log: bruce & selina, gotham. Who: Bruce and Selina What: Post-party visit. (1/2) Where: Selina's loft. When: After the hotel party, before Damiangate. Warnings/Rating: Fuzz.
Bruce could have contacted Selina over the journals first. It was easier, to be sure. Communication was just words on a page or a screen, no face to face necessary, but he thought that was precisely what this called for. Oh, it could have been a coincidence. The woman at the end, what they'd talked about, her parting whisper in his ear. It could have been, but he didn't think so. And even if it was, he still wanted to see her. In person was better. The rising sun seemed to bring destruction in its wake and it cast light on that which had already crumbled before the hotel intervened. He couldn't let something else become dust and spill out through his fingers.
He was mildly hungover, tired, but neither of those things mattered. A couple of aspirins were popped on the car ride to the loft, the backseat blessedly dark, and he felt a little better by the time he was outside. No suit, kevlar or otherwise, just sweatpants and a hoodie that made him look surprisingly normal. He could, when he wanted to.
There were a number of ways he could have gotten in but he didn't want to startle her, and he hadn't forgotten the pain that came with her movements the night before. If it was her, that is, but it was just another puzzle piece that fit. So he went the normal route, knocking on the front door to announce his presence and waiting.
She was tired, and it wasn't even the night before that had managed to ultimately exhaust her. No, it was the deluge of problems that had come with the morning, and her head was throbbing so much that she could barely deal with any of them. And, honestly, she had no idea how to even help. Like she was in any position to give advice about anything at all. Her life wasn't exactly roses, and she'd been a mess since the encounter with Damian. Oh, physically, sure, but that would heal. No, it was the rest of it, the fact that she really wasn't sure what to do about any of it, and she was just too raw to be much good to anyone.
Oh, and there was that pesky little bottle of 3 she'd nursed for the entire evening. There was no way she was forgetting that.
So, after she gave up on making anyone's life better, she slipped off golden scales and tossed the dress onto the armchair. A long, hot soak helped soothe some of the aches away, and she opted for a pair of lounge pants in soft grey that Bruce had left behind. Too big, but she rolled the waistline past her hips and paired it with a white tank that had seen much, much better days. But she wasn't exactly planning on entertaining, so it hardly mattered. Damp hair, and she considered messaging him. After all, she didn't think the end of the evening was any kind of coincidence.
But before she got a chance to think about it much, the knock came.
She was slow progress as she made it to the door, and she considered not opening it for a heartbeat, a second. But she had issued an invitation, and at least the swelling had gone down? She tugged open the door, and she was an exhausted lean against the doorframe. Her face was mottled bruises along cheek and nose, with the worse bruises disappearing beneath her hairline from her temple, a result of the slam of her skull against the roof. Her throat was claw and finger-bruises, and the stitches at shoulder and clavicle were neatly done. Beneath the hem of her shirt, a boot impression was dark purple and black. Her damp hair hid the back of her head, and that was probably best for everyone.
She looked him up and down, and she gave him a tired, slow grin. "There's something remarkably intimate about a man in sweatpants," she said, going for warmth and this is no big deal. "Want to come in?"
He knew what Damian had done to her wouldn’t be pretty. He was expecting bruises, but somehow expectation failed to prepared for actually seeing the damage in person. Despite trying to remain level-headed, he was already incredibly angry at and disappointed in his son, and this, living proof of his disregard for other people, didn’t help matters. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t pretend he was blind. His gaze took her in from head to toe and back again, and his expression darkened. In that moment, he could almost understand that old man’s insane anger.
Almost.
Getting all worked up over something that had already happened wouldn’t accomplish anything, though, and he hadn’t come here for that. He breathed in, deep, through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth. Better. “I was too hungover for a suit,” he admitted, and after a beat he managed to return her smile. “Yes, I want to come in. You should sit down and I’d rather not stand in the doorway the entire time.”
She watched him as he looked her over. Her features were impassive, and her entire demeanor was I don't care, but she watched. She knew she looked like a mess. Not as bad as a few days earlier, but not exactly Miss. Gotham, and she wasn't sure if she was looking for rejection or for him to write the whole thing off as unimportant. After all, Gotham was Gotham, and she was a rogue. Impassive, until his expression darkened, and she didn't want to make him angry. Anger wasn't going to fix this thing with Damian. Oh, she wanted him to care, but she didn't want 77 to ever happen, not on her account.
So, she stepped back, and she gave him room to pass. "I didn't think there was such a thing as too hungover for a suit," she quipped, but it fell flat, and there wasn't even a hint of purr in it. She gave him a warmer smile when he said she should be sitting, and she glanced over his shoulder and into the narrow hall. "But we could give the neighbors so much to talk about." And that was warmer.
