Chapter 23

Title: Young Blood 1/4

Fandom: Gotham FOX

Pairing: Bruce/Selina

Rating: T/YA

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Selina

Selina Kyle very rarely admitted to being wrong, but as she gazed at her reflection, she had to confess that it might just be possible that Bruce Wayne had good taste. It wasn't something she would have ever really applied to his character before. With his severe part, fishermen sweaters, and leather shoes, the boy dressed as if the car had just been invented. Most of the time, she half expected for him to walk down to breakfast in a pair of short pants.

The ridiculous image drew a snort from her as she continued to pile her mass of curls onto the top of her head. While the ends were still pale as ever, winter had darkened her roots to a golden brown and she didn't expect to see any stripes of gold running through her curls again until at least after the first Summer heatwave.

Resigned to the mess that was her hair, she let out a long breath between her teeth as she gave up and dropped her hands to her sides and her hair tumbled down. She shivered as the tips brushed against the sensitive skin along her collarbone.

She shook her head forcing the hair back over her shoulder, it was a habit she had lost since she'd started chopping the untamable mess off at her chin years ago, and examined the purple work of art, or what most people would have called a dress, that she had decided to keep. Thick purple straps and the still modest but lower than she was used to neckline exposed the faint traces of freckles that were sprinkled across her chest. Ultra violet silk flared from her waist, making the hips she was slowly developing seem wider, but she didn't mind, because for one of the very rare times in her life Selina felt…

Well, she felt the same way she did when she looked at Bruce.

Just the thought of him made something in her stomach swim around and she still wasn't sure if she liked the sensation or not. Well, if she wasn't lying to herself, she knew exactly how it made her feel. But, those kinds of things weren't very useful to her circumstances so did it really matter?

Turning around to check her other side and marveling at the sight, she smiled to herself.

Yes, she thought, it mattered.

Because, despite how much she needed to deny it, to pretend that she didn't want something so far out of her reach, to reject the idea that maybe someone had crawled beneath her skin and into her veins, she wasn't sure if she wanted to do that anymore.

Bruce made her want things, things she had never even considered before, things that had someone accused her of them six months ago, she would have probably told them to kindly fuck off if she acknowledged the ridiculous accusation at all.

Selina had never given it much thought, but now, when he raked that pale gaze over her, she wanted Bruce to like what he saw. She wanted him to remember the way she smelled and like it the way she did every time she had the chance to breathe him in.

Turning fully to the mirror, she heard the faint jangle of her bracelet and couldn't resist shaking her hand to feel the familiar weight of her mother's locket against her wrist.

She couldn't believe Bruce had found it and on one of his runs of all places. He said it had just been laying there on the trail where she must have dropped it…

Her eyes narrowed on the ornate frame of the standing mirror, before she locked eyes with her own reflection. She couldn't remember ever going out on that trail. When Bruce had invited her once, she had quickly informed him that jogging was a scam. In typical Bruce fashion, he had given her half a grin and a shake of his head and taken out on his own leaving her behind…

Selina exhaled at the memory. If she hadn't dropped it there than who had?

In answer, ice quickly filled her belly as she slowly raised her wrist. Rust spots speckled the silver charms that lay so innocently along her skin.

No, her mind insisted. Not rust. Blood.

Her blood.

His blood.

Their blood.

Selina's toes instantly began to tingle inside the triangle-toe of her high-heels as rigid air gushed into the room. Her gloveless fingers began to shake as she looked to the reflection of her bed and to the set of windows behind her.

Alfred had cracked the window that morning to air the room and he must have forgotten to close it, because the floor length curtains were dancing in the breeze and snow was dusting the sill and the floor in wet puddles.

Suddenly a gust of wind grabbed the drapes, pushing and pulling as if it was caught in an invisible game of tug-of-war. She needed to shut the window. She knew that. She needed to shut it now. She needed to shut out all the noise and the cold and whatever else that was lurking behind all that darkness.

Because despite the fact that Wayne Manor had one of the best security systems she had ever encountered, she knew someone was there. Good hunters were patient weren't they. They bided their time. They planned, they prepared, they stalked, they killed. They won. They always won.

