Batwoman

she dramatically whirls back, hands pinwheeling in the water, and even goes under, emerging covered in bubbles. there’s a look of mock-horror on her face, all psycho, all the shower scene, and then she breaks out into hysterical laughter that’s so loud it echoes off the walls and barks like an enormous canine, nothing of the menial feline she tends to be.

she shakes her head free, slicks back her own dark, shapeless brown hair.

“you be nice to waylon. he’s a pretty good guy, you just happen to find him on his downright worst days. —told ya. bubbles are fun.”

she grabs a handful and begins to style an uncanny moustache onto her face, pinching together shiny little globes. and when she kisses her it transfers hilariously, leaves the mustache on bryce as well.

“oh. cute. look at you.”

she cannot help but softly touch her cheeks, a warm joy that remains bright.

“thanks for joining me. a little unwillingly, but still.”

she beams from ear to ear, unbothered and untroubled, not a single thought in her mind save the love in her heart. all other things disappear with fantastic ease. her own anxiety falls away easily.

so at first it’s just anxiety, that’s all, before she can feel her palms sweating, her mouth dry about it. it’s her heartbeat pounding inside her ears, distorting the tinny world to a place that sounds like metalwork. clang, clang, whine, whine, hiss, clang. it’s just a lot of — sound.

sitting in wayne manor compounds this, so for a few minutes she has to go outside, go for a walk. the air is fresh and stale at once, as gotham tends to be. she never understands this phenomena, but she isn’t a wayne, that’s the thing, and she’s talking to herself. to mr. and mrs. wayne who she’s never even known. she’s never met these people, and she lives in their house.

she asks if it’s okay that she’s here, says she hopes they like her, hopes that she’s good to bryce. she says she’s sorry that she never met them, apologizes for only knowing them through the sound of a bullet outside her bedroom window. they’re not here to tell her that’s not exactly an appropriate thing to say, but she means it in a strange place that comes from her heart. she doesn’t know what she’s apologizing for, but she sucks in a breath and says to ghosts that mean so much to her well, time to get ready. she tells them she’ll make sure to look after their daughter.

so it’s a long black dress with a salacious thigh slit, dips between her breasts, held in place by tape she hates but it’s necessary. makeup meticulously and carefully applied, every inch. she covers up scars with a routine that’s painfully detailed. it erases even the slice at her throat, gummy and ruddy pink. wiped clean to create a touchable image of herself, one that’s all pale, pale skin and soft caramel freckles that dot it, hair straightened and brushed meticulously. the cat’s eye she sweeps on both lids is immaculate, and her scarlet lipstick follows. she takes a deep breath and kisses the mirror before slipping into 7 inch louboutins.

and holly is standing there — not unused to this— in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a hockey jersey thrice her size. beaming, “oh gosh, mom, i gotta do my homework! you go have fun at your sycophant soiree!” anarchist daughter exclaims, and bounds to bryce to give her a hug anyway. and she mimics that same voice. she’s thirteen, now, but there’s a childish nature to holly selina won’t let her lose. it’s just her. and selina’s next, “you’re gonna have a lot of fun. don’t even lie to me.”

“at the sycophant party? ever the optimist, hollyanne.” her lipstick leaves a smudge on holly’s cheek when she kisses there. a turn to bryce, now, and a sheepish wave to alfred. her velvet clutch is valentino, black and smooth. white diamonds dangle from her ears, around her throat, a tennis bracelet glinting in canary diamond around her wrist, a pop of yellow color. all bryce’s familiar scars, the ones on selina’s body she touches so softly, erase beneath her facade.

she blushes. an exceptional neon bright, a flush across her cheeks that brings out caramel freckles. she opens the door to the limousine and kisses alfred on the cheek as well, murmuring that she’d make sure bryce had a nice time. promised. her smile flashes on like a camera, merely as uncanny, warm and bright and honest, and it crinkles her eyes chestnut. daphne kluger, at your service.

