Chapter Text
“You’re the only witness in the double-homicide of one of Gotham’s most elite families. I need to keep you someplace safe while I carry out the investigation.”
Gordon’s two-bedroom apartment only a few blocks removed from the Narrows didn’t scream ‘safe.’ Which Selina had remarked with the usual helping of sarcasm after the detective had unlocked the front door and ushered her inside. She was relatively familiar with the neighborhood, a small comfort.
The home was drab and gloomy. The sparse scatterings of furniture, the obvious smell of aftershave, and the empty take-out boxes littered on the kitchen table all screamed recently-evicted-bachelor. It was still nicer than the abandoned flat Selina had been holed up in, and the way the living room illuminated under momentarily flickering, off-yellow light at least boded well for the prospect of electricity and other amenities she wasn’t used to enjoying.
Selina unhooked her backpack from her shoulders and left it rest on one of the few bare expanses of the dining room table. She took a leisure stroll around the kitchen, letting her fingers linger over a few of the man’s menial possessions.
“I thought your girlfriend had that fancy loft downtown,” She observed as she finally turned to face him. The detective idled over hanging his coat, but his face didn’t betray anything.
“Barbara and I broke up.”
That wasn’t surprising. The tall, well-to-do blonde hadn’t seemed like his type. Despite that, there was no doubt in her mind that Barbara had been the one to do the dumping.
"Smart on her part.” Selina shrugged her shoulders and did a slow turn, hand half raised to indicate the apartment, “But if I had known you’d be expecting me to live here, I might’a refused. I’ve stayed in shelters nicer than this.”
Gordon fixed her with his expressionless, hard stare and didn’t miss a beat.
“I can still take you to Wayne Manor.”
She paused so as to maintain an appearance of nonchalance, wandered into the small living room, and flopped down on the well-worn couch that Gordon had probably snagged at a thrift store or curb-shopping. At least it was comfortable. She kicked her boots up on the coffee table and waited for a reprimand that wasn’t forthcoming.
“Nah, I’m good,” She finally answered.
It wasn’t guilt about lying to the weird billionaire orphan and his butler that kept her away from the manor. She’d done a lot worse to secure her freedom in the past. No. She just wouldn’t be comfortable in a mansion. Especially not a posh mansion overseen by a stuffy British butler in a three-piece-suit. And on top of it, she didn’t need anyone pitying her—the poor, dirty street girl. Gordon was a lot of things: stick-up-his-ass-professional, by-the-book, bossy, but he never gave her that lingering, sorry look that she saw in the eyes of all the adults who claimed to “care.”
And he had listened to her. She had pestered him into divulging that the butler at Wayne Manor had offered to let her stay there. When she had balked at the suggestion and threatened to run he had been irritated, growly, but immediately caved and informed her that the only other option was to stay with him. He had seemed surprised when she had accepted, but Selina knew what kind of man Gordon was. Would have him pegged 300 yards off in the middle of a crowd. A good man. A kind man. Wouldn’t hurt her. Wouldn’t touch her. Just wanted to help.
A sucker.
She’d lay low at his place until she got bored or he got pushy.
She scanned the sparse living room for the remote control, snagged it off of the floor, but before she could turn on the television Gordon moved to stand between her and the screen. She pressed her lips into an annoyed line, but Gordon just dangled a key from his hand. Once he was certain she had seen it, he tossed it to her, and she caught it with ease. She curled her fist around the rigid lines of the cool metal.
“The guest bedroom’s down the hall on the right. Bathroom’s first door on the left. Keep what you want in the room—,” Gordon seemed to think better of it midway through the offer and corrected to, “don’t keep anything illegal in the room.”
Selina raised her brows challengingly at him.
“You gonna search my stuff?”
"No,” He gave an adamant shake of his head as though worried he had offended her and backed off the hard-ass attitude, “It’s your room as long as you’re staying here. You deserve the privacy.”
She actually believed him. Her stomach clenched with a feeling she didn’t care to identify and she abruptly changed the topic. She dangled the house key from between two fingers.
“You sure you want to give me this? I betcha I could find someone willing to pay a lot of money for a key to Detective Jim Gordon’s apartment.”
“Well you’ve seen the place. There’s nothing in here worth stealing and I do pretty well taking care of myself.” They both knew she wouldn’t sell it. Not as long as she was staying there. The lock on the front door wouldn’t keep out any Gothamite determined to get in, but it would make slipping in unnoticed much more difficult. That would at least give Selina a few extra moments to get away if shit went sideways.
She didn’t concede the reality of that, though.
"You got any food here?”
The man exhaled a long-suffering sigh and finally stepped out of the way of the television. Selina was quick to flick it on.
“I’ll get some groceries tonight. Anything in particular you want?”
“Nah.” Selina flipped through a couple of channels, and then after considering the offer, diverted her attention just briefly to the kitchen table: taking note of some of the familiar, discarded containers. “Actually…,” Gordon couldn’t hide the way his head snapped back to her, eagerness in his eyes, the need to be a respectable host. “Zhong’s has really good kung pao chicken.” Jim smiled: a half-curl of his lips that flickered briefly across his face before it was buried back beneath that cold exterior.
“I’ll order some for tonight.”