The Mooney Bin

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A weighty briefcase with a blood-stamped handprint skids across Fish's desk, knocking over trinkets and papers as it skids to a teetering stop.

"There's your money!" Selina throws over her shoulder, already stalking out of Fish's office. It isn't until she reaches the end of the hallway that she realizes Fish isn't screaming threats or profanities after her, and she becomes curious.

"Fish?" Selina pokes her head into Fish's office. The kingpin is sitting at her desk, hand wrapped around a vintage corded phone's long handle, staring vacantly at the wall of black-and-white security camera monitors. The briefcase still wavers at the edge of the desk, unnoticed.

"Uh, Fish?" Selina prompts, stepping into the dimly lit room. "The money?"

Fish blinks but doesn't look away from the televisions. She taps her aqua nails along the metal phone handle, making soft plinks.

Selina bounces on her toes. "There's a bonus in there too," she offers, looking nonplussed at her boss's unusual demeanor. It's as if Fish is in a trance.

Selina is wondering if Ivy was trying her hand at hypnotism again when Fish speaks. "You can leave now," she says coolly, still watching the monitors. Selina blinks in confusion and straightens up.

"Seriously? No 'sorry for kicking you out, Selina'?" the young woman protests, mimicking Fish's voice.

"I do have something to say, actually," Fish divulges, finally turning to face her pseudo-daughter. She carefully looks Selina up and down, taking in her unkempt appearance. "You look like you've been living in a pig-pen," Fish says, adopting an expression of sheer disgust, "and you smell like an ulcer packed with garbage. Now, leave." She turns back to her previous position without further comment.

Selina's mouth hinges open. She's spent the last three nights sleeping on the streets with a raging concussion, fighting off street lunatics and dodging cops, and was then forced to relive one of the worst moments of her life, a moment she had hoped to bury within her mind forever, all for Fish Mooney! And she opts to ignore and then insult her? No. No way.

"Screw you," Selina bites back.

Fish's brows snap together and her eyes widen. "What the hell did you just say to me, girl?" she demands, shoving away from her desk to stand.

"I said SCREW YOU!" Selina shouts, quaking in her anger.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Fish screams back, flinging her pointed finger at the door. Selina needs no further bidding. She slams the door behind her as she surges away from Fish, out to the hallway to climb the small winding staircase two steps at a time. The staircase opens into the restaurant kitchen closet, whose door she also slams closed. The building is shut for the evening so she doesn't have to worry about alerting anyone to her presence, but even if there were people around she wouldn't care. Screw Fish. She stalks across the restaurant to the front door but pauses when she catches her reflection in a decorative mirror. She peers into the ornamental frame, scrutinizing the person in front of her.

Her coffee curls are wild and itchy, unruly from the last few days of neglect. Cement powder and dried blood are caked onto her clothes and face. She blows a stray hair tendril from her eyes and feels her anger begin to give way to exhaustion.

Maybe a hot shower isn't such a bad idea.

She makes her way toward Fish's estate and an hour later, Selina is standing in a steam-filled bathroom. With a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, Selina rubs at the red indents left on her skin from the tight, protective fabric she wears. Without a readily available change of clothes, Selina had felt the same seams pressing into the same spots on her body for days. She spits into the sink and runs her tongue along her teeth in disappointment. Not even the minty-est of toothpastes can completely delete the mingling taste of dust and plaque harboring in her mouth. She begins to peel a comb through her wet, messy curls in vain, and winces sharply when she runs the comb over the bruise on her scalp. The last few days have caused her nothing but harm. Her muscles are sore, her skin is black-and-blue, and her sanity? Oh god. She'll never be sane again.

"So what?" she asks her reflection, zeroing in on her sunken eyes, "No one else in this house is. Might as well join them." Her throat begins to swell when her mutinous brain reminds her of the painful events of the day.

She whips the comb onto the countertop in frustration, shaking the thoughts away, and concedes to wrap herself in a towel for the trek back to her space. She refuses to call it her "room". Her bare feet pad down the hallway and she's anxious to put her shoes on. As her mother, her real mother, used to say, "Naked feet's safety, and you're never safe."

