A/N: Hey all! This story has gotten some attention on AO3, but I'm not sure where this fandom is most active, so I'm adding it to Wattpad and FFN as well. This is my first venture into a comic book universe, but so much artistic liberty and revisionism is already out there for these characters that I have no qualms about playing fast and loose with the lore, which makes it more challenging and more fun. Parts of this story very loosely follow parts of Gotham and The Long Halloween, but expect bits from anywhere else in Batman lore.

With regard to chapter titles, I'm doing something that I don't normally enjoy and using them to identify the POV character for the chapter, e.g. Selina I, Bruce I, Harvey I, Selina II, Bruce II, Harvey II, etc. It feels appropriate to do it this way in this story, since the chapters are mostly heavily centered on developing those characters, and some of them cover long stretches of time and various events. This also means that the chapters may vary wildly in length.

Disclaimer: I have no ownership over any characters or settings that you recognize. I have no financial benefit or incentive for writing this story. This endeavor is purely for fun.

Enjoy!

Thomas Wayne was not quite vain enough to consider himself "a man of the people." He was well aware that the world that he knew, in which he had lived and learned and worked for all his life, was entirely distinct—if not geographically than equitably—from the world that most people of Gotham experienced.

His wife, Martha, believed herself to be somewhat more empathetic towards the greater portion of the public, despite also having lived all her life comfortably within the self-contained world of wealth. She was therefore more inclined to be sympathetic when they discovered that the latest failed attempt to deprive Thomas of his wallet was perpetrated by a girl of no older than nine.

They were outside of a new and trendy Persian restaurant in the Financial District, chatting with Robert Madison and his wife, Shelly, while young Julie made eyes at Bruce as they stood between their respective parents. The social dinner having concluded some minutes before, each family now awaited the valets bringing their vehicles to the front of the restaurant, and made the sort of prolonged farewell conversation that could be timed precisely to conclude at the moment of parting.

The little thief snuck up behind Thomas with the stealth of a more experienced member of her unsanctioned profession. But Thomas was a doctor, trained to be more observant than most and pick up on changes in feel as well as sight and sound, and he therefore noticed the moment that his jacket suddenly felt slightly lighter. Turning with surprising agility, he caught the arm of the little girl as she attempted to make her escape, and she gave a shriek.

Her curly hair was dark, partially by virtue of its natural shading and partially by virtue of the dirt matted to the strands. Her pale cheeks were similarly graced by splotches of brown and black and gray, some of it clearly having been there for longer than healthy hygienic behavior would permit. Her black jacket was thin and tattered, her leggings even moreso, and her shoes were mismatched and were both at least two sizes too big for her. But her eyes, when she turned to face him, blazed with emerald frustration and anger and other emotions that he didn't care to recognize.

"Return that to me," he said sternly, holding out the hand that wasn't gripping her small, bony arm. When she responded by throwing the wallet angrily at his feet, he only tightened his grip. "No, place it in my hand, gently."

"Thomas, she's just a child." Martha bent for a closer look at the girl. "It's okay, Sweetie. Perhaps we can help you."

"Martha..."

"She's all dirty," pointed out little Julie, her freckled nose wrinkled.

Bruce, for his part, was staring at the girl with fascination, as though he couldn't comprehend exactly what she was. And perhaps he couldn't. Never before had he encountered someone his own age in such a state of squalor and desperation.

Martha picked up the wallet herself, and withdrew a handkerchief to wipe it off before handing it to Thomas. She then offered the handkerchief to the girl. "Take this, Sweetie. You need it more than I do."

The girl stared at the piece of fabric as though it were a weapon that could harm her.

It was then that the first of the valets arrived with Thomas's black Aston Martin. He emerged from the car and turned to Thomas, before looking at the situation uncertainly.

Thomas let go of the girl, and fully expected her to run. But she didn't, as she was now staring at Martha with a sort of terrified fascination. Grimacing, Thomas withdrew a suitable if not extravagant tip for the valet and thanked him.

Belatedly accepting that the girl would not take the proffered handkerchief, Martha put it away, but her moment of immoderate sympathy was not over yet. "Are your parents around, Sweetie?"

The girl frowned and took a step away from her.

"Do you have parents?" Bruce asked, his tone imitating his mother's delicacy.

The girl looked at him, and there was a slight widening of green eyes as she proceeded to return a look of fascination not unlike the one he was giving her. Several curious seconds passed before she shook her head.

