2012-07-24 07:13 pm (UTC)
Are crossovers allowed and does it have to be Christian Bale's Batman and Anne Hathaway's Catwoman?
2012-07-24 12:11 am (UTC)
Their first meeting after saving Gotham.
The one-room cabin is a safe house she invested in years ago—the first thing she bought after jilting prison for the second time. Aside from the initial inspection, she never had a need to visit it. Until now. It’s dustier than she remembers. Smaller, too. An animal must have died behind the stove because there’s a smell she can’t shake no matter how long she props the window open and allows snow to collect inside the sill.
But there’s a hot fire. And running water. More importantly, there’s no television and no neighbors. Miles of snowy forest stand between her and civilization. Between her and Gotham. Which leaves Selina very much alone with her thoughts.
Even those have become predictable. They all circle back to the same place, winding like carts on a railed track spiraling nearer and nearer to what has become the common factor of every stray musing. A man she knows by name and character and nothing more. A man who had been fooled by his own mask and then lived to learn from the mistake—only to lose himself to a different battle. Somehow he found his way inside her, tight against her ribs where he pushes too firmly at her lungs. Maybe if she could just remember what it felt like to breathe before…
The knock at the door brings Selina to her feet. The weight of a pistol held behind her back is a familiar reassurance that makes cracking the door open little less than a game of chance.
“I thought we agreed. No guns.”
She stares up at dark eyes set in a pale face. A memorable mouth. “The agreement is void because you died.”
“And is there a clause concerning what’s to be done in the case of a party’s unexpected resurrection?” He’s bruised but close to smiling.
“Yes.” She swallows. “The agreement clearly states that the aforementioned resurrection is extremely rude and that the party which didn’t die gets to use guns whenever she likes.”
Bruce steps forward, and Selina can make out the shapes of the snowflakes on his scarf. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but there wasn’t time.”
The pressure in her chest dissipates. She tastes the air for the first time in days. She feels like sitting and jumping and spinning all at once; it makes her body tremble. “And now?” she asks. “Do you have time now?”
“Time,” Bruce says, “is the only thing I have.”
“Well, I can do you one better. I have a coffee pot.”
Old Habits Die Hard (Bruce restrains Selina from going wild at the Uffizi) :)
2012-12-10 09:07 pm (UTC)
After the bomb blast, there was silence.
The mushroom cloud spreading over the ocean disappeared as quickly as it had come, turning first to wisps of silver smoke, then to nothingness. Some bomb. The entire city turned its face up towards the sky, mourning the loss of the savior they hadn’t deserved. But they hadn’t known him. She had.
A single crystal tear, delicate as a spider’s web, trailed down her cheek. Selina Kyle couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.
After the bomb blast, there was absolute silence but for the sounds of a complex, resilient people rising from the ashes, peering out from behind their locked doors like frightened birds just learning to fly.
Commissioner Gordon cleared his throat.
She tilted her head towards him a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “We could use your help. It’s not over yet.”
When she responded, her voice was flat. “You’ll manage without.” He didn’t try to stop her as she kicked a leg over the Bat-Pod and started the engine with vicious efficiency. Icy wind brushed against her face as she sped through the streets, making the memory of his lips against hers all the clearer.
She wasn’t really heading home. She was wandering, aimless, free and unfettered and yet weighed down by something too deep for words. Eventually, she ditched the Bat-Pod—too conspicuous—and just walked through the city, staying out of sight, blending into the shadows, watching families begin to repair their homes and clean their streets without ever considering offering them her help, and breaking the limbs of anyone who came too close. She felt no real need to eat or sleep; she stole what she wanted, whether it was a crust of bread or a bottle of wine or an hour of sleep in some deserted corner. Eventually, some unnamed instinct carried her back to her apartment.
Her place had been spared the destruction that had struck at the higher-quality homes around the city, because it didn’t look like there was anything there worth stealing. Appearances, of course, could be deceiving.
She threw the door open and ripped the mask from her face. I’m done with hiding, she thought as she met her own brown eyes in her mirror. It’s time for a new beginning. But first, a shower and a meal. Then, moving too slowly, she went through the all-too-familiar routine for what she hoped would be the last time: pulling out the plain black suitcase, folding in a few changes of clothes, hiding the cat suit under the false bottom, prying off the loose panel in the wall to reach the safe that contained her stash of money and jewels—
--END OF PART 1--
2012-07-24 12:32 am (UTC)
a kiss in the rain
2012-07-26 01:02 am (UTC)
She'd been to Rome before. Twice as a matter of fact. But pulling a job wasn't the same thing as playing tourist. After what she endured the past months, she'd earned the right to play a little though and she splurged on the penthouse.