“hey, me either, but we’ve got a party to go to and it’s gonna be super fun. thanks, bryce. you look drop-dead-gorgeous. i’m done for.”

daphne is easy to slide into, partially. she feels like a second skin.

it’s not often… whatsoever that she speaks about that time in her life. not a standard she discusses the amount of people she was a paycheck for, foster family after foster family that converted her to dollar signs. she’ll say it never bothered her, but the older she’s gotten, the more she’s realized it. it totally did. it totally does. she’s been long recovering from the comprehension that her whole life she’s been a benefit to someone else, with nothing for herself.

it’s something she slowly brings up with bryce, smuggled in like a ship emerging on a dark, dark evening. out from that fearful night of her own mind. sometimes, now, she can remember, be honest. she was just so young, and she feels that now. it’s like a delayed punishment wrought by her own body.

right now? right now you couldn’t upset her at all. this is bliss. she is loved, she is wanted, she is here, she is a part of something.

bryce and she are so different, but bryce was loved, born wanted (in the regency room). she doesn’t know what it feels like to be a certain kind of helpless selina once was. and will never be again. now she sits in this bathtub with the love of her life, who happens to be a bat that she’s cared about for longer now than she remembers.

selina giggles as bryce pampers her, pecking her on the cheek in passing as she shifts so bryce can disrobe. she, herself, moves through this great congregation of effervescence with silent joy, sparkling spheres bouncing everywhere. the expensive bubble bath. she lingers on it.

she kisses her again, again, and then leaves her to her task, “playing with bubbles is fun. trust me. man. catwoman takes bubble baths with batwoman. craaaaaaazy.”

it’s always been something of what she thought was a pipe dream, this kind of tenderness. how shameless she is. it’s a beautiful contrast to the endless weighted straitjacket of shame selina buckles around her feelings. it frees her of that shame. it makes her purr warmly in that hum once more, smiling immediately when bryce beckons her.

she moves with an elegance that bryce mirrors in her own shifts, her own contained arcs.

she sighs filthily when fingertips meet with her scalp. the pressure relaxes muscles that are, as always, taut as a bowstring. they retain some elasticity, but most of it melts beneath the bat’s touch. her smile widens, “you have magic fingers, y’know that?”

she means it.

and then that kiss —stuns her. she presses into it with a warm hum, desiring so openly just the very same. giving it back is a reverb, an echo, a call and response. she sighs against those lips. you are good for me. she shivers, and her cheeks flush at the sentence. she’s good for her. it makes her feel whole.

she disobeys, anyway, tugs off bryce’s sock and then the other — wrings them out and sets them on the side of the tub.

“what? that’s gotta be uncomfortable,” but selina slinks easily back a couple inches to the appropriate posture. her cheeks redden, “you’re teasing me. mean.”

her pout could kill a woman.

but she settles, breathing out slow, closing her eyes. she needs to languish in the moment, absurdly at peace. it’s easy to let bryce wash her hair, she’s calm, “i think sometimes we deserve to have interesting lives in a fun way. you’re too serious. you need to give me a bubble mou-stache.”

it needs to be fed, yes, but not just fed, played with, enriched. the cat requires something to bat at, something to bite, something to toy with, something to love. and how easily she melts at the mere sight of the bat. she is a good girl, isn’t she?

an enormous, sparkling smile immediately bursts out on that expression, radiant as the sun. looking directly at it would surely blind. her cheeks flush pink at the sight and her eyes rove wordlessly over the bat’s physique with an appreciative glance. as though she isn’t naked. as though she doesn’t prop her hand against her cheek to gaze.

“just keeping your life interesting, gorgeous.”

she winks, emphatic and charmed. bryce has a gift for being cool, casual, charismatic; she unravels selina’s coolness with expert ease. there is a rapidly fading charm that melts like tonguing sugar into softness. selina’s warmest self is reserved for the bat.

“my muscles are killing me. i don’t have the energy to wash my hair,” she’s handing the bottle off to bryce without a word, broadly bruised across the shoulders (her workouts can be brutal). she leans back still, tilting her head up to press a kiss to the bat’s lips, smears makeup across her cheeks with a soft laugh, “i’m good for you. don’t get too cozy, beautiful. you get special treatment.”

