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Blood was beading along her hairline, dripping down the side of her face. Bruce knew it even without looking back to face her. The cut along her forehead had been bleeding slowly for an hour now, taking a particularly brutal strike meant for him. Had she not shoved him away, the knife would’ve grazed his shoulder; splitting fabric rather than skin. Selina’s height had allowed the sharp blade to carve a shallow cut into her forehead instead.
She’d hissed at the impact but recovered quickly. Pain had never been a problem for her; she was used to it, she always said. Bruises and broken limbs were nothing. Bloody, gaping wounds were waved off with a snide remark and batting hands. She couldn’t seem to fathom him treating even a common cold with concern. An injury of this sort was difficult to handle only because Selina refused to let him.
Bruce tried not to seethe too visibly. It wasn’t fair for him to be angry with her. He knew no one had ever treated her with any sort of care. Any sort of vulnerability was quickly terminated in the Narrows, treated as a fatal disease rather than a natural human response. Weakness was unacceptable. Selina had been forced to undergo tremendous cruelties at such a young age; starvation, abuse, torture. Horrors he couldn't begin to imagine experiencing even at his own age. He didn’t know how she had survived alone, never mind as a child.
It left him feeling all sorts of cold to think about. Her childhood was often a topic left undiscussed. It was only when she let a small detail slip that he learned something new; the scar across her leg was from a cut glass at seven, she’d broken her wrists more than once, Sonny had left her bloody and bruised more times than she could count. Those memories were considered trivial to Selina. Insignificant. He couldn’t imagine what she considered heavy memories; the ones that left her trembling, that filled her sleep with nightmares until she jolted awake in tears, the reason behind so many of her unknown scars.
Bruce wished he could soothe her in those moments. She never wanted to discuss whatever it was that made her shake or cry. She would only turn away, staring at the wall or her lap or anywhere other than his eyes until she deemed herself in a suitable mood to brush away his concerns. He wished he could’ve protected her.
Sometimes, he dreamed about hunting down every person in the Narrows who had ever touched her; Sonny, the cops who left bruises during arrests, any man who felt it was his right to touch and hurt her. If he found them, Bruce would split their skin until they were no longer recognizable. It would be easy enough to find Sonny, just a quick trip to the Narrows. He would leave with broken knuckles and a sickly feeling of overprotective satisfaction in his stomach.
But hurting those men wouldn’t help Selina. It wouldn’t erase the years of abuse she had undergone. She would always bear those scars, endure those nightmares, suffer attacks where she shut down and refused to even speak to him.
Rather, all he could do now was try and support her. Cup her face and wipe away her tears, hold her until her tremors softened, hold her close and brush his fingers through her hair and remind her that he was his, she was his. They were in this together. He could shoulder the weight of her suffering for as long as she would let him. He would cup her bruised heart in his hands and keep her safe.
If only she would let him.
If all else failed, he could count on her to be stubborn besides all else.
“Why’re you acting like this?” she groaned. “It’s just a stupid cut.”
Bruce turned on his heel to face her. She was only a foot away, arms crossed as she leaned against the counter. Her face was screwed up and blood was continuing to slide down the side of her face, barely managing not to drip into her eye.
“You shouldn’t have helped me,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He’d seen her flaws laid bare over the years—impulsive, brash, stubborn—but it had never grown any easier to see her pick and choose which to display. For years, he had thought her imperfections to be difficult but understandable. He wouldn’t ask her to change.
This, however—her new, insufferable need to protect him for some confounding reason, pushing him out of harm's way and taking hits aimed for his skin—was unacceptable. He had never wanted anyone to be hurt on his behalf. Especially Selina. She had suffered enough already. She didn’t need more bruises, more scars, on his behalf.
Bruce used to yearn for Selina to show she cared about him as much as he did her. He spent hours wondering if she truly did care, how far her affection reached, what it would be like for her to dote on him and remind him what he meant to her.
Then, however, he hadn’t realized exactly what it entailed; making her into a martyr. Staying up while she slept to trace fresh bruises with his thumb. Crushing her to his chest while she shuddered and wept over a night terror. Watching her step into harm’s way over and over, always wondering if this would be the time her luck ran out, when he would be forced to watch her blood spill and listen to her heart stop.
Selina scoffed. “Right, because you were doing just fine on your own.”
