Not that there had been anything to really satisfy.
Despite the danger that Brue had implied, she couldn't say she'd been impressed by the dark and musty tunnels. They had turned out to be exactly what their name had suggested, a simpler but a much dirtier way to get from Point A in Bruce's big ass house to Point B in Bruce's big ass house.
Eventually Alfred had had the weaker spots fixed, the load bearing walls reinforced, the holes in the floors patched up, but nothing had really changed. The tunnels were still dark, they still smelled funny, and they still seemed to niggle at that completely irrational part of herself that couldn't help but imagine hidden skeletons and dead vengeful servants.
True, that in the years that she and Bruce had crept around the bones of his house, they had never found anything more interesting than some old empty wine bottles and once a baby's shoe, but that didn't mean that deep inside there wasn't something a million times more interesting.
Selina shook her head at such an absurd idea as, even with her excellent night vision, she felt more than saw Bruce turn sideways to slide through a narrow passage. Quickly, she mimicked his action squeezing through the once spacious tunnel.
Where in the past they had moved along these passages freely, now heads had to be bowed under timbered thresholds and hips and shoulders made walking side by side in the brick lined halls impossible. This new observation would have probably made her feel a bit uneasy if she would have had the time to examine it, but the quick and steady echo of Bruce's footsteps and the fingers laced through her own kept her attention on the boy ahead of her.
Glancing down at their entwined hands Selina felt amusement tugging at her lips.
She had fully expected him to have let go by now, but Bruce Wayne was proving he wasn't half as predictable as she'd thought he was. She had imagined that he would have tried to do it in the most gentlemanly way possible. Typical Bruce, he would have spent a good deal of time, analyzing the situation and then choosing what he thought was the best possible plan of execution. Which would have probably boiled down to pulling ahead or falling behind, slowly drifting apart until she had finally taken the hint and simply let go.
But when she had loosened her fingers, not wanting to let go, but letting him know that he could, Bruce had only tightened his grip. Selina had tried to deny it, but she couldn't ignore the unfamiliar feeling that had awakened in her chest. It was an odd thought, but that simple gestured had made her wish she had abandoned her new gloves somewhere along the way. She wanted to feel him. She wanted to feel his nick and his cuts and all of those callouses that he had worked so hard to earn.
She hadn't given much thought to her actions when she'd decided to take his hand in the library. The movement had just felt so natural that she'd chosen not to fight it. But what she hadn't expected was to enjoy it so much. Like being wrapped in warm blankets with a full belly, there was something nice about the feel of his fingers between her own.
She wasn't an idiot, she knew she shouldn't want to get closer to him. She knew that. Bruce already saw too much for his own good. Something that was definitely not working in her favor at the moment. He had the horrible habit of getting too close and she didn't like the way he looked at her. No, not that dumbstruck way that made her want to smirk despite the fluttering in her stomach. It was the way those sharp grey eyes studied her. Like she was one of his puzzles that he needed to piece together. It was unnerving. But that hadn't stopped her from enjoying the way his hair had felt brushing against her fingertips.
She couldn't really claim to be an overly affectionate person. The Home she'd been raised in had been neither doting nor generous but they had taught her how to tolerate the rank smell of nervous sweat and the coarse feel of cheap clothing. She'd been trained on the appropriate ways to get close to a mark, the brushing, the patting, the ability to keep them looking left while she went right, but the idea of doing so voluntarily felt a little alien to her.
It wasn't that she didn't understand the need for human contact. She did. But only when the occasion called for it. She remembered how she hadn't hesitated to grab Ivy, all dirty red hair and tattered green sweater, the first time the young girl had made her way back to The Flea. Or that day in Bruce's study when she had seen that look in his eye that meant he was anywhere but here and she had wrapped her arms around him, ignoring how he had stiffened as she'd pressed her cheek into his back and breathed in his familiar scent.
Feeling her nose twitch, she was reminded of the overwhelming combination of dust and old wood that had assaulted her the moment she had stepped back into the servant's passage. It didn't really matter which floor you were on, or if you were closer to the kitchens than the attic, they all smelled the same… Old.
Stifling a sniffle behind her free hand, she wished that Bruce's warm scent was just a little stronger.
Looking up at the boy ahead of her, his profile flickering in and out of shadow, she couldn't help but wonder where he was bringing her.
