Title: Chapter 27
Rating: T/PG-13
Fandom: Gotham
Disclaimer: FOX, DC Comics, and Warner Brothers own it all. I own nothing.
Selina
Stepping into the old servant's passage, goosebumps erupted across Selina's skin. The predawn temperatures had caught her by surprise and shuddered in her chest. She had almost forgotten what this kind of cold really felt like, the kind that leaked into your bones and refused to leave.
The kind that usually made anger a hard beast to harness, but gritting her chattering teeth Selina vowed to do her best.
"Not yet."
Those two words still echoed in the back of her mind like the beat of a drum.
"Not yet."
Who would have thought two words would have ever had such an impact on her? She certainly hadn't. She had been born with a thick skin that had only grown thicker and trained to spot a mark and fellow fraudster from a mile away.
But maybe that was the problem.
Because, cause her training hadn't prepared her for him.
She wasn't sure what ate at her most: his nosiness, or his arrogance, or maybe… Just maybe, it was that thing that had eaten her up her entire life. The knowledge that no one had ever stood in her corner, and with the way things were going, no one ever would.
And those two words had just proved it. All his smiles and his gifts had never been given freely. He had been expecting something from her all along. She should have seen it; should have recognized all the signs of a good con. What in her life had ever given her a reason to believe otherwise?
Hell, even her own mother had abandoned her. She wasn't sure why she had expected more. Why she had thought that some kid billionaire would have taken her side.
Anger, dulled but still strong, coursing through her, Selina took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. Despite the frigid air, the lingering musty scents of mildew and un-use filled her nostrils. Resisting the urge to rub her nose and barely giving her eyes the chance to adjust to the sudden and total darkness, she continued tiptoeing her way down the servant's passage.
The last time Bruce had taken her through here it had been midday and light had been filtering in through random cracks and something he had called arrow-slits, but in the dead of night even her superior vision was struggling to make out her own hand. Darkness had grown impenetrable and Selina slowed after she barely saw the bottom of a wooden support beam as it skimmed the top of her unruly curls. Trying her best to mimic the soft but quick shuffle of the mice she knew occasionally scuttled between the walls, she lowered her head and continued.
Her tread was as silent as dust motes as her eyes ate up what they could. Even hurrying, she made a point of cataloging every hidden nook and door. She hadn't found herself in the passages since that afternoon Bruce had brought her to see his mother's overstuffed closet, her makeshift hoard, and her giant vault worth more than half of Gotham, but she was making her way just fine.
Slowing her steps as she reached the thin door to Bruce's room, for a moment she let her gaze wander past it. Straining her eyes, she could make out the small hidden door that she knew belonged to his mother.
Selina had never taken the time to think on it, but she couldn't help but wonder at the woman's behavior. Why had Martha Wayne lived so much of her life behind there, hidden away? No, not hidden. She hadn't really hidden anything, she had chosen to keep it to herself, sharing it with the people who had mattered most to her.
But even so, it was like she had been forced to live only half her life, half the time….
Damn, what a load that must've been?
The unwelcome thought had Selina shaking her head, an unamused smile playing along her lips. Oh yeah, the burdens of a billionaire were just simply terrible.
Shaking off the absurdity, she turned back to the door beside her and to the boy who stood behind it.
Judging from the snatch of conversation she had heard between him and Alfred, he was probably brooding behind there, his temper growing worse by the moment. He did that from time to time, a bad day that he let evolve into a sulk. In the past, she had always let him stew, it was not her job to make him happy or to piss him off more.
But tonight, she didn't have luxury to let him get his head on right, and she was more than willing to match his cold anger with some anger of her own.
Taking a deep breath, she tested the small door latch.
She had never actually used Bruce's hidden door before, but she knew, like his mother's door it probably opened into some ridiculous and extravagant closet. Clenching her teeth against the possibility of a squeaky hinge, she pulled it open.
The door was silent as it swung toward her and she let out a deep breath at her luck. Inhaling she was instantly wrapped in warmth and the smell of cedar-wood and leather. Breathing deeply, she tried to ignore the abnormal feel of calm that washed over her at the instant recognition of that unique blend of scents that she usually only found on Bruce. But something about it lacked that final note, perhaps the sweet smell of his hair, that finished that magical mix that clung to him and pulled on something inside her.
Leaving the door open in case she needed a quick escape, Selina slid between a pair of new sport coats positioned just right to conceal the telltale lines of the hidden door. Noiselessly the coats fell back into place, and she exhaled as she straightened, quickly surveying the large closet before her. Even with the darkness that bathed everything insight, she could make out enough to know that she had been right. The closet looked like a younger and more masculine version of his mother's.
Instead of rows of furs and every style of shoe known to man, she could see the outlines of thin sweaters and dress pants and an entire rack of unfortunate turtlenecks. She didn't need the light to tell her what colors they were all in… Black, black, and probably more black.