She scooted back, and she closed the door, and they were alone. Well, them and the three kittens she'd found a few days earlier. Small as mice, and they weren't very good at doing anything but crying and trying to drown in their milk bowls. But they cried at him, like he was some savior in grey, and she chuckled. "Coffee, or do you want to rest?" she asked, very deliberately giving no indication which of the two she preferred.
He knew better than to think she didn't care, but he wasn't here to talk about Damian. He was, frankly, tired of talking about Damian. There was too much anger there, still, too much hurt, and he knew he needed time to cool off before he tried reaching out again. Sparring was one thing, but this was something else. It was brutality, the sort he usually only reserved for the worst criminals, and to think that she’d been subject to it… reality was an ache in his chest but he couldn’t fix this, and he didn’t know what to say. So he pushed his anger down, down, and he managed to keep his worry to a mild in-between as he watched her step back and give him room to pass. She’d been in pain last night, and she was probably in even more pain now, and if he hadn’t thought that she would construe it as pity he would have insisted on staying until she was fully recovered.
“There is. I just discovered it today.” He noticed that her quip fell flat, and something in his eyes softened. It turned into a smile when she said they could give the neighbors so much to talk about, and he shook his head. “We can’t make it too easy for them,” he countered with a grin. And then the door was closed, and they were alone, but before he could say anything more the crying kittens distracted them. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t grown fonder of animals recently, cats especially, and he dropped to his knees to pet the tiny things. Her question made him look up again, and he really didn’t think she should be doing anything but sitting down. “I think we could both use the rest.” He got to his feet, and after a moment’s hesitation offered her his arm. “Let’s sit.”
"It's Gotham. Nothing's easy to come by, not even the gossip," she replied, her tone a little warmer and more relaxed as she watched him pet the kittens. "They're smaller than your hand," she noted with a chuckle, and she had no idea that he was thinking about being pitying. Her guard was down, and her walls were nowhere on the premises, and him feeling sorry for her really wasn't at the top of her priority list. Shocker, but she was concerned about her appearance, about the whole situation with Damian, but she wasn't worried about him pitying her for what Damian had done. Maybe if she'd used all the weapons at her disposal and still lost? Maybe then her pride would be involved, but she could've turned that fight a dozen times. But Damian wouldn't have walked away the same way he walked in, and so here she was.
She was watching him, and her expression turned from something thoughtful to warm when he looked up. Her smile was a tired, sleep-deprived thing, and she knew he was too astute to miss it. And, anyway, he looked like a man who'd spent the entire night awake, ands he could tell herself that the offer to rest was completely selfish on his part. But the offer of his arm was unexpected, and she looked at it a moment, contemplative, before she gave in. Arm through his, and she sighed as she leaned against his side and motioned toward the couch. "You know," she said, tipping her head back to look at him and doing her best to hide the wince that accompanied the movement, "this place isn't big enough for me to require an escort." But it was tease-warm, her grin a tired lush thing as she dragged graceful fingers along the arm of the couch in question.
She sat carefully, one leg tucked beneath her, and she deliberately kept her grip on his arm. The kittens followed them, and they tumbled over his shoes, and she grinned and then looked over at him. "Reason for your visit?" she asked, her smile turning knowing. Oh, coincidences, sure, but not this many of them.
“Exactly why we shouldn’t do anything to change that,” he countered without missing a beat. He liked the warmth in her tone, and he liked that she looked a little more relaxed than she had a few minutes ago. The kittens were small, and he smiled at her observation. “I know. I’ve never seen anything so tiny in person.” He knew, when it came to the fight with Damian, she hadn’t given it her all, but somehow that just made him angrier when he thought about it. She’d held back, but the boy hadn’t. And it wasn’t pity, really; he didn’t think she deserved this, didn’t think she deserved the pain and the scorn, but he didn’t pity her. He just didn’t want her to think he did.
He wasn’t willfully blind enough to ignore the exhaustion in her smile, and if she told herself that he was the one who wanted to rest, well, so be it. As long as it got her off her feet. He was relieved, too, that she didn’t fight him, that she accepted his arm and let him support her wait. “Maybe I’m the one who requires an escort.” Deadpan, and while he’d intended to let go of her arm once she was seated, she didn’t let go, and so he didn’t pull away. He sat next to her, and he smiled at the kittens that tumbled over his shoes in their haste to follow.
But her question drew his gaze back to her, and her smile told him everything he needed to know. “Well, you did invite me.” He paused. “And I think there’s something you wanted to ask me.”
