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thejusticelounge2014-07-19 06:56 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-07-19 06:56 pm
bats and coffee
Bruce knocks at Selina’s door: a quick rat-tat with the backs of his knuckles, and then he sets his hand against the door, smoothing his palm over the surface of it, before tucking his hand back into his pocket. He isn’t dressed like Bruce Wayne, or Batman, tonight, but instead, in black slacks and shirt, baseball cap, he could, arguably, be any other man on the street.
As soon as he knocks, Isis begins meowing loudly at the door. “Oh my goodness, cat, I’m right here,” Selina calls from the bathroom, the shower vent drowning out the knocks. When Isis doesn’t stop meowing, Selina wraps herself up in a towel and heads into the main room. “What on Earth are you—?” She heads to the door and peeks out through the peephole. Oh, well, she’s dressed well for this meeting. She opens the door, nudging Isis back with her foot. “You can sit down while I dress. I think Isis wants to have some words with you.”
Bruce exhales, and steps inside, setting the coffee he holds for her in one hand on the table, as he locks the door behind him. He moves to the living room, his own coffee in hand, and bends down to scratch behind Isis’ ears.
Selina watches him with Isis for a moment before ducking into her bedroom to dress. Through the open door— because, really, is closing it really necessary?— she can hear Isis meow at him, twittering a little when he pets her. Selina returns dressed in flowing palazzo pants and a billowy shirt— both surprisingly cool even in the Gotham humidity— and heads to the coffee. “I think you’ve made up again,” she says after a sip, nodding down at where Isis rubs against Bruce’s leg.
Bruce says, even as Isis continues to converse with him, brrring little notes here and there as she discusses her terms and conditions of him staying: “..we always do.” He stands up right and looks at her, looking no better than he had the last time he’d come to see her. “I went to the place you go to.”
Selina raises an eyebrow and lifts her coffee to her lips to hide the way they unconsciously purse. “Frank’s on 7th and Maple?”
Bruce nods, and takes a sip of his own coffee. He seems to want to speak on something, say something, from the way his eyes slide across her face, but at the last minute, seems to change course, looking down at Isis. “..I’ve outfitted a few items for you. To make sure that if you’re on the street, you’re safe.” He shrugs off the backpack he has slung over a shoulder, and sets it down on the couch to the side of him.
Selina perks up slightly at the thought of things— any kind of things— and walks over to the couch, sitting on the arm next to the bag. She balances the coffee on her leg and opens the backpack, looking in curiously. “Are these fun items?”
Bruce watches her, and remarks back, something like humor in the words: “..depends on what sort of fun you’re looking for.” It surprises him, to hear himself say it, but he doesn’t regret it. No, it puts a part of him at ease, watching her as she goes through the sack. “..reinforced Catsuit. Used some of the material I put on Batgirl and Black Bat’s new outfits, it’ll withstand standard bullets better than anything you have, and has shock absorbers around the joints and base of the spine, for any falls.” He speaks quietly, taking another sip of his coffee. “Gloves.. They’ve got steel tempered tips and encased knuckles under the kevlar..” He watches the thing she pulls out, getting to the last item, a pair of boots. “Knives in the heel and toe, tracking device, ballistic plates along the shin and reinforced calf for knife swipes or bullets.”
Selina makes a small noise of approval at his descriptions, piling the clothes on top of each other. “You think it’s going to be a war out there.” It should be a question, but it isn’t, mostly because she already thinks it will be, too.
Bruce looks at her, not answering her directly, but giving her this: “..want you prepared for whatever you might encounter. I know there had to have been at least two patients at Arkham with.. issues with you, Selina.”
Selina huffs out a dry sort of laugh. “At least. That’s—” She looks down at the clothes and takes a deep breath, raising her eyes to meet his. “Thank you. I’ll feel safer.”
Bruce meets her gaze. “Do you still have the emergency call button I gave you?” It’s been years, but it’s worth asking, no matter the answer.
Selina nods and holds her arms open for Isis. “Baby!” Once Isis is up and settled on her lap, Selina twists her collar around. “I take it with me when I head out, but I’ve taught her when to use it if something happens while I’m here.”