Despite the anger still rolling in her gut, she couldn't stop herself from reaching out a hand and grazing a line of neatly hung sweaters. She wondered for one moment if she were to press her nose into the fabric if it would smell more like him or more like the manor.
If she wasn't sneaking around she might have laughed at the preposterous idea.
What in the hell was wrong with her?
First, she had caught herself almost feeling sorry for what had been one of the richest women in the world only to turn around and find herself itching for said richest woman's son. Maybe it was her lack of sleep or the emotional rollercoaster she had hopped on in the middle of the night, or one of the many changes her life had taken in the past few months, but there was definitely something incredibly wrong with her.
Her fingers still gripping a cashmere sleeve was a perfect example. She had been so ready to storm in here, to press her ear against that door and hear every awful backstabbing word that boy had to throw and now… Now, she was ready to breathe him in.
Disgusted with herself, she threw the sleeve back and turned from the rack. She needed to focus, to find out what Bruce knew, or at least what he thought he knew. And she needed to know what kind of info he had been trying to charm out of her.
Charm out of her?
The idea shot a slim arrow of doubt straight through her thoughts.
She had seen Bruce's attempts at manipulation before. They had been so obvious, so untutored, (his use of reverse-psychology had been some of the worst she had ever seen) that like the brat he could occasionally be, he usually just ended up trying to demand what he wanted. The kind of self-righteous asshole-ness that usually lead to her responding in kind and storming off with the intention of doing the exact opposite of what he he had intended.
But this time had been different.
He had never been so sneaky; never exploited their friendship, or preyed on the doors she had left cracked open for him. She couldn't have read him so wrong, could she? Could she have really been so blinded by a handsome boy with pretty words?
Shit!
If he hadn't believed her side of the story, then why hadn't he just come right out with it and asked her. Really asked her! And not tried to play this childish game of cloak and dagger.
If he was playing a game at all?
Or had she just been looking for the betrayal, had she been hoping Bruce would give her a reason to run, to give her the push out the door that she hadn't been able to give herself.
Not yet.
Two simple words that had dragged up so much more than just anger inside her. They had awakened and echoed things she had wanted to keep tucked safely in her past.
Muffled voices dragged her back to the present and the reason she was standing in Bruce Wayne's ridiculous closet. Frozen, she stared at the dimly outlined door. She could just leave. She knew that. She still had time. She hadn't seen anyone and no one had seen her. She could just leave and never find out what he had really meant by that, or how he really felt about her.
But what would that accomplish? Nothing. that's what.
Taking a deep breath, she faced the door and on the balls of her socked feet she quickly crept closer. Squatting down, she nearly pressed her cheek to the wooden panel as soft murmurs began to take on the shape of vowels and consonants. Thin beams of light wiggled through the doors seams, and as she pressed her ear near the edge she began to catch every third word and the slightly hoarse notes of Bruce's late night voice and the gravely accented tones of Alfred Pennyworth.
"-that girl is never going to trust you enough to tell you the weather much less what happened to her. But this is not about what secrets she is keeping. It's about what that girl is."
"And what exactly is that?" came Bruce's caustic voice. Selina could almost picture his half-meditative and half-flippant posture.
Quickly, she pressed her ear to the seam hoping to hear Alfred's response more clearly.
"A hungry dog can't be loyal," was his reply. "People like that will do anything to stay ahead and you have no idea what a girl like that is willing to do."
"I'm perfectly aware of what Selina's capable of," Bruce answered. "You have no need to remind me, she does that well enough on her own.
"But, you're both wrong," he continued. "Because, she has never asked me for anything."
"I find that hard to believe."
"You do, and your evidence to the contrary?" he asked, his voice growing more formal.
Alfred's response was too faint to catch but Selina pressed her ear closer her in hopes of catching at least one more word.
"I don't know," Bruce admitted, "but I don't particularly care. Selina's invitation here wasn't based on whether I agree with her reasons for staying. I'm not going to force her out, because she doesn't want to share the- "
Warmth bloomed in her chest as she missed Bruce's last fading words, but it was impossible to miss the growing agitation in Alfred's answering sigh.
"Believe me, I know what it's like to have your head done in by a pretty face," came the rough English voice. "And that girl's face is a lot prettier than most, but she's still trouble and the kind you don't need. The kind your parents entrusted me to keep you from."
The weight of Bruce's silence killed the ember that had alighted in her. The worst part was that she couldn't disagree with the old man. Alfred was right, she had a certain way of dragging trouble into Bruce's life. It was nothing new to her and by staying here it wasn't going to change that. But, something inside her grew cold at the idea that Bruce might agree with him, that that might be the reason for his silence.
"Trust me when I say I've known a lot of birds like her in my time," Alfred continued, his tone surprisingly more measured. Pausing he released a sigh, as if what he was about to say he was reluctant to admit. "I'm not saying it's not admirable what she's been able to do, but the things that girl must have done, what she might do… You don't make it to her age without a little blood on your hands."