"She doesn't have parents?" Julie looked up at her own parents in confusion. "But all girls have parents, don't they?"

Robert and Shelly exchanged uncomfortable glances, and then Robert was relieved by the arrival of his blue Ford Mustang. The elder Madisons bid hasty farewells and all but dragged Julie to the car as she continued to eye the yet-unnamed girl with a mix of concern and distaste.

Bruce's next question drove any thoughts of the Madisons' impending awkward conversation with their daughter from Thomas's mind. "Would you like to come to our home with us?"

Thomas and Martha both looked at their son, but his gaze was as fixed on the girl as it had been for the past several minutes.

"Bruce..." Thomas returned a measure of sternness to his voice. "It isn't best for you to—"

But young Bruce Wayne proceeded to interrupt his father for the first time since a temper tantrum that he threw at the age of five, with an assertiveness that Thomas was quite sure he had never heard before from his son. "She needs food, and she needs a bath. She can have both of those at home." And then a measure of uncertainty broke through his sudden assertiveness. "Alfred can help her, can't he?"

"Bruce, she isn't our resp—"

"It's okay, Thomas." Martha looked proud of their son. "We can give her a place for the night, and I'll call Child Services in the morning. It's better than leaving her on the streets, at the mercy of whatever thugs are lurking around here."

Thomas grimaced and studied the silent girl, who had shifted her gaze back to Martha. "Alright, she can come with us. But I won't have Alfred do anything that he isn't comfortable with."

Grinning, Bruce hurried over to the car and opened the door. "Go ahead," he told the girl as he held the door open. "You can go in ahead of me."

The girl hesitated as she looked from Bruce to Thomas to Martha.

"Come on," Bruce insisted. "We can give you food. And a bath. And a comfortable bed."

Very cautiously, the girl took a single step towards him, and then another. And then her confidence increased a little as she got closer to Bruce, until she was passing him and entering the car. He hurried in after her.

Thomas looked at Martha, who looked rather satisfied. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"We're doing the right thing, Thomas. She's just a little girl who needs help."

He sighed, getting the sinking feeling that the safe boundary between his world and the world this girl came from was narrowing.

Alfred, as always, did what was required of him without question, even though tonight's agenda was well beyond his normal list of tasks. The girl ate voraciously and took a long bath, and was soon standing silently in the hall in clothes that Bruce had willingly lent her.

Bruce, who should have gone to bed by now, was wide awake and standing opposite her, surveying how she looked in his clothes. Then, abruptly, he held out his hand. "Would you like to introduce yourself now? I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne."

The girl stared at his hand. Then, with somewhat less caution than she had shown before, she grasped it with her own. "I'm Selina." Her voice was soft, and seemed to surprise even herself a bit, as though she hadn't used it in a long time.

"Selina?" Bruce grinned widely. "I like your name, Selina."

Selina blinked at him.

Martha came up behind Bruce. "Do you have a last name, Selina?" she asked gently.

Selina stared at her for several seconds. "My name is Selina Kyle."

Martha smiled. "Do you know who gave you that name, Selina?"

"My mom."

"So you do have a mom?" said Bruce.

Selina looked down, her face falling. She let go of Bruce's hand, which she had still been grasping, and wrapped her arms around herself. "She went away."

Bruce looked uncertainly at his own mother, whose smile had faded.

"What about your dad, Selina?" Martha asked with her most gentle tone yet.

The girl shook her head. "I've never had a dad."

Martha turned to Thomas, her expression conveying her thoughts.

Bruce, apparently deciding that the conversation had grown too somber, changed the subject. "Do you want to play a game?"

Alfred, who was standing patiently to the side, spoke up at that. "It's past time for bed, Master Bruce."

"But I'm not tired."

"Yes, well, perhaps Miss Kyle is tired, and would like to—"

But the little girl was shaking her head and showing excitement for the first time. "I'm not tired. I would like to play a game."

Bruce beamed. "Do you know how to play checkers?"

She shook her head again.

"I'll show you. Come on!"

And then they were off.

Martha exchanged a long look with Thomas, a smile spreading on her face. There was no mistaking her thoughts: They had never before seen Bruce engage with any peers with such enthusiasm.

Thomas turned to Alfred. "A half hour, Alfred, no more. Then they both go off to bed."

"Of course, Master Thomas. Will you be retiring now?"

"Yes."

"Good evening, Sir, Madam."

