Days of the Advent

by Nos4a2no9

Sequel to Children of the Night. Bruce and a pregnant Selina clash over crimefighting and their relationship, all the while contending with a new threat to the city of Gotham.

4. Chapter 4: What Dreams May Come

Title: Days of the Advent

Author: Nos4a2no9

Characters/Pairings: Batman/Catwoman, Nightwing/Oracle, others

Rating: MA for explicit language and adult themes.

Disclaimer: No profit for the lowly fanficcer – it is a poor life, but a rich one.

Notes: This story is incomplete. It's been sitting on my hard drive for almost two years, but I do intend finish it. Please r/r and let me know if you're interested in seeing the saga conclude sometime this century. "Advent" is a sequel to "Children of the Night," a huge multi-part story which you can find archived at my website. You can find a link to both the site and to the story in my author profile.

Summary: Bruce and a now-pregnant Selina clash over crimefighting and their relationship, all the while contending with a new threat to the city of Gotham.

DAYS OF THE ADVENT

Chapter Four: What Dreams May Come

A soft noise made Selina open her eyes. She felt incredibly drowsy and hot, and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dry cotton. She rubbed her tongue along the roof of her mouth. Ketchup-flavored cotton. Or was that from the hamburgers?

It was dark in the little parlor off the main entranceway. She sat up and shook her head, trying to figure out what time it was. Wayne Manor was silent and echoing in its stillness. Selina frowned. The last thing she could remember, she had abandoned the Labor Day picnic she'd arranged to catch a quick cat-nap (no pun intended) on the chaise lounge in the parlor. The sun and all the stress of meeting Bruce's JLA friends had left her feeling drained.

Reluctantly she pushed herself off the chaise and made her way to the door, opening it to let the soft yellow light from the hallway flood into the room. Selina blinked, aware of the state of her clothing and hair. The fresh, pretty yellow sundress she'd put on this morning was now hopelessly wrinkled, and she smelled exactly like she'd been tossing and turning for hours in a hot, airless room.

"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her eyes. If her fellow rogues could see her now. The old Catwoman would never let herself be seen in such a condition.

The Manor was empty. Selina had no logical reason for thinking it was so – the place was bigger than most hotels, and Bruce, Lucy and any lingering barbeque guests could have easily holed themselves up in one of the manor's hundred-plus rooms. Or they could be in the cave below the house, she reasoned, tilting her head to the side and listening for any human sound. But after a few moments of echoing silence, Selina returned to her first suspicion. The place was a tomb.

Selina made her way down the long, empty hall lined with tarnished silver suits-of-armor and old family portraits. Her sandals echoed on the bare wooden floors, and for a moment Selina entertained the fantasy that she'd fallen asleep and woken in some old Disney movie about haunted castles and talking animals. Feeling a little unnerved she slipped a comforting hand over her belly.

"We're okay, kid. Mom's just a little freaked out. Our secret, right?"

When she finally reached the kitchen Selina drew a glass of water from the tap, scanning the large, dark windows for signs of life on the lawn just outside. Only hours ago the grounds of stately Wayne Manor had been alive with the sounds of an impromptu game of football and the chattering of Bruce's small, exclusive group of super-powered friends. What in the hell had happened to everyone? Had she missed some major world-threatening disaster in the last three hours?

She downed the glass of cool water in a long gulp, her throat working to swallow against the anxiety she couldn't quite seem to conquer. It really was ridiculous – she'd lived on the streets from the time she was seventeen, and she'd faced down psychos like the Joker and gotten the best of megalomaniacs like Lex Luthor. A creepy old house couldn't possibly compare to the kind of danger and pain she'd known in the past.

"This is another one of those things I can blame on you, isn't it?" she muttered, addressing her belly. "It's the hormones, right? That, and I'm disorientated from sleeping in the middle of the afternoon. That's all," she said firmly, wishing the conviction in her voice could conquer the apprehension bubbling in her stomach. Things just felt so...weird.

