Old Gotham: Selina/Bruce
[She wasn't doing much of the fighting, not anymore. She'd picked up a dozen boys between the East End and Old Gotham. Hooker's sons, and brothers of women in the domestic violence shelter, and boys whose grandmothers were currently tucked into the upstairs rooms at the clinic there. Girls, too, that were tired of being scared, able-bodied and Gotham scarred. And, lastly, mob boys, scared of the families and wanting something bigger, and blowing up shipments had made a name for the little trio of Gotham rogues. The East End was being held by another dozen women, guns and knives and they were as tired of Ra's as they were of their pimps.
It was a good thing, because she wasn't up to doing much fighting anymore. She was crouched on an escape, three stories up, looking down and breathing. She'd stopped for another one of the injections that was keeping her upright, her suit riddled with pinholes at the belly now. Goggles back, and she was almost glad of the excuse to stop for five minutes. Just five minutes. And she was still wound up worry and anger, but she was trying not to think about that. Introspection and the kitty cat didn't go hand-in-hand.
Eyes bloodshot and exhaustion making her pale, elbows on the metal edge of the escape, she watched the fight below, goggles pushed back and needle discarded at her feet.]