Author's note: hey, guys-something got wiggy here with the uploads, so if you want to go back and make sure you've read everything in correct order: 66 should start with "Pamela fastened the mandarin collar," 67 should start with "You got him?", 68 should start with "G-Grandpa?" and 69 should start with "Selina took a long slurp". Sincerest apologies for any confusion. Only half of my computer screen works, so...anyway, enjoy it in the correct order ;)
Selina took a long slurp from her straw, the ice cubes clinking in her lemonade. "Is this what you thought retirement would be like?"
Harley raised an eyebrow from beneath the brim of her ball cap. "Retirement from psychiatry or from costumes?"
Selina shrugged, her gaze focused off the porch, her eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, her hair still short and stylish despite her decision to allow it to go gray after the triplets were born. "I didn't think I'd miss it this much."
"So…we're talking costumes, then. Alright," Harley acquiesced with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess this is how I imagined it. Just—you know—without the chair. But things have a way of catching up with us."
"That they do," Selina agreed, biting her lip. "I didn't even have a costume at the beginning, you know."
Harley took a sip of her lemonade. "No, I didn't know that. I don't know anything about you, really," she laughed. "You don't like me, remember?"
Selina snorted. "Yes, well…I am a woman of mystery," she kept her focus removed. "Guess I'm the only one whose head you never got to shrink, huh?"
Harley frowned, thinking on that. "Well Damian didn't exactly open up, so I'm not sure he counts…but he fathered my grandkids, so I've got some strings to pull."
"Cheers to you, then," Selina clinked their glasses. "As gathering strings is definitely the point of therapy."
Harley shrugged. "He's a dick, what do you want from me?" but as Selina sat up straighter, pulling her sunglasses off, Harley quickly amended: "who seems like a pretty decent Dad and a husband that my kid still enjoys being married to."
Selina tossed her sunglasses onto the table, watching Harley critically even as she returned to a more relaxed stance. Eventually, though, her attention drifted to the yard in front of them. "Objectifying your wife isn't even that fun anymore. Hey! Would it kill you to wear a thong?" she called out to Pam who was bending over to pick up a bag of potting soil.
With a grunt of exertion, the redhead hoisted the bag up over her shoulder, turning to face the porch. "I'm not wearing any underwear at all, Selina. Does that help?"
Wordlessly, Selina grabbed her wallet out of her purse, taking out all the cash she had and making it rain over the porch's railing.
Harley laughed. "Ooh, babe, do the—put on the flannel."
Pam sighed, "Harleen, it's 90 degrees and humid."
"Fair point," Selina acknowledged. "How about pants off, flannel on? Seems like a fair substitution."
"This?" Pam used her free hand to indicate the two of them where they lounged in the shade of the large umbrella that protected the porch plants during harsh Gotham summers. "I don't like. At all."
Selina waved her off, feigning disappointment as Pam carried the bag of soil across the yard. "Anyway," she exhaled. "Handjobs."
Harley laughed. "What's that now?"
"I got out of the foster care system at like 12 and started giving handjobs," Selina elaborated. "I was pretty good at them, too," she held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. "Nimble."
"Wh—wait, what do you mean you—,"
"One night, there was this guy—high, I don't know on what," Selina interrupted Harley's interjection to continue her story. "An older guy, a bit overweight. And normally I didn't look them in the eye when I was—you know—servicing them, but this guy initially said he'd pay me extra if I did. So I did…because there was a big-ass hole in the arm of my jacket from some barbed wire I got caught on jumping a fence, and I wanted to repair it. It was leather and totally badass and basically the only thing I owned besides a pair of jeans. But this guy…" Selina shook her head. "He started getting this crazy look in his eye about halfway through, and he was sweating and…it wasn't a good look," she summarized. "Turned out, he was having a heart attack. And I didn't know, didn't know what to do, I was just a kid, so…he died."
"Selina, I—oh my God!" Harley was horrified. "I had no idea that—,"
"Hey, I'm trying to tell a story!" Selina interrupted her once more. "I get no one cares about Catwoman's origin story, I don't even think people remember I have one anymore. But I do, and here it is, so listen up."
"I—yes, OK, alright," Harley apologized. "Go on, I can ask questions after."
Selina watched her for a moment to make sure she was done before continuing. "So I'm sitting there in this car with this dead body like fuuuuck, what the hell am I supposed to do now? And obviously I'm scared. I don't know if I just murdered the guy or what. But I do know that I ran away from my foster home and I'm underage, so…I decide it might take the cops longer to figure out what the deal is if he doesn't have his ID. And when I open the wallet," she laughed, though there wasn't much humor to it. "This motherfucker was about to pay me $30 for a handjob when he had $500 cash in his wallet. What a fucking prick," her jaw tightened as she shook her head. "So I started pickpocketing when my—my johns," she didn't seem to like the phrase, "were distracted. Eventually, I decided theft was what I had the real talent for, so I dropped the guys altogether and started practicing for a bigger score. And thus, the greatest jewel thief to ever walk the streets was born." She smiled a bit wistfully. "Took me a couple heists before I invested in the suit. Before that it was just those ratty jeans and that leather jacket.