From somewhere in the hallway behind her came the soft drip-drip-dripping of water. Selina shivered and turned, white-knuckled hands gripping the marble kitchen countertop. She blinked, but the sound didn't go away. In fact, it seemed to get a little louder.

"Could be anything," she told herself. "A leaky facet." And that toilet off the games room has a broken handle, she remembered. Bruce wasn't particularly interested in home maintenance, and with Alfred gone the toilet could have been left running unrepaired for months. She convinced herself to go and check. Hell, she needed to pee anyway.

Selina headed off down the hall, following the sound of dripping water. Her head no longer felt so fuzzy and she tried to relax, still telling herself she was being silly. She was in Bristol, for Chrissake! Nothing bad ever happened in the suburbs, especially not in a neighbourhood like Bruce's. The thought was at least a little comforting, and Selina paused at the closed door of the games-room bathroom. She placed her hand on the knob; it felt strangely warm, as though someone else's hand had been resting there only moments before. Swallowing hard, Selina turned the knob and let the door swing open.

She had a lot of bad memories. It was unavoidable, the kind of life she had led. Her father, drunk and angry, using his fists to tell her she'd been too noisy. Those assholes in Juvie, holding her down while they... And the things she'd done back in the bad old days when it was tough just to hustle enough money for food. On her knees on the cold ground, some man standing over her and smiling through his teeth as she brought him off, sometimes bent over a stairwell or a parked car while a guy had... Plenty of bad memories. But her worst – her worst was – her worst was spread out before her now in the games-room bathroom. The blood was Technicolor.

She couldn't seem to escape it. The bathtub was completely filled with red water; it cascaded over the side of the claw-toed tub, a red waterfall that smeared across the floor and threatened her feet. She leapt back, her sandals safely out of reach, and tried to control the involuntary shivers that coursed down her spine. She kept her hands locked in place, one gripping the doorknob, the other clenching and unclenching in the gathered folds of her skirt.

And the constant drip-drip-drip of the endless water echoed in the stillness of Wayne Manor.

Selina closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She counted carefully to three, determined that when she opened them the awful tableau before her would have vanished, the cold white porcelain fixtures restored to Alfred's exacting standards, all traces of the bloody water gone. But the drip-drip-drip didn't go away – she couldn't shut it out. It didn't stop, even when she placed her hands over her ears so tightly that she couldn't hear anything except her heart beating frantically against the wall of her chest.

But still, as if it was forcing itself up deep from inside her...the drip-drip-drip continued.

"Selina!"

Rough hands on her shoulders, shaking her awake. She let out a small moan, her head flopping back, and she kept her eyes clamped shut, still expecting to see blood-red water creeping across the bathroom floor. Instead... the hands on her shoulders gentled. She cracked an eye open, holding herself stiffly. She was still in the little parlor off the main hallway. Dusk had fallen, and the fading sunlight that managed to penetrate the blinds turned everything soft gold and red. Selina blinked, then swept her gaze over the man who had saved her from all that water.

Bruce, of course. The poor guy looked so worried for her she thought he was going to have a heart attack. His cobalt blue eyes – too clear and pretty, she'd always thought, for a man who hugged darkness so close to himself – were scanning her face over and over, checking for something to explain why she'd excused herself early from the barbeque to take a quick nap and then woken up screaming. Selina had no answers for him. Her throat felt swollen and very dry. She hardly noticed when Bruce brushed a sweat-damp tendril of hair from her forehead and hugged her close.

"You're fine," he murmured, and she listened to the deep rumble of his baritone, clinging tightly to what he said, to the comfort he offered. She couldn't quite prevent the ironic quirk of her lips. Usually she was the one saving him from his nightmares.

"I'm fine," she echoed, slipping a hand beneath Bruce's shirt to find the bare warmth of his back. She rubbed her fingers in slow circles against his skin, avoiding the rough patches where burns and old bullet wounds had left their marks. She needed to feel the parts of him that didn't carry those reminders of violence. Pretend, just for a moment, that they had both escaped the past unscathed.