The room is practical at best. Aside from some small ceramic bowls meant for cat food in the corner and a modest stack of clothing in the closet, the space looks precisely how it was when she arrived at the house 12 years earlier. She reasons that the house is full of criminals, and if they root through her stuff as much as she does theirs, Selina definitely doesn't want to keep her limited treasures there.

Selina locks the door and dresses quickly, but light scratching at the door causes her to open it again. Her cat, Otto, is waiting on the other side.

"Hey buddy," Selina greets softly. Otto meows in amicable reply and rubs against her shins.

"Hungry, huh?" Another meow.

After feeding the far-from-starving animal, Selina follows Otto to the window. She cracks it slightly and he quickly slips through—no doubt off to terrorize the sleeping birds in Ivy's garden. Musical laughter floats up through the screen, and through the darkness Selina sees a strange sight. Fish and a grocery truck delivery driver are chatting beneath a street lamp adjacent to the restaurant. Selina feels blood boil underneath her skin at seeing Fish, but for the second time that evening, she's struck by curiosity with Fish's behavior. Fish rarely bothers herself with restaurant business.

That is Oswald's burden.

Incidentally, Oswald appears in the back-entrance doorway struggling with a few large, dark cloth bags in his arms. A bag slips from his fingertip to the ground. Selina watches as Fish pauses her conversation to bark something at Oswald, who scrambles to gather the bags together and catch up to her. Fish treats Oswald as an accessory, a bag boy, a servant, an idiot, and he eagerly acts like one for her—acts being the key word.

After some snooping, Selina found a terrible secret beneath Oswald's mattress: not dirty magazines nor Butch's missing Party-Mix CD, but rather blurry photos and incomplete files from the Falcone Dynasty suggesting Fish's involvement in the murder of Oswald's mother many, many years earlier. When Selina had found these inexplicable and outlandish files, she had been surprised that Oswald hadn't acted out yet. From what he'd told her, Gertrude Kapelput was his whole world, so the thought of Fish having anything to do with her death would no doubt put Oswald into a blind rage. Restraint: not his strong suit.

She suspected he was crafting together a convoluted plan for revenge, though sifting through his belongings wouldn't have been necessary to notice the hatred in his eyes. Selina had considered telling Fish what she knows, but her loyalties to Oswald and Fish are the same. While Fish is her foster mother, the one who saved her from wasting her adolescence trying to escape the prison-like orphanage, Oswald is the one who really raised her. He devoted the time to help her develop the traits she needed to be successful in Gotham's criminal underworld. He taught her how to act, and he taught her how to lie. He's the best liar I know, she thinks, watching him stumble along after Fish, easily playing the part of a timid underling.

"Hey!" Jerome's voice breaks her concentration. "You're back!" Selina looks up to see him leaning comfortably against her doorframe, and burning anger blooms within her chest.

"No thanks to you," she says, eyes narrow.

Jerome sends her a skeptical look. "Wasn't my fault he scrammed," he reasons, strolling into her room.

"Nope!" Selina storms toward her intruder, pointing at the door. "Get out!"

"Make me," he snorts, opening a dresser drawer and shutting it disappointedly when he finds nothing inside.

The urge to throttle his pasty neck swamps her, but she pushes it aside as something comes to light in her head: the memory of Jerome being dragged away to the cages, sobbing and screaming. "So how was your weekend?" she smirks, "Cold and lonely, just like you?"

Jerome cackles sharply and bypasses the question with ease. "Why are you so tense?" he goads, wiggling his brows, "You know, I can help with that."

Her reply is terse. "You can help me by leaving."

Jerome continues his approach, grinning down at her. He is, annoyingly, nearly a head taller than her. However, most people have the advantage of height on Selina, and it hasn't helped her opponents before. He stops a few inches before her, his silent looming causing a strong feeling of discomfort to ooze down her spine. Jerome plucks a curl of wet hair from her shoulder, twisting it in his long fingers.