His words sent a chill down her spine and ice into her fingertips. She could almost feel it now, the rock so slimy and so heavy and everything she needed and despised gripped in the palm of her hand.
No, she told herself, shaking free of the memory. Alfred didn't know. Alfred couldn't know. She unclenched her fist, letting go of the phantom rock as Bruce's voice drifted back to her ears.
"You may have known girls like her in the past, Alfred," Bruce's voice cut clear through the door. "But you don't know Selina. She's a survivor. No different than me… Or you."
"That girl is as close to being like you as a cat is to a dog, " he shot back, "And that is the exact reason why I can tell you she's not right for you."
A hush once again fell between the two and Selina felt her teeth grinding together.
"And what exactly is right for me?" Bruce asked, his voice full of petulance and misplaced anger.
"Going back to school for one," Alfred answered as if he had been carrying that suggestion in his back pocket for a while and it had been burning a hole.
Selina glared at the sliver of light that crept into the room, but she could only picture the scowl Bruce was probably directing at the old man.
"We've talked about this," Bruce replied, his voice unusually calm. "There's no benefit in me attending the academy or any other school. But that's irrelevant-"
"But it's not, is it? Cause you need to get out of this house. You need to be around people that don't lie, cheat, and steal for their bread and butter."
"Yes, because entertaining the spoiled daughter of a hedge fund manager or the son of a racist oil baron would be such an improvement," Bruce barked back. "You act as if Selina was sent here with some nefarious agenda. Do you think she'll feed me poisoned apples or slip in my room in the dead of night and cut off my hair?"
"More likely your throat."
Selina felt the shaking in her fists and slowly unfurled her fingers before the knuckles popped and she gave herself away. She had failed to understand Bruce's references, but Alfred's had been clear as day.
There was an audible scoff and the tension that had been building in her shoulders eased out at the flippant tone in Bruce's voice, "Didn't my father ever tell you that exaggeration is the quickest way to lose an argument."
"No, Master Bruce," came Alfred's calm voice, "But your father did entrust me with the thing most important to him in this world. Both of your parents trusted me to protect you and I'm trying to do that. Even if it means telling you things you don't want to hear."
Even through the door Selina felt the tension rise behind it. Bruce's parents had always felt like a no-fly zone, one that she had been unafraid to trespass on, but Alfred had always been better than her at respecting those boundaries. He only stepped onto that mine field when he really need to.
Which meant that he really believed in what he was saying about her. The old man had never had qualms calling a spade a spade and what he thought of her was pretty clear. He thought she was a liar and a thief and had the potential to be what? A murderer.
Well, he was wrong about that last one. There was no potential there. Just facts…
And Bruce had…
He had defended her. Actually, defended her.
The idea was so far outside her experience she had no way to respond. It was just another erosion on her anger, the anger that had sustained her not only tonight, but for most of her life.
"It's late," Bruce's clipped tone caught her by surprise and she felt her eyebrows lift in response. "And this conversation has exhausted itself."
"Very well," the old man replied, and in her mind's eye could almost mold a picture of a defeated and disgruntled Alfred. His customary stance: arms behind him, one hand cupping the other wrist as he prepared to lecture Bruce. "But can I give you some advice."
"Can I stop you?"
"You need to keep your wits about that girl," he explained as if he hadn't heard Bruce at all. "She has you wrapped around her little finger, and she knows it."
"Be that as it may," Bruce began, and Selina felt her lips tilt up at the admission. "I don't think- "
"That's right! When it comes to that girl you don't think," Alfred snapped.
"Look, you're a smart lad, but you need to keep your head and you could start by not looking at her like a starving man who just found a good meal."
The statement had been plain innocent compared to the usual things that had been hurled at her since she the day she'd hit puberty, but Selina couldn't control the warmth that suddenly flared in her cheeks.
"How very original of you Alfred," Bruce drawled. "Do you have any other overused similes or metaphors you would like to impart?"
"Being cheeky with me doesn't make it not true," Alfred replied plainly.
Face burning, Selina held her breath hoping for a slice of the barest sound, but only silence reached her. The quiet was heavy and she instinctually knew behind that door, there was a wordless conversation happening and that their argument was far from over.
"Goodnight, Alfred."
Bruce's quick and concise reply mad her nearly jump back and Selina could almost see Alfred's barrel chest rising and falling in frustrated resignation.
"Goodnight, Master Bruce."
The muted sound of Alfred's retreating footsteps and the shutting of Bruce's bedroom door were the only sounds that greeted Selina's ears as she stood silently beside the closet door. She knew she needed to retreat as well, to find her way back through the tunnels and up to her semi-permanent room and examine everything she had heard. But before she could stand fully erect the sound of something being thrown and the steady but soft thump of footsteps crossing the floor reverberated through the door. By the time she began to stumble back the swinging door was being thrown open.