Instinct sent commands to her body, but like being caught in the hypnotic gaze of a predator, Selina couldn't tear her attention away from the curtains. The gentle sway of the fabric as their partner retreated and the audible snap they made when the wind came rushing back.

Between the sound of the dance and the beating of her own heart, she almost missed the nearly inaudible thud of something falling to the hardwood floor behind her. Paralyzed, she felt her breath seize in her chest as the dark toe of a large snow boot emerged from beneath the bottom of the curtain.

It made no sense. She should have seen them crawling over the sill. She should have at least seen their outline as they hid behind the floor length drapes. But it was unmistakable. There was someone in her room. Someone who...

Crawling up her arms like a million tiny spiders goose bumps erupted all over her.

Feet refusing to move, a scream stuck in her throat, she could only watch as the curtain retreated and her intruder was revealed piece by piece. Their heavy boots were caked with snow and dark brown spots covered the knees on the greens and browns of their camouflage, but the thing that made her knees turn to water was the shiny rounded end of a rifle.

Not real, she told herself and despite every instinct within her, Selina squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. It was just her imagination.

But if it was just her imagination, why could she still hear the thud of his heavy boots? Why could she still feel him behind her? Feel his rage and his abhorrence and his… Hunger. She clenched both her fists, hoping the pain in her palms would drag her from this nightmare.

Not real, she repeated. She couldn't be a victim. Not again.

Still her muscles refused to obey, to strike out, to run away. All she could do was listen to his heavy footfalls as they played out of sync with the deafening beat of her heart. Her only haven, her only refuge, was the darkness behind her lids and her teeth began to chatter as a phantom hand began dragging itself along her nape. Fingers circling around the base of her vulnerable throat.

"Well, don't you look absolutely delicious," whispered a warm voice into her ear.

Selina jerked awake, teeth still chattering, her throat still tight.

Laying prone in her bed, she made no move to retrieve the sheets and comforter that lay bunched around her feet as she allowed herself to adjust. Trying to get control of her breathing she concentrated on the soft mattress dipping beneath her as she tried to stop her heart from ripping itself free. Despite the fire burning in the fireplace, the central heat that always kept her room comfortable, her skin was broken out in a rash of goosebumps as if the winter night was still creeping along inside her veins.

She lifted her head from the smooth sheet, her eyes moving to her windows more out of habit than concern. She knew what she would see and her assumption didn't fail her. The thick curtains were pulled closed and she knew that if she were to draw them back, the latches on the windows would be in place. The way Alfred had left them that night. The way he left them every night.

There was never any wind, or snow, or dead men trying to finish a job undone, but that didn't stop her from sitting up and letting her eyes roam over every inch of her spacious room or stop her from wishing that it was any other time than the middle of the night.

Just a few months ago, it had been her favorite time. She had loved burning all that daylight just waiting for the city lights to come on and the streets to clear of its more normal citizens. It had always been the time that she felt herself come alive. But he had robbed her of that, like he had robbed her of so many things.

The nightmares weren't always the same place, or the same time, or even the same people. But they always ended with her waking to any empty room, gritting her teeth and trying to squeeze a breath through the tightness in her throat.

Tonight, was no different as she put a hand to her burning chest. Her heart beating against it rapidly, each straining thump a painful reminder of a memory she couldn't quite escape.

She rested her back against the headboard and tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry it felt like she couldn't take a solid breath. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the decorative wood. The violet material of her satiny pajamas was clinging to the small of her back and she suppressed a shiver.

She needed to get up, to change, to find a glass of water and wash down the stale bile she was sure was still lingering somewhere in her esophagus.

She needed to scream, to rage, to cry.

She needed to breathe.

She rested her elbows on her knees as she dragged her fingers through her sweat dampened hair and almost cackled as she caught sight of her bare wrist. Her bracelet, the locket. Hell, even that beautiful dress. How had that not been her first clue that it had all been in her head?

She let out a hollow laugh.