He ignored her words, true as they were. They worked far better as a pair, as partners, than alone. Neither would ever admit it. The acknowledgment of their dependence meant that Selina had to accept that she could count on someone other than herself. Admitting so for Bruce meant admitting that Selina would occasionally be put in harm’s way on his behalf, and that just wouldn’t do.
“You can’t,” he exhaled a shaky breath, pressing a hand down on the counter for stability, “keep doing this. I can’t watch you hurt yourself every time we step foot outside.”
She laughed, short and sharp. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“It’s gonna scar, Selina,” he said shortly. Just another scar amongst dozens, another wound settled into her skin and bone marrow.
“So?” she shrugged, face purposefully flat. They both knew the discussion of her scars wasn’t an easy one to approach. He’d seen a few, touched less, knew the stories of only those he had witnessed her earning. There were large, white marks across her shins, arms, shoulders. Her back, her front. Anywhere she had skin, she had scars. “I’ve got plenty. What’s one more?”
Bruce’s face fell, anger slipping away into placid grief. A familiar feeling when it came to Selina. She was less than kind to herself and the stories she let slip about her past often gave him nightmares.
He wished she knew how much she meant to him. How much he loved her.
“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he said. “Even if you’re used to it.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes narrowing. An expression she often bore when he was bold in his affections; assessing the truth of the scenario, if it was all a game to him. It made his fists clench and his jaw lock to think that others may have played with her in such a way before. That even admitting something as small as liking her resulted in a glare and crossed arms. She would never easily believe him. After all that she had been through, his love couldn’t be accepted without scrutiny.
Bruce understood. He didn’t blame her. It just meant he would be slow in his advances, careful not to cross boundaries, letting his devotion sink into her skin.
“Whatever,” Selina murmured, eyes falling away from his and landing on the counter. “Don’t be so clingy.”
“You like it when I’m clingy,” he challenged. Her eyes flashed, darting to his as a scorned pout turned her lips down.
She made a small noise in her throat, assessing him with her eyes. “I think you got hit in the head, B.”
She crossed the room, attempting to bypass him completely. Bruce, however, caught her with his hands around her waist, lifting her up and dropping her onto the countertop. He politely ignored the startled squeak that escaped her mouth, even if he couldn't bite back his grin. It was so easy to forget how much smaller than him she truly was. Only when he was touching her did he remember; when his arms were around her waist, when she was trapped beneath him in bed, when she stood behind him and just barely reached beneath his chin. Her presence made up for her small stature. Her rare grin could fill the room with light, but he wouldn’t dare tell her, because she would scoff and shove and rage.
He settled between her legs, her knees tapping against his hips as she huffed. It wasn’t quite an effective form of intimidation considering the flush high on her cheeks. She’d always enjoyed when he took control in the gentlest of forms; reaching for her first. Tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Trapping her body beneath his while in bed. Showcasing that if he wanted, he could be rough with her, but he never truly would. He had never had a desire to hurt her, only to keep her safe and make her feel loved.
He leaned forward enough to press a light kiss to her furrowed brow. “Let me get some supplies.”
Bruce knew it was lucky that she was still on the counter when he returned, having found the first aid kit in the bathroom. Had she wanted, she could’ve easily escaped through the window or met him halfway in the hall. Instead, she was still perched up on the countertop, leg swinging, hands behind her for stability.
“Come on, B,” she sighed, tilting her head back and revealing the pale skin of her neck. He swallowed lightly, cheeks going ruddy. “Let’s make this quick. I’ve got things to do.”
Things—her schedule was clear and they both knew it. Her plan for the evening was to sleep in his arms, nestled against his chest with her head tucked beneath his chin. Still, it was cute that she pretended they didn’t spend nearly every hour of the day together. He would let her keep up the lie of separation.
He was careful as he stitched her head and wiped away the blood, tilting her chin this way and that with two fingers and a thumb to assess her face.
“Bruce,” she whined. “It’s been hours.”
“It’s been ten minutes,” he corrected, his gaze firm on her brow. Blood was crusting over and he slowly wiped it away with the towel in his other hand. She pouted, nose screwing up. He brushed his thumb over her low lip, a sign of comfort rather than lust, reminding her that he was right there. “You’re so impatient.”
Selina only groaned and tilted her head away from his grip. He released her with a sigh. They were close to done anyways.
“Can we go to bed already?” she asked.
Bruce smiled. “So you are staying over? Don’t you have things to do?”
She silenced him with her mouth on his, stubborn as always.