Selina Kyle wasn't used to being caught. It was such a rare occurrence that she knew her eyes had to be the size of dinner plates as firelight flooded the closet exposing her for the eavesdropper that she was.
No one had ever dared to call her sheepish before, but there were few words she felt described her more as she looked up at Bruce and felt her eyes widen even more. Thick, dark brows were lowered over a pair of flashing grey eyes and the robe he had been wearing was nothing but a ball of navy silk in his fist. She could see the faintest traces of sweat lingering along his hairline, as he tilted his head, a wordless invitation that she should come in.
Even from her half-crouched position she could see the tension in him, in the rigid line of his shoulders, and the almost mechanical step in his gait. She wasn't sure why she accepted the muted request, but neither spoke as she climbed to her full height and brushed past him.
Keeping her back to him, she made her way across his room. She fully expected him to slam the door and turn on her with the same wraith that he had shown Alfred, so when she heard nothing behind her, she quickly glanced back catching his figure from the corner of her eye.
Lit by the closets overhead lights, she could see Bruce tossing his balled robe into an adjacent corner. He had an arrogant and casual way of discarding things that never failed to rub her the wrong way, but she continued to watch as he moved to the opposite corner and pulled open a drawer of expensive flat-laid t-shirts. But when he reached behind his head for the collar of his t-shirt Selina read the intentions in his actions and quickly turned back to study his room.
She spent so little time in here, and so infrequently, she couldn't recall any major changes. She figured Bruce's room was no different than any other teenagers room give or take a few billion dollars. But, it still had the chameleon personality of an adolescent. Or maybe it had just been so long she couldn't remember every tiny detail of what it had looked like before.
Alfred must have tended his fireplace at some point during their argument because where there should've been smoldering wood, near embers and ashes, there were unusually high flames. The unexpected bright light stung her night adjusted eyes and she was forced to redirect her gaze to the darker end of Bruce's ridiculous bedroom.
The drapes on his massive bank of windows had been thrown open allowing bright moonlight to chase away what should have been shadows. And between the moonbeams and the fireplace the room was divided into equal parts golden and silvered light. Each somehow crossing the planes of the center piece of his room: his enormous bed. Which at this hour was in complete disarray. His duvet was in a heap and the sheets were a tangled mess, as if he had tossed and turned all night.
The idea of him wrapped in the dark fabric sent a completely foreign feeling stirring into the center of her gut and she had a hard time remembering why it was she had come in here in the first place.
Ignoring the unwanted and unfamiliar stir in her belly, Selina ripped her gaze away from the bed, not caring if the firelight still burned her unadjusted corneas. Her eyes moved over the two large leather arm chairs that sat empty and the tall pile of books standing between them.
From her place in the middle of the room the titles were hidden from her view as each faced Bruce's favorite chair. Though she figured they would probably be beyond her, Selina didn't resist the urge to step over and see what subjects he had been studying in his spare time.
Hoping he was still distracted, she took a quick surreptitious glance toward him and felt her breath hitch at the sight that greeted her.
Deep in his closet, Bruce was still rummaging through his drawer as if he had so many options among his colorless field of black and grey and midnight blue. But it wasn't the overpriced t-shirts that had caused her face to heat. No, it was the sudden sight of pale skin stretched over sharp shoulders and the contrasting dark dips and pale curves of muscle that was carved in his back.
Bruce had been such a slight boy when she had first met him that she had always just assumed that beneath his thick sweaters and tailored coats, he would have the body of a stick insect. But as she watched him, his muscles working in perfect accord as he held up and then quickly discarded another shirt she could see his build was much closer to that of a feather weight fighter. A feather weight fighter on the cusp of his weight class.
For one moment, it felt like she was someone else, someone completely disconnected, watching her closest friend change. But as he bent to open another drawer, her mind came quickly back into focus and Selina jerked her eyes away. The last thing she needed in this world was to be caught spying on him, as he stood half-naked, like some kind of pervert.
It shouldn't have bothered her.. Shouldn't have affected her in the least. She and Bruce's relationship had always been a little… Odd for lack of a better word, but after that kiss everything seemed…
Different.
Heavier.
It shouldn't have, it wasn't like she hadn't kissed him before, but the way he had kissed her and the way she had kissed him back had been… More.
Determined to push it and all the confusion it had dragged with it from her mind, Selina let her eyes focus on the stack of books and their gilded titles.
On first glance, they looked big worded and boring and maybe had her night not been filled with strained conversations and uninvited memories she wouldn't have given them another thought. But as she took a second look, her mind began to race as the hair on her neck began to rise.
