log, gotham loft: bruce/selina Who: Bruce & Selina What: Homecoming. Where: Selina's loft. When: Before Ra's stuff. Warnings/Rating: Cute.
Home.
Selina hated hospitals, private or not, and she'd been a terrible patient. In and out of consciousness, sedation because she needed to rest, and she'd kept insisting on leaving. Bags and bags of IVs, things to counter the flu (which hadn't been a flu at all), and she'd at least rested, put on some of the weight lost in hell, and the sedatives had kept the nightmares at bay. No more seeing Ra's out of the corner of her eye, and no more seeing Crane's smashed face. Oh, she remembered. It was like a kaleidoscope, bright colors and jumbled images without clear beginning or end.
Bruce had been to the hospital, she knew, but being awake wasn't something that happened much. The drugs, they said, for the radiation sickness, and she'd slept and slept, with short periods of wakefulness between. Maybe, she reasoned, she'd needed it.
But they moved her early that day, before Bruce came, and she didn't let them stay. Shoo, and barely daylight, and the Gotham night sky still a little grey from the previous evening's smog. She gave them the address of the loft. She could've given them the Manor address; she didn't think Bruce would mind, but the Manor wasn't home, and it wasn't the Manor she'd wanted to get back to. Anyway, she had no idea who was living at the Manor, and she wasn't a little bat.
The loft was windows and mess and safety, and she'd shooed away concerned paramedics and locked the door behind them.
The bath exhausted her, but she wanted to wash the hospital off. Hot, hot water and suds that smelled like spices brought from her time in the door with ships and the sea. Her skin was warm, salt water and myrrh, and she wrapped a decadent robe around herself, cream, silk and florals. She made tea - oolong, and also from that other door that she'd hidden in for days - and she curled up in the chair by the loft's long wall of windows, throw blanket over the silk and her hair still damp. Outside, the day brightened - well, as much as days managed in Gotham. It was quiet. No beep, beep, beep of hospital machinery, and no gunshots and screaming. Her head was still, and the only movement out of the corner of her eye was the calico cat - Lucky.
The cat tilted at windmills, and Selina curled her hands around the mug of tea. She was too tired to move just then, too heavy-limbed lazy with the heat of the bath and moving after days of still. But nothing hurt and nothing trembled. It was the first time since before the undead that she felt like she might be herself again eventually.
That made her grin. The cat hissed at its reflection in a mirror, and she chuckled quietly. The tea was warm and strong, and she pushed open one of the glass windows. It smelled like home.
Bruce spent most of his time at the hospital, and when he wasn't there he was catching naps at work, on rooftops, in the Cave-- anywhere but where he should be. The loft felt empty without her and the Manor wasn't home, not yet. He could have gone to Marvel, could have helped with cleanup, but he felt as though enough were there already. Someone had to stay behind in Gotham. Because maybe it was over for them, Crane was dead (relief was all he felt, that sense of finally as a weight lifted off his shoulders) and they had an antitoxin, but Ra's was still out there. He was planning something, Bruce knew he was, but he didn't know what and that worried him. Helplessness and a race against a clock that was ticking down, except he didn't know how much time was left. A day? A week? Months, maybe; he couldn't be sure.
But his worry for Selina was just a little stronger, and it held his focus. Day in and day out there were updates from doctors, this treatment and that, drugs and sedation and he was told that she slept a lot. Good, he thought. She needed rest. His fear of losing her hadn't quite faded, and it was sheer luck that a cure had been found in time. Luck, but he was grateful for it all the same. Eddie had managed to talk him out of crossing but it had been a close, close thing.
He was asleep when they moved her. At work, in an empty boardroom, and it was his secretary who found him and timidly awakened him with a There's a call for you, Mr. Wayne. That got him moving, and he kept the doctor on the line for a long time until his assurances that she'd been well enough to be released finally satisfied him. He walked to the loft, no car or taxi, not caring that his suit was rumpled and his hair was a mess and he looked like he'd been roused from sleep, which he had, after a particularly bad night. The morning air was crisp enough to make him a little more alert, and by the time he reached the building he was less bleary-eyed and more just generally unkept. But he didn't care, and he doubted Selina would either.