He hadn't said much as he had led her up the main staircase to the second story or what she'd heard Alfred once call 'the family floor.' It was a level of the house that Alfred, while he had never come out and said it, had basically forbidden her from entering. Anytime she had found herself wandering on that side of the manor, the butler had the unnerving ability to pop up behind the next corner and tactlessly imply that she needed to be elsewhere.
She could never prove she was being watched, but she had rarely walked down that hall and not felt a set of eyes on her. It was really the only reason she continued to take the passageways between rooms.
Her eyebrows knit in a mixture of confusion and unwelcome nerves as Bruce drew her passed the door she knew lead to his room and for one moment she thought of letting his hand go.
"B," she said, pulling him to a stop as they came up short of another door.
He looked back at her an eyebrow arched in question.
"Dude, we've been walking for like an hour, where in the hell are we going?" she asked.
"Selina," he said, his tone bordering on patronizing as he checked his small wristwatch, "It's hasn't been five minutes."
Agitation eating away at her anxiety, she cocked a brow of her own.
Instead of yielding under her scathing gaze he simply tilted his head giving her a half-smile. "Haven't you ever heard that patience is a virtue?"
"Not when I don't know where I'm going?" she answered.
"Aren't you always telling me to be more adventurous?" he asked, and if she wasn't mistaken she thought she could hear the slightest tones of teasing in his voice.
"Not when I'm barefoot with spider-webs in my hair," she responded.
Swiftly his gaze darted to the top of her head and back, the tilt of his head suggesting the latter part of her statement had been an exaggeration but that he was willing to admit she made a point. He turned back to the door that they'd almost reached, and she listened to the twangy screech of a rarely used doorknob.
"Come on," he said, gently tugging her hand, "We're here."
The paneled door swung in but all Selina could see of the room beyond was more darkness.
Against her better judgement, she allowed herself to be pulled ahead of him into the dark room. She couldn't help but feel like an idiot. In the city, she would never have allowed herself to be pulled by anyone, anywhere, at any time.
Bruce had no idea the amount of trust she was giving him as he finally let her go.
Selina wasn't exactly sure what she had been expecting but this was not it.
She had only made it two steps into the dark room before Bruce had shut the door, blocking out the meager light from the hall. Once again, she had felt more than seen him brush past her, and before she could follow she heard a series of familiar clicks.
Squinting, as her eyes adjusted to the overhead lights, she quickly surveyed the medium sized room. Even with Bruce standing by the light switch, her gaze instinctually sought any alternate means of escape including the open door behind him. She could see what looked to be a large bedroom beyond the threshold, but even with her eyesight it was too dark to make out any significant details.
As if he could feel her eyes on the open door, Bruce reached behind him and closed it. She shrugged. Whatever Bruce kept in there had nothing to do with her and he was allowed as many skeletons as he needed. Who was she to judge?
Trying to keep her observations seemingly offhand, she noted the only other door, but it looked closed and for the moment she chose to ignore the curiosity that it briefly inspired.
Letting out a deep breath, she made a lazy circle as she inspected the room around her and felt her eyebrows crease in confusion.
The walls were covered in… Clothes.
Well, not just clothes. Feminine clothes. Feminine clothes, that probably cost more money than Selina would ever see in her life. One wall was dedicated to shoes and coats, another to handbags and scarves. Small cubbies and drawers with crystal knobs hid things she could only imagine. Besides the clothes that seemed to hang from every inch of available wall space, there were a few pieces of furniture. A soft brown divan took up the center of the room, a large standing mirror beside the shoe collection and tucked into the corner was an old vanity- large lights framing its mirror as if the prepped for an actress ready to take the stage.
Confused by the sudden quiet, she carefully gave the corner of the room a side-long glance. Bruce was being unusually quiet from his spot against the threshold. Typically, when he had discovered something new, he could grow almost childlike in his enthusiasm. Well, as childlike as Bruce Wayne could be which in her opinion wasn't very childlike at all. But when she glanced at him, head tilted, he simply shrugged his shoulders as he leaned against the door jamb. Shrugging a shoulder in return, she turned moving further into the room.
So, Bruce had made her trek half-way across his house to bring her to a… Closet. Granted, it was a ridiculously amazing closet. She could give him that.