These weren't just books. Not some not so innocent late night reading you would find to peak a boy's interest. True, she didn't recognize the titles, but she wasn't stupid. Judging from their spines the books covered a load of topics. Topics that had absolutely nothing in common. They covered everything from the effects of prolonged abduction to astronomy and its effects on mythology. There was a book on famous POWs and an entire encyclopedia sized tome on… The Moon?
Selina swallowed as a fuzzy memory nibbled at the corners of her mind. Hadn't Bruce mentioned the moon before… His face, all pale skin and sharp angles, swam to her. Yes. Yes, he had mentioned it that night in the sun room. He had started acting so strange and then he had mumbled something about the moon. She had always assumed it had been because of her effect on him… But maybe it had been something else. Maybe…
He couldn't possibly think.
No. No, that was crazy. It had to do with something else, because that night, the night she had run and fought and clawed for her life there had been nothing. No moon. No stars. Just cold and snow and everything wrong with the world. No, that night…
That night…
She couldn't think of that night right now. She didn't want to think of it at all.
Selina fisted and flexed her fingers as she tried to shake the numb from them. She shouldn't be panicking. This was nothing. This probably had nothing to do with her. Bruce studied a lot of different things for a lot of different reasons. Hell, once he had spent an entire week hanging by the pool just so he could measure the effects of different foreign pollutants on native water plants.
There were probably a million reasons Bruce might have been looking that kind of stuff up. He was always doing weird things like that.
Taking a much-needed breath, Selina felt her heart begin to calm at her own explanations.
She was okay.
She was fine.
Everything was fine.
That was behind her now. Well, behind her. She would've laughed at her overreaction, if it hadn't rushed through her so quickly and hadn't been happening so often lately.
Letting out another shaky breath, she turned toward the mantle that framed the very slowly dying fire. There was a small framed picture of him and his parents, unlike the pictures she had seen filling up those photo albums, this one was a little more formal, but she would still be hard pressed not to see the warmth there.
Next to it were a couple of discarded coins but she couldn't see the faces and didn't know the currency. Down the line, there were little trinkets engraved with languages she couldn't read, but coming to the end of his mantle, among all these dustless artifacts, was a tiny statue that she recognized immediately.
It was a small figure, mass produced and cheaply made, but the very sight of the small souvenir made the edges of her lips curl.
She remembered quite clearly the day she had liberated the small brown figurine with its crappy painted black wings from a particularly nasty street vendor. Every Summer he had staked his tent just beneath the Westbury Bridge, selling his crappy knockoffs and unlicensed merch. It was a pretty genius spot; hundreds of tourists came out to watch the millions of noisy rat-birds that roosted there take flight every sundown.
It had been a pretty nice hunting ground for herself too. Busy, dark, and the sudden spectacle of the colony almost blacking out the sky, had made work easy for a pickpocket like herself. When she had originally spotted the vendor, she hadn't had plans to lift something from him, but when she had noticed his habit of leering at young girls and a certain redhead who had accompanied her a few times she figured he was fair game.
She had given the plastic thumb-sized knick-knack to Bruce on his last birthday. Well, it had been more of a joke on her part. She couldn't help herself, after he had made the mistake of admitting to her his childhood fear of them. Well, admitting seemed like he had been willing to tell her, when she had actually won the story off him on a good hand of cards.
She couldn't believe he had actually kept it and somewhere where people could actually see it. Weren't mantles built for preening? When she burgled, it was usually where she found all the best swag, vases and statues and anything else that dumbasses thought looked expensive.
Lazy footsteps had her spinning around in time to see Bruce pulling a clean t-shirt down. For a disconnected moment, she wondered why he had needed to change his top in the first place, but as her gaze reluctantly traveled to the still exposed small strip of skin and the lines of muscle that bookended his narrow hips the thought fled.
And not for the fist time tonight, she felt like being alone with Bruce probably wasn't one of her better ideas.
Breathing, she crossed her arms and widened her feet as he pulled his closet door shut and leaned back against it. His hair had been mussed and his cheeks red as he looked back at her over the expanse of his room. And as she stared back at him, dressed in a simple t-shirt and bare feet poking out of his pajama bottoms, Selina was reminded that even going to bed Bruce Wayne failed to look close to common.
For one beat she let the silence and the tension grow. It was not every day you were caught spying on one of your closest friends, only to find out that that closest friend had been spying on you too. But as the seconds past, she felt her patience unravel.
"You don't look surprised to see me," she said, her voice more accusatory than she meant it to be.
"I'm not," he answered dryly, before casually pushing himself off the door. She watched as he approached, but he gave no signs of elaborating on his statement as he flung himself into his favorite chair.
His eyes focused on the fire beside her as the flames deepened the shadows in his black hair and not for the first time Selina thought that he looked like he had just stepped out of a ghost story, like he was as out of place among wailing spirits and rattling chains as the hour hand on a wall clock. At any other time, she would have found humor in the melodrama, but looking at his long frame, she was doing well enough to curb the need to pull her sleeves over her fingertips.