Though he considered climbing in through the window just to see her reaction, he ended up using the front door and his key, the smell of tea and the distant sounds of outside through an open window greeting him first. And then he saw her curled up by the windows, very much alive, and his relief was sharp enough that it was actually painful. But still, it was a good sort of ache, and he smiled.
"Hello, Ms. Kyle."
She looked up when she heard footsteps leading up to the loft. Echo, and there was a time when she was sharp enough to tell who was coming by the way their feet sounded. She wasn't that sharp now, and she was fairly certain she hadn't been for quite a while. Slow things went unnoticed, and it was only now, on the heels of feeling slightly sharper, that she realized it. Stupid, stupid kitty cat. But while she couldn't identify him by his tread upon the steps, she knew it was him when the key turned in the lock. No one else had a key, not even the doctors and their rage (she should stay in the hospital, they said) at her insistence that she would safer home. Out of the water now, and Eddie's force fields felt much better than walls of windows with Ra's on the loose. Ah, yes, Crane was gone. But Crane wasn't her nightmare, and it wasn't Crane who had gone quiet after announcing his return, was it?
And she wasn't stupid; she knew how touch-and-go it had been, even here, when consciousness hadn't returned immediately. She'd seen it all over the nurse's faces - relief. Like when something presumed lost was unexpectedly found.
She remembered vagaries. She knew she'd spoken to Bruce, maybe to Iris, definitely to Eddie, likely to Robert. She knew Helena had come - or someone she'd thought was Helena, no hate in her meow and not even a hiss in her direction. Telling, that, and she would need to ask if had actually been Helena. But there was time.
No, no, there was never time. She needed to remember. Time had to be made in Gotham. It didn't come like it did other places.
Legs tucked beneath her, and she watched the door open. Time, even if she was exhausted. Just a little, and she smiled an exhausted smile that still managed to be lush. She didn't remember his fear, his panic, but maybe she didn't need to. "You look like you had a rough evening, Mr. Wayne."
He didn't look like he'd slept in a bed, and he certainly hadn't been sleeping here; Eddie's security said no one had been in for days. "Tell me, were you busy flitting from party to party? I know how you love the social scene." Which she followed up with a length of arm, narrow wrist and finger curling, inviting him closer. "Should I be jealous?"
He had no idea what, if anything, she remembered. The doctors hadn't been able to shed much light in that regard and Bruce had intended to ask, but he wasn't sure if he needed to. Did it matter? Perhaps he should wait for her to ask, to give some indication of what remained clear and what had gone fuzzy. Because really, what mattered was that she was alive. Safe. Everything else sort of paled in comparison.
Even through her exhaustion, it was a familiar smile. "Thank you," was his response, dry humor masking that bittersweet ache. "You don't look half bad yourself." He had no real basis for comparison since he hadn't seen her in person while she was sick, but he assumed she looked better. A few days and she'd be back on her feet, he was sure. And he went when she gestured for him to come closer, went without thinking, which left no room for hesitation. "Very busy," he said, deadpan. "All that flitting has left me utterly exhausted." He went along with the joke, because they both knew very, very well that he despised the social scene and would have severed all ties with those people had they not, unfortunately, been occasionally necessary.
Her question of whether or not he should be jealous elicited a smile, and he was close, then, next to her, clothed arm brushing against her bare one. "No." He shook his head. "Last night I slept in the boardroom. You don't have very much to be jealous of." His voice turned quiet, and everyone knew he wasn't much for affection. That and words, but he needed added assurance, more than just what his eyes could see; he brushed his fingers over her cheek, and that was better.
That dry humor was familiar, so familiar. "I thought you'd been working on your compliments." She remembered that somehow, hazy it as it was, but the statement came with a teasing smile that turned warmer when he deadpanned. "See? That's what you get for flitting around without me. We both know I'm better at social calls than you are." He hated it, she knew; she hated it even more than he did - hated the people. But it was a means to an end - money. Money made everything happen, and there was plenty of it hanging on wrists and necks at charity events. Wallets were easy, and she funded plenty of her East Side work by being good enough that no one knew who'd stolen whatever went missing.