Despite the strangely spotless façade, the room smelled stale. Old makeup littered the top of the vanity abandoned mid-use as if the last person to use it had been in a hurry. Along its back, kissing the mirror were multiple golden tubes of lipstick and a line of expensive looking perfume bottles. Her fingers ghosted over their tops, enjoying the different textures of their stoppers. Her touch paused on a particular one, and she couldn't help herself as she lifted its stopper to her nose.
It smelled strongly of soft flower petals and fancy clothes.
It smelled like rich people.
"I got her that one," he said, his voice unusually soft. "It was her favorite."
"Figures," she answered, quickly replacing the stopper and placing it carefully back. It might've smelled like money but she had no intention of smelling like his ma.
As she moved to a row of shoes with heels so high they would've made Babs drool, memories of what her own mother smelled like flirted around the edges of her mind. Scent was one of the few things she did remember about the woman. Her smell, her face, the sound of her angelic voice was impossible to dislodge, while other things came and went in waves.
There were memories, fuzzy images, that she couldn't bring herself to trust like red lips and sheer robes, tightly curled hair and shining jewels dripping off ears and fingers. No longer a wide-eyed child, she realized those jewels had to be fake. Her mother never would've had the money for fancy jewelry and pretty clothes. Those false memories were just farfetched thoughts her mind used to fill in for a woman who had walked away from a life in Gotham and everything that had come with it.
Abandoning the display of torture devices disguised as shoes and the memories that had unexpectedly floated to the forefront of her mind, Selina approached a rack of dresses that made even her breath catch in her throat.
Like so many things in her life, Selina had never given clothes, especially clothes like this, much thought. She knew she had an eye for pretty things, but that didn't mean she inherently knew what other people thought looked good.
Once, when she had given a rather scathing opinion on one of Barbara's more bold outfits, the older woman had been quick to inform her that what Selina knew about fashion could fit in a thimble. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean? But judging by the use of Bab's smug tone, Selina had quickly realized that it had been an insult. In answer, she had lifted her hand in what could not be misjudged as a harmless gesture and hadn't gone back to the penthouse for a month.
It hadn't been her fault that that she had been ignorant of the difference between velvet and crushed velvet. For as long as she could remember, clothes had always been nothing more than a means of survival. Before Barbra, Selina had chosen her clothes for functionality. She needed something to keep her warm, wasn't obstructive and helped her blend in. And even after Babs had explained that fashion was just a way to "express yourself," Selina had chosen her style from the "go ahead and try it asshole" collection.
Looking down at the grubby oversized sweater and old sweatpants she wore, she wondered what kind of message she'd be sending now. Nothing she wanted to comprehend at the moment.
Sighing, she ran an appreciative eye over the rack of beautiful dresses before her. She might not know anything about fashion, but she knew pretty. Her fingers itched to crawl across every fabric, to feel the velvets and the satins, the taffetas and the silks, and materials she was sure she didn't know their names.
She made quick work, her fingertips dragging along the carefully hanged clothes, and before she realized what she was doing, red fur was sliding between her exposed fingertips.
The fur was so impossibly soft that for one moment, she forgot what it was, and wanted to rub the tri-colored pelt against her cheek, to wrap herself in the small stole. But as she reached the end, as its dented face came into view, she recoiled as if it had been a snake.
It was a fox fur.
Something inside her ached at the sudden realization as she looked back on the row of furs. It shouldn't have. She should have felt nothing. She had stolen more than twice as many furs in her short career. But something suddenly felt as if it was sitting on her chest as she thought of all those animals killed for no other reason than being small, being soft and being pretty.
She didn't know how Bruce's mother had acquired these, but she had seen some of the paintings lining B's halls and she had a pretty good idea. Despite the cool temperature, she could feel sweat accumulating inside her gloves as images of hunting parties entered her mind. Horses and dogs. Horns and guns.
Had these animals been hunted? Had they known? Had they felt scared when their instincts had told them to run or had when that first shot rang through the air, had they just felt confused? Had they been alone, their only company the constant beating of their own hearts?
Her own heart beat painfully hard inside her chest and she couldn't stop from rubbing that familiar phantom pain in her shoulder.
She knew what that was like to be ran down and to be cornered, to be the prize in a fixed game. Life wasn't fair, she knew that, but what had given some asshole the right to choose who lived and died. To run a bunch of kids to ground and slice them up for sport.