"What were you dreaming about?" he asked her, and she halted in the slow stroking of her fingers. Bruce's question had caught her off guard. They never talked about their nightmares.

"Just-" Selina frowned. There was something... "I need to check something."

Bruce pulled back, and she shivered at the loss of his body heat. He regarded her carefully for a moment, then nodded. "Where?"

"The games room." She met his eyes darkly. "Come with me?"

He nodded and without questioning her further helped Selina to stand. Selina finger-combed her hair off her face and smoothed her wrinkled dress, her hands briefly lingering on her belly. She hoped she hadn't caused the kid any permanent psychic damage. Some of the books she'd been reading on mother-fetus connections suggested that any negative feelings experienced by the mother could be transmitted to the child. If so, she'd just telegraphed down a doozy.

"Everybody gone?"

Bruce nodded. "About an hour after you left for your nap. Lucy's asleep in her old room."

"I hope everyone had a good time."

"They did. Diana sent her thanks for the invitation. And Clark and Lois had a good time."

They had just reached the hall when Bruce stopped her. "If anything was wrong, you'd tell me, right?"

Selina nodded, brushing off his concern like she had the wrinkles from her dress. "I just need to check something."

They stopped at the kitchen and Bruce handed Selina a glass of water. She had to fight off the suffocating sensation of deja vu. Finally, they stood before the games-room bathroom, and Selina gripped Bruce's hand. His worried expression hadn't changed much, but he didn't press her or ask her any questions. Selina knew she'd never be able to answer them anyway.

"After the 'quake, did you remodel this bathroom?"

"No," he said slowly, recalling the changes he'd made to the Manor's blueprints after the house had been rebuilt. "This section didn't need a lot of work. This part of the house was built after the pool was put it – it wasn't attached to the older sections of the manor that collapsed."

Selina only half-heard Bruce's explanation. Something about the pool sparked a half-faded memory, but she didn't quite understand the connection her tired brain was trying to make. She'd been in this part of the house a hundred times in the years when she and Bruce had dated, and again recently as she recovered from Huntress' attack. Why only now did she-

"Did something happen tonight, Bruce? Something to call your friends away?"

Bruce laid his hands on her shoulders, bodily turning Selina towards him. She still avoided his gaze, scanning the bathroom and its few fixtures again and again. Bruce frowned and caught her chin in his hand, turning her head to face him. Those roving green eyes finally slipped to his, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Selina, what's going on?"

He hated the way fear had seeped into his question. Bruce had spent years – a lifetime – training to keep his tone flat, unemotional, his feelings deeply buried beneath a combination of role-playing and distraction. But Selina had always been able to unsettle him. She was an anchor, dragging along the surface he shrouded in deep waters, dredging up things he hadn't allowed himself to think or feel in decades. He hadn't yet decided whether he loved her or resented her for it.

"Just a bad dream," she murmured, slipping two cool, steady palms around his hand. She drew his hand to her cheek and brushed her lips over his palm, making him shiver with the sensual movement of her mouth. She had always been remarkably adept at bringing that to the surface, too.

She turned away from the bathroom and kept hold of his fingers, casting one look back over her shoulder. Bruce wasn't sure what he saw in her gaze – fear, perhaps, in the cold sterile light of the bathroom. Selina's eyes warmed when they came to rest once again on his face. "Just a dream."

It served as some sort of explanation, he supposed. Bruce flipped the light switch, throwing the bathroom back into darkness. He followed her back down the hall and Selina surprised him slightly, turning before they had made it back to the kitchen and pressing her body against his. Her slight weight hardly made a difference against his huge frame but Bruce stepped back, feeling the hallway wall against his shoulders. She leaned into him, the soft heaviness of her breasts against his chest, her scent filling his nostrils. Vanilla and baby powder. Bruce closed his eyes.