She looked up as he came closer, leaning back in the chair and looking up at him. Concern crossed her mossy eyes when he said he'd slept in the boardroom, and she tugged on his tie when he touched her cheek. There was just thismuch hesitation, an uncertainty that was newly acquired, but she tugged, wanting him down on her level. Standing? Wasn't something she was interested in doing just yet. For all that she was out, she knew she wasn't strong enough to be wasting energy by standing for this conversation with him. So, she stretched instead, and tug went the tie, and she worked on loosening it with fingers that had plenty of experience. "So, what did I miss?" She asked the question as she undid the silk, and a push to the fabric at his shoulders indicated the suit jacket, rumpled as it was, should go. "Was that really Helena? Is Crane really dead, or did I kill someone- someone else?" Who knew; she didn't. She wasn't clear enough to know.
As absolutely ridiculous as it might have been, he was pleased that she remembered his newfound desire to work on his compliments. It was normalcy, before, and with so much uncertainty Bruce was glad for even a single constant. "I am. It's a work in progress." As for her being better at social calls, he couldn't argue that. Even when he pretended, on a good day, she had him beat. "You are," he agreed. "From now on I'll be sure to bring you on every social call I make." Money got a lot done in Gotham. Money and power, and while he had a lot of both, when combined even more was accomplished. He wasn't above using his connections to better the city.
Sleeping in a room meant for meetings with less than comfortable chairs was nothing compared to what she'd been through, and so he was more concerned about her than himself. He hesitated briefly when she tugged on his tie, but then she kept tugging and he understood; he went down into a crouch, a little lower than her level, but better than higher. Her question, what did I miss, wasn't an easy one, and he mulled it over as she worked on his tie. But specifics, those were easier. "It was Helena," he said. "I sent her to get you. And yes, Crane is dead. It was him." He paused. "He was never going to stop, Selina. I told him I would let him die and he said I'd changed. Maybe I have. He called me while he was with you, he used your comm." His expression darkened just a touch. "I'm glad he's gone."
"You'll have to get in a lot of practice," she said of his compliments, her smile tired-warmth and genuine fondness. See, Bruce Wayne? He wasn't about compliments. Not here, and not anywhere else. But it was nice that he was trying, and her expression went from warm to something more like honesty. "You know, I think your brand of honest is just fine, Mr. Wayne. No need to work too hard." As for him bringing her on social calls? It was sweet, but she didn't actually expect to be on his arm. For all that she hated Iris, she understood that the delicate blonde was better for that kind of thing than she was. Selina hated Gotham's aristocracy. These days? She wanted more from life than rooftops, but she wasn't sure she could play by the GCPD's rules.
She almost let go of the tie when he hesitated, burned fingers, but she was very smooth about letting the silk hang there, loose strands that were no longer wound together. She didn't do anything else when he crouched, and she didn't push any further on his suit jacket. She let go of the silk, and she sat back, as if his hesitation had nothing at all to do with it. When he told her about Crane, she tried to remain impassive. She remembered fragments, pieces. "I wasn't sure. He was Ra's, and you, and him. He touched me. I remember that. Intimately. I don't remember how I killed him." Her expression was questioning when he said he was glad, because she didn't actually believe that. "I would've found a way around it, had I been in my right mind." And that? That was true; she hoped he understood. "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble, Bruce. I don't mean to be a constant thorn in your side." The apology was genuine.
Compliments, genuine ones, were rare for him. Lies were learned and came easily but he didn't want that with her, because she wasn't like all those pretty faces, empty shells that sparkled and shone and wouldn't have known the truth even if it was staring them straight in the face. "I'll try," he said of practice, but his expression became something else, vaguely puzzled, when she said his brand of honesty was fine. It was too honest, he'd thought, and when he tried to soften the blow it never worked as he intended. He was harsh. Blunt. Clumsy with words that weren't tactical, logic and reason. "Is that so, Ms. Kyle?" But maybe, just maybe, part of him wanted to believe her. He would never be able to compliment her as smoothly as some men could, but at least when he did he could mean it. Truth, not lies.
