Batwoman

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.

the sound she makes is a frustrated one, a slight hn of a noise that’s so simple and significant it says more than words. irritation doesn’t color her face even if it’s in her words, make enormous brown eyes glassy and reflective, calmly apparent. there is an irritation, she knows there is, she feels it, she feels it.

she ignores the prior comment. it hurts to do even for her, but she doesn’t know how not to address it gently. she doesn’t know how not to immediately leap to comfort. she smothers the instinct.

“you don’t get to do that. i’m not your soldier. in case you forgot who i was. you wanted a report, maybe you should’ve asked me to look after it to begin with.”

anger is all she can be. she never asked for gotham, and there her anger is, now, there it emerges in her words. it thickens. a younger selina would’ve lashed out, claws and blood, but her anger now is resentment — a slice across her own palm, the fresh, warm heat of a swift gash, how it burgeons and blossoms and bubbles and trickles. she can’t feel hateful in spite of her hate, because when it scalds her she’s half leashed. but her palms itch. burn.

she flexes her hands, claws retracting and extending in a nervous tic that absolutely consumes her every atom. she wants to strike something but the desire fizzles out and dissipates so quickly she’s almost confused hy the sudden flush across her neck. and in the next blink she’s back, listening to her claws click against each other without knowing she’s doing it. the rhythm is constant, comforting.

“you’re such a fucking coward. you won’t even push back. you want intel, hire a broker. you can’t afford my prices.”

if she thinks she’s left the manor, truly bryce is insane. holly’s home is there, and alfred? alfred’s her grandpa, that’s a truth that can’t be altered. she’s become as much of a parent to holly as selina is, after all this time.

and selina? she survives. she gets by. she awkwardly tries. she finds what little touches of optimism she can wherever she can discover them. she loses her footing too frequently, but she’s working with one thought at a time.

“what was it this time? world-ending threat i probably could’ve neutered in five that you conveniently left me out of?

—unlike you, i’m busy with a late night errand. so keep up or get lost.”

by that she means holly left her textbooks at school and she needs them for homework over the weekend. when isn’t she breaking into a fucking school to get forgotten assignments….? it’s a rare privilege holly indulges in, and selina won’t blame her bad memory. it happens.

Everything sounded like a defense, like making up excuses or being pointed with her. 'I didn't have time to ask.' , 'I didn't mean it like that.' , 'No you're not.'

Blaming it on Batwoman might have worked in the past. But she was trying to be better; they were finally getting closer. They were connecting.

And here she stood, after having disappeared.... again.

"I... Metropolis... hmmm... You look good, Lina."

“the church at robinson is two blocks left. you need a place to tell your problems to, i’m sure jesus would be keen to pay attention.”

it’s acerbic, sardonic, uncaring. ask the cat what devastation is and she loses the ability to care. it’s always something — somebody dying, coming back, somebody disappearing, popping back in. and what does anybody expect of her…? oh, she’s selina, she’s too apathetic to really give a shit, of course they’ll get forgiveness. she gives it out in spades for somebody everyone calls a villain.

“what else is new, bat?”

she looks good. when doesn’t she…? the look is blank, calm, but it’s missing the sheer tang of hatred that often chases the flavor. she’s too good at walls, herself. her therapist says it’s not her fault that she can’t connect to people, that it’s a terrible accident thanks to never even being a person when she should’ve started forming that.

selina thinks it’s possible she’s just an animal that was born broken. maybe human relationships just… weren’t meant for her.

“you say hi to kal for me? it’s been a minute since i visited.”

Her parents. Oh, how she prayed. To anyone willing to listen. But to no avail.

honest to god, what a sound, wind-chimes and tinkling and bells, bells, bells. it’s every ounce of light in the whole universe condensed. if nihilism, if the void is yawning, then this is all-encompassing — the sound of her laugh is an embrace all its own. she raises a hand demurely to curl fingers at her own breast with a charmed little sigh, girlish.

it isn’t unkind — it’s too delighted to be unkind. the naked joy in that pitch is unavoidable, high and tinny. she smiles easily.

“thank you. i appreciate your honesty.”

kiss her wherever you want, she’ll take it. it’s the affection that matters, the intent. it’s the way it’s given, the softness with which it’s imparted, the tender nature of it all. she’s unused to being treated so softly but it’s a welcome change. eyes lid in a heavy, calm blink — it’s not untrue cats blink just like that when they feel safe — that heavy, prolonged close, that flutter of dark lashes.

bryce’s romantic notions — and selina is sure she can call her just that, romantic — are nothing but endearing to her. as fast or as slow as she likes, kiss her anywhere she might want. a kiss is still a kiss, selina often reminds. what’s the shakespeare thing, she’ll start, wiggling her fingers while she’s talking, a rose by any other name or whatever?