Without question she takes the bottle of shampoo and slowly slinks through the water. Oversized bathtubs were a staple in the Wayne manor, Bryce loved to just sink and lay in them. Now they were used against her. She could already imagine the look Alfred would give her, and yet how he would undoubtly have a good chuckle about this behind her back. Acting like children when they already had a kid in the manor.

she can’t blame bryce for not being there for absolutely everything. she, too, is absolutely laden with responsibilities. not everyone is her. not everyone has been raised within the importance of a responsibility. she chose holly young, and yes, she’s well-aware of the mental taxation it’s heaped on top of her. boulders and stones worth of weight are directed at all the choices she’s put on herself. bryce is an extremely different person from very different means. if selina’s not on it, it’s holly who suffers.

and that’s not an option. so yes, she may falter. but at the end of the day, it’s that love that keeps her going. that responsibility is never a burden. she supposes it’s difficult to understand if one’s life wasn’t legitimately a black hole of feeling before that little girl toddled into her life.

bryce is starting to get it. holly laughs, demands to sit on the bat’s back even when she’s twice the size of what she used to be. she piggybacks, a faithful backpack bryce can always count on. yeah, she’s starting to get it. it warms selina anytime she comes in to ask for something and holly’s ducking in the doorway, grinning. that’s what love is, she often thinks.

the bath is still hot because alfred has a preternatural sense for how exhausted selina is (he’s surprisingly good at keeping her running so she can also keep everything running), and he’s been nothing but helpful. even if she accepts it with extreme discomfort and something like vibrating guilt. it’s silly. (she reminds herself he does this because it’s his way of caring for her. isn’t it what she does too? anytime she presses his suit. whenever he dry cleans her favorite dress.) she, too, sighs out with an all too pleasant groan, stretching her legs out. her shoulders pop when she leans back on her elbows, “fuck.”

for a second, she catches her reflection in rippling crystalline clear, groaning again, “i haven’t even taken my fucking makeup off. tell me next time.”

she’s kidding. but also, if she expresses a single thing on her face right now, she’ll die of exhaustion. so she simply reaches and leans to bump the bat’s shoulder about it.

“we’re not canceling christmas because you don’t want to go outside. don’t make me remind you it’s fun. if we drive in in the middle of the night, we can go see the tree in the city with holls. no one’ll be around during the week.”

she means it. increasingly much. more than she can possibly express. because making things special has taught her how to make everything she can special. this moment, every single one after it. she tries to teach that, too. to herself. to them.

she snorts, reaching over to toss a little bubble bath bomb into the water from the basket waiting just behind her. it fizzes pink and disperses, rose water, soft and pleasant and lovely.

she watches it float and submerge, down and up, down and up. and she picks it up, tosses it into the air so it plops back in. it’s the little things. (she’s also insanely tired. the world is, in fact, buzzing, gyrating in sunbursts of color within her vision.) she’s aware sleep will be fantastic, that much is assured.

“i know that’s what you’re thinking. you hate crowds. don’t blame you. too many people in one place makes my skin itch.”

her smile emerges again. warm, easy.

Failing to contain a few chuckles that Selina elicits by calling her out for her wish to cancel Christmas. It'll be the first time to really celebrate at the estate since the death of her parents. Once or twice, at Alfred's insistence, when she was a little girl. Some decorations, primarily outside and the foyer in case paparazzi knocked on her door. Always the formal events, always the business parties. Telling Alfred to take some time off only to come home and enjoy a home made turkey with cranberry... But this year? The entire mansion decked out, Hollyanne running around the halls. A ton of toys. Maybe hide some presents around the place to give incentive to decorate all those rooms. Oh the energy bill was going to be sky high... A snort. As if it wasn't already insanely high because of the Bat Cave. "It's fine... I can pull out an old alias of mine." Of course Bryce had aliases; several of them in fact. From criminals with grand (fake) criminal records to an energetic if mouthy waitress down at the diner on 8th. One of her favorite ones was just Bryce herself. A biker gal who worked at a garage only open whenever the hell she felt like it. Had some regulars too, and some of them even existed! It's a facade she had used to drive Holly to school a few times. Even had a grease and oil covered pick up for it. Yeah that one might work. Bryce watched as the water turned pink. Bringing her hands up out of the water as if she expected something to have changed with the pop of color. Briefly she threatens to slip into an old thought from when she was still figuring things out for herself. But she dismisses it easily by just looking at Selina. "Yeah. It'll be fun. I can't wait to spoil Alfred, Holly and you rotten. Of course I will strive to be as much of a pain as possible when it comes to offering my own gifts." "That said... If Saint Nicholas shows up, I can't stop him from giving Hollyanne coal or a present depending on if she's been good or bad. That's outside of my scope." Of course he was real, surprising absolutely nobody. Though Bryce only met the man once.