Suffering spoils the meat, mocked a reedy voice
No, she thought. Not just for sport.
Something roiled inside her stomach and suddenly her coffee and her lone bite of biscotti threatened the back of her throat.
"Most of them are fake," she heard blurted behind her.
Swallowing her burning agitation, she turned in his direction. "What?" she asked.
"The furs," he explained, gesturing to the closet behind her. "They're not real."
She shrugged, "Who am I to judge," she replied. "Half my clothes are made of leather."
Bruce shook his head as if he had expected another response, but wasn't surprised by the one she had given.
"Speaking of," she began, letting her fingers trace along the edges of a purple dress. "Where are my clothes?"
"I can't say," he admitted, his dark eyes following her fingers.
"Can't," she asked, teasingly. "Or won't."
"Can't," he answered, his eyes meeting hers. "With the state they were in, I assume Alfred threw them out."
"What about my boots?"
"I'm not sure," he explained, glancing at the wall of clothes behind her. "I imagine they went the same."
Sighing, she looked down at her feet. She didn't know what she had been expecting, of course her clothes had been ruined and they had thrown them out. But having such an irrevocable severing from her life feet depressing. "Of course," she said. She turned to face him, "This is cool and all but- "
"Don't worry," he interjected, pushing off of the threshold. "This isn't what I wanted to show you. It's this way," he said, gesturing to the closed door.
"Okay," she drawled, watching as he turned the knob. "And what exactly do you want to show me?"
"You'll see," he replied cryptically.
If the first closet looked as if it had been designed by an upscale boutique owner, this second closet would've been designed by a hoarder. A well-organized hoarder, but a hoarder none-the-less.
The room was only half the size of the previous closet, and for a single moment her heartbeat seemed to stutter as she entered the windowless room. On first glance there didn't appear to be any other points of exit, but as she let her mind adjust to the overwhelming collection of bits and pieces, she saw the telltale signs of a second route.
She hadn't needed Bruce to recognize the marks of a hidden door, her Mae had been thorough in her education. Selina knew exactly what she was looking for: the slight discoloration in the flooring, the way the woodgrain in the paneling didn't quite match up, the almost nonexistent cut in the crown-molding.
Letting out a sigh, she glanced around taking in the old leather chair, the assorted knick-knacks and the books that cluttered up the wall to wall shelves. Almost every inch of space, save the slip of wall she suspected led back into the tunnels, was filled with… Stuff.
Looking back at Bruce she caught him watching her. His bottom lip was caught behind his teeth as he quickly glanced at his feet before meeting her gaze. Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eyes. If she didn't know him so well, Selina may have even misinterpreted his look as almost sheepish.
"Okay, B," she said, with a sigh. "What's going on?"
"You wanted a book with a happy ending," he explained, motioning to the wall of books behind her.
Warmth climbed into her cheeks as she shook her head. "I never said that," she denied.
"Okay," he granted, his voice mockingly placating. "Regardless, there's an entire wall of them for you to choose from."
Shaking her head, she took in a deep breath, like the other closet, she couldn't see any signs of neglect but the smell of dust and parchment was strong and she could see why. An entire wall of books was in front of her, their assorted sizes and colors, just begging to be pulled down, pried open, and divulged of all their secrets.
Ignoring the pull, she turned to one of the other shelves. They were filled with so many things, contents that made absolutely no sense to her. She couldn't comprehend why Martha Wayne would have kept dingy little trinkets and lavish crystal figurines on the same shelf? Or why she would have owned the former in the first place.
"What is all this stuff?" she asked, studying a small rose made of crystal.
"My mother liked to collect things," he answered, straightforwardly.
"So, what's it doing in here?" she asked, her eyes caustically cataloging each item. "What, not good enough for the Wayne family library?"
"It's a study, but that's not why..." He took a deep breath, as his unfocused gaze examined the shelves of knick-knacks. "My parents-" he paused and she knew he was trying to find the right words.
"They gave a lot of themselves, to society, to their friends, to the public, to Gotham. My mother especially… She lived a lot of her life under a microscope. Everything she did was examined and dissected."
He cleared his throat, the way he always did when his parents were brought up. Heat and guilt rose up her neck and she looked away grabbing the closest object to her as she remembered the things she had said to him. "She believed that it was important to keep a part of yourself hidden."