Bruce feels the corners of his mouth curl up when he realizes where the woman’s put it, and he reaches into his pocket, moving to take a seat opposite Selina. Carefully, he replaces the old one with a newer one: the pin is solid black, in the shape of a Bat, much like the one he had given Ramsey, all those months ago. He looks at Selina, now inches away, rather than feet, and explains: “Same procedure as the last one. Depress it and it alerts me to where you are, keep it depressed and it broadcasts a homing beacon to anyone on my channel.”
Selina keeps one arm around Isis, even though she’s calm as he replaces the button. “I’ll make sure I have it with me.” She looks up at him, her eyes scanning his face, the lines of fatigue and wear on him. “You haven’t been resting. You’re going to burn out like that.”
Bruce shakes his head, denying the statement. He can’t burn out. It’s not possible. He looks at her, the proximity of them, how close their knees are to touching. He moves his hand over Isis, scratching her behind the ears again, watching the changes in light along her fur.
Selina looks down at his hand on Isis, at their closeness, and, yes, she can’t help but think of the last time he was here and how, truly, she wouldn’t mind if they did it again, but that seems… “Ollie came to see me the other day.”
Bruce murmurs. “I know.”
She smirks. “They love you very much.”
Bruce sees the smirk as it curls across her lips and his own pull back and down. “What did he say to you?”
"Nothing terrible. He was upset, but not entirely sure why. It wasn’t bad." She shrugs. "Although, apparently your reveal left something to be desired."
Bruce exhales, roughly, and rises up, moving to rinse his now-empty coffee cup in her sink. He moves around her apartment with ease, more ease than he should actually have for someone who doesn’t live there. He washes the reusable cup and sets it on her drying rack, as if he means to come back for it, after. From the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, he says: “..I don’t know how else they expected me to tell them.”
She smiles softly and lets Isis investigate the new clothes, taking care she doesn’t accidentally activate something. “They’ve known you for a while but they don’t know you, not the same way. They can’t. They’re not Gotham-born.” She finishes her coffee before adding, “We all expect people to act differently, even when we know they won’t.”
Bruce meets her gaze, unrelenting, and speaks in a hushed, almost urgent tone. “Do you expect something different from me, Selina?” He’s stopped wiping his hands on the towel and folds it now, neatly pressing a crease into it, as he drapes it, without looking, over the back of a chair.
Selina holds his gaze and shakes her head. “I expect you to be you, nothing more. It would be foolish of me to do otherwise.”
Bruce walks from the kitchen to Selina, closing the space between them with long strides, his steps silent against the aging floorboards. He reaches out and curls a hand around her chin, her jaw, holding the soft jut of it in the fold of his thumb, looking down at her. Use your words, Bruce. “Thank you,” he says, after a long moment of looking at her.
Selina smiles at him, and it’s soft, but genuine. She runs her hand over his, smoothing her fingers over the roughness of his knuckles. “You’re welcome, Bruce,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “And thank you.”
Bruce looks down at her, his eyes scanning her face, the slope of her cheeks, the odd freckle she has, here or there. He doesn’t pull away from where he is, despite his internal clock telling him that he’s stayed too long, that he should go. He leans forward, and rests his forehead against hers, shutting his eyes for a brief moment, as he breathes in her thanks, the comfort of her in his arms.
Selina closes her eyes, her fingers sliding down to grip his wrist and press gently into the soft part of it. “We’ll be all right,” she says, in the same quiet tone. “All of us.”
Bruce pulls back, but doesn’t nod, doesn’t agree with her, taking a step back as he exhales. “Use it or don’t, just stay safe, Selina.” He takes another step back, lowers his hands to his sides. He meets her eyes, gaze not flickering even when Isis jumps up, onto the woman’s shoulders. “She needs you,” he says, and it is obvious, then, that he is not referring to the cat. He inhales, exhales. “I need you.” There is no panic in his voice as he states this, and Kate’s handiwork is written all over this, this confession. But he doesn’t linger on it, too long. “Stay safe. Stay sharp. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”
She leans back, knowing Isis will adjust to her movement, and watches him. She nods once, slowly, before smirking, her veneer coming up once again. “Only necessary risks, got it.”
Bruce sees this, the way it is almost like a sheer film that drags over her eyes, and Bruce, who had been about to turn away, to move, looks back at the woman. His brows turn out, no longer furrowing, and he reaches out to curl his fingertips against her neck. He pushes them in, a bit roughly, against her collarbone, before he pulls back, pulls himself bodily back from her, and heads for the door. He locks it behind himself, as he leaves.