Harley swallowed, appearing to attempt to take that in. "How did you…when did you meet Bruce?"
"18," Selina answered. "We weren't in costume the first time. I'd grifted my way into a gallery opening, and Bruce was there, of course. Everyone was there. I was there to get an inside view of the floorplan, and he came up with a glass of champagne, and was his typical charming self. Great hair, great tux," she chuckled.
She felt the boy's eyes on her where she stood, hoping her dress and her thoughtful appreciation of the artwork on display in front of her was convincing. Would convince him that she belonged here. That she belonged to this world.
She swallowed as he approached, his steps only audible through the chorus of conversation around her because she was listening for them.
"Magnificent," he remarked softly beside her…and it wasn't until she glanced at him that she realized he meant her and not the painting.
She nearly snorted. "That was awful."
His responding chuckle was good natured as he offered one of the two glasses of champagne he'd been holding. "You'd be surprised how often it works."
"No," she took the glass from him. "I don't think I would."
They stood there in silence for a moment, side by side, both examining the same object, though neither were paying close attention as the world moved around them.
He was a man, she supposed, upon closer inspection. But like her he seemed…older than the skin he lived in would indicate. He walked with a knowledge of the world—she could see it. There was a weight on his shoulders, invisible to those without one, but clear as day to someone like Selina. Someone with a weight of their own. She wondered briefly if her demons were just as obvious to him.
"Perhaps you'd rather we critique the art, then," he used his glass to gesture at the sculpture before them, which depicted a tiger devouring its handler and was titled 'The Hand that Feeds'.
She tilted her head to give it a more thorough appraisal, finally murmuring: "I think he got what he deserved..."
He chuckled. "Is that so?"
She turned to him slowly, a smile—almost cruel in nature—licking at corners of her mouth. "Animals…wild things…are not meant to be caged."
"Mm," he acknowledged, his eyes flitting to her lips…but before he could say another word, she was handing her glass back to him.
"Pleasure," she nodded, brushing past him towards the exit.
"Wait a minute," he caught up to her. "I'm Bruce Wayne, and I…I didn't catch your name."
"Well, I didn't offer it, and you've got the start of a song on your hands," she winked, moving past him once more.
"Is it Cinderella?" he guessed. "Because you seem to be leaving the ball in an awful hurry."
"Ah…but you see, I didn't come here to meet the prince, Mr. Wayne," she smirked, nodding up at the banner above her head expressing the gallery's gratitude to the Wayne Family for funding this installation.
Selina tapped her fingers rhythmically on the table. "He was new on the scene too—the costume scene, I mean—so we were both trying to make a name for ourselves in one way or another, and…he missed me, when I robbed that museum the next night." her jaw muscles relaxed into a more natural smile. "Just barely. I heard him coming and I got out of there, but…not before I took the sculpture. That was his first clue. And when he found me because of it, that was my last."
"OK," Harley said as Pam plopped down beside them, using the sleeve of her flannel—which she had evidently decided to put on—to wipe the sweat from her brow. "So let me get this straight," Harley squinted, looking up at the sky. "You, Selina—my friend for the last…what? 47 years of my life? Were an orphaned, underage prostitute? Wh—what the fuck?! How is this just coming out now?"
Selina put her sunglasses back on. "Not exactly a period of my life I'm proud of. Did what I had to to get where I am, and…that's that."
"Then why'd you decide to tell us now?" Harley wondered, wanting to hear more. Wanting to…sit her down on that reclining chair in her old office and take out a notepad.
"Oh, well I already knew," Pam said, taking a sip of Harley's lemonade. "Sexual trauma seems to be a common thread among female villains."
"It's funny, Pam and I met almost the same way Bruce and I did," Selina chuckled. "Of course I didn't know what she was actually doing until later, but…"
Harvey beamed, turning around and tapping a redheaded woman on the shoulder who appeared to be deeply entrenched in a conversation with a board member of the Nature Conservatory of Gotham. "I'm sorry, excuse us for a moment." Harvey apologized to the man. "Pamela Isley, meet Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle."
The woman turned around and for a moment, Selina understood Harvey's instantaneous infatuation. Bright green eyes, cheek bones that could cut glass, plump red lips and wavy crimson locks. She was maybe the most beautiful woman never to grace the cover of a magazine. Selina tore her eyes away for a painful second to see if Bruce had noticed the woman's ridiculous attractiveness. He had. He was blushing furiously and his sudden insecurity seemed to shake Selina out of whatever daze she was in.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Isley. Harvey here has told us so much about you…"
Something flashed across the woman's eyes, but she smiled none the less and extended her hand to Selina. "It's Dr. Isley, actually."
"My apologies." Selina smirked. "The latter still stands, though. We can't get him to shut up!"
"Is that so…?" Dr. Isley winked at Harvey.
"Bruce, don't be rude." Selina patted him on the back while he regained control of himself. "Say hello to Dr. Isley."
"I'm sorry." Bruce cleared his throat. "It seems I may have been overserved."
Selina couldn't not roll her eyes at that. The redhead caught her in the act and giggled.