for who the bat is — for how buttoned-up, how reserved, how silent, how withdrawn — there’s an intensity that selina feeds on with great vigor. bryce leans to butt lovingly against her, kittenish, not a bat at all, and the cat basks in it, humming in a low purr that sits reliably in the back of her throat.

that honest little outburst tugs from crimson lips (painted, always, even when it’s only her) another giggle, brightening her up into a million-watt thing. she’s a north star on the blackest of evenings, twinkling, sparkling. how brown, soft her eyes are. bryce squeezes her and she curls in closer, safe, secure in those arms. she sighs, entirely unrestrained, a comfortable accident.

every moment, every tear, every long night has led to this moment. and she’s never been so happy about something. to have been patient, loving, kind to someone who deserves it, to someone who can make mistakes and be given the grace of them. she deserves it. selina deems it so because she’s always decided this. fearlessly. she looks at the worst of someone and chooses instead to see the best.

ask holly anytime, selina’s gift for making an entire meal out of mere crumbs has been a talent she’s cultivated with slow and patient affection. it’s a double-edged sword, no mistake made— she doesn’t believe she’s worth more, but bryce does, and for once she has something here. for once, she feels like she’s loved to some kind of life. she can be someone.

“you’ve always deserved them. getting to be her mom. you always care. i know that. i see you even when you can’t.”

bryce is more whole to her sometimes than she can be to herself. selina sees the tenderness in her eyes that’s kept almost entirely to her, to holls.

she sighs when she sees the bath, wonderfully scented and warm and waiting like the bed that invites them not too far at all. mostly because she cannot win with alfred, who she still cannot call alfred, and though he sighs about it, he also heavily places a hand at her shoulder with eternal sympathy. he also doesn’t dig into her about it, doesn’t insist she familiarize herself. it’s a politeness thing. which is wild, wild about her. she’s painfully irreverent about everything else.

she watches the bat remove layers and layers, perching herself on the edge of the bath. and isn’t her expression just eager and waiting, aren’t those eyes enormous, round, gazing and gazing. isn’t there nothing but the blatant promise of love on her face.

she tugs her own sweater over her head, only halfway self-conscious about the concept. she’s not one for shyness, but there’s a way her shoulders slant in, a way she’s so much smaller sometimes, exposed. peels out of black joggers and underwear next, the palest creature who has ever lived, all scars and porcelain bits. those little purple spots color her skin here and there — her side, her hip, her upper thighs in faint dots. a self-imposed need to feel something, anything. a tendency.

“that’s all i want. it just makes me feel — like it matters. i just want to feel— real. it makes me feel… real. like i get to matter, too.”

and maybe that’s embarrassing to say. to feel. but she blinks, that gaze so soft, so off-guard.

she can’t shake the smile that’s sitting on her mouth. because she loves alfred, truth be told, more than she ever can in the whole wide world. he’s perhaps what she thinks having a parent might be like — what it might be like to be cared for without attachment or caveat. he looks after her just because. he cares about her because he does.

she’s not used to that, but bryce gives her that gift. bryce lets her be loved, cherished, lets her feel. alfred is another extension, another connection. something cherished. something adored. it’s a normalcy she’s always yearned for but never truly expected. she’s used to being easy to overlook, forgettable, unlovable.

and she feels like a teenager, the one she never got to be. bryce brushes against her nose and selina feels a brief wash of delirium, a hard hot flash that shoots through her. she chases that intimacy like something that could drive her mad (and it does).

she couldn’t hold on any tighter if she tried, bryce’s criticism of herself be damned. she yearns for the closeness far more than anything else.

