Marvel: Selina/Harley Who: Selina and Harley What: Commiserating, Gotham style Where: Selina's penthouse, Marvel When: Immediately after this Warnings/Rating: Unless you're the Schiava Turca in the Frick Collection? Nope!
She left the hospital without looking back.
Like any good junkie falling off the wagon, she tucked away her phone and she put it on silent. There wouldn't be guilt if she ignored calls she didn't hear, and all she wanted was this. She knew it was a bigger risk in Marvel, where thefts made the news and where evil didn't lurk in every smoggy corner. She knew, but she didn't care. It was too much work to traverse doors, sail on ships or find something in Gotham that she hadn't already broken into. No, she'd promised Tony ages ago that she wouldn't prey on Manhattan. Well, that wagon? It had just overturned, and she'd tumbled right off.
She didn't bother with the suit. Before the suit and the cowl, she'd managed just fine, and she lost the perfectly tailored jacket and unwound the whip that she'd been using as a belt. That was all she really needed. The rest? The rest was just for show.
So, she went big.
The Schiava Turca in the Frick Collection? Perfect.
By the time she returned to the penthouse, she was calmer, not a scratch on her and the painting beneath her arm, as if it wasn't worth millions. Oh, the news had plenty to say about the woman who had disguised herself, gotten in, gotten out, and left the painting's pretty gold frame behind, along with two guards that had been cuffed with their own little flexicuffs. But she wasn't worried.
She unlocked the door to the penthouse, and she stepped out of her stilettos and tossed the painting aside. She grabbed the fluffy white cat that was running away from the hyenas, and she rubbed her cheek against Martha's furry white head as she flopped down on the leather couch with her. "I stole you something," she told the cat, and she pulled a diamond bracelet out of her pocket. "She had a fat wrist, and I think it'll work for a collar."