He felt her breath wisp against the part of his neck exposed above the open collar of his shirt. For an instant it was like too many nights gone by, Catwoman rubbing against him suggestively, offering what he wanted so desperately but would never condescend to take. The wood-paneled wall at his back might have been the brick of a chimney or even the rough asphalt of a rooftop in Crime Alley. Selina's breath was hot against his jugular and Bruce swallowed. Then he felt the unfamiliar press of her swollen abdomen against his hips and he opened his eyes. She wasn't Catwoman, not anymore. Not right now. And he wasn't...he wasn't wearing the Suit. No masks between them, and she certainly wasn't offering her body up as a Get Out of Jail Free card. She loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

The light was so dim in the hallway Bruce could just barely make out Selina's features. Those calm and clear green eyes gave nothing away. A useful skill in a thief, but frustrating in a lover. He pressed his thumb against her lips and Selina opened her mouth, taking him in.

"You've just had a nightmare," he whispered to her, watching her eyes drift closed as she sucked on his thumb. He felt her tongue slide against his digit and Bruce ignored the sudden tremble in his knees. Already he could feel his arousal stirring, that familiar rush of blood robbing the rest of his body of strength and resolve. When exactly had he stopped caring about the kind of effect she could have on him?

"Are you sure this is something you want to start?"

Selina sighed and slipped his thumb out of her mouth. It shone faintly in the moonlight, wet and swollen-looking. "Are you accusing me of being a tease, Mr. Wayne?"

He allowed himself a small smile. "Always. But you shouldn't..."

"What?" she asked, and now there was fire in her eyes. He welcomed it, glad to see Selina wasn't as unaffected by her demons as she appeared to be. On a purely academic level he understood her motivations for seducing him now: she had just experienced a violent nightmare, and he could guess at its general content. She had so often forced a sexual encounter between them after something had frightened her that Bruce had come to expect it. He worried that someday he would come to depend on it. And enjoy it.

"Follow me," he said, striding down the hall and into an unlocked room. Great white sheets were thrown over the furniture to protect the expensive pieces from dust. This room had been unused for years, but he did remember there was a sofa in here somewhere. And a fireplace.

"Wouldn't your bedroom be more...comfortable?" Selina asked, clearly enjoying herself. A small feline smile haunted her lips, and she stood with her arms folded loosely across her chest.

Bruce did not point out that the bedroom on the third floor was their room. It had stopped being his solitary chamber six months ago, when Selina had escaped the confines of a temporary guest bedroom/recovery ward and placed her toothbrush next to his in the on-suite bathroom. They had not discussed the domestic reorganization formally, but now that they were together with a baby on the way and Lucy installed in a small room down the hall he considered the issue moot.

"Bruce, it's a hundred-and-thirty degrees outside. Why are you lighting a fire?"

He sparked a tinder against some yellowed newspapers and a pile of dried wood. Instantly flames began to lick against the blackened old hearth. "Because the temperature is expected to drop overnight and I intend to be here for quite some time."

Selina regarded him with a shocked expression. He was silently pleased that he could still manage to surprise her. Bruce rose from his crouching position and glanced at the sheet-draped objects in the room, selecting the sofa that would best suit his purposes. He threw the sheet off in a whirl of dust and commotion, happy to discover that the sofa was, in fact, a day-bed. He dragged it closer to the fireplace, the hundred-pound piece of furniture easy for him to reposition.

Selina watched Bruce as he moved the sofabed, admiring the way the muscles in his back worked and stretched under his shirt. She wondered sometimes how a man who radiated physicality, who by necessity needed to be fully aware of his own body at all times, could be so oblivious when it came to physical pleasures. Even now, months into their relationship, Bruce was occasionally still reserved, even monkish. She had never been able to decide if he still experienced lingering guilt over enjoying anything unrelated to capturing villains and righting wrongs. Still such a boy scout, despite all his denials. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Finally, the arrangement of the furniture seemed to meet his approval. Bruce turned back to her, extending his hand. Selina felt a momentary twinge of reluctance. The firelight cast a warm glow over the sofabed and she worried that it was too bright, that he would see too much. She was six months' pregnant and she looked it. Even in Hawaii Selina had insisted Bruce douse the lamps and turn off all the lights before she would join him in bed. Even though she knew he could easily feel the changes in her body, Selina wasn't sure she wanted Bruce to see the extent of them.