"Good night, Alfred," Martha replied, and they turned towards their own wing of the house.

Once they were in the solitude of their room, Thomas went to the window, sighing heavily. "I know what you're thinking."

"And I know what you're thinking, love."

"We don't know anything about this girl. We know nothing at all about her."

"She's just a little girl, Thomas. And she needs help."

"Never mind that we never would have met her if she hadn't tried to steal my wallet."

"And it's horrible that she's had to do that to survive."

He sighed again. "You'll call Child Services in the morning?"

There was no response to that.

"Martha?"

It was another moment before she spoke, with no conviction at all. "Yes, love, I'll call Child Services in the morning."

And Thomas felt that boundary narrowing ever more.

Leslie stopped by the following day, and was immediately as taken with the girl as everyone but Thomas seemed to be. After a good night's sleep and a full breakfast, the girl's youthful feistiness was emerging in force, and Leslie and Martha smiled as she haughtily avoided answering their questions.

Information emerged slowly, however. It had been over a year since the girl's mother disappeared, having told Selina that she was going to get them some more money. Ever since then, Selina had been stealing for survival. She was good at climbing fire escapes and sneaking into apartments, and she knew a fence who was kind and treated her fairly, and even gave her food for free sometimes.

She had lived a life that no nine-year-old should have to live.

"You won't tell us the fence's name, will you?" Thomas asked, joining his wife and Leslie on the couch.

"No!" Selina scowled and crossed her skinny arms. "You'll tell the police!"

Thomas didn't frankly care at all who the fence might be; he was much more interested in the girl's reaction. "Have you ever met any police officers?"

Selina took a step back and looked away. "One of them came to talk to my mom. He hurt her. He kept hurting her until I screamed. And then he tried to chase me, but I made him fall. After that, he went away."

"It sounds like he wasn't a very nice officer," Leslie said gently. "But not all of them are like that."

Selina looked very skeptical about that.

Bruce, who had been staring silently at the girl as the adults questioned her, spoke up. "Have you ever gone to school?"

Selina met his gaze, and it was a moment before she shook her head. "My mom taught me things. She stole some books so I could read them. Some were schoolbooks, but they're boring."

"What are your favorite books?" Leslie asked.

"I like Alice. She got to go to a magical place called Wonderland. And Dorothy got to go to Oz." Selina paused and looked around the parlor, then at Bruce. "Is there magic here?"

Bruce shook his head slowly. "No, magic isn't real. It's only in books and on TV."

Selina stared at him. "But then how do people be happy? People need to find magic to be happy."

"No, they don't," Martha said softly. "The only thing people need to find to be happy is love." She leaned into Thomas as she said this.

"Love?" Selina puzzled over the response.

Alfred entered the room. "Excuse me, Master Thomas, but a Ms. Taylor from Child Protective Services is here."

"Thanks, Alfred. Send her in."

He returned a minute later with a stern-looking woman in a beige suit. Her gray-blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she gazed around the room with dark eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses.

"Mrs. Wayne, I'm Patricia Taylor. We spoke over the phone earlier."

"Yes." Martha stood and went to greet the guest, and Thomas followed.

Ms. Taylor's gaze fell on Selina. "And this is the child? You said that you found her attempting to commit a crime?"

"She was in a desperate state," said Martha.

Bruce stepped in front of Selina, looking at Ms. Taylor nervously. "Are you going to take her away?"

"Bruce, it is Ms. Taylor's job to find someplace where Selina will be treated well by a new family," said Thomas.

"But we're treating her well here, aren't we?" Bruce turned to Selina. "Don't you like it here?"

Selina nodded, her nervous frown locked on Ms. Taylor.

"This isn't her home, Bruce," Thomas persisted.

Leslie spoke up. "Where will she be taken until you can find a new home for her?"

"We have a center that specializes in helping children who are brought in from the streets."

"A center?" Leslie looked skeptical. "Does it have sufficient funding to keep the children well-cared for."

Ms. Taylor's face fell towards a frown. "We do everything that we can for them. I can assure you, Ms..."

"Thompkins. Dr. Leslie Thompkins. I've had patients who came from centers run by the city. They don't seem to fare much better there than they would on the streets."

Thomas shut his eyes at his old friend's words, knowing the inevitable trajectory of this conversation now.

"As I said, we do everything that we can. And Miss Kyle's stay will only be temporary, until we can find a family willing to foster her."