“i guess since we’re raising a nepo baby that’s only fair,” and frankly, selina could be happy for nothing else. nothing but giving holly every single thing she’s ever wanted. she’s been doing it her entire life, and it’s something she’ll never, ever stop, “her grandfather is alfred pennyworth.”

which makes selina’s heart a kind of warm she can’t express. it flutters, loud and high, tinkles like wind chimes. it’s a precious feeling — to have something that even vaguely resembles a family. she thinks bryce doesn’t realize how precious this connection is. how rare it is in a place like this. in a world like this.

she swings eagerly up into bryce’s arms — and kisses her again, smears red across her mouth as emphatically as she ever has. those brown eyes gaze up adoringly. she’s never felt so safe.

“she’s gonna be fucking ecstatic to see you. you can enjoy being the center of hollyanne’s attention. it’s a very honored privilege.”

she means that. unironically.

She didn't need to think this much about it but well, Bryce couldn't help it. Now she was worried that poor Holly would have to endure the label that Bryce had to deal with when she was younger! Though she couldn't keep thinking this deeply about it when Selina elicited a dry chuckle from those still-painted lips. "And she has the most loving grandfather there is."

"That said, I'm not sure if she'll grow up to be a nepo baby. It really depends on what she wants to do in the future. And I sincerely hope that Alfred's good influence counteracts our bad influences." Smoking? Sure that was a bad one. But Bryce was obviously talking about the two of them in the Batcave right now. The intricate heisting of Selina's past and Bryce's vigilantism and alien fighting.

Bryce halted her steps to eagerly kiss Selina back, sucking her bottom lip to let it linger for a while longer. When she pulls away she gently brings her head down again. To nuzzle the cat; something she very much picked up from Selina. "It is a very honored privilege!" An honest statement as she headed back upstairs and sealed the cave behind her. Straight for their bedroom as she squeezed Selina as a show of affection. "Something I have been working very hard to be given such opportunities." Because Bryce was horrible in the beginning... The attempts to be like a mother, to show up when asked for it and to help her out. She had to earn that right.

So she was actually looking forward to being a little groggy in the morning and getting to spend time with Holly, and work on learning how to paint a bedroom.

Her expression softened. "I want you to know... I just never stood still to think about how to share it. An arrogant assumption of a threat or monster on the news and thinking that you know where I'm going and why I'm going.""Alfred does, but it's a different relationship. And he has been suffering my behavior for years now."

they meet in the middle.

bryce holds onto her and the cat leans in, against, listens warmly, happily once she’s got a perfect view to those weary, hangdog eyes. there’s a beat in her chest reserved exclusively for the bat, an almost personal set of vibrations from that mangled heart of hers. she keeps herself close, close as can get, close as can be.

“oh. you’re real,” she coos, almost parrots back that statement in a way she cannot help. it comes out of her mouth like a little bird, perched and waiting in her chest, “it’s you.”

the smile on her face could easily power the entirety of the narrows, as dark, shadowy, deep as it can be. that smile is a rarity, yes, but for bryce — and for holly — it is a constant, almost continuous. and she’s different, because this time bryce has let her know. all that’s needed is an inkling, some minor understanding between them. the cat has subsisted on crumbs before, and all she needs to survive is the smallest twinkle of the lightest hope that she’s loved.

and that’s it.

bryce puts her down and she half-hops into the motion, crossing her legs almost fluidly — which is absurd, she is quite literally in black sweatpants and a black turtleneck, the standard selina attire, obsessively barefoot even on the manor’s cold floors. the motion is all instinct, all them, and she settles cozily into the seat, eyes on the bat’s movement with the eyes of a captive doe. her head bobs up briefly, spellbound, patient and warm and oh so enraptured.