She slaps his hand away. "What the hell—"

He snatches the strand back and pulls it to his nose, inhaling deeply. "You smell so good," he mutters huskily with heavy lidded eyes.

With the heel of her palm she shoves Jerome's face away, using enough force to knock him to the ground. "Freak!" she gasps, her pulse thumping furiously in her ears and throbbing painfully through her head injury. Jerome bursts into full hysterical laughter. He writhes about the floor, his body wracked with boisterous cackles.

"GET OUT!"

Jerome rolls onto his knees and rises from the floor, still chuckling mirthfully despite her rage.

He pauses in the doorway. "Call me if you get lonely," Jerome croons, his mouth still stretched into a wicked smile.

Thunk.

Jerome's eyes cross to see a wobbling throwing knife sticking out of the doorframe, literal centimeters away. He glances back at Selina, who squares her shoulders and flashes her middle finger at him.

"Don't play hard-to-get, cupcake. It's unbecoming," he suggests, indulging in another round of laughter when Selina holds up another knife.

"You have three seconds before I shish-kebob your dumb ass," she threatens, her whole body language bristling with fury.

"Now, Cat," Jerome chides evily, "that's not very sisterly of you."

He dashes out of the way of the projectile knife, giggling uncontrollably as he rightly hurries down the hall. The small throwing-knife-shaped scar on his thigh proves that this is a lesson not to be skipped.

Only when Selina is sure that he's gone, she releases a shaky breath that she'd been holding in, briefly squeezes her eyes closed, and then goes to dig her knives out of the perforated wall.

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"Your aura is a mess."

Selina rolls her eyes at Ivy Pepper, her younger foster sister. Unlike Selina, Ivy had embraced her "space" resulting in a room that resembles the offspring that a messy library and a greenery would make. Books, potted plants, dirty laundry, shopping bags, and makeup tubes litter the floor. Selina easily tiptoes through the mess to crawl onto the comfy bed Ivy is perched on.

Before Selina can collapse, Ivy snatches a tiny container of dirt that sits on the blanket behind Selina and holds it in the air. "Watch it!" Ivy scolds, holding her jar safely away from her blithe guest. "What're you doing?"

Selina begins to make a pillow pile from Ivy's infinite supply of soft and cute bed accessories. She says between yawning, "I saw your light on. Why are you still up?" It isn't a complete lie; she'd been walking the halls trying to rid herself of the anxious energy she'd attained from her and Jerome's interaction when she decided to visit, light or no light. The light was a happy accident.

Ivy hops off the bed to a cluttered shelf and trades her jar of dirt for a teacup. "Fish gave me off tomorrow," Ivy says, smiling toothily, "and I'm trying to make the most of my time." Ivy switches on a hotplate for her kettle, happy to not be working at a Bunsen burner for once. As a kid Ivy had enjoyed science, of course botany topping all else. She impressed all her teachers in school, though they were impressed when a kid could identify a book, much less read it. Ivy had lived in the orphanage for only a couple of weeks before Fish had found her but it was the worst time of her life. When Fish offered to foster her in exchange for using her proficiency in science for her business, Ivy couldn't have been happier. Once she realized Fish's business was drugs and she was to be a manufacturer, it was all trivial minutiae. She had a family. A better family. It was all that mattered, and that belief hasn't left her yet.

Selina flops back into her cushy pillow pile, reveling in the softness. "I guess you have big plans, huh?" Selina ventures, muffled beneath a giant teddy bear.

"Yup!" Ivy pops the 'p' in the affirmative as she rescues a stray spoon from the floor. Shrugging, she blows it off and sticks it in the cup. "Now sit up!" she orders. Selina groans and hugs the soft bear tightly to her face, but rolls herself into a sitting position nonetheless.

"Drink this," Ivy instructs, and Selina eyes it warily. "Come on," she encourages with a smile, pushing the cup into Selina's hands. Selina squints at the celery colored liquid and is concerned about what the floating blobs within it could be.