"And how long do you think that will take? An honest estimate, please."

Ms. Taylor hesitated. "I acknowledge that it takes longer to find families who are willing to care for older children, particularly if they have a background in criminal activity."

Bruce stuck out his arms, making himself as wide a shield in front of Selina as possible. "So she'll be stuck at this place for years? This center? Where you don't have enough money to take care of her?"

"Again, we will do everything that we can to—"

"No," said Martha, interrupting her.

"Martha..." Thomas began, but the resignation was already weighing heavily on his voice.

"Selina can stay here, until you find a family who is willing to take her in. And we will need to meet with them before handing her over."

"Mrs. Wayne, that is not how we operate. The child—"

"I will fill out whatever paperwork is necessary. And I will pay whatever is necessary." She gave Thomas a stern look that preemptively silenced his objections. "We will give Selina the home that she needs for as long as it takes. I guarantee that we can care for her far better here than you could at your center."

"Mrs. Wayne, you yourself stated that she has a history of—"

"She was desperate, as I said." Martha's tone was reaching her most intimidating sternness. "I will not discuss this any further, except to hear your instructions for whatever paperwork I must fill out to keep her here."

Bruce was grinning from ear to ear as he watched Leslie quiz Selina on arithmetic. The girl was, surprisingly, not as far behind on her education as Thomas would have expected. She certainly had a natural intelligence, but she would still need remedial lessons before she could join Bruce in his formal schooling, as Martha undoubtedly intended.

Martha had gone with Ms. Taylor to fill out the necessary paperwork, accompanied by Alfred. Thomas seemed to be the only one who wasn't sure what to do first about the sudden new addition to their lives.

But then his medical sensibility kicked in. The girl should be checked, of course, and he knew a few pediatricians who could see to her with appropriate discretion. Would she have any medical records? It seemed unlikely, given her background, but Thomas decided that he would at least check to see if she had received infant vaccinations.

Retreating to his office, he accessed the corresponding records and found that Selina Kyle had indeed received all appropriate infant care, indicating that her mother had at least had the means to properly care for her as a baby. Everything was paid for by insurance, and he checked those records to get the name of the mother. But it was not her name that he found on the insurance, it was... That couldn't be right.

He blinked at the familiar name for several seconds, and then reached for his phone.

"Dr. Wayne?" He looked up from his book at the young voice that he was becoming increasingly familiar with over the past few days. She stood in front of him, green eyes blinking anxiously.

"What do you need, Selina?"

Selina looked down. "I'm sorry for trying to steal your money."

He stared at her for a moment, then looked towards the entrance to the parlor, where Bruce was standing with a small grin on his face.

"Thank you for saying that." He closed his book. "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head. "No thank you."

"Alright. Then why don't you let me talk to Bruce for a moment, okay?"

She nodded and went to the exit, sharing eye contact with Bruce as she passed him.

"Bruce, come here."

He stepped further into the room, stopping in front of his father.

"Thank you for telling her to apologize."

"I didn't tell her to."

Thomas studied his son, but he didn't seem to be lying. "You like her, don't you?"

He nodded, grinning. "She's my best friend."

"What about your friends from school?"

His grin shrank. "I like my friends from school, but I like her more."

"Why?"

Now his grin faded completely, and he shrugged. "I don't know. I just do."

"What do you think of her, Alfred?"

The butler, who was also one of Thomas's oldest friends, shrugged. "She's a feisty little one, and her manners are still a work in progress, but she's kind. Knows not to bite the hand that feeds her, at least."

"And you don't think that I should be worried about her falling back on old ways?"

Alfred paused, giving the question due thought. "Well, Sir, she's just a child; it's hard to say what will happen. But I'm hoping that we can show her while she's here that it's possible to get what she needs from life without having to resort to thievery. And Ms. Thompkins certainly seems intent on making sure that she gets a proper education, even if she has to do it herself."

"It sounds like there's a 'but' coming."

Alfred grimaced. "She's distrustful. That's healthy, to an extent, but it's clear that she's already too used to people turning their backs on her. I'm quite sure that she expects us to kick her out at some point, and to leave her back where she started. I wouldn't be extremely surprised to see her act out in some fashion in anticipation of that."

"Well, let's do what we can to prevent that, then." Thomas glanced at the clock. "I have to go to a meeting."

Alfred was surprised by the lack of advance notice. "Would you like me to drive you, Sir?"