He had noticed her hesitation. Bruce slowly lowered his hand, letting it come to rest in a clenched fist by his side. What was the source of Selina's reluctance? Was she perhaps having second thoughts about making love so soon after her nightmare? He had never, would never, insist on making her do something she didn't want to do, and if-

"Could you turn around?" she asked, and Bruce's eyes narrowed in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Turn around," she repeated a little louder, her hands on her hips. "I'd rather not-"

"Selina," Bruce interrupted, "What is it?"

She was working very hard at not meeting his eyes. Even when she'd robbed a diamond exchange, gotten caught with the loot, and been secured by his own cuffs Selina Kyle had never looked embarrassed. What had changed?

Realization hit like a thunderbolt. "Oh."

At her fierce expression he closed his mouth, trying to think of something to say that would put Selina at ease and convince her that the gentle subterfuge of the last month hadn't been necessary. She didn't need to hide her body from him. He loved her, and he would certainly never-

"Are you going to turn around, or am I going to march upstairs right now and leave you to the tender mercies of that overgrown futon?"

Defiantly he folded his arms and leaned back against the warm stones of the hearth. They stood like that for long moments, each glaring at the other, unwilling to compromise. Bruce had once told Selina she was better at brinkmanship than he, but perhaps her innately stubborn nature had been worn down by the events of the last few hours. Or perhaps it was simply because Selina and Bruce had been living in a small apartment with thin walls and an observant five-year-old for the last few weeks. Whatever the reason, it was she who surrendered first. To his credit, Bruce's face remained impassive. He did not appear to relish his victory, although she was positive that inside the twisting corridors of his mind Bruce was gloating.

"Fine," she grunted, reminding herself that she had once paraded across the rooftops of Gotham in little more than skin-tight purple leather, stilettos, and a smile. The fact that she was no longer a size five shouldn't have affected her confidence that much. Selina slipped the straps of her sundress off her shoulders and momentarily clutched the bodice tightly to her chest. She bowed her head and drew a deep breath, then shimmied out of the gown. She let the dress pool around her feet, her arms carefully folded over her breasts, and waited. Bruce remained quiet.

Finally, unable to bear his silence any longer Selina raised her head. Bruce still stood in the shadows by the hearth, the handsome, regular planes of his face thrown into sharp relief by the fire's flickering light. Her breath caught at what was in his face. He looked so...happy. And aroused. Peaceful, too, as if he wanted and expected nothing more than this moment. Selina couldn't help but glance down at her body, wondering if the heavy, swollen belly, her breasts and, yes, even the enormous pair of panties she'd been wearing under the sundress could have inspired such an expression.

"God, say something," she whispered. Her plea seemed to jolt Bruce out of whatever stupor he'd been in and he crossed the room to come within arm's reach of her, still transfixed by the sight of Selina's nude pregnant body in the glowing firelight.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, drawing her close. He kissed the top of her dark head, and Selina thought she could detect a faint tremble running through those strong, broad shoulders. If Bruce wasn't careful, he'd discover that his reputation of being the most emotionally-constipated man in Gotham was in serious danger.

Still, the sardonic thought couldn't completely counteract Selina's sense of relief. She hadn't exactly expected Bruce to turn away from her in disgust, but their connection had always been a decidedly erotic one. She'd worried that would change when her body did.