"So, you're telling me all this… Stuff," she asked as she twirled a jade hair stick between her fingers "Is her dirty little secret?"
"Perhaps hidden was the wrong word," he conceded, watching as she placed the stick back among the collection of misfit items. "I think she just wanted a place where she could be more than her name."
Frowning, she hunched over as she looked at a silver jewelry dish filled with tiny enamel pins. "And she found it in here," she asked.
He shrugged, "I think so."
Plucking a small snow-globe from between what looked suspiciously like two jewel encrusted eggs, Selina held it up to the light. There was a tall black building inside, the landscape covered in glittering fake snow.
"Where did she even get all this stuff?"
"She collected them from different trips. She and my father travelled a lot before I was born and then after when he was gone on business, no matter how short, he always made sure to bring something back for her."
"Why?" she asked, flipping the globe over and watching all of the white flakes and glitter accumulate at the top. It was so pretty, it reminded her of the one he had brought her back from Spain or Italy or wherever it was that his butler was always dragging him off too. At the time, she hadn't really understood why he had wanted her to have it, and hadn't given it any more thought after she had handed it back.
"He said, it's what you do when you want someone to know you're thinking about them. That you care about them."
Mulling his answer, Selina suddenly felt her cheeks tingle with heat and she quickly replaced the snow-globe.
She heard him exhale behind her. "I know I should probably donate a lot of it," he admitted on a sigh. "But, I just- "
"Hey," she said, rounding on him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me," she softly retorted. "Or anyone for that matter."
He nodded his head, but still looked away. His gaze fixed on one of the lower-shelves.
The overhead lighting was cool but sparse, and she could only assume it had been designed that way to make its occupant as comfortable as possible. She imagined that when his mother had used it, with its overstuffed chair and heavy afghans that it had probably been a relatively cozy spot. The kind of place a woman like that could've finally taken a breath.
But at the moment, with no heat pumping through the vents and the cool lights only dimly lit, she couldn't quite see this place through Bruce's eyes. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she could see where he had pushed the cuffs of his black sweater up to his elbows and the shadows that were cast beneath the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw. She could even see where his eyebrows had been drawn together, and not for the first time, Selina resisted the urge to take his hand again.
She felt like she understood it now, his reason for dragging her half-way across the Manor. At first, a small part of her had hoped he was trying to impress her, that he had known so little about her that he had thought she would be awed by a bunch of trappings of a life she would never have. That she had been wrong about him and that his earlier insight into her character had been nothing but a lucky guess, a fluke.
She could see his intention now though and she wasn't sure if she was more anxious or relieved at the revelation. She could see his motive, he wanted to share something with her, something positive, something that wouldn't end in them barking and hissing at one another.
But maybe that had been the wrong move on his part. She knew that Bruce would never admit it, but maybe being here, being surrounded by all of the things that reminded him so much of a mother he would never see again, had been too much for him. And unfortunately for both of them, she had not been gifted with the ability to lighten someone's emotional load.
Slowly, she let her gaze roam over the wall before them.
"So, your mom liked books, huh," she asked.
He cleared his throat, but his mouth tilted up at her question. "When she found the time," he answered.
Giving Bruce her back, she stepped toward the ceiling-high bookcase ahead of them, each inch of it covered in books of all shapes and sizes and from what Selina could see different subjects. On first glance she had been convinced there had been nothing more than the pocket-sized books like the ones she had seen sold at the corner store. But now she could see there was an array, from some the size of her hand, to ones like the giant leather bound bore-fests that lined Bruce's study.
Taking a step closer she dragged a finger over the broken spines, the books so well used that their titles were unreadable.
"I know the study is lacking," he said. "But I thought you might like these more. And you can borrow as many as you want."
Her hand stilled as she felt the implication of his words like a stone in her stomach. So, Bruce thought that she was going to stay. Or at least stay long enough that she would need access to something to take up her time.
She knew she needed to set him straight, that she needed to let him know that she was so close to being healed. That soon she was going to have to go back to the City and he was going to go back to whatever it was that little genius billionaires did with their days. But she wasn't ready to do that and she didn't know why.
Inhaling deeply, she nodded as her eyes moved to the shelf above her head. She could see there was a second line of books. Twelve large, leather bound and golden embossed volumes that were more in line with what Selina had expected Martha Wayne to have owned. She could tell from their thick leather spines alone that she would have to use two hands if she wanted to try and pull one down.