"Pass," Selina says flatly, offering the cup back to Ivy. Selina rolls her eyes when the younger girl starts a long-winded rant about how Selina never does anything for her and if she could just this once try something new she'd never make her drink anything ever again. Selina knows this is bullshit, as she has heard this argument a thousand times before, but slurps up a mouthful of the broth anyway.

Selina's face immediately scrunches up as her eyes go round in horror.

"Swallow it," Ivy urges excitedly, reaching for the cup.

"Ugh!" Selina gags, scrubbing her tongue with her fingers, "This tastes like mold!"

"Shush, I'm reading your leaves," Ivy scolds, pleased with herself. Selina glowers back at her and continues to wipe her tongue and lips with her hand.

Ivy peers into the teacup and hums. "Bad omen," she comments sagely. Selina doesn't ask for an explanation when Ivy says things like this. She knows Ivy never has one, but if she did, Selina would be afraid that the strange red head may not be insane and her premonitions could come true. As it is, Selina's always vaguely on the lookout for Ivy's description of "a tall, dark, and handsome man who will rob you blind,". This prophecy was particularly grating for Selina because if it's all a joke, Ivy is suggesting that someone could steal from her, Selina Kyle—master thief. But if it's not a joke, someday a tall, dark, handsome man may attempt to steal from her, Selina Kyle—master thief. Both options are unacceptable, but she supposes there's no honor among thieves. Either way she watches her back vigilantly.

Ivy is strangely quiet. Selina looks over to see hazel eyes staring back at her, teeming with worry.

Selina scowls. "Quit lookin' at me."

Ivy scooches closer. "Sorry. It's just that-" she pauses to push her red hair behind her ear, the metal bangles on her wrist clinking softly "-It's just, you look troubled, is all."

Selina knows the disgusting blob water didn't tell Ivy anything. Her shower may have gotten rid of all the dirt and dried blood, but it couldn't get rid of her red-rimmed eyes or her sallow, sunken cheeks. Stress has a way of showing itself, whether you acknowledge it or not. "Troubled? Me?" Selina scoffs anyway, inching away from Ivy and her unwanted concern.

"So why was Jerome in the cages all weekend?" Ivy questions.

Selina shrugs. "He was just bein' a dumbass."

"Like usual," Ivy comments, again scooching to close the distance Selina keeps making. "So then… where have you been?"

"Around."

"Doing what?"

"Stuff for Fish."

Ivy thinks this over. "Pearl stuff?" she asks, referring to Fish's brand narcotic. The official street name is Blood Pearls, because of their spherical shape and iridescent red shimmer. Ivy continues solemnly, "I know you don't like hurting people. That what happened?" She draws a vertical line down her palm with her index finger, indicating Fish's signature punishment to those who've wronged her. Neither of the girls have that scar—yet.

Selina sighs and pulls away from her friend. "I…I need to go to sleep."

Ivy launches off the bed to stand between Selina and the exit. She's slightly taller than Selina, but not by much, and her skin-and-bones figure is anything but menacing. However, her intense glare is terrifying. "Not until you tell me what happened!"

Selina can't talk about this with Ivy, especially with Ivy. "Seriously, I need to get some sleep."

"No!" Ivy insists stubbornly, blocking Selina again when she moves to get past.

Selina sighs and rubs the space between her eyes. "Listen. You just… You can't imagine how shitty the last few days have been."

"Then tell me!" Ivy cries, apparently not caring that the rest of the house is certainly asleep by now and that the younger kids have school in the morning.

"Tell you what?" Selina replies at equal volume. "How Fish kicked me out? Or how about the crack in my skull, which feels great by the way. Do you wanna know about how I got shot at by a bunch of douchebags in a cemetery?" Selina is shouting now, but she can't stop. Her voice cracks, "How I let the guy get away because I was thinking about-" Selina stops mid-sentence, eyes wide.

"Thinking about?" Ivy prompts after moments of tense silence.