“it means a lot to me, y’know.”

it’s so incredibly tender. if you bent the sound of her voice it would break, snap in half like something brittle. the delicacy to it is not a thing this world can hold, requires the shell of protection she might call her tendency toward violence. but beneath that is only the propensity to feel in a way so raw it could rend her in two with ease.

“for thinking of me. and holly. she does have a lock. i made sure to give her one. —frankly, we’ve both been through enough home invasion situations not to both have locks. being catwoman’s kid comes with occupational hazards.”

that’s true enough. she’s not exempt from the lethal parts of the job. if you asked her, now, if she’d do it differently — she doesn’t know if she’d say she would. she doesn’t know if she’d never pick up a mantle of her own making. she doesn’t know if the cat would’ve existed, but some part of her thinks that’s the inevitability she can never escape. she decides just as quickly it was always absolute. bats and cats can’t be disentangled, one needs the other for a balance to remain.

“as for me? i don’t really want anything changed. you know me, i’m pretty muted when it comes to decorating. and the nicest thing i own that’s not jewelry is probably my admittedly nauseatingly decadent four-poster bed. it probably sounds surprising but i’m not really a things for the sake of things girl. like— yeah, frivolous dumb bitch is my m.o., but it’s literally bullshit. —mmmmmm, mostly.

—it’s a lot easier to get gifts for holls. for you. fuck, for alfred.

i don’t. like. need anything. well. i do. but i just… wanna know what it’s like to get a decent night’s sleep first.”

"We already have enough secret tunnels and hidden doors in this place. Might as well make a few for Holly."

She listens. The cat is always wise... the bat remains dense. But she learns quickly. With enough prep time, Bryce could do anything; that included try and fulfill the wishes of the woman she had just reached out to gently guide back into a half-embrace. One arm around her waist, the other taking one of the cat's proverbial paws. Fingers running along those of hers.

"You should argue with Alfred in my stead; he keeps complaining I'm a pain to get presents for. I don't agree, of course, but, well." She laughs, softly, fondly. Swaying Selina along to no particular rhyme, and in no particular pattern. "Don't call yourself that, though. You're nothing like that, you are so much more than anyone can understand."

"You can still decorate our room as you please. We can get your bed and have it brought here if you'd like."

Our room.

There was no more reason to keep any distance, to tiptoe around the fact. And Bryce didn't keep it this way for some nostalgic reason. She just didn't care; she was barely ever there. But a solid bed? That was something the both of them needed.

Bryce let out a silent snort as she closed her eyes. "Do they even exist? Sounds like a myth to me." She's laughing, playfully. A good night's rest? Neither of them knew what that meant. "I have seen and experienced many strange things in Gotham. But that? That remains illusive to me. And no money in the world can buy it, supposedly."

"Good girl kitty..."

cat’s still — spring-loaded, isn’t she? paused and watching, breaths contained quietly behind the calm tilt of a head. her eyes are soft and brown, chestnut, impossibly tender. they remain rapt in that gaze, limitless, going and going for hours, days, since the very moment they first met. the bat might think that the cat’s got her in her palm, but that would be a silly statement.

she’s entirely stupefied when it comes to bryce. oh. good kitty.

pupils blow soundlessly and easily without so much as a — blink. eyes flick to a mouth that she finds herself fixated on on every level of her consciousness. she’s aware of everything, and nothing outside this sphere. she immediately gravitates toward bryce, body easily drawn in at that beckoning tug, every orchestrated to get closer, closer.

she can’t not kiss her. what is she supposed to do…? not? insane. she doesn’t even have another thought. (she doesn’t even have that thought. every thought has left her.)

And it still occurred even after just taking a shower...

There was no real reason for this. This wasn't some sort of prelude to anything. Bryce would never think that far. She had to ask, had to plan. Didn't dare do things on impulse. Especially not when it's about the cat. They're skittish, and the bat made a promise.

But it just felt... right?

The way they were sitting on the edge of the bed, the way Selina had crawled over to be closer to her. What were they even talking about before? She doesn't know, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Hot breath tangling with that of Selina's as either could close the gap.

But rather than do so, Bryce grabs the towel from her shoulder and slowly drags it down to her lap. Leaving behind tiny spots of moisture on her tank top and joggers. "Good Kitty..." She... purred? Yes she did. Something she had picked up from Selina; didn't even think about it when it passed her lips, either. She just kept staring.

"Lina..." The heiress scratched her neck, averting her eyes. "How do you feel about... uhm... watching me. You know." No matter how much she clears her throat, it doesn't get any easier. Her face is as red as can be, and she's still not looking at Selina.