He didn't look up at her as he asked, "The walls in that closet are over two inches thick."
"Okay," she replied.
"So, how much did you hear?"
Selina sighed, so they were going to just jump right in. Well, she could do that.
"Enough," she answered, honestly.
"And?"
Without thought, she quickly took the offensive, "And what did you mean by 'not yet'?"
He looked up at her and she could see the dark pink splotches on his cheeks, "Not yet?" he echoed, "So, you were out in the hall as well?"
"Yeah."
"And, that's all you took away from everything that I said?"
"No," she admitted, "but I figure it's more important than whatever in the hell the Oldman was rambling about."
"Alfred never rambles," he replied, staring back at the fire, "he always says precisely what he means."
"Well," she said, leaning back into the wall behind her, "it doesn't make him right."
"But, it doesn't make him wrong either."
"Oh, yeah?" she drawled lifting an eyebrow. "So, I look like a three-course meal to you then?"
Dark eyes shot in her direction, as he gave her one of his stares which meant that he was not going to dignify her accusation with a response. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he just shook his head and ran a hand through his already unruly hair letting out an audible breath.
Looking down at him, she knew that the playful boy who had chased her around his study mere hours ago was gone.
She could have tried to drag him back. She could have smiled, tried to disarm him by playing coy, but she had the feeling that Bruce was not in the mood to be charmed out of his sulk and she was in no mood to hold his hand.
Resting her foot against the wall behind her, she uncrossed her arm as she exhaled. "So, is this shin-dig by invitation only?" she asked, her tone as flippant as the occasion called for.
"What?" he asked, his dark brows knitting.
"The pity-party you're throwing yourself," she said, gesturing at him with both hands, "Is it an open thing or just a party for one?"
He leaned back in his chair a certain elegance in his slouch. "I do not throw myself pity parties," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"Pity-party," she said, waving a hand in her nonchalance, "temper-tantrum, what's the difference?"
"I'm not throwing a temper-tantrum either. I'm not a child, Selina," he replied, his voice both angry and matter-of-fact.
"If you're not a child then stop acting like one."
Glaring back at her, he just shook his head leaning onto his knees as he clasped his hand. Watching as his knuckles turned white, she could no longer hold her tongue.
"Seriously, B," she snapped, reaching the end of her tether, "What's your problem?"
"Other than you sneaking into my room and spying on my private conversations?" he asked, leaning back into his chair.
"Yeah," she shrugged, "other than that."
He closed his eyes for a brief moment as if her admittance and lack of remorse were draining. For the first time in this long night he looked young and tired and weighed down by things no teenage boy should be weighed down by.
"Alfred," he started, opening his eyes to stare at her. "What he said… He's not wrong."
"He isn't?" She looked back at him speculatively.
Reading the question in her eyes, Bruce gave an exasperated sigh. "Not about that," he clarified, and she knew he was referring to Alfred's comparing her to a fully served meal.
"Then about what, because the old man said a lot of shit Bruce and none of it was flattering."
"He was right when he said you don't trust me," he admitted.
"I trust you," she lied, regulating her tone.
"No, you don't," he replied, his own tone resolute.
She leaned further into the wall letting the wainscoting dig into her lower-back as she crossed her arms and stared at the books beside his chair, "I trust you as much as I do anyone else."
"Of course," he said, gripping the arms of his chair, "What a compliment to my character."
Selina stared back at him, with his head bowed, she could see the rough lines his fingers had cut through his hair and the subtle twitching in his jaw.
How had the night gotten so far away from them? How had they gotten here?
"I don't know what you want from me, Bruce" she admitted, letting her arms fall to her sides.
"I want you to trust me," he answered, looking up at her.
She scoffed, "Well, that's not something that comes easy to either of us, now is it."
His head snapped up, "What do you mean by that?" he asked, not disguising his confusion.
Selina scoffed. "Really?" she asked, unable to see how a boy who saw everything could lack such self-awareness. "You think I don't see you with your little notebooks." She could see the dawning realization on his face and she couldn't help her smug reply. "That I don't see you writing down all your little notes. Your little theories," she said, patronizingly.
"You wanna play detective Bruce? You wanna talk about honesty and trust? How about you take a good long hard look in the mirror before you start pointing fingers?"
Bruce stared at her, those dark, long-lashed eyes studying her. She recognized that look, the same one he got when his mind was snapping things into place. Exhaling, he planted his hands on the cushioned arms of his chair, his long fingers pushing him to his feet.
For a moment, she thought that he was going to approach her, but he only gave her a quick glance before he turned away.
At first, she had the baffling thought that his intention was for the windows, but he quickly turned toward his bed efficiently lifting a knee onto it as he moved the tangled covers around.
