Selina Kyle

The bruises were already blooming like violets along Selina’s ribs by the time she kicked the window shut behind them. Not her best night... not by far. The Children of Arkham fight had gone sideways fast... gas bombs, some third-rate maniac in a knock-off Scarecrow mask, and way too many guns for her liking. She hated bullets. Too impersonal.

She glanced back at the Bat, who was now sitting on her couch holding their ribs in her tiny living room. they were bleeding. She was bleeding.

“Well,” she said, tossing her goggles onto the beat-up coffee table with a clatter, “that was a disaster. You owe me a bottle of wine and a new catsuit. Preferably in that order.”

They didn’t answer, of course. Typical. Probably processing seventeen different things while pretending to be perfectly stoic. She peeled her suit halfway down and winced when the zipper snagged on one of her bandages. The adrenaline had worn off, and now every breath hurt.

“I swear, if I get tetanus from one of their rusty daggers or whatever the hell that was, I’m suing,” she muttered, half to them, half to her cat Bell, who was perched on the windowsill. Bell blinked once then let out a soft cat yawn.

Eventually, after some mutual patching up, grim silence, and a very awkward bed debate. Selina just flopped down on the mattress without much ceremony. She figured he’d skulk off into the night like they always did.

Only… they didn’t.

Somehow, through an unspoken truce or sheer exhaustion, the Bat stayed. She didn’t question it too hard. Not that night. Her bed was small and lumpy and definitely not Wayne Manor quality, but she felt warmer than she had in months. Maybe years. She didn’t ask questions. She just layed there staring at them... with their stupid beautiful face... Selina couldn't help herself so after much mental debate... she leaned forward and kissed them... and they didn't pull back... After that it snowballed into... something... (you catch my drift)

After sleeping like a baby sunlight crept through her grimy blinds and landed right on her eyelid like a little spotlight. She groaned and rolled over, expecting to find nothing but empty sheets.

But there they were.

Laying across from her. Fully nude still (not including underwear of course), because of course they were. Even their bat-watch was off, tossed on the nightstand next to her spare whip and a half-empty bottle of Tylenol. Their eyes were closed. Breathing even. She stared at them.

“Well, that’s new,” she whispered.

Selina blinked a few times, then glanced at Bell, who now sat at the edge of the bed like some tiny, furry sentinel. The cat meowed softly, like she knew something.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Selina said in a harsh whisper. “This isn’t a thing. It was a rough night. We were tired. They just... fell asleep.”

She squinted at their peaceful face. they looked younger when they weren't brooding or glowering over a crime scene. Human. Still absurdly muscular, still probably able to dodge a bullet in his sleep, but… human.

Selina sighed and sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair. Her side twinged, her ankle throbbed, and she had a sneaking suspicion she’d broken a nail last night. The glamour of vigilante life, right?

Then, softly, quietly, she said, “Don’t get used to this, Bats.”