she watches. she watches. she can’t help it, because all her tactile memories flare up at once, and all those nerves fire off. she remembers, she remembers the feel of muscle and the divot of flesh beneath her fingertips, and she’s flushed and quiet and smiling about it. it all feels — delightfully teenage, and she presses her knuckles to her mouth with a burgeoning smile.

it feels normal. normal. she springs up from where she is on tiptoe, always walking high as she can on the balls of her feet. it’s a ballerina’s perfect pointe, makes the 5’5” she is closer to the 6’0” she frankly feels. easy strides until she’s over again, arms around a neck to hang like an ornament on a beloved christmas tree, ever vigilant on a faithful branch.

“that’d be fantastic. —me? oh. yeah. uh. i guess. i’m just restless, not so good at relaxing,” her mind is a scratching post forever clawing itself, “but you have to tell alfred to do less for me. i can’t even do laundry. it’s done. i feel like a nepo baby. no offense.”

another kiss, soft and sweet and slow and real. dark circles, shadowed with the faint glisten of yesterday’s eyeshadow, sit grey and sallow where veins uproot deep and blue. she’s tired, it’s written all over her face, but even when her eyes beat like demanding slumber she’s much too enchanted by the moment. fucked be the fact that upright isn’t exactly her favorite thing right now.

“thanks. for being here. i was kind of sad. and i know that’s dumb. in the grand scheme, very unimportant. but. like. suddenly. i’m happy. and that’s pretty great, i guess.”

Now she became self-aware of it. Working on the Bat-Cycle, covered in sweat and grease. Always trying to avoid Selina hanging onto her because of how strong her smell might be. But in the end the Cat would always win out. Bryce couldn't truly say no to her...

Disregarding the fact she barely got half of her suit off and back onto the mannequin. But she accepts it for what it is and turns to hold onto Selina's waist, supporting her posture.

A chuckle, sincere and immature. Bryce shook her head after taking in that kiss. A hand brought up to caress Selina's cheek, thumb lovingly stroking. Breaking off she looks at Selina's face; oh how similar their states were.

As Bryce is made aware of her own smudged eyeshadow and eyeliner; and the dark-painted lips that belong to the Batwoman and absolutely don't suit Bryce...

"I can't tell Alfred that, we'd break his heart. He enjoys those things more than he'll ever enjoy watching the two of us set out into the night. So let him... You'll get used to feeling like a; Hah. Nepo Baby."

Gently she puts their foreheads together, eyes falling shut. Noses brushing against one another. "It's not unimportant... I'm happy to know you're happy. And I am happy to be back here with you. Better than coming back and going back to the mission."

Selina is better than all those things... But not enough to sway Bryce from her self-imposed duty.

Peeling away, she finishes getting out of the suit. Now standing there in tanktop, cargos and boots. There she was: Bryce Wayne. In all her grunge glory. The only thing missing was a cigarette and grease stains and she'd be truly in her element. Truly be home again.

tears hang afresh and they remain, even as bryce gently banishes them with a careful hand. she leans into that kiss, and the sigh emitted is a kind of pathetic she has no words for. regardless, there’s nothing else she’d rather be than pathetic. pitiful. debased. for bryce, these are things that bring her a moment of joy. reprieve.

she’s able to be calm. and what a rarity that is — what a thing that truly, truly never is. to be happy. a strange thing, a new thing, but not unwelcome. the love she feels is an orchestra that swells in her breast, and she can’t help but keep her forehead to her counterpart, her better half, her favorite bat. she grins like mad, and her teeth are straight and sharp and white, incisors by way of natural shape sharp and glinting. scarlet lipstick frames her mouth like a picture.

“i think you deserve to let somebody lighten your load a little. and supes is — kind of good at that. he’s a helpful guy. he’s— worth a shot.”

cat’s cheeks flush ruddy pink, go from a shade that’s near scarlet to something delicate. it’s the first blush of spring just after a particularly harsh winter, the first flower that dares to peek courageously and trepidatiously from the snow. it’s the sun peeking out from swollen grey clouds to peek the azure-bright of the blue sky. one kiss is enough to throw her for a loop, and it’s a soft, tactile wonderment that remains.

