Work Text:
Toys.
The first time the woman with white hair climbs through her bedroom window, Kate is still young enough to think that her relationship with her father can be repaired, still young enough to keep hoping. She watches the silhouette with its pale mane drift through the room, and thinks that she’s dreaming, and forgets it all in the morning.
The second time, it’s years later, they’re both older, and the cat burglar with her distinctive clothes and razor-sharp nails is infamous enough that Kate knows exactly who she is. But things have disintegrated, and Kate thinks about getting up and helping Black Cat steal whatever she wants from her father, holding the door open. She rolls over instead, puts the pillow over her head.
The third time, Kate is essentially squatting in her father’s home while he’s on vacation, and Felicia’s eyes are bright, semi-human in the darkness. This place is probably full of all kinds of things, and she’s happy for Felicia to take it all and maybe burn the vault after she’s walked out too. None of it matters anymore; Felicia can have whatever she wants, Kate stopped caring a long time ago.
“Help yourself,” she says, and Felicia pauses in the doorway, an elegant shadow in the half-light. “Really,” Kate adds, part bitterness, part rebellion, “take whatever you want,” thighs spread under the sheets and Felicia’s expression is unreadable between her mask and the night, closing the door to Kate’s room with them both on the inside.