As she stepped out into the balcony of her hotel room and looked around, she took in the two empty balconies on either side of hers. There was a nice gap between them, so even if someone was out there, it wouldn't feel crowded. From where she stood she could see the Colosseum off in the distance, the dark clouds hanging over it, over her and it hit her like the sudden lightening above. She missed him.
It was so stupid. She hardly knew him. With or without the mask. They exchanged a few words. There was a kiss or two. Still, she *missed* him.
Right on cue the rain began. Cold. Hard. Falling fast. Thunder and lightning joined in the fun and in minutes she was soaking wet.
Someone walked out into the balcony on her right. What the hell did she care? Raising her head up, trying to keep it together, the rain washed away the tears she was unable to hold back.
"You weren't kidding when you said a storm was coming."
The icy rain against her skin didn't compare to how she felt when she heard those words. In that voice. From that man.
She moved so fast, jumping from her balcony to his that she nearly slipped when she landed only centimeters away from him. He didn't see the punch coming. Or maybe he did and that made them even. It was done in any case. And when it was over, she kissed him so long and hard he forget all about the pain in his jaw and kissed her back.
2012-07-24 01:05 am (UTC)
The first snowfall in Gotham
2012-07-24 01:09 am (UTC)
he gave her the pearls in Paris
She meets Blake on her way out of Gotham, a clear question in his eyes. “Will you stay? Will you help us?”
A near imperceptible shake of the head is the only reply he gets. She can’t stay. Not now, not ever. The city is his now, his and Gordon’s and Jen’s. It won’t last, of course. The opportunists, the manipulators, they’ll rise to the top once more, trampling on as many hands and heads as they can along the way. But she gives the city a few years at least, where her friends, her kind, can live in the absence of the shadow of the filthy rich.
But she can’t stay. Not after watching him die for the second time. She hadn’t been sure the first time, of course. She had told Blake as much. But this time, this time she knows.
The knowledge of his death doesn’t stop her from giving second – and sometimes third – glances to any man who matches his height and build. There had been one in London, unseeing eyes glued to the smartphone in his hand as he sat opposite her on the Tube. Another had crossed her path in Berlin, broad shoulders outlined by a black trench coat reminding her of a cape and costume that had been burned to her memory.
She moves to a new city every week, restless, searching for something that she can’t even describe. Her hotel room in Paris is a little too similar to the room she had had with Jen, and she spends as little time in it as possible. And yet, she can’t quite force herself to leave, the reminder of home dispensing a little comfort in amongst the pain.
But now, something feels different. Everything is exactly how she left it this morning, but she can sense that something has changed. Her gaze drifts from one side of the room to the other, taking in as much detail as she would on any job. The corner of the rug that has curled under itself is the same as it was this morning. So is the width of curtain that bunches up inside the short, brass holder next to the closed window where moonlight mingled with artificial street lighting is flooding in.
Her attention falls on the small dressing table. To the maid, or any other untrained eye, the surface of the table is chaotic, a harmless disarray of toiletries and cosmetics that lay discarded until used once, maybe twice a day. They could have no idea that the last twenty minutes of her time in the room is spent positioning each item meticulously to match the picture in her head.
And right now, that picture does not match the reality.
On top of the unread copy of Time magazine lays an item that is both new and instantly recognizable to her. Pearls. His pearls.
Edited at 2012-07-25 08:49 pm (UTC)
2012-07-24 01:37 am (UTC)
Alfred watches Bruce and Selina get married
2012-07-24 06:16 pm (UTC)
The tiny baroque church was one of the lesser known in Rome, but it was quite exquisite all the same. Multi-colored marbles, stucco, and detailed guilding exemplified its richness. And while it was raining outdoors, when Alfred stepped inside, the many candles lit throughout the small space gave it a warm glow.Selina and I would appreciate you joining us for dinner.
The church was near empty, only a few scattered people could be seen. Two old women were sitting up front, a few others prayed here and there, and an older gentleman was sitting near the end of the second row with rosary beads in his hands. There was also a couple getting married at the alter.
The groom wore a perfectly tailored, black suit. The bride wore a white dress, made of silk and lace, that reached the floor. Her long brown hair was loose with a simple white pin holding a few strands back.
Alfred sat near the door, listening intently for the couples' vows. The way they looked into each other's eyes as they spoke the words that would bind them forever, Alfred could see that it would not have mattered if the church had been bursting with people, they wouldn't have noticed anyway.
Years of practice allowed Alfred to take a few pictures during the ceremony and one of the newly married couple's first kiss unnoticed. He then walked out the side exit quietly to return to his hotel room.
A part of him wished Bruce could have been married as his parents had. Back in Gotham in a big, lavish affair. It was how a Wayne was meant to do it. But another part, the one that watched the boy he helped raise give in to a near uncontrollable monster was simply happy that Bruce was willing to give life another chance.