"Pam, this is the Bruce Wayne. The man who helped me make this happen." Harvey told her.
Selina watched the woman's lip twitch before she said, "You're the one that helped Harvey secure the contracts from the nature conservatory?"
"The very same." Bruce grinned. "Beautiful and a doctor? How'd you get so lucky, Harv?"
"Oh, you seem to be plenty lucky yourself, Mr. Wayne." Dr. Isley told him, her eyes locking onto Selina's. "You two make such a handsome couple."
"Yes." Harvey chuckled. "The tabloids seem to think so as well. These two are always the bell of the ball."
"Actually…" Selina smiled, nodding in the direction of a photographer as he approached, aiming his lens at Harvey and Pamela. "It appears we've been replaced."
Bruce smirked. "Enjoy, Harvey. Selina and I should make our rounds, but it was truly a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isley."
"Oh, please, Mr. Wayne." Pamela said, her voice sultry. "The pleasure was all mine. Perhaps we'll be seeing more of each other."
"Perhaps." Selina answered for him as she pulled him away from the other couple.
"We were all very young and angry back then," Selina said, sounding reflective. "Creepy to think you were like a Sophomore in high school while your future wife was poisoning Two-Face."
Harley was shaking her head. "Selina, I'm…fuck, I'm so sorry. Jesus Christ, is Pam the only one that made it out of her teenage years unscathed?"
"Oh, I made up for it in the end," Pam exhaled. "And 'unscathed' is a relative term. But yes, I—didn't have to provide for myself in that way," she acknowledged. "I just had to hate everything about myself besides my bone structure."
"Mm," Selina's smile was sad. "Well, we made it here, right? We're all in one piece, we're all…I don't know, we all try to remain fulfilled. We still drag our demons around, but maybe that's the point of it all. To see who can carry the heaviest shit the longest."
"That's a bit grim," Harley remarked.
"Talis vita est," Pam rose from her chair. "Such is life."
/
Jo checked her watch as she fastened an earring through her earlobe, the numbers appearing as a hologram a few inches above her wrist so she could read it at her awkward angle.
"I knew I should have brought my fucking clothes," she cursed herself, yanking on her overcoat—the ivory one, even though the chestnut was much warmer. Not about function, it's about fashion, she reminded herself for the 13 billionth time since marrying Damian.
She'd been so focused on finding the kids something to wear that wasn't going to throw Daisy into a hissy fit that she'd completely neglected herself, and now she was late. Classic.
"Bruce?" she called out as she stepped into her shoes. "It's just you and me. What do you say we get out of here before your son divorces me?"
She stepped out into the hallways when she didn't get an answer. Not that she expected one. She and Damian's bedroom was a bit isolated on that floor.
"Yo, B-Man!" she tried again, bucking her belt (which she'd somehow neglected before). "Can we take the Martin? I wanna roll up in style."
But she stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the grand staircase, her blood instantly running cold.
"Oh fuck," she breathed.
He was laying on the marble of the main floor, his position awkward…painful, broken.
"Bruce!"
She ran down the stairs, coming to kneel beside him. To her relief, he was breathing, but at the angle his leg was jutting out, she was pretty sure it was broken.
"Bruce," Jo didn't know whether or not to touch him. If he'd sustained a spinal cord injury, adjusting him could be detrimental and of course she was the only one in her fucking family who didn't have a 'Dr' prefix. "Bruce, did you fall? Can you hear me?"
She was already panicking, but his only response being an incoherent moan made it a lot worse.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," her voice was high and frantic as she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, unlocking it to dial 911.
"N—nnnn,"
Jo stopped, scurrying to the other side of his body so that she could see his face. It looked…weird, it looked contorted, and like maybe his nose was broken from the fall because he was definitely bleeding. "Bruce, I have to call 911, this is a fucking emergency."
"Nnn—nnno," he tried again, and this time his protest was more coherent. "Too many—too many secrets."
"What?!" Jo was horrified. "Bruce, I'm not just going to let you die here on the fucking floor because we've got a Batcave downstairs. I'm calling an ambulance."
"I—Ivy," he forced out, although only half of his face seemed to be moving. "Call Ivy."
You stubborn motherfucker. Jo decided to listen, dialing her Mother instead, her heartbeat somehow louder than the ringing of the phone at her ear.
"Aren't you due to give a speech right about now?" Pam asked immediately upon answering the phone.
"Mom!" Jo shouted, more grateful at the fact that she'd answered than she could even describe. "It's Bruce! He fell—I think he fell down the stairs and he won't let me call 911 you have to help me please I don't know what to do he's in a lot of pain and I think maybe he had a stroke and—,"
"Is his face drooping?"
"Just one side."
"Is he conscious? Is he speaking?"
"I don't know, Mom," Jo was beginning to cry. "Just come here, please. Damian's gonna fucking kill me. I'd really rather call 911."
"No," Pam stated firmly. "I was treating Bruce with technology and medications most hospitals won't be familiar with. I'm on my way. Just keep him awake until Selina and I get there."
"I'll kill him if he kills you," Bruce managed to grunt out as she hung up.