"Practice onanism?"

the cat blinks. and falls very still. very quiet. mostly, there’s this way she feels concerned — her brow furrows, and her palms itch to touch, to soothe. bryce scratches her neck and the cat catches a hand, blinking suddenly as she draws her fingers in a little, constant dance in the bat’s palm.

she’s listening. she’s perched patiently. she’s just watching expressions with a limitless calm. she doesn’t understand what’s so worrying, so distressing.

“—o… ona— una… unagi? ona… onanism? okay. one sec. i gotta look that up.”

phone flips out, fingers typing swiftly on a keyboard. every time that flat fingerprint hits the screen’s surface, there’s that same resounding thud. she presses a little harder to push the scrollbar when the screen rebels. her mouth moves to form words, soundless.

“why… the fuck is that called coitus interruptus? romans gonna roman, I guess. —sorry. i’m a little dumb. no clue what means without google.”

it’s funny how easily she smiles, cheeks twitching into something soft and easy. for a concept that makes her heart careen off the rails, it’s hard to be anything but warm about it.

“that sounds incredibly hot. to be frank. a word i don’t use often because it sounds… a little too much like a porno when i say it.” eyes bounce up, a mirthful little chuckle rasping upward from her throat. “oops.”

she raises a hand to the bridge of her nose, pinching it with a sigh. mostly at herself. yes, completely at herself. her smile quirks again. her eyes close and she pockets her phone.

The embarrassment only strengthens when Selina speaks up. And Bryce is wondering why she hadn't made a tool to dig a hole in an instant yet. "No... It's because I'm a fool." Selina was not dumb! Bryce was just picking needlessly complicated words or workarounds to say something that could be phrased very simple.

Incredibly hot.

Bryce had started blushing a lot more since she mended her relationship with Selina, and cleared the air between them. What to call that connection. This time though, there was a lot more embarrassment on her face as she manages to pull her hands away to slick her hair back, tussling it up further. Bryce's bashful gaze settling on her better half.

she likes to think of this as the benefit for her inability to bond. if she can’t attach, how does she even know what it feels like? how does she know the opposite? everything within her reach ends up damaged. she leaves claw marks on everything she touches.

not this. not here. here she behaves. she tries to temper the steel she is to something more silken, more mercifully gentle. she tries to be something that can be handled without harming.

her head shakes. a little joyously. a tiny bit silly.

“i could totally hold you, are you kidding? you think these muscles are for show?”

they’re not. she winks.

and then the motion sets the cat off balance. she sees it coming but she still feels her stomach flip, flop, flip again. it does a couple somersaults she, herself, couldn’t even manage. the kiss is warm, terribly honest, and it’s brevity is the soul of everything she’s ever loved. she can agree nothing, there is nothing like an indulgence such as this.

she gently settles her arms around a much steadier neck, that smile twitching warmly into a grin. it’s almost halfway lopsided in its endeavor to remain. it’s a smile in every sense of the word, and where bryce blushes, selina only settles out to a rosy shade of honest pink.

she’s designed for this kind of warmth — the joy permeates her bones, replaces the marrow with a solution she thinks would be a vibrant aquamarine. it would be, should be, something electric. she presses her nose to the bat’s with an almost tangible hum, that bone marrow aforementioned not the only thing that must be ever so bright. she thinks she gets the whole eyes sparkling descriptor, suddenly. she’s never felt so light.

she cannot feel an ounce of that usual fear that sticks to her so impermeably. nothing scrapes it free of her skin, but this doesn’t have to. nothing so vulgar or harsh as scraping, it’s too much a gentling. like thin, flaky pastry crusts laid lovingly over something baked for someone else. she’s halfway repaired by it, she thinks. and then catches herself — but decides she deserves it anyway.

“wow, aren’t you a sweetheart?”

she touches bryce’s cheek fondly, her smile tinkling a watt or so brighter. taps their foreheads together so carefully.

“—a brave one. and thank god for that”

Because an act like this? With Selina? There are no negatives to it; only positives. And the fact that the cat doesn't pull away afterward makes it all the sweeter.

Like a piece of hard candy with a liquid core filling.

They had their spats, their back and forth. But now that the shell has been cracked, that liquid core is spilling out, and it's delicious. Not in a- oh, whatever. It didn't matter how she registered it. It was special; just for the two of them. That mattered more than anything else!

She can't help herself; carefully moving to pick up Selina, supporting her with both hands just so she could be held closer; their faces even nearer. "Am I?" The question was sincere, the fluster not having left Bryce's face.

She ponders it over for a moment. And rather than argue, rather than play it off. She let out a very soft hum as the realization set in. "That's because of you..." But it was hard to believe that Bryce could be genuinely sweet. She wasn't mean or anything towards Alfred; but it's different. And Selina did bring out the softer side of Bryce.

Give her a reason to spend home beyond going in and out on the daily...