"Take some pity on the poor beleaguered residents of your city, Mr. Wayne," she teased. There was one thing that was constant, she knew, no matter which Gotham, and that was the Waynes owned everything. Well, everything but the mobs. But she wasn't in the mood for organized crime. Once her head stopped aching, then she would go back to infiltrating the mafia families. But right now? Right now she was useless for anything that involved swinging her whip, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't concerned about Damian's little show affecting her reputation in the city. If she was seen as weak? It would be very, very bad, and she was fairly sure she was going to need to make peace with Thorns before she meowed at anyone at all. Powerful allies were everything in Gotham's underbelly.
She chuckled when he said that maybe he required an escort, because they both knew that wasn't true. "I'll be fine in a few days," she assured him. She would be, and it was only the hotel's very bad timing that had her feeling as badly as she did today. "You know, in my Gotham? I looked like this all the time. I'm out of practice." That was a confession, not a lie, and she knew this city made her soft. She'd realized it when it took her a year to regain her cuthroatness when she'd ended up back home, and she knew it would be even worse if she got shipped back now.
She was thinking about how relatively weak she'd gotten, and then his statement drew her back into the moment. "Was there something I wanted to ask you?" The question came with a quirk of brow, and the corners of her lips were tipped up the tiniest bit, but the smile wasn't real, and her mossy gaze betrayed her concern about this particular conversation. "Oh?" All feigned remembering and I'd forgotten. "Is this about Iris?"
He just smiled, bestowed upon her like he was humoring her little suggestion about taking pity on the poor residents of his city. His, and it sharpened the barbs of guilt beneath his skin. Oh, just for a second, because his own inactivity wasn't her fault and he was going to rectify that. He'd taken his breather, he'd had space. Now, now it was time to go back to waging endless, exhausting war for Gotham's soul.
"I know you will," he said of her assurance that she would be fine in a few days. He didn't doubt that she'd be back on her feet soon, but that wasn't going to make him worry any less. He frowned when she said that this was a common occurrence in her Gotham, and he'd already decided that his was paradise in comparison, that her Bat was harsher, too, more brutal, and he was endlessly grateful that he'd never had to become that back in his world. Oh, he could imagine what other versions of himself would do differently here, but he'd stopped trying to think like someone he wasn't a while ago. He stood his ground, now, and Damian could call him a fraud and a failure as many times as he liked; that wouldn't change. "I don't think I like your Gotham very much." He sighed. "Do you want to get back in practice?" It was an honest question. Sometimes he wondered, as he was sure she did about him, if he made her weaker, but he tried not to dwell on it.
Once, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between her real smile and one that was all act. Once, he wouldn't have known what it looked like when she actually smiled enough to know, but he did now, and the difference was blatantly obvious (at least to him). He knew she remembered. He knew she hadn't forgotten, and so he waited. At least she got to the point quickly enough. "Yes." There was no use in pretending, and he turned to look at her more fully. "This is about Iris, and the memory you were drinking all night. The one where I smiled at her like, as you said, I've never smiled at you."
She wasn't sure about that smile of his. She knew Damian's taunts were getting to everyone. The baby bird insisted no one did anything but him, and while she knew that was a lie, she knew it was an easy one to believe. But the fact that he agreed easily with her assertion that she would be fine, that was nice enough to be distracting. Oh, she wanted somewhere soft to sleep, quiet and to be held until she felt better; she was normal enough to want that, and she was alright with admitting it these days. But she knew cabin fever would set in sooner rather than later. It always did with her, and maybe it was just time to accept that she wanted the quiet future and the adrenaline of rooftops. In tandem, and she wasn't even sure if that existed in Gotham.
"No one liked my Gotham very much. It was a nightmare. When I ended up here as a kitten? It felt like dying and going to Heaven." She was far enough removed from those days that she could admit it now, even if it made her think of Damian with a pang of wistfulness. He sighed, and she turned her body toward his on the couch and slipped her arm free. "I need to get back into practice," she admitted. "I'm working on the mobs, and now these girls are missing. Damian was going to help Holly with it, but he won't now. But it's not the families. He was wrong. It's something bigger, something that reminds me way too much of home," she admitted. She had no idea if he even knew about all the girls missing from Gotham's streets, if Damian had told him, or if he'd heard through other channels. "I think I'll make nice with Ivy. She and Harley should be able to scare most of Gotham in a pinch."
Which was all well and good, but it was also avoidance, and the elephant was in the room now. "You can't tell me it's not true, Bruce. Even Eddie agreed."
It was easier to pