The look in Selina's face was pained. Not excessively so, but her forehead wrinkled. Her eyes stayed sharp though, ever focused on his. Half of her wanted to shrug off his grip on her arms, but the other half, the half that was beaten down inside of her wanted him to pull her close, to cradle her and tell her that everything she'd done hadn't been for nothing.
For a long time Selina had thought that she couldn't exist without the thrill of a theft, taking back things that she thought society owed her. She'd paid her debt, she'd paid it over and over in the beds of depraved men, and on the streets struggling to survive. The nights her parents argued. The morning she'd found her mother dead, her wrists cut slumped against the cool white tiles of the bathroom.
It was only when she'd been forced to confront some of that horror again in Riyadh, the forgotten children, that something had snapped inside of her. It was as if she'd suddenly realised that all of the money in the world couldn't form a large enough band aid to cover her wounds. That it didn't matter, and it never would. Her body relaxed in his arms, the tension in her body relenting, she felt soft.
"Maybe." she spoke simply, nodding. "Things have changed - "
Selina leant in towards his face, her lips grazing his, a soft kiss without any pressure, barely there. She could still taste whatever it was that he put on his exposed skin to protect it, tangy and metallic, familiar. This was a thank you really, a thank you for believing that she still had good and noble parts. She pulled away from his mouth as suddenly as she had come upon it, her lips lingering a few centimetres from his.