“sorry. i just—“ she kisses her again, and then she has to, has to stay, stay, holding the most beautiful face she’s ever seen in her hands, “—have to remember you’re real, y’know?

—i have a lot of pings set for a lot of keywords and events. i’ve been following everywhere you’ve been, yeah. i’m a data consultant, remember? i’m just a hot it guy.”

it’s true. she’s a techbro in a sexy catsuit. she’s spellbound. blunt nails, trimmed, red polish chipping, make it clear her mental state. she’s holding thinly together, but she’s together nonetheless.

At least she can catch herself doing it these days. Let out an embarrassed exhale as she goes back to the here and now. To that lovely shade on the Cat's cheeks. Those misty eyes. Yeah, it brings her back down. Let's that exhaustion slip in more. The cowl shows little, but Selina could tell. Of course she could.

The subtle signs that Bryce KNEW she had; that were hidden for Batwoman. She'd show them to Selina, even in suit.

It's okay...

She's home.

And thus without much hesitation she brings one hand to the back of her head and with a very specific combination of pressing small pads and pulling at a hidden lip the cowl depressurizes and cracks open, allowing for Bryce to grab it and take it off as tired eyes stare at her beloved Cat. "I'm real, Selina... It's me."

"Your Bryce."

Accepting her duty as Princess Carrier she takes her along to the batcave. Would've rather taken her to bed and laid down with her for a cuddle and a conversation. But the suit had to be returned, the data had to be confirmed. (That second part could wait.)

But leaving secret suits around the estate when you know paparazzi could be laying in wait? Bad ide. "Hmmm, I don't know. I think you're more than just a hot IT guy. But it's an apt description I will tease you with in the future."

Arriving at her desk she puts the cowl down and carefully, yet with a bit of force, peels Selina from her and puts her down in the seat behind the Bat Computer. Giving her the space necessary to open up the suit. Purposefully making a bit of a show of it. It was after all a new model, and the sleekness made for an interesting disrobing as sweat trickled down her arms and neck. Wearing a long sleeve shirt underneath that she immediately took off and threw aside to reveal a far more typical tank top. Now she could breathe and take off the pieces of armor and put them on the specialized mannequin.

“i’m okay! i’m okay,” a deep sniffle, one drawn in that’s wet and terrible and messy and so, so funnily contradictory to that visible beam, “holly loves her new room. we painted one of the walls — she wants to do the other ones with you. i — uh, well, i’m alive!”

and she’s not precisely very good at resting, sleeping, being calm. it’s the opposite of her nature. she’s awake, too often so alive, more alive than someone ever should be. nose butts against a nose with fervor, another liquid laugh squeezed free.

“what about you? oh, are you okay?”

No one'd believe that Batwoman was smiling at this moment. A thumb caressing Selina's back and then up to her cheek. Catching a tear. "Hmmm." Bryce replied, nodding along as she listened to Selina share it all with her. "I never was good at painting but I'll do my best." Bryce admitted, a curt laugh escapes her as she nodded repeatedly at the follow-up question. "I'm okay... The mission took longer than anticipated; not sure if you kept up with the news but I'm sure a big special will appear on the TV tomorrow about how the Flash was assisted by Batwoman and they then teamed up with Green Lantern to take out a threat from outer space..."

She wants to say something, not sure if it's the right time to bring it up. But she decides on giving Selina what she wants and deserves first and foremost. That thumb now moved under Selina's chin to nudge it up so they could lock lips briefly. The black from Bryce's lips didn't stain; didn't want Batwoman to leave behind lipstick smudges or prints everywhere. When she was done she cleared her throat. "Thanks to you and Holly... I've been reconsidering, working with Superman and the other crimefighters to make something bigger."

