Chapter Text
part i
selina
there's nobody better then you
you knew from the start didn't you?
Selina has never trusted anyone. Could never afford to.
"-where will you go?"
His voice was so soft, hesitant. Like he can barely get the words out. Barely take that chance.
She doesn't want to want him. Doesn't want to trust him.
"I don't know-," she tosses her head, gazing over the silhouette of the city. Ignoring the itch of his gaze. The ache of the loss that hasn't even happened yet. "Upstate? Bludhaven maybe."
She can't help it.
It's instinct and she's showing little pieces of herself. Maybe some dark part of herself is doing it just for the reminder. Intimacy cannot come without pain.
Selina looks back at him. He's looking at her carefully, as carefully as she is him. His eyes stand out, the whites brilliantly so against the black of his leather cowl and grease-paint. The contrast makes them look wider then they are. Vulnerable. Wet. Like he's about to cry just at the thought of her leaving.
"Come with me," she urges, leaning close. Almost begging, not that she would ever be willing to admit it.
She could see the look in his eyes. The weight on his shoulders. The impossible responsibly of: 'What now? There's so much to do.'
It's not your fault. She wants to hiss at him. It's not your responsibility.
He stares at her. Looking for something. Studying her face yet again. Like the thousandth time in the past six days. As if he's try to memorize the contours of it before he makes his choice. Considering her words.
Something was holding him back. He was hesitating. Standing on the edge of the cliff before jumping at the water below, thinking too much about the height and too little about the thrill of the jump.
He needs a push.
His eyelashes flutter. He leans forward. Selina closes the gap.
The only pet-friendly motel they could find was crappy, and that was generous.
Two beds, thin sheets. Selina keeps her shoes on as a layer of protection from the carpet, and as long as she didn't look at the shower too hard it's good enough for the night.
She had lots of other things to look at in the meantime.
Like Bruce Wayne, hunched over the far motel bed, his arms wrapped around his torso. His cowl and the armored pieces of the suit are littered on the floor from where he left them and he is left it in only his flight-suit. Two lines of crisscrossing elastic and a zipper on the back.
And he was staring at the blank wall across from him, had been for the last ten minutes.
The first thing she had said when she saw him was, "oh." Then, somewhat regretfully "What the hell?"
He'd been staring at the wall ever since, huddled in on himself.
He looked cold. Probably was. He was thinner then Selina would have guessed too, like an underweight rock star struggling with depression and substance abuse.
Selina frowns, thinking to back to the adrenaline shot and the Riddler's expose of the Arkham family's history. Perhaps that comparison was a little close for comfort.
"I'm sorry," he rasps, his voice soft. It had lost the false gravel of Batman and now was so quiet Selina almost would have sworn she had made the sound up, if it wasn't for how he'd twisted his head and stared at her as he spoke. His eyes are wide, focused. Dark blue eyes drilling into her. They were shiny, like he was holding back tears. Maybe he was, he sounded like he could be close to tears.
"It's okay baby," she responds gently.
He turns his head away. Closes his eyes. Like he's resisting the comfort she hadn't even tried to give him yet. She's still standing on the other side of the room, just like she had been ten minutes ago when he came out of the shower.
His hair was still wet, draping itself over his head and face in limp clumps. He looks deflated without the extra bulk of his armor. Flattened with the wet press of his hair against his scalp.
Selina remembers the time she had saved a particularly violent stray from a rainstorm. It had been a small black cat, fur pressed to his body. She'd thought he was a kitten, but the vet had informed her later he was an adult cat, if not severally malnourished. He'd hissed and screamed and clawed every time she tried to touch him. Ran when she got too close too fast.
Selina can feel herself mirror the behaviour she adopted with that particular stray once more. Inching closer ever few moments. Relishing every centimetre she gains.
"Bruce," she says softly, when she makes it to the edge of the bed, sinking onto the mattress as slowly as she can manage.
There is was again, that eerily intense gaze, now paired with the furrow of his brow, ever so slight. Like he's surprised to see her so close.
There was still a healthy distance between them, Selina scoots closer but resists touching him. Somehow seemed like it would push the line into too much for him.
"It's okay," she says instead, echoing her own words from hours past, back in the garden where he had looks just about ready to pass out.
Bruce shrinks in on himself again and Selina wants tell him it's okay. To nail down every piece of him the last few days had dislodged. She has to remind herself she can't. In more ways then one the last week had changed them both into people that could stand to be in the same room.
"You said-" Bruce stops mid-sentence like someone had cut him off and looks down. He frowns, thinking.
Selina can see him running his thumb along his ribs through the gaps of his arms, finger brushing the warm gray fabric and tangling in the straps and buckles that litter it.
Selina frowns but she can't deny it. “I know what I said,” Bruce’s eyes flutter shut again and she continues. “That was- it was different.”
“It was two days ago,” Bruce responds, voice flat.
Selina tilts her head, giving him a searching look. Challenging the sentiment without words. Bruce turns to her and meets her gaze.
“Right,” he responds, voice still monotone. Emotionless.
Selina gave him the corner of a smile and gives in the to urge, tangling her fingers into his hair. He froze and Selina pulls him down, both now laying halfway up the bed.
“Let’s go to bed, for tonight,” she murmurs to the ceiling.
Bruce exhales through his nose and shifts his weight on the bed.
Selina dreams of her father’s hands on her throat. She’s screaming when she wakes, clawing at some invisible force taking breath from her throat. The motel room is dark. Her bed dips with a shadow taking up space in her bed. Gentle hands fight hers, pulling them off her neck.
“It's not real,” he says, his voice rumbling somewhere in his chest when she’s pulled toward it.
Soft and rumbly like a cat. That thought is comforting. Bruce’s skin is cold but she doesn't mind. It's like a freezing shower shocking away sleep.
"You’re safe,” Bruce whispers, his breath is warm contrast against her ear. For a precious moment it’s just the dark room and him.
She feels safe and she gets that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Somewhere in the room her cat mews, disturbed by the scene.
Selina doesn’t remember falling asleep again, but when she wakes up Bruce is in the other bed again. The blankets ruined, twisted aground his body and he’s curled up on himself, and Selina can just see the line of his spine twisting down, but she can't make out any of the bruising that likely litters his body in the dark room.
Selina stares at him for a few minutes before deciding he’s probably a men’s small.