Selina's mind is whirring. Thinking about? Thinking about the boy from the alley with the dark grey eyes and air of familiarity? The boy from today with the insomnia-riddled eyes and the certainty of familiarity? No. Selina can't tell Ivy. At least, she can't tell her his name.

"A boy," Selina reveals quietly, immediately shocked that the confession actually left her mouth. Ivy looks shocked too. Selina takes the opportunity to duck past her and into the hallway.

"A boy," Ivy marvels, a tiny smile on her lips.

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Despite her exhaustion, her bedsheets are still neatly in place as she paces restlessly around the room. Inwardly she curses herself. Why did Ivy have to pry? She'll never let it go now. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A heavy, metallic knock at her door relieves Selina from her contrite thoughts.

Selina calls out a greeting without opening the door. " 'sup Butch?"

"Open up, Cat," Butch replies gruffly, knocking once more for good measure. The door swings open. "Boss wants to see you right away," Butch tells her, lowering his metal hand. "How'd you know it was me?"

Selina smirks. "It sounded like someone was banging a toaster on my door." She gestures at his hand. "Not exactly difficult to figure out, buddy."

"Oh right." Butch makes a face. "Sometimes I forget it's even there."

"That's probably something to keep in mind on your next stealth job," quips Selina, pulling on a jacket.

"Hey," Butch stops her, looking perplexed. Selina thinks he may impart some knowledge about her meeting, to prepare her for Fish's temper or warn her to move to France, but she's let down when he asks, "You seen my Party-Mix CD?"

She snorts. "Nope, but if I see it, I'll hide it in a better spot."

Despite her levity, her heart is tight in her throat. As she makes her way back to the restaurant, Selina decides to bury her troubled thoughts of Jerome and Ivy and a certain life-rendering "boy" to focus on the situation at hand. She begins mentally listing off the reasons why Fish would want to see her after their tense conversation earlier, coming up with no positive answers. Selina sighs. She'd been hoping to avoid Fish for longer than a few hours. More like forever. But here she is, going back to Fish like she always does.

"Selina! Darling, please come in!" Fish greets her, standing from her desk and opening her arms welcomingly. Selina frowns.

"This a trick?" the girl questions, looking around warily.

Fish chuckles heartily, pressing a hand to her chest. "You are a stitch! Come in, come in! We have something to discuss."

Selina's reply is laced with suspicion. "Like what?" She slips into a seat in front of Fish's desk as Fish herself sits back in her ornate, red velvet chair. The lamps are off, and the security monitors that line the wall are on, but blank white, giving Fish and the space around her an eerie glow.

Fish walks her slender fingers along the desk. "Do you want to keep bringing our sweet little psychopath Jerome on your assignments?"

Selina scoffs. "Like I want a fork in my eye."

"That's what I thought." Fish extends her hand to Selina, who cautiously accepts it. Fish lowers her head in a conspiratory fashion and Selina follows suit. "I have a job that I trust only you with," Fish whispers, clasping Selina's hand with both of hers.

"You're weirding me out," Selina states, bewilderment obvious in her expression.

"Selina," Fish hisses, gaining her attention, "What I'm going to ask you to do may shock you, but you're going to stay calm, and you're going to say 'yes'."

The younger girl pulls an annoyed face. "Yeah? What makes you think that?"

Fish squeezes her hand and murmurs forebodingly, "Because karma is a bitch." Her next words cause Selina's heart to drop.

"Do you remember Bruce Wayne? Ah," Fish notes Selina's horrorstruck expression and nods grimly, "-of course you do."

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Yo! Sorry this update took absolutely forever. School is ruining my life. So I have one more "introduction" chapter to post before we can get into the meat of the story, but that's when my initial thoughts for this story will unfold so I'm excited for the next few chapters! Our babies are about to collide. I really just want to set the tone for where these characters are right now and I hope I'm not boring you all!

Anyway, I'd like to thank my reviewers from the bottom of my heart, and everyone else who favorited, followed, and read. I'm thrilled by your kind words and enthusiasm, but I'm feeling nervous about your response to this chapter. You guys are the heroes I need but don't deserve!