Even squinting, she couldn't make out the small embossed text at the bottom of each volume. They looked like numbers, possibly four digits. Curiosity getting the better of her, she pointed at them, "What are those?"
She could hear Bruce's sigh from his side of the room. "Photo albums," he replied, wearily.
"She liked taking pictures too," she asked, going to the balls of her feet to try and read the covers.
"I guess," he replied. "But those are…" He exhaled, as if he was trying to decide to tell her the truth or not. "Just pictures of me."
Selina couldn't keep the smile from her face, or the mischievous glint from her eyes as she turned back to the bookcase, "Okay, I've gotta see this."
She had just curled the tips of her fingers around a spine, when a long-fingered hand came over her own, pushing her conquest back into place.
"I don't think so," said a firm voice from above her.
She should've heard him moving toward her, should've felt his sudden nearness, should've been prepared to counter-attack the body that was standing behind her. But she hadn't, and worst of all, she couldn't even conjure any self-loathing that she'd been taken by surprise.
Instead, she was overly aware of the warm boy whose chin was brushing the top of her head as his hand gently but firmly held her own against the thick photo-album.
Slowly, he loosened his grip and she slid her hand free, dropping her bare heels to the wooden flooring.
"Come on Bruce," she said, whirling on her good foot to face him. "They can't be that bad."
"Yes, they can," he argued, his tone self-depreciating.
Surprised at his continued proximity, Selina nonchalantly leaned against the bookcase behind her, the top of her curls too low to brush the hand he kept planted on the shelf above her head. Honestly, she had expected him to jump back from her and when he didn't retreat, she couldn't explain the sudden shiver that ran the length of her spine.
If it had been anyone else, on reflexes alone, she would have already had them on the deck. A well-placed elbow would have broken a nose, her heel would have crunched their instep, or at the very least she would have reached for her long-lost stiletto. But this was Bruce. This was the boy who had put himself on the line for her, who had been willing to take a bullet for her, who she had lied to and who still welcomed her into his home. The boy who opened his doors no matter how many times she chose to run.
She grinned up at him, her smile more smug than friendly.
"What could you possibly be embarrassed of?" she asked.
"Plenty," he grumbled, in that same self-mocking tone. "You can ask Alfred; my mother was relentless behind that lens."
"Oh poor, B," she cooed. "What a terrible childhood you had. With your big ass house, and your loving parents, and your giant suit wearing gorilla for a nanny."
Bruce's laugh was so quick and such a rare thing to see, Selina knew that if she hadn't been so close to him she would have missed it.
"Giant suit wearing gorilla?" he echoed dryly, but the undisguised amusement in his eyes only gave her encouragement.
"Trust me," she said, tilting her head as she leaned her elbows onto the shelf behind her. "It's accurate."
"I don't know," he argued, lightly. "He has his good points."
"Name one," she challenged, raising her eyebrows.
"That you would find useful," he asked. She watched in smug silence as he made a show out of raking his mind. His grey eyes had drifted away as his thumb taped rhythmically on the shelf above her head.
"He's a great cook," he said, a look of feigned triumph in his eyes as they met her own.
She sniggered at his accurate assessment. "Okay, I'll give you that," she said, lowering her arms as she righted herself. "So, you gonna lemme look at these pics or what?"
"No," he said, his voice proof his answer was final.
"Come on," she whined playfully. "At least tell me there's one of you dressed as a tiny sailor."
At his answering glare, she bit into her bottom lip to stop from laughing.
"I don't hear you denying it," she argued.
"Beg all you want, Selina," he said, leaning away as he pushed off the wall behind her. "I'm not showing you."
"Oh Bruce," she said, drawling his name. "We both know that I have never," she lightly pushed a finger into his chest, "Ever." She repeated the gesture. "Begged anyone for anything."
"Of course not," he replied, wryly, that thick dark lock falling to the corner of his eye as he looked down at the indention her poking had left in his sweater. "That would be entirely too human for you."
She tipped her head back as she smirked, "I'm glad you're finally starting to recognize that."
She watched the corner of his mouth twitch up. "I'm not sure your arrogance is having the charming affect you think it is," he said, the words laced with an unexpected humor that belied his tone.
"And yet," she said, pushing his disobedient hair back into place and letting her fingertip linger a second too long. "Here you are."