Batwoman? The one who worked alone? Who despite her love for Selina still argued with her about doing work together at night? Yep, that one. Thinking about that 'Super Team' or whatever Superman called it, rather than tell him off again. Progress thanks to her special someone...

when can selina say no to bryce…?

she can’t. and she knows better than to try. why cause the anguish? it’s hard to get through that fucking cowl what the problem is — that she’s an equal. that she can handle just as much as the bat can.

she doesn’t get it, and selina gets it. a terror leaning toward losing the last tethers in her life, it must be terrifying to bryce. she’s different (when she’d thought the bat was dead, when bane— she doesn’t think about it), less afraid. she doesn’t know what it’s like to lose someone. and she knows that.

the same way bryce can never understand selina’s suffering, selina can’t understand hers. and she knows that. she knows she can’t ever understand the way grief closes around her throat — your feeler was never calibrated. it was broken before it could activate because someone jammed it. but you try. dr. bloom is too good at what she does.

but she’s busy. she has things to do. a daughter to get a textbook to so she can read it in the morning before her quiz. and then a voice pops in from her goggles, robotic and feminine.

commlink requested from bat 🖤

“accept commlink, closed channel, engage with heavy encryption.”

it’s surreal to hear that voice again. it slams her in the face so hard she finds herself rerouting the way she’s going, tumbling into a somersault to catch her footing before catching a distant weathervane across the way and dropping into a fearless freefall. the force of her arm propels her easily and she races across the upper side of an office building with unfailing footfalls. her mistake becomes only a foible that can disappear in the arc of her next jump.

“holly left her textbook in her locker so i gotta break in and swipe it. i wasn’t in the mood to take the streets.”

it’s rare when selina doesn’t want to engage — her usual bread and butter is socialization, but sometimes her moods mercurial turn toward an isolation. bryce anchors her in a way that keeps her held steady, keeps her from floating away — from a rocketship blasting off after it’s been simmering in a slow flame. she doesn’t have something to keep her from fluctuating between bursting and dangerous or flat and dulcet. she receives some light middle ground to cross. bryce is often that safety.

and without that safety she’s — empty. she’s a mirror with nothing to reflect. i don’t touch anybody and nobody touches me and that’s just fine. she’d told the good doctor, who only quirked an eyebrow as if to assert how much she didn’t believe that. you miss her. no shit. really affirming that doctorate, doc. it had been antagonistic, the last letter crackling in her mouth, and alana hadn’t moved a muscle in spite of feeling very much like any moment her jugular was about to become fair game. that was one of the first times in many she’d realized she respected dr. bloom more than she does most people.

“second floor entry point, balcony door’s got an easy hinge and i’ll jam the security before the alarm can go off. holly’s locker’s 801.”

Or rather, for Selina. Bryce had no direct say in how Holly was raised. She adored the girl, treated her as good as she could, and suggested to Selina. That was the best she'd do because it wasn't her space to intrude.

But this was still incredibly funny.

"Understood."

Curt and simple as Batwoman remained in the air, pulling her arms closer to her frame. Sending her downward to catch speed and arms wide once more! Shooting her back up into the air. Metropolis wasn't made for this sort of traversal. Gotham's weather alone made this perfect; and the various grappling points and old architecture was exactly what she needed to dominate the skies. And at night, no one saw the Bat coming even as she soared. It was a refreshing feeling; a liberating feeling.

It didn't take away from the Radio silence she herself couldn't break either because she didn't know what to say to Selina. And there she dropped further instructions before going silent again. Really pushing home that while Bryce was permitted to tag along, this was far from truly over. But when would they talk it over? A quick sigh escapes her nostrils. "I'm surprised Holly isn't here herself, I expected you to teach her how to break in and out of the school in case of emergency." Small talk; and a genuine question. What had Holly been up to anyway without her. Was she upset with her? The thoughts immediately took over. Last time, Selina covered for her, but had she done so again this time? "What... What did you tell her?"

Did she tell her anything at all? Or did she see the news where Batwoman was spotted fighting with the other vigilantes and self-proclaimed heroes fighting against a starfish from space? Was there any excuse for it? Should she be making excuses? I'm sorry.