Selina slouches once he’s gone, Isis moving to curl up on her chest. She looks over at the new gear and smiles in spite of herself. “We’ll have to try that tomorrow, Isis. It looks fun.”
As soon as he knocks, Isis begins meowing loudly at the door. “Oh my goodness, cat, I’m right here,” Selina calls from the bathroom, the shower vent drowning out the knocks. When Isis doesn’t stop meowing, Selina wraps herself up in a towel and heads into the main room. “What on Earth are you—?” She heads to the door and peeks out through the peephole. Oh, well, she’s dressed well for this meeting. She opens the door, nudging Isis back with her foot. “You can sit down while I dress. I think Isis wants to have some words with you.”
Bruce exhales, and steps inside, setting the coffee he holds for her in one hand on the table, as he locks the door behind him. He moves to the living room, his own coffee in hand, and bends down to scratch behind Isis’ ears.
Selina watches him with Isis for a moment before ducking into her bedroom to dress. Through the open door— because, really, is closing it really necessary?— she can hear Isis meow at him, twittering a little when he pets her. Selina returns dressed in flowing palazzo pants and a billowy shirt— both surprisingly cool even in the Gotham humidity— and heads to the coffee. “I think you’ve made up again,” she says after a sip, nodding down at where Isis rubs against Bruce’s leg.
Bruce says, even as Isis continues to converse with him, brrring little notes here and there as she discusses her terms and conditions of him staying: “..we always do.” He stands up right and looks at her, looking no better than he had the last time he’d come to see her. “I went to the place you go to.”
Selina raises an eyebrow and lifts her coffee to her lips to hide the way they unconsciously purse. “Frank’s on 7th and Maple?”
Bruce nods, and takes a sip of his own coffee. He seems to want to speak on something, say something, from the way his eyes slide across her face, but at the last minute, seems to change course, looking down at Isis. “..I’ve outfitted a few items for you. To make sure that if you’re on the street, you’re safe.” He shrugs off the backpack he has slung over a shoulder, and sets it down on the couch to the side of him.
Selina perks up slightly at the thought of things— any kind of things— and walks over to the couch, sitting on the arm next to the bag. She balances the coffee on her leg and opens the backpack, looking in curiously. “Are these fun items?”
Bruce watches her, and remarks back, something like humor in the words: “..depends on what sort of fun you’re looking for.” It surprises him, to hear himself say it, but he doesn’t regret it. No, it puts a part of him at ease, watching her as she goes through the sack. “..reinforced Catsuit. Used some of the material I put on Batgirl and Black Bat’s new outfits, it’ll withstand standard bullets better than anything you have, and has shock absorbers around the joints and base of the spine, for any falls.” He speaks quietly, taking another sip of his coffee. “Gloves.. They’ve got steel tempered tips and encased knuckles under the kevlar..” He watches the thing she pulls out, getting to the last item, a pair of boots. “Knives in the heel and toe, tracking device, ballistic plates along the shin and reinforced calf for knife swipes or bullets.”
Selina makes a small noise of approval at his descriptions, piling the clothes on top of each other. “You think it’s going to be a war out there.” It should be a question, but it isn’t, mostly because she already thinks it will be, too.
Bruce looks at her, not answering her directly, but giving her this: “..want you prepared for whatever you might encounter. I know there had to have been at least two patients at Arkham with.. issues with you, Selina.”
Selina huffs out a dry sort of laugh. “At least. That’s—” She looks down at the clothes and takes a deep breath, raising her eyes to meet his. “Thank you. I’ll feel safer.”
Bruce meets her gaze. “Do you still have the emergency call button I gave you?” It’s been years, but it’s worth asking, no matter the answer.
Selina nods and holds her arms open for Isis. “Baby!” Once Isis is up and settled on her lap, Selina twists her collar around. “I take it with me when I head out, but I’ve taught her when to use it if something happens while I’m here.”
Bruce feels the corners of his mouth curl up when he realizes where the woman’s put it, and he reaches into his pocket, moving to take a seat opposite Selina. Carefully, he replaces the old one with a newer one: the pin is solid black, in the shape of a Bat, much like the one he had given Ramsey, all those months ago. He looks at Selina, now inches away, rather than feet, and explains: “Same procedure as the last one. Depress it and it alerts me to where you are, keep it depressed and it broadcasts a homing beacon to anyone on my channel.”