Curiosity and confusion nearly had her calling to him, but before she could, he emerged from the pile of bed clothes, something small and dark clutched in his hand. Taking a final deep breath, he turned back in her direction, moving so swiftly across the room that had she been given the space she would have taken a step back.
He kept his prize clutched between his hands, his long pale fingers a sharp contrast to its dark cover. Meeting his eyes, she lifted her brow not trying to conceal her aggravation or her puzzlement. He stared back at her, his hooded eyes studying her as he took a deep breath and she could almost feel his moment of indecision passing over him.
With no preamble, Bruce dropped a hand away as he moved to offer the notebook to her, the same notebook that she had seen him scribbling away in every time something had the audacity to pop into his head. A court reporter took less notes than this kid, so why was he giving it to her? For a breath, she simply stared at his offering, curiosity and suspicion warring and leaving her motionless.
"Here," he ordered, his voice neither soft nor rough, "take it."
Sighing, she stared down at the book before she reluctantly took it, its smooth spine sliding in her hand. "Why're you giving this to me?"
"You'll understand. Look inside."
"I don't want to look inside," she countered. "I just want the truth."
She could see the traces of guilt in the lines around his pretty eyes as he held her stare. "I've been keeping notes," he admitted.
"I can see that," she said, gesturing with the book. "On what?"
In answer, his eyes drifted down to the book by her side. "See for yourself."
Groaning, she quickly thumbed through the pages. Like shuffling a well-worn deck, her eyes ate up blurred images on wide-ruled paper. Even from her quick perusal, she could see the change in Bruce's handwriting over the years, and his attempts at doodling in the margins and his bolder attempts at sketches in free space: the city skyline, the rough draft of moon phases, the round shape of a single pearl.
She took a deep inhale. She had known the book on sight, but now that she had it in her hands it just felt… Wrong. An invasion of privacy that even she wasn't comfortable with and she didn't know why.
But, this was not what she had meant when she had demanded equality. This was not trust. This was… Something else. This was misguided and silly and over-the-top, but it wasn't trust. And it certainly wasn't what she had meant and it sure as hell wasn't what she wanted.
Snapping it shut, she held it out, "There I looked," she said shoving it at him. "Now, take it back."
Bruce took a step back from her, shaking his head. "No."
"I'm serious," she said, holding it out as she stepped toward him. "I don't want it."
"You wanted me to trust you, Selina," he said. "There's your proof. That's everything I've written down since my parents… It's everything. Even the notes I took down about the night you were attacked."
"The night I was…" Frustration robbed her of words as it roared through her veins. "Why would you even- You know what? Never mind."
Taking a much-needed breath, she opened her eyes to look at him.
"You call this trust," she said, wielding his notebook, "this isn't trust," she finished, tossing it onto his bed. "Look Bruce, I don't know what you thought would happen when you gave me that, but just because you're willing to share your secrets, doesn't give you the right to mine. It just makes you stupid."
"I didn't assume it would entitle me to anything," he replied, head turning from where the book landed, "If you're not willing to tell me what happened to you, that's fine, but we should stop pretending it was an accident. When we both know that it wasn't."
That brick of dread that she had been carrying in her belly decided to flip over at his words.
"You don't know that," she said, ashamed of the crack in her voice. "You don't know anything."
"I know you came here hypothermic, half-starved, covered with bed sores, a knife wound in your shoulder and bruises the size of fingerprints around your throat," he stated, his voice stern and commanding. "I know no car accident could do that."
She crossed her arms as he took a step forward, the rhythm of her breath suddenly matching the tempo of his own. He was so close, she could smell him and the way it cut through her temper made her hate him just a little.
"No car accident did," she admitted. "But I don't see where that's your or Alfred's or honestly, anyone's business."
"Fair enough," he replied, "but if that person who did this is still out there then- "
"I never said it was a person and even if it was…" she felt her words trailing off, as if they got stuck somewhere in her throat.
"Then what?"
She narrowed her eyes as she glanced back at him. It would be so easy to tell the truth, to tell him everything that had happened to her. But what then? They would never find that kid and even if they did, then what? Boys like that never paid for their crimes. But Bruce would know, he would know what she had done to that monster and he would never understand.
She exhaled, "It doesn't matter."
"Of course, it matters," he said, his voice taking on that self-righteous tone that made her teeth ache.
"Why?" she spat, "Why?! Why is it so important to you to know what happened to me? Is it your self-righteousness or just some morbid sense of curiosity?"
"It's neither of those things, I just want to get to the truth," he said as if it should be obvious, "And I need to know, because I care about you."
Looking at the far wall and then her feet, she knew her voice sounded defeated before she even opened her mouth, "I-I don't know how to tell you this, but that's not a very good idea."
"So, I've been told," he answered. "Between you and Alfred, I'm reminded at least once a day that I fail to make the best decisions."
"Well, I guess, I'm solid proof of that, huh," she said, failing to keep the self-deprecating note from her tone.