Because it was always in her head.

Taking in a deep shaking breath, she threw her legs over the side of her bed. If there was one thing she had learned from all of her sleepless nights it was that staying in bed never helped.

The gentle chiming of the grandfather clock echoing down the second-floor hall alerted Selina to the fact that it was only three in the morning as she rounded the last turn of the stairwell. Like most of the manor, the staircase was made of some overly expensive wood and not for the first time she felt her woolen socks slide dangerously against the over-polished surface. Pushing down her pride, she grabbed for the handrail, but not before she felt the familiar pinch in her ankle as it threatened to roll over.

Gritting her teeth against the curse threatening to spill off her tongue, she leaned onto her good foot and rotated her bad ankle. Breathing through the fading pain, she gingerly lowered it to the next step. She didn't care what Bruce and Alfred had said, there was no way in hell that that had been just a bad sprain.

Keeping her fingers gripped around the wooden rail, she was cautious of each step she took as she continued her trek down. In hindsight grabbing the socks had probably not been one of her brighter ideas and it wasn't like she had lacked choices in footwear. Not two days after she and Bruce had spent the afternoon looking at worthless knick-knacks and priceless jewels, she had come back to her room after dinner to find a small number of brown packages sitting on the end of her bed.

Curiosity and pried had warred within her at the sight and she had tried to leave them packed-up and undisturbed. She really had. She had had a point to prove to Bruce. Despite her predicament, she could take care of herself and she needed him to remember that. It was hard enough living under his roof and not feeling the subtle pangs of debt hanging over her every day.

But if losing over a month of her life and almost being someone's dinner had taught her anything, it was that there were much worse things in life than accepting a gift from Bruce Wayne.

In the end, it had taken only two hours for both her acquisitive and inquisitive natures to drive out her doubts and before the night was over she had unpacked all of them and found herself only able to sit and stare at the small collection of clothes and footwear.

When she had first swum up from that morphine filled haze, the clothes she had found hanging in the closest and stacked in the wardrobe had been – well rather, pointless at the time. With her slow healing bedsores and the crude stitches in her shoulder, she had had no use for clinging tights and heavy sweaters. The pile of Bruce's old training clothes that she had been given had been more than adequate and as long as she had not been going anywhere she had been satisfied to walk barefoot and gloveless.

But after seeing his mother's closet and remembering the feel of solid boots on her feet and the smell of leather on her hands something foreign had begun to stir inside her. A wanting for something more than the comfort of her old uniform of the occasional bloodstained hem or crudely patched knee. And if she had any plans to get back to the city, she couldn't let her pride continue to turn a cold shoulder on what Bruce had offered her.

The first thing she had discovered as she had dug through the few bags was that rich people made quite the production out of packing up. Every bag had been filled with more fancy tissue paper than it had clothing. Something that would have sent a certain redhead she knew on a tirade. But despite the uselessness, Selina had found that she didn't really mind all the frippery. It had actually been kind of nice. But it was what she had discovered at the bottom of those bags that had made her knees feel the slightest bit weak.

Sitting in a nest of pink paper, soft and black and smelling warmly of new leather had been her jacket. Well, it had not exactly been her jacket. There had been no rips or tears from a combination of overuse and bad decisions and all the zippers and buttons were all in perfect working order. But it was close enough. Almost as close as the pair of heavy boots she had found boxed up. The black mid-calf boots were the same color and size as her original pair, only missing the duct tape wrapped around the toes and heel to keep them from falling apart.

Despite the familiarity, accepting them wasn't easy. It never was. Years of dodging sickly-sweet words and crocodile smiles had her wary of even the smallest kindness. And had it been wrapped in false pity or tied together with an unpayable debt, it would have been simple enough to reject, but Bruce was, and never had been, a snake in the grass. His kindness was so genuine, so… Uncomplicated.

She sneered at the idea. Of course, generosity was always easy when you had it to give. It was the hard times, the times when the decision to be selfish or not stood between your conscious and your next meal that the true origins of generosity shined. When you played a zero-sum-game, kindness, generosity, cruelty and survival were separated by a razor thin line.

Unfortunately, she had the feeling that if the decision came down to Bruce's needs versus her own, or anyone's for that matter, Bruce would always serve himself last. That was just the kind of self-less chump his parents had raised. She would like to think that she would return the favor. But she wasn't so sure she had been born with that kind of moral code or maybe a decade of surviving on her own had slowly starved it out of her.

For days, she had waited for Bruce to bring it up, to at least mention the packages that had been left in her room. But on the third day, when dinner had come and went and he had still stayed silent, she had finally confronted him. To her surprise, he had merely shrugged, in that somehow both aristocratic and nonchalant way of his, and told her to keep what she wanted and that they would donate the rest.

And she had.

So, when she had stripped out of her clinging pajamas, the cold still carved deep in her bones, she had grabbed for the warmest items she could find: a wide-necked sweater the color of ashes that nearly hung to her knees and a pair of wool tights and chunky socks.

Socks she was very much regretting as she slid onto the ground floor. They weren't something she would have typically chosen for herself. But neither were the cashmere pullover or leggings. They were made for people who spent winter nights lounging by the fire through choice and not fear of freezing to death. But they were thick and they kept her warm and lately despite the heated floors and the roaring fires keeping warm had become a problem.

The temperature only slightly dipped as she moved along the first floor, the only sound the soft shuffle of her socked feet as she headed toward the kitchen. Once when Bruce had caught her memorizing the first-floor layout, she had told him, and still stood by her statement, that his house was just too big. Whole rooms were left locked-up, their fireplaces dead, the furniture inside draped in nothing but dust sheets. It echoed and it groaned and it was so full of empty space and shadows that it was too easy to imagine unnatural things lurking in the sometimes impenetrable dark.

She had been raised close to the heart of the city. Her midnight lullabies a mixture of wailing sirens and overused horns and the occasional shouted argument. Things she had never in her life thought she would miss, but in these predawn hours she felt the absence like an ache.

Selina hugged herself at the unwanted thought. She knew it made no sense to miss something as depraved and heartless as Gotham, but it was still home. The place she had come from, the place she would always come back to.

Sighing, she rounded the corner only to feel her feet come up short at the sight before her.

If the moon had been bright and the night clear, she would have probably passed by the study without a second thought. But with no lamps lining its walls and no moon beams streaming through the large windows, she couldn't ignore the weak shafts of light spilling from under the oversized doors.

Selina fully acknowledged that, like Bruce, curiosity tended to be one of her more annoying weaknesses. But she knew she could probably still ignore the tiny voice that urged her to pry. It was past three in the morning, whatever anyone was doing in the study at that hour she had no problem letting them keep to themselves.

But something inside her, that tiny string that occasionally pulled at her gut when a certain boy was in her vicinity, had her feet moving in the direction of the study. She had a feeling she knew exactly who was on the other side of that door, and she couldn't bring herself to ignore him.

Author's Note: Thank you for taking the time to read, I hope you enjoyed it. I know this was a short update, but I promise to have the rest out very soon.

Huge thanks to: Consumer of Fantasy, byzinha (my stupid computer is always trying to auto-correct your name), and claire-loves-music I hope you all got my PMs. : )

batcat – I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I'm sorry this chapter took so long, it's actually the first quarter of 10k+ chapter and I was hoping to post it all at one time, but the next quarter started to become difficult and is taking longer than I was willing to go between updates. I hope this will tie you over for now. : ) Also, Fanfiction-addiction therapy. I love it. lol! Again, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It means a lot.

Guest 1/8/2017 – Hahaha. They really are a couple of super weird kids, but given their backgrounds can anyone really blame them. lol I agree with your concerns about Bruce not really knowing Selina and I hope to flesh that out a little more in future as well as the romance. I can't guarantee it will be well-written romance, but I'll do my best. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and what I have instore for these two. :D

Lisa – Thank you so much. I'm so happy you like it. I hope you continue to read. : )

Guest 1/14/2017 – I hope you enjoyed the new update. The next one should be out very soon.