Before, earlier, he would have remained oblivious to the fact that she'd noticed his hesitation and reacted accordingly. He wouldn't have thought that her letting go of his tie and sitting back were indicative of anything, but he was a little more observant now. Some, enough to realize that she might have gotten the wrong idea. "He let you think he was me," he said, because he'd heard that part. And his expression just went darker when she said that he'd touched her; it didn't matter how she'd killed him. No one could hold it against her, no one, and he was fairly sure the entire Marvel door would laud her a hero if they knew, regardless. "I know you would have, Selina. No one blames you. But Crane made his choice, and as I said, he wouldn't have stopped." And that was that.
When she apologized for causing trouble, he shook his head. No. "You're not a constant thorn in my side. This was Crane's fault," he insisted. "His. You didn't cause any trouble." He finished tugging off his tie, and a moment later he (belatedly) shrugged off his rumpled jacket. "You're a lot of things, Selina, but not an annoyance. You're the furthest thing from it, in fact."
His puzzled expression was both surprising and endearing, and she chuckled quietly. "What?" she asked, forgetting that hesitation for a moment. He was always smooth, hard to read, and for all her misdirections she wore sentiment on her shoulder. They were very different that way, and she didn't want to think that maybe they were too different. She'd thought that for years, and it had kept her walls up, and she didn't think he was the kind of man that would fight to knock those walls down. Still it was hard, and she began to say as much before he posed his question. That made her stop, though, and it was easy to give him a tired smile, lush and familiar. "It is, Mr. Wayne. You know, I've figured out you're not exactly Casanova by this point." There was fondness in that admission. Oh, he wasn't Robert. He wouldn't tell her how perfect she was every minute of the day, but he wouldn't tear her down either, and she thought that was a fair trade. Well, as long as he felt things he wasn't saying. She didn't know about his panic, and she wasn't sure if his interest went beyond on the undead, not yet.
"I didn't think he was you when he touched me," she clarified, just in case. And he was right; Crane would never have stopped. And she wanted to ask about Ra's; she did. She parted her lips, tried, and swallowed the question down. Oh, she'd spent a week facing her demon on every face in Harlem, but none of that was real. She shuddered, and she rubbed a hand along the back of her neck, where a headache lingered low. She watched the tie slip away, and she watched the jacket leave a rumpled dress-shirt behind. "Oh?" she asked, and she went for teasing, she did, but she came up short. "If I'm not an annoyance, what am I?" It was a serious question, and she didn't look away while she asked it.
Bruce almost echoed her question. What answered by what, another question, until he realized she was chuckling at his expression and he became slightly less puzzled. "Not many people have said they like my brand of honesty," he explained. It was certainly no secret that he'd had his fair share of difficulties with near everyone at one point or another. As for not being Casanova, no, that never had been and never would be him; even when he made an effort, that wasn't what he was aiming for. "Oh, good. I would hate for you to have unrealistic expectations." It was meant as humor, but he heard the words after he said them and winced a little. Backtrack, yes, that would be wise. "I'm no Casanova," he admitted. "You don't mind?" The fondness in her voice answered that question for him, maybe, but he asked regardless. It was, perhaps, the closest he would ever get to asking whether or not she minded that he was nothing like Banner.
He nodded. Better or worse, it wasn't sure, but it was over now. And he didn't want to talk about Ra's, didn't want to admit that he hadn't been able to find out what he was planning. Like before, they could only brace themselves for the worst, but Diana and Tim were gone and most of the others were helping out in Marvel. He considered calling them back, wondering if Ra's wanted him isolated, but he'd placed so much importance on family; maybe not. He caught her shudder, and he watched her rub her hand along her neck. No, he didn't want to talk about Ra's.
She asked what she was, then, if not an annoyance. He propped himself up on the arm of the chair, chin resting on his hands, and looked up at her. He wished he was better with words. He wished he could just know what to say and how to say it. But while he knew how he felt, he didn't know how to describe it. "You're very important to me," he said, finally. "If the Marvel door hadn't been guarded, I would have gone in. I wanted to be there. Not for them, but for you." Helena called it selfish, and maybe it had been, but so be it.
Her expression softened, laughter to a quiet smile that had nothing to do with illness, when he became less puzzled. And she was all set to laugh at his comment about unrealistic expectations, but he winced, and she watched him for a moment longer, silence as he tried to correct what he obviously saw as a verbal misstep. She wondered, then, why she hadn't ever realized that he did that. But maybe time spent on rooftops or bantering across journals just didn't make it evident? Maybe she hadn't listened. After all, she was very quick to get her feelings hurt, and she didn't listen to anything once she was trying to hide those emotional bruises. But it was quiet now, and she watched him turn the statement into a question. As for not being Robert? She would've laughed. Oh, how she would've laughed. "I think I can live with it," she began, because teasing was easier than truths, especially for them. But, no he deserved more than that, even if it frightened her. And he was there, wasn't he? With her? Where was the harm? And if she didn't risk, she wouldn't ever have. "I don't need compliments, Bruce. I don't. I'm- I'm not very secure about being wanted lately. Well, maybe I've always been that way. It's easier to be wanted as a woman in a catsuit than as me. I don't care about the compliments, as long as I know I'm not forcing or pushing. As long as I know you want me."
Words said, and she was glad he didn't talk about Ra's. There was already too much vulnerability in the room, and she wondered which was worse? Ra's or being open about this, but he propped himself up on the arm of the chair, chin against his hands, and she just looked at him for a second. Gotham barely streamed through the window, and she let herself scoot a little forward once he went quiet. She trailed a finger along the silver at his temple, and sometimes she forgot she'd lost almost of a decade of his life. Once, very important would've left her feeling unwanted. Now? Now she smiled a little. "Very important, hmmm?" The question was quiet, almost hopeful, and her now-blunt nails began progress through that silver anew. "Your children dislike me. Damian- I keep thinking we're okay, and then he hates me and I don't know why. I tried to thank Helena for helping me, and she told me I was just a woman who shared her mother's name. If you made it as far as the door," she continued, unaware that he had made it as a far as the door, "someone would've stopped you and told you the family was more important, that they needed you, that Gotham needed you." None of it was accusatory. The words were wrapped up in hurt, yes, but they came with understanding that she hadn't had before. "Am I important enough to fight all that?" She looked young as she asked, afraid he would say no, hopeful he would say yes, and her fingers sliding to the arm of the chair, where they rested against the back of his hand.
For her, teasing was a safeguard. A shield. Bruce had learned that over time, and he was often torn between doing the same to protect himself and pushing past, honesty instead of lush smiles that didn’t always reach her eyes. Like when she said she could live with it, and he wasn’t sure if she meant that or was simply saying it to hide the truth. Uncertainty had plagued them from the beginning, and it was partly his fault; he wasn’t good at pushing. They both spooked easily, too, which was a bad combination, but things had changed. Maybe. He was trying. Her honesty was surprising but it was a pleasant surprise, one that almost made him smile. “I haven’t always given you reason to feel secure,” he admitted. “You are-- you’re more than a woman in a catsuit, Selina. I want… I want you.” He didn’t care to be introspective enough to consider why the words were so hard to say, but deep down he knew; vulnerability. Weakness. It was a risk, but he was beginning to learn that some risks were worth taking.
He didn’t tense up when her fingers slid through his hair, didn’t pull away. No, he stayed where he was, trying not to let his expression turn fond and then wondering why. He caught himself, and he stopped. “Yes,” he said, and maybe very important wasn’t all that impressive but, for him, it was a start. And when she said that his children disliked her he laughed; he couldn’t help it. “My children dislike me half the time, Selina. You don’t deserve that from them, but I’m not going to let them change my mind.” He paused. “I did make it as far as the door. Eddie did stop me, and he told me all of that.” He frowned. “He had a force field on the door, too.” Was she important enough to fight all that? To fight Gotham and family? He didn’t need to think about it very long. He’d agreed not to cross, yes, but mostly because he knew it was a fight he was bound to lose. “Yes.” He stretched a little, raising himself up higher. “You are, Ms. Kyle.”
Teasing was a safeguard. Teasing was safe, and it was distance, and it was control. She was getting along with more people these days, but it was all a facade, pretense, and her pretending that all the old wrongs had been forgotten. But they hadn't been, and she was just more careful now. She didn't spread herself open for everyone, didn't try, not really. She went through motions, and she went through them again. There were relationships she knew she needed to fix in order to be part of his life, but that didn't mean she needed to give them the chance to tear her apart. But him? She didn't want to lie to him, and she didn't want walls and partitions, and that was new - that was risk. But she was willing to take it. He'd disappeared, and then she'd lost him, and she hadn't even realized how much she needed him until he was gone. Oh, she'd had a vague understanding, lack of introspection and the false sense that there would be time. But that was before she'd almost died again. No, she didn't think of it that way anymore. She listened to him stammer, and she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Exhale, and she'd been wanting to hear those words for so very long. She blamed the dampness that collected in the corner of her eyes on being tired, on being ill, but it had nothing to do with either of those things.
She knew this man was different than the Bat she'd grown-up with. Her Bat had loved Gotham to the exclusion of everything else; this man had loved a very mortal woman, and he'd locked himself away for nearly a decade when she died. They were different, and it had taken her much too long to realize it. She wasn't expecting the laugh, and her fingers stilled a moment. "I'm not very good with them. You know, I've had Milo in New York since Crane's little utopia drug - do you remember him? And I finally found him a home. I never realized I even wanted anything like that, but I've realized I'm just not very good at it. The more I try? The worse I do." And there was sting there. Helena, specifically, hurt, but she didn't say anything more. Instead, she listened, and she wasn't surprised Eddie had stopped him. "Eddie wants us happy, but not necessarily together." But he said yes, and he moved slightly, stretched a little and raised himself higher, and she decided they'd done enough of this talking thing. "I want you too. I always have. I never stopped." Maybe it didn't need to be said, but she said it anyway. Her fingers pressed against the back of his hand, and she tipped her head a little, a smile that was genuine and teasing on her lips. "I'm going to fall asleep in no time. So, Mr. Wayne, I recommend you kiss me, and I recommend you agree to stay while I nap." She paused. "But not on the couch."
Bruce knew all about distance. He was good at distance even when he didn't mean to be, and he liked to be in control, to know, because there was safety in that which was predictable. The unknown was risk, a different kind of fear. Selina threatened his orderly, isolated world, his whole family did, but that wasn't a bad thing. He'd been alone for so long and, admittedly, he didn't want to be. He was learning to love Gotham again but he still wanted more. He wanted sons and daughters, he wanted friends, and he wanted her. Maybe that set him apart from the other Bats, his desire for more. He hadn't always believed he would have it, and he spent a long, long time thinking family was something for other people. Not him, never him. But now he had it and he'd made so many mistakes but he didn't want to give up. Being alone was safe, it was protection, but there was more to lose than there was to gain.
It wasn't until she was gone that he realized just how much he'd missed her. Then he'd gotten her back, only to nearly lose her again. Bruce refused to waste any more time caring about what others said, or what others wanted, or even the whispers of his own guilt. "I remember him," he said of Milo. the little boy Selina had grown so fond of, and he didn't think before reaching to brush his fingers against her cheek. "I'm not very good at it either. but trying counts, Selina. It matters. And it's not just on you to make it work, I've realized that. They need to make an effort too." He shook his head when she said that Eddie didn't necessarily want them together; it didn't matter. He was his friend, yes, but he wasn't going to blindly believe everything he said anymore. "I don't care what Eddie thinks," he told her, and her confession that she wanted him, too, that she always had, was everything he wanted to hear. His chest felt tight but it was a sweet kind of breathlessness, and he didn't answer, not right away. He kissed her first, fingers on her jaw and more of a stretch to get him closer. And then he smiled, a fond thing, and found words. "I'll stay, Ms. Kyle. Does this mean I've been upgraded to the bed?"
She wasn't accustomed to him initiating anything at all, and she held her breath when his fingers brushed against her cheek. He was right, she knew, about others needing to make an effort too, but she wasn't concentrating on the words. For the moment, she wasn't thinking about all the complications, all the reasons why this couldn't work. All that mattered was the feel of his fingers against her cheek, and that was silly and ridiculous, but it was true. And that tiny phrase - I don't care what Eddie thinks - was a balm, and maybe that went back to Watchtower and a bomb and years spent trying to fit in, to find a niche. She knew Eddie would always be his friend; Eddie was her friend, too, even though it was new, a thing made of foal's legs, shaky yet. But maybe, maybe she didn't have to feel like she was at the end of a line that Edward Nigma headed up. Alright, so Eddie hadn't let him see her in Marvel. Regardless of any bitterness that came with that, she was happy Bruce hadn't gone there, hadn't gotten ill. It was momentarily selfless, and it was enough that he'd tried, that he'd wanted to get to her. And, at the end of the day, Eddie had kept Bruce safe; that counted for something too.
When he kissed her, she was a whimper and a slant of lips and, for once, no concern that he didn't want this. In that moment, in that loft, she wasn't concerned that she was some responsibility foisted on him, not like his family or this city. She was tired, so tired, and she'd pushed herself too hard for a first day home, but she didn't much care in that moment. There was a fear of loss in her kiss, something tang-sharp, and she didn't pull back when he smiled and spoke. Her fingers had found the buttons of his shirt, and she still remembered how to liberate a dress silk. Fabric parted beneath her pale fingers, and she smiled back, lips brushing against his cheek as she stretched forward that last little bit. "It means you've been upgraded to the bed. But you definitely need to take me for that promised walk before you get me out of my bathrobe." It was teasing, a nip to his jaw, and it was exhaustion, really, and it had been a long time for them, and memory wasn't either of their friends where that was concerned. It would wait until she was better. For once, for once she thought there would be time.
She pulled back a tiny bit, enough to look at his face, and her fingers drew lines on his cheek. Her expression was open, unguarded. "Tell me this won't be gone once I wake up again. Tell me you're not a hallucination." Her lips quirked the smallest bit. "And I think you're still young enough to carry me to bed, Mr. Wayne. What do you think?" She knew she would hold on too tight once they got there. But maybe it was okay. Maybe she didn't need to pretend, not with him, not anymore.
Too much time had been spent on why they wouldn’t work, couldn’t work, shouldn’t work. Bruce was tired of all the reasons and he was tired of people, however well meaning they might be, trying to interfere in their lives. No more, and he’d learned that being Eddie’s friend didn’t mean he had to listen to everything the other man said. Sometimes he was right, more often he was wrong. But just then none of that mattered. He’d never been much of a romantic or one for cliches, but nothing seemed more important than kissing her; it felt like it had been an eternity, like they had so much lost time to make up for. Gotham rarely gave them time, it was hardly ever kind, but he vowed to make some if need be. They deserved that much, didn’t they?
He felt rather than saw her fingers work at his buttons, and he laughed when she said that he owed her a walk first before anything else. “Fair enough,” he conceded, but he knew, too, that she was exhausted. And it had been a long time for the both of them. But that could be fixed. He didn’t feel hopeless about it anymore.
His expression turned fond when she pulled back to look at him. “This won’t be gone once you wake up again. I’m not a hallucination,” he promised. He smiled when she said she thought he was still young enough to carry her, and he nodded. “I think you’re right, Ms. Kyle.” Her weight was nothing at all, limbs and blankets and her robe as he picked her up, carefully, and carried her to the bed; should she hold on on too tight, he wouldn’t mind at all.