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She wakes with the smell of blood in her nose. Realistically, she knows it’s not real—just another nightmare, another hallucination. Still, she flinches and rubs her fingers under her nose, just to make sure there really isn’t any blood.
Her fingers come away clean. Selina closes her eyes and sighs at her own stupidity.
It’s not as if this is the first time she’s dreamt of that night—blood on her stomach, Jeremiah shrieking, Bruce crying and begging her to just stay awake, please, Selina.
It leaves her breathless with terror everytime, no matter how often she has it, no matter how many months have passed since she’s been shot.
Her hand lowers to her waist and she traces the scar. The skin is rough and uneven, and she knows it’s long since started to pale from pink to white. She touches it whenever she has the nightmare—which is most nights of the week—just to remind herself of what she’s lost and regained. To remind herself she’s no longer bleeding, that she’s alive and made it.
It doesn’t help. The room still smells like it's drenched in blood, the familiar, salty smell overwhelming her and making her eyes water.
Selina exhales, inhales, and sits up. Bruce is still sleeping beside her, his fingers resting on her thigh. She thinks she must’ve knocked his arm off with her tossing and turning—he always sleeps with his arm around her, tucking her close to his chest. It’s rare that he doesn’t do so.
She’s careful not to wake him as she slips out of bed. He gets little to no sleep as it is, busy working renovations now that the Mainland has deemed Gotham worthy of help. His days are full of meetings and missions, his nights no less packed, and she refuses to wake him for something as trivial as a nightmare.
It only takes her a moment before she’s dressed, and she slips out the window before shutting it with a creak. Bruce doesn’t stir and she turns and jumps onto the pavement, relishing the cool air.
She just needs to breathe. Just needs a few minutes to remember she’s here, not in his study bleeding out beneath his hands, not paralyzed in the hospital slowly deteriorating.
Selina inhales fresh air and begins to walk.
—
It’s hours later before she returns to their apartment, the sun turning the sky pink as it rises. Selina lifts the window and twists herself inside, toeing off her boots while she slides it shut.
She turns and finds Bruce already awake, watching her with a gaze equal parts enamored and worried. He’s blinking blearily, clearly having woken up within the last few minutes, and she tries not to melt completely.
“Hey,” she whispers with a soft smile, moving to tug off her clothes. “Good morning.”
“G’morning,” he mutters. Selina grins at the obvious sleep still in his voice.
He shuts his eyes as she continues to pull off her clothes and she rolls her eyes. She pulls on her shorts and sleep shirt—his shirt, she always sleeps in his shirt, which she always denies—despite knowing he’ll likely try to force her to get up within the hour.
“I’m done,” she says. Bruce opens his eyes again. They track her as she slips back under the covers, moving to curl up against his chest. He winds his arm around her almost instantly, tugging her closer until he’s satisfied with their proximity.
“Where’d you go?” he mutters, his eyes already beginning to slip shut again. Selina kisses his chest and tilts her chin up so she can try and meet his eyes.
“Just had to get out for a bit.”
He looks down at her, suddenly incredibly alert. He’s always been able to read her so clearly, so easily, and she closes her eyes. There’s so much warmth in his gaze. Even now, after everything, it’s still so blinding, so overwhelming to witness.
“What happened?” His hand begins to stroke down her back and she makes a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and purr.
Selina tries to focus on the movement of his hand instead of the sudden onslaught of memories; blood over her chest, over Bruce’s hands, his tears dripping onto her cheeks, his echoing cry of, stay awake, please, Selina.
She brings her own arm further across his chest, moving her hand up to feel for his heart beneath her palm. Only when she feels it beating steadily does she say, “The usual. What else?”
Bruce sighs, his hand pausing at her back. She knows he’s dreamed of that night as much as she has, if not more. She hadn’t meant to trigger the memories for him too.
“Sorry,” she mutters.
He shifts just enough to see her more clearly and questions, “Why are you sorry?”
She shrugs helplessly. She still doesn’t quite know how to be so entirely open with him. If she did, maybe she’d admit that she wants to shield him from the terror of that night, even though she’d been the one bleeding out. If she did, she’d admit that she wants to keep him safe, that she would do anything for him. But she doesn’t quite know how to twist her words just right.
Bruce presses his mouth to the side of her head once. “Don’t apologize for that. Are you okay?”
She nods. “It’s not the first time I’ve had it. I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to be okay.”
Selina makes a little groan low in her throat, one that's mostly just for show. She hopes it covers up the sudden softness in her eyes, the warmth in her chest.
He’s the only person who’s ever cared about her. He’s the only one who’s ever stayed.
She knows he’d tried to leave her, once, but he’d stayed at the end of it, and that’s what matters the most to her. He stayed, and he kept staying, and she loved him so much it made her sick.
“I’m okay, I promise,” she says with a huff. Bruce exhales softly, his own form of a sleepy laugh even though she hadn’t said anything funny, and she feels her chest grow warmer.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks after a moment.
Selina taps her fingers against the space above his heart before admitting, “You need the sleep, B.”
“Selina…”
“I’m serious.” She turns, lifting herself onto her elbow so she can lean over his chest and see his face. She’s so close she has to resist kissing him, but she needs the message to get through to him first. “You need to sleep more, Bruce, I’m not gonna wake you because of a stupid nightmare.”
He shakes his head and murmurs, “You’re more important than that.”
“What? The basic necessities?” she jokes.
“Yes,” Bruce confirms. It’s clear he means it as a joke, his eyes bright and warm, but it falls flat, because there’s too much gentle sincerity in his words. Selina finds herself frozen in place. He seems to recognize that wasn’t the best thing to say, the remaining sleep completely washing away from his frame, and begins to say her name.
She leans down and brushes her lips over his, cutting him off. She kisses him until she’s breathless, then kisses him again, unable to get enough of him. His hands grip her hips, one trailing over to her lower back and pulling her closer still.
Against his lips, she confesses, “I love you.”
It’s not the first time she’s said it. It won’t be the last.
“I love you too,” Bruce says. She smiles, leaning forward and connecting their mouths once more.