Bruce stepped back and absorbed the sight of her body again, memorizing the curves and shadows of her figure where the firelight couldn't reach. Selina had certainly changed, but he loved the way her pregnancy had enhanced the supple, sensual fullness of her body. Her breasts seemed several sizes larger, and he closed his eyes against the thought of filling his hands with them and suckling at Selina's pink, firm nipples. Her hips were rounder, more feminine, and the rest of her body seemed softer and more accessible. She still exuded that playful, dangerous sexuality that had been Catwoman's trademark, but perhaps the knowledge that she carried his child made Bruce think of Selina as a cross between a pagan fertility goddess and the embodiment of Batman's darkest fantasies.

The arousal that had been threatening all night sprung to sudden, painful life, and Bruce crushed Selina to him in a frantic kiss. He had never wanted her so badly, not during all of those tense rooftop encounters, not when he had first made love to her after the explosion at the docks, and not even later when both their lives and their love had been in such danger. He had never been this desperate for her.

Selina's teeth clicked against the invasion of his tongue an instant before she surrendered, shocked at the explosion of need and raw sexual energy she felt in Bruce's kiss. He had always been so reserved, so hesitant. Watchful, as if he expected her to turn from him at any moment. This domination was new, but it was tempered by the knowledge that Bruce would never take from her anything she did not freely offer. The thought made her smile against his kiss and she pushed on his shoulders, testing his restraint.

Bruce forced himself to stop, halting the movement of his mouth as it threatened to devour her. He was breathing heavily, and his body shook with the effort not to crush Selina close and invade her mouth again.

"You're overdressed," she suggested with a smile, acknowledging his need while managing to ignore its darker implications. He stepped back and stripped, keeping his eyes locked on hers. Selina met his challenge, willing herself not to let her gaze drop to take in that broad, muscular chest, tight stomach and narrow hips. He could have easily been a Grecian statue, if it were not for the scars and the hungry look in his eyes.

She drew her tongue across her lips, whetting them in anticipation. All this time, and she was still surprised by the beauty of Bruce's body. She knew Bruce would never describe himself as handsome – good looks were a tool to be exploited in his life as Bruce Wayne, and his personal demons would never allow the indulgence of vanity. Aesthetic appeal was only a side effect of his punishing exercise routine, strict diet and determination to push his body to the limits. The fact that he was the embodiment of male beauty and didn't seem to care somehow made him even more appealing.

Selina slipped the oversized maternity panties from her hips and stepped out of them, tossing them on top of her dress. Bruce was nude now as well, and she moved back into the radius of his grasp, a flush creeping over her skin at the feel of his bare skin against her body, the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing into her hip. She smiled, her teeth flashing white in the dark.

"Now is when it gets tricky," she whispered, skimming a hand over her rotund belly. "Missionary isn't going to do it anymore."

"We'll think of something," he assured her, making Selina grin. He kissed her again, more gently this time, and one of his hands slipped down to explore her breast. His thumb danced over her nipple, teasing it in a way carefully calculated to make her gasp.

The fires of his urgency somewhat banked, Bruce continued kissing her for long moments and finally ducked his head to trace Selina's collarbone with his tongue. Her fingers curled in his dark hair and she shivered as he blew cool air over the trail of moisture he left leading down to the breast that ached for his touch. They moved backwards as one; feeling the edge of the sofabed against the back of her knee Selina sank down, Bruce coming with her and not breaking the connection between his mouth and her breast. She lay back and Bruce settled beside her, still working his way down from her breasts to...

"Oh God," she groaned, her hips thrusting against him of their own accord. Bruce pressed a quieting hand against her hip. "You've never-"

"My mistake," he breathed against her. "One I intend to correct."

"It's definitely better than the missionary position," she assured him, her head lolling back against the sofa as she closed her eyes and concentrated only on the movement of his fingers and lips. There was a matching fluttering in her stomach and she rubbed her belly, quieting their child. Perhaps her contentment now could compensate for the trauma of her nightmare.