"Here I am," he conceded.
As dark hooded-eyes looked down at her, the scent of tea and spice and whatever the hell it was he put in his hair invading her nose, she wondered when the room had gotten so warm.
Bruce had grown so quickly, she still hadn't decided yet if she liked looking up at him or not. Through birth alone, he already had so much, so why did he have to be unnecessarily taller than her too. It wasn't that his height elicited any kind of fear in her, not even close, but it did stir something inside of her. Something hungry and unfamiliar and nothing that she wanted or needed to examine.
Determined not to show a trace of the confusion that was suddenly swimming around in her head, she wrapped herself in bravado, smirking as she gazed back up at him. Which as she met his dark eyes, she quickly realized might not have been one of her better ideas.
Bruce was one of those rare people. When he looked at something, really looked at it, she knew that thing had his all of his attention. Every thought in that overstuffed mind of his was concentrated on that one thing.
Her breath quickened as she realized that for these few seconds, that she was that one thing. It wasn't the first time he had done it. When they had first met, there had been a few times that she had caught him staring at her. At first, she hadn't known if she should be insulted or flattered, but as she'd watched him watch other things, she'd known it was out of an ill-conceived fascination and not any ill intentions.
But even those glances had been from a distance. Childish and harmless and safe from the heaviness that weighed it now.
Without looking down, she knew if she put a hand to his chest the normally slow and steady rhythm of his breath would be quick and uneven. She couldn't explain why they were both breathing unnaturally. As far as she knew, neither of them had exerted themselves. So maybe it was the heavy air or the lack of cold oxygen, that was making her dizzy and making his pale eyes soften around the edges. He was looking down at her, his gaze calm and restrained as if he was waiting for her to make a decision.
Selina had always prided herself on her ability to think quickly on her feet, but when he looked at her the way he was looking at her right now…
It made her want to do things. Irrational things, like feel the smooth skin of his jaw, or wrap a lock of that dark hair around her finger, or see his reaction if she were to try and…
Selina gulped leaning away from him. If she didn't move now she knew she was going to do something stupid. Very stupid.
Needing a distraction and needing it fast, she remembered one facet of the room that Bruce in all of his nattering had failed to mention.
"Where's that go?" she asked bluntly, pointing to the opposite wall.
The sudden quite of the room was almost deafening as Bruce just stared at her. She could feel his gaze, like a physical thing, caressing her face as if he was memorizing the turns and secrets of a treasure map. Exhaling, he let out a warm breath that ghosted over the exposed skin of her collarbone and he quickly shook his head as if he was trying to dislodge an unwelcome dream.
"What?" he asked, not masking the confusion in his hoarse voice as he turned to look behind him.
"That door," she reiterated. "Where's it go?"
He didn't answer, but she could see the muscles in his shoulders bunching beneath his sweater. Sensing the ridiculous lie she knew he was probably formulating in that convoluted mind of his, she slid from her place between him and the bookshelf.
"Look I know it's a door," she said, before he could deny it. "But if you don't want to tell me what it's for that's fine," she stated, keeping a light tone to her voice so he knew she wouldn't be offended or at least not too much.
"It's not that," he answered, still staring at the hidden door. Turning toward her, he asked, "Do you really want to know?"
"Well, I do now," she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.
For one moment, she could feel him studying her as he did whatever calculations it was he did behind those dark eyes before he made up his mind.
Sighing, he reached back for her hand.
Author's Notes: Thank you for reading. I really hope you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Thanks below: Quinn - Thank you so much, I'm so glad you're liking it. Zuzrad - Oh my gosh! Seriously, wow, thank you so much. I hope the future chapters don't disappoint. Guest Nov 23 - The kind of support you give is one of the main reasons, anytime I'm feeling down and out about writing, I always come back to the keyboard and keep typing away. I hope you enjoyed this latest update. I promise it won't be the last. batcat - Awww, I am always so humbled by the support. I seriously get so much motivation to write reading your kind words. Guest Dec 16 - I agree, Selina as a romantic is absolutely adorable. I actually borrowed the idea from the Telltale games, but when I thought about it, it made sense, only a true romantic would attempt to have a relationship with Batman. lol Guest Dec 17 - Thank you so much.
HUGE THANKS to: R3wind101, krsa, byzinha, and claire-loves-music