When he reached his room, Alfred hung his coat. He was tired. After keeping track of them through half of Europe and following them to Rome, he was ready to go back home. When he was about to begin packing, he noticed two white envelopes on the small table near the balcony. The first letter read:
Via Maggio 16 at 7pm. -BW
Please bring a copy of the pictures!
During TDKR Selina gives Bruce the same treatment and stalks him at home, where she sees Bruce and a certain stuck-up girlfriend getting to know each other...
2012-07-24 01:41 am (UTC)
Everybody knew Bruce was going to be an overprotective father when Helena Wayne was born.
2012-08-06 09:51 am (UTC)
He had learned the hard way that sometimes, you don't realize how much you care for someone until you lose them. He vowed to never make that mistake again. He realized later on that sometimes, you also don't realize how badly you wanted something until it's right before your eyes.
Like a wife.
The way she had unexpectedly crept her way into your life, slowly laying claim in the corners of your existence. She stole your heart just as stealthily as she stole any other glittering jewel. One minute, you were holding hands as you walked by the familiar coffee shops and the soft drizzle came to pour. You take off your jacket and put it above your heads, and as you stare into her eyes she swoops in for that kiss. Overly cliched, but unforgettable nonetheless. The next minute, she's in your bed and you come to the realization that you have never felt so strongly about anyone else before. Not even Rachel.
Like a daughter.
The way she had unexpectedly arrived in the world, red and screaming and just absolutely perfect. You could not fathom how it was possible for you to create something so beautiful, so untouched by the all the evils that you've seen and lived through. You are lost in the blue orbs, and suddenly you reconsider resurrecting Batman if only to protect her.
Like a family.
The years pass by in a blink when you're happy, they say. And you can only agree. Helena had grown up to be every bit as beguiling as her mother and your head aches at all the phone calls your house has been receiving---from boys who remind you so much of the billionaire playboy you used to know. Selina only laughs at you, tells you that there's so much more to your daughter---she knows what she's doing and she's not going to get hurt in the way your overprotective, paranoid mind conceives. You disagree. You spent the last sixteen years making sure Helena gets everything she needs---and though it had always occurred to you that she may one day need to fall in love, you tell your wife that you're simply never going to be prepared for it.
"Bruce," Selina tells you softly. "You know she's not a baby anymore."
"But she's my baby," you say indignantly, the softest smile from your wife, the most caring stare. She only smiles and kisses your forehead when you say, "She's always going to be my baby girl, even when she's forty."
Bruce tells Selina about Rachel and Talia
It's not a car! (Bruce showing off the Bat)
2012-07-24 02:38 am (UTC)
handcuffed to the bed
2012-07-24 09:19 pm (UTC)
Not only was he handcuffed to the bed but he was blindfolded as well. Why did he let himself get talked into it? He blames that wicked glint in her eyes and those red lips of hers. Lips he does not have to see to know are soft, full, sensual...
"You have to learn to relax," she whispers in his ear.
The handcuffs rattle when his hands reach for her.
As if to calm him, her lips are on his - making a strange, desperate sound erupt from deep within his throat - and then her lips gone.
His hands are fists now.
"Yes?" she whispers back and he can hear the teasing in her voice. Then those lips are on his chest, kissing along scars he doesn't have to make excuses for. Scars that define him and that he doesn't need to hide anymore.
Her hands are incredibly soft along his abdomen - the skilled hands of a thief, he thinks briefly - and he wonders if she's wearing gloves. Then, he feels her nails scratch down his hips, not enough to cause any pain, but more than enough to continue her slow torture. No, there are no gloves. No masks or alter egos. It's just Bruce and Selina. Plus, two pairs of handcuffs and a blindfold.
When she trails a finger up and then down, he barely contains the shudder she elicits.
"Don't hold back, Bruce. Enjoy it. Relax."
When the day comes that he manages to get her in his current position (because it will come), he is going to make her pay. Let's see if she is able to relax when...when... Suddenly, he can't think clearly. Not when she takes him in her mouth, those beautiful lips wrapped around him, coaxing him to give in to her.
He can't control his body's reaction either. Not the way he growls her name or bucks up into that pretty mouth of hers. And, the handcuffs rattle again.
"Selina, I can't... I have to..."
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't stop. The way she moves, up and down, the way her tongue swirls around him...he wants to rip the blindfold off to watch her. He can't, of course. In fact, though Selina removes the blindfold minutes after he's done, she keeps him handcuffed to the bed. When he asks why, she smirks at him and he knows he's going to be torn between excitement and dread.
"I'm not done with you yet," is all she says and it's alarming how much he's already looking forward to whatever else she has planned.