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Common cold’s never used to worry Bruce. He was rarely sick as a child, and on the rare days he began to sniffle or cough, Alfred would make him soup and tea within an instant, telling him it would pass soon enough.
It always had. Within a few days, the sickness would be gone.
But this new, twisted version of Gotham has no place for illness. Medicines are rationed and consumed more by the day. Even a common cold is dangerous, for fear it’ll turn worse.
Bruce knows Selina can handle herself. She’s spent the majority of her life alone on the streets, managing every sick day and bad cough on her own. Except it’s been days of hearing her sniffle and watching her squint at the pain of a blooming headache. Truthfully, she’s sick so often that Bruce should be used to it—and more than used to her pretending to be in perfect health—but he can’t ignore the urge to check on her.
She deserves to be cared for. She deserves to have someone make her soup, make her tea, someone to rub her back and kiss her head and tell her it’ll pass, that everything will be alright. No one has ever given her the gentle touch she deserves.
As she sits beside him on the couch, he reminds himself to be careful with her.
Her head falls onto his shoulder, a small groan accompanying her next loud inhale. Her curls brush the skin of his neck and Bruce nearly melts.
“Maybe we should head to bed,” he suggests. Though he can’t see it, he knows she frowns in response.
“It’s only eight. Since when do you go to bed before midnight?”
“If you’re not feeling well—” he tries, brushing his fingers through her hair gently.
She groans and leans further into him. Without thinking, he winds his arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Her head perfectly fits under his chin and he closes his eyes with a sigh.
“This again? I’m fine Bruce, seriously,” she snaps.
“Alright. I love you,” he murmurs. There’s no need to say so, not really, besides simply wanting her to hear it. He wishes for her to know that at every hour, every day of every year for the rest of his life, he will love her. His love for her will never fade, never dissipate, only grow as they do.
Selina kisses his neck fleetingly. “I love you too.”
Though he’s heard her say such words before, his heart races and his chest grows warm. He’ll never tire of hearing her admit so.
After a minute, she shifts and quietly admits, “My head hurts.”
Bruce shuts his eyes tightly. He knows even such a simple admission requires tremendous work from her, immense trust and care. He begins to rub circles into her hip with his thumb, kissing her forehead once.
“Let me get you some medicine.” He begins to stand but only rises an inch before she pulls him back down, shaking her head and sniffling weakly.
“No,” she protests. “Don’t waste it on me. I’ll be fine; it’s just a headache, it’ll be gone by the morning.”
He unwinds his arm from her only to tilt himself away, making sure he looks her in the eyes as he says, “It wouldn't be a waste, Selina. It matters.” you matter, is what he means to say, but such words would leave her scowling.
Still, his words are enough for her shoulders to drop an inch, a soft and hesitant smile climbing up her lips. She cups his cheek with one hand and repeats, “I love you, you know. But I promise I’ll be okay.”
Bruce smiles gently, tilting down in an attempt to kiss her. Her hand slides from his face to his chest within an instant, pushing him back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. Maybe her headache has worsened, or her cold has transpired into a fever of some degree, and she needs help. His heart races and palms begin to sweat.
“I can’t,” she says. A quiet sniffle accompanies her words and Bruce bites back a knowing smile.
Just to see her scowl, he keeps his voice perfectly level and asks, “I thought you weren’t sick?”
Her face pinches up. Bruce resists the urge to kiss her.
“I’m not sick,” she mutters. “I just don’t wanna kiss you.”
He only tilts his head. “Fine.”
He leans down once more, ignoring her sharp hiss of his name as he bypasses her lips. His mouth presses to her jaw instead, kissing her gently across its shape and length as she inhales sharply. One hand winds into the hair at her nape, the other her waist.
He tilts her head up slowly for easier access, thumb rubbing the skin of her jaw as he descends. As his mouth touches her neck, her pulse jumps. Bruce tries not to grin too largely.
“You know,” she murmurs, voice soft and breathy. “This still counts as kissing me.”
“You sure?” He bites the skin of her neck gently with tongue and teeth, pulling her closer with the hand on her waist. She gasps quietly and he kisses the tender skin once, twice, three times. “I can stop if you’d like.”
Selina huffs and grips at his shoulder. He knows she won’t admit she wants him so easily. He knows her better than that.
He drags his lips down her neck, keeping his touch soft, barely kissing her and instead simply feeling her skin. It’d be easy to give in to the urge for more, to wrap himself around her and never let go, but he resists.
With his arm around her waist, he shifts her back further against the couch, his other hand traveling down to grip her waist, slotting between her legs as he kneels on the floor. Her sweater is loose around her neck—because it’s his sweater, really; it still smells like him, large and loose on her frame, and he has to resist melting each time he sees her—and grants him easy access to the soft skin of her clavicle. He lingers longest on the white scar on her collarbone, pouring as much love into it as he can with his mouth.
Bruce travels further down, lifting the bottom of her shirt to kiss across her stomach, using his thumb to rub gentle circles over the scar on her stomach.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. She shudders at the praise and clutches his shoulder tighter. “You’re so perfect, baby.”
Spanning her waist, just above her hip, is a thick, white scar. He’s never heard the story of its origin. Still, he wishes for her to know he loves her—every inch of her, every single piece.
Her hand grips his sweater tighter, dragging him up and away from her stomach. He follows her guidance, rising until he’s close enough to kiss her firmly on the mouth. She sighs into him, hand playing with his hair, the other at his chest still.
When they part, Bruce smiles, kissing her twice more quickly. “I love you. And you’re absolutely sick.”
Selina groans and drops her head to his shoulder with another sniffle.