"No, Alfred. And no one can know about this. If anyone asks, I've had to go to the hospital to see to an emergency patient."

"Of course, Sir. Understood."

Italian restaurants were never Thomas's favorite places. The food was heavy and often unhealthy, and the background conversations were always loud and often unsavory. Then there was the fact that most of the times he was here, it was for exactly this sort of meeting, the kind that couldn't be discussed with anyone else.

It was the fedora that entered his field of view first. He stood, watching the man that was approaching him. There was always much to be gleaned from the body language of the most powerful man in Gotham. Sometimes his advance was gradual, as he calmly greeted some of the other patrons that he passed. Other times, like today, the advance was quick and his countenance was stern. These were the days when something had gone awry, or he was anticipating some such eventuality, and Thomas felt particularly cautious as he got closer.

Nonetheless, a grin broke on his face as he removed his hat and placed it on the side of the table. "Tommy, it's good to see you." He held out his hand.

Thomas shook the offered hand. "It's good to see you too, Carmine."

He rarely meant the words whole-heartedly. He was well aware, of course, of what Carmine Falcone did to keep the peace in Gotham, both the good and the bad of it. But there was no question that the Falcone family had kept Gotham's streets relatively safe in recent decades far more effectively than the police and political figureheads ever would.

They sat down, and Thomas studied the man anew. There was no mistaking those green eyes now. "How is your father?"

The green-eyes flitted downwards. "The end is slowly coming, inevitably. Thank you again for your help."

"There's no need to thank me, Carmine." Thomas had discreetly connected Vincent Falcone to the best oncologists in the country. There was no fighting the terminal nature of his cancer, of course, but the elderly capo would have been dead months ago if not for Thomas's help.

It had been years now since Vincent Falcone came barging into Wayne Manor with a badly wounded Carmine, and demanded that Thomas do whatever he could to save his son. Thomas had done just that, and that had been the beginning of a very unexpected but mutually beneficial friendship.

"He wants to come back to Gotham for the end," Carmine said somberly. "But that will only make it come sooner."

"We never feel ready for it to happen." Thomas lowered his gaze, taking a moment to remember his own parents. "But the end always comes, sooner or later." More recollections flashed behind his eyes, of countless distraught sons and daughters who had stood in his waiting room, crumbling within as he was forced to deliver bad news.

Carmine blinked away his reaction, then looked up with a somewhat sharper gaze. "What can I do for you, Tommy?"

"I just have a question, Carmine." Thomas looked around and then leaned forward, silently indicating the private nature of the topic he was about to broach. He saw the guarded look fall over Carmine's face, and then the don leaned forward as well. "Do you know the name Selina Kyle?"

The change was slight but immediate. His lips straightened, and the walls slammed into place behind his green eyes. "Where did you hear that name?"

"She's at Wayne Manor. Martha insisted on taking her in. Bruce has... taken a liking to her."

"And what of her mother?"

Thomas grimaced. "Her mother disappeared over a year ago."

Carmine's face hardened, and he leaned back again. "How did you find out?"

"Her vaccination records. You paid the insurance."

The green eyes that exactly matched Selina's widened. The don was silent for several seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice was very level. "Listen, Tommy, you know what I do for this city, both publicly and... not-so-publicly."

"You don't have to threaten me, Carmine. I won't tell a soul. You're not the only one who's safer if the secret stays hidden."

"And the records?"

"I'll scrub them myself. There won't be any documentation to connect her to you. But... she has your eyes, Carmine."

Said eyes looked away. "Maria Kyle was sent to me by an old rival. She was supposed to kill me in my sleep, but she had too much heart for that." After a few seconds of remembrance, he returned his gaze to Thomas. "Do you have any idea what happened to her?"

Thomas shook his head. "She told Selina that she was going to get more money for them. Selina never saw her again."

Again, Carmine's gaze dropped, and he nodded slowly. "And Selina's okay?"

"Like I said, Martha's insisted. If she has anything to say about it, Selina will never want for anything ever again."

A small smile crossed the don's face. "Thank you, Tommy."

"I'm not the one to thank." Thomas hesitated for a moment. He was never fond of inviting the Falcones to Wayne Manor, but sometimes, special circumstances came up, and this was certainly a better reason than most. "Would you like to meet her?"

A/N: Julie's parents, Robert and Shelly, are original characters named after Bob Kane and Sheldon Moldoff.