And it was contentment. There was no better word. Synonyms presented themselves, but Selina rejected them all. The sight of Bruce's dark head moving between her thighs made deep something inside of her relax. It felt like the release of something she had been carrying for far too long. "I love you," she told him, arching back as a wave of pleasure washed over her. Her hips rose to give Bruce better access and he held her body close, his large hands making a 'v'-shape as he gripped her hip bones. His hands felt warm and dry, and his mouth...jesus, his mouth. Her attempt to murmur his name turned into something more like a whimper.

"You're...you're good at this," she managed. "Self-taught?"

Bruce didn't reply, doubling his pace and adding a finger. Selina worried it was possible to die from a combination of over-stimulation and raw need. She wanted him inside her, covering her body with his and spilling himself within her. She wanted Bruce to once again collapse exhausted on her chest, soft but reluctant to withdraw. And she wanted him to keep doing exactly what he was doing for the rest of time.

Her orgasm began as a faint fluttering deep in her abdomen; she almost confused it with the movement of their baby. It continued to build, its flames fanned by the stroke of Bruce's finger and his tongue, until it burst forth upon her and Selina stiffened, arching her back and crying out his name. Waves of it rolled over her body, lapping against her and within her. She fell back against the sofa bonelessly, tugging Bruce after her. His face was shiny in the firelight, an expression of satisfied pride stamped on his features. She could only smile and wipe weakly at his chin.

"That's disgusting." She wanted to run around the room laughing like a maniac and shout to the gods about the love she had found. Anyone with half a brain would describe Bruce Wayne as damaged goods. Selina was simply glad that she had him all to herself. He really was wonderful, in his own aggravating way. And not many men would do that. At least, not so well.

Bruce raised one massive arm and bent it behind his head, revealing a hairy armpit and a flexed, sharply-defined pectoral muscle. His nipple was brown and flat, a small half-moon scar tugging at the skin just beneath it. He straightened his other arm in invitation and Selina settled against him, his arm curling over her shoulders and tugging her against his side.

She studied his face, watching with fascination as Bruce's eyes closed, the long sweep of dark lashes coming to rest against high, aristocratic cheekbones. Selina tried to imagine if their child would inherit Bruce's eyes, or if they would possess her own green gaze.

"You're deciding right now how you could use that against me, aren't you?" she teased, poking Bruce in the ribs. He jerked, shaking his head in denial.

"You'd never let me get close enough. Not if you were really angry."

Selina nodded, her fingers trailing over the old claw marks that scored his chest just above his sternum. It had happened so long ago. In a different life.

"Thank you," she said softly. At the question in his eyes she continued. "For coming for me. In Kansas."

He shrugged, seemingly uncomfortable with the sudden turn in conversation. She almost sensed the shadows gathering in him; it was if somewhere inside Bruce was drawing down a thick pair of blinds. She placed a warm, steady hand over his heart and kissed him on the lips.

"You found me."

"You found me first," he whispered. "I never really thanked you for that."

"What you just did...well, that was a good start," she hesitated, eyes smiling at him. "But a good thief learns the value of making sure someone always owes you a favor."

She slipped down the length of his body; he was hard before she reached him and drew him into her hand. Selina kept her eyes on Bruce's face as she knelt above him on the narrow sofabed, watching the changes in his expression at the steady stroking movements of her hand. She was fascinated by what she saw there: it was like watching a storm sweep over the sea. One instant everything was calm, the next the clouds gathered and chaos reigned. When Selina finally drew his hard length into his mouth, she felt the thrumming of his body, the ebb and flow of tension, the way he attempted to practice self-control and finally surrendered himself to her ministrations. Bruce curled his toes and pressed his shoulders into the sofa, groaning as his body exploded under her eager hands and willing mouth. Finally peace descended. The storm had passed, and they were both still in one piece. Bruce was breathing a little heavily.

Selina curled up next to him, not even interested in brushing her teeth. She suddenly felt exhausted, and within the warm circle of firelight, secure in Bruce's arms, she knew it was safe to sleep.

They belonged to each other. Nothing could change that.