Selina keeps one arm around Isis, even though she’s calm as he replaces the button. “I’ll make sure I have it with me.” She looks up at him, her eyes scanning his face, the lines of fatigue and wear on him. “You haven’t been resting. You’re going to burn out like that.”
Bruce shakes his head, denying the statement. He can’t burn out. It’s not possible. He looks at her, the proximity of them, how close their knees are to touching. He moves his hand over Isis, scratching her behind the ears again, watching the changes in light along her fur.
Selina looks down at his hand on Isis, at their closeness, and, yes, she can’t help but think of the last time he was here and how, truly, she wouldn’t mind if they did it again, but that seems… “Ollie came to see me the other day.”
Bruce murmurs. “I know.”
She smirks. “They love you very much.”
Bruce sees the smirk as it curls across her lips and his own pull back and down. “What did he say to you?”
"Nothing terrible. He was upset, but not entirely sure why. It wasn’t bad." She shrugs. "Although, apparently your reveal left something to be desired."
Bruce exhales, roughly, and rises up, moving to rinse his now-empty coffee cup in her sink. He moves around her apartment with ease, more ease than he should actually have for someone who doesn’t live there. He washes the reusable cup and sets it on her drying rack, as if he means to come back for it, after. From the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, he says: “..I don’t know how else they expected me to tell them.”
She smiles softly and lets Isis investigate the new clothes, taking care she doesn’t accidentally activate something. “They’ve known you for a while but they don’t know you, not the same way. They can’t. They’re not Gotham-born.” She finishes her coffee before adding, “We all expect people to act differently, even when we know they won’t.”
Bruce meets her gaze, unrelenting, and speaks in a hushed, almost urgent tone. “Do you expect something different from me, Selina?” He’s stopped wiping his hands on the towel and folds it now, neatly pressing a crease into it, as he drapes it, without looking, over the back of a chair.
Selina holds his gaze and shakes her head. “I expect you to be you, nothing more. It would be foolish of me to do otherwise.”
Bruce walks from the kitchen to Selina, closing the space between them with long strides, his steps silent against the aging floorboards. He reaches out and curls a hand around her chin, her jaw, holding the soft jut of it in the fold of his thumb, looking down at her. Use your words, Bruce. “Thank you,” he says, after a long moment of looking at her.
Selina smiles at him, and it’s soft, but genuine. She runs her hand over his, smoothing her fingers over the roughness of his knuckles. “You’re welcome, Bruce,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “And thank you.”
Bruce looks down at her, his eyes scanning her face, the slope of her cheeks, the odd freckle she has, here or there. He doesn’t pull away from where he is, despite his internal clock telling him that he’s stayed too long, that he should go. He leans forward, and rests his forehead against hers, shutting his eyes for a brief moment, as he breathes in her thanks, the comfort of her in his arms.
Selina closes her eyes, her fingers sliding down to grip his wrist and press gently into the soft part of it. “We’ll be all right,” she says, in the same quiet tone. “All of us.”
Bruce pulls back, but doesn’t nod, doesn’t agree with her, taking a step back as he exhales. “Use it or don’t, just stay safe, Selina.” He takes another step back, lowers his hands to his sides. He meets her eyes, gaze not flickering even when Isis jumps up, onto the woman’s shoulders. “She needs you,” he says, and it is obvious, then, that he is not referring to the cat. He inhales, exhales. “I need you.” There is no panic in his voice as he states this, and Kate’s handiwork is written all over this, this confession. But he doesn’t linger on it, too long. “Stay safe. Stay sharp. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”
She leans back, knowing Isis will adjust to her movement, and watches him. She nods once, slowly, before smirking, her veneer coming up once again. “Only necessary risks, got it.”
Bruce sees this, the way it is almost like a sheer film that drags over her eyes, and Bruce, who had been about to turn away, to move, looks back at the woman. His brows turn out, no longer furrowing, and he reaches out to curl his fingertips against her neck. He pushes them in, a bit roughly, against her collarbone, before he pulls back, pulls himself bodily back from her, and heads for the door. He locks it behind himself, as he leaves.
Selina slouches once he’s gone, Isis moving to curl up on her chest. She looks over at the new gear and smiles in spite of herself. “We’ll have to try that tomorrow, Isis. It looks fun.”