She could feel his heavy gaze as it landed on her.
"How so?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I'm a real shit choice when it comes to choosing a friend," she gave him a cynical smile.
"You can't possibly think that," he replied.
"Hey, you were the one that said Alfred was right," she said, her voice droll.
"Not about that, but…" his words trailed off and the pleasant color to his cheeks flared again.
"But what?"
As silence answered her question, the tension eased between them, but where it usually felt like a slowly deflating balloon, tonight it felt like the lull between waves.
Taking a deep breath, he took a step toward her and every nerve in her perked up.
"Is that all I am to you?" he asked, a quiet but heavy note entering his voice. "Your friend?"
At the seriousness in his tone and the look in his eyes, something inside her screamed that he was too close and that this was too soon and that he might say things that he could never take back.
"Yeah," she said, cautiously. "What else would I be?"
His dark eyes raked her face, gauging her responses, and Selina wished she had her leather jacket.
"But, you kissed me," he stated, as if that alone explained everything.
The fresh memory of his taste had heat creeping up the back of her neck and she could feel the solid pounding of her own heart.
"So," she replied, "And sorry kid, but technically, you kissed me," she answered, gesturing to both of them in the small space he allowed her.
"Only, because you tried to kiss me first," he accused, "Why?"
Selina shrugged, her eyes moving to the top of her socked-feet nonchalantly, "Does a girl need a reason to kiss a cute boy?"
"No, of course not," he answered factually, "But you do."
Selina stared back at him, silence the only answer she was willing to offer him.
Something passed over his features, as if a curtain had just lifted, and she glimpsed something behind it she had rarely seen before. Bruce was always so confident, a boy born of money and privilege, so to see it slipping from him was unnerving.
"Did you-" he began, taking a large gulp of air, "Did you not like it?"
At his words, some combination of relief and embarrassment left her feeling just the tiniest bit lightheaded.
"No, Bruce," she said, crossing, and uncrossing her feet as she stared and tried to hide the inappropriate laugh that had bubbled up inside her, "It was- It was fine."
She knew her sangfroid had probably come off a little too strong and she peeked up to catch the side of Bruce's mouth ticking up. Immediately, she recognized the self-satisfaction in the gesture and had the urge to throw one of his prized trinkets at his smirking face. But she refrained, what she needed to say was going to wipe it off anyway.
"It was just everything after that," she admitted.
His self-satisfaction quickly dissolved and she instantly regretted the loss of it.
"I don't understand. What do you mean everything?"
She pursed her lips looking back at him as knowledge and finality drained the last true dregs of the anger that had been smoldering in her since she had stepped foot in the hallway. She hated to do this, but Bruce needed to hear it. It was beyond time that he did.
"It's this," she said gesturing to the room around them, "I think sometimes you forget who you are."
"I don't understand," he repeated.
"Of course, you don't," she mumbled, but judging by the sudden stiffening in his shoulders she could tell he had heard her. Well, shit, if he really wanted to know than who was she to get in the way.
"You're right," she admitted. "That kiss, that kiss wasn't something friends just do, but we're not stupid, we both know we could never be more than that. Not really."
"No, I don't know that," he answered, crossing his own arms. "Why not?" he asked, in that princely tone that only proved her point for her.
Her temper getting the best of her, she stepped toward him, "Because, you're Bruce freaking Wayne!"
"It's just a name, Selina. It's just money," he said, unwilling to match her pitch. "It doesn't mean anything,"
"It means-" she spat back, "It means that one day, when you're done playing recluse and detective and whatever else it is you try to do, when you're done pretending, and you go back to being Bruce Wayne, you'll forget that you even knew a street rat much less that you actual called one your friend."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was her breath as her words sunk into him. From the look on his face and the step he took from her, she could see that he had probably rather she had slugged him.
When he spoke his voice was deep and hurt, "You really think I would do that? You really think that little of me?"
"No," she admitted, stripping some of the bitterness from her tone as she let her naked hands fall to her sides and stared at the ground by his feet. "But I know the way the world works."
"You may know how the world works," he replied, taking another step away from her, "But if you think I could ever forget you, you're wrong. But maybe there is some truth in what you're saying, because I'm starting to think that we're not friends and maybe we never were."
Her head snapped up, how dare he not think they were friends, but as his hooded eyes met her own they brought her up short.
"Because you have always felt like more."
To be continued…
Author's Notes: Sorry for any errors in this chapter. I'm also sorry for not updating sooner. I promise I'm working on it. I already have the next couple of chapters written, they just need to be cleaned up and edited. : )
If you left me a review and I didn't respond, I promise I will get to it soon, but I wanted to say a quick thank you to: batcat, Guest 3/2, .huaman, CharlotteKat, FanWriter83, Winnie, Guest 11/14, justreadingforfun, Zerephel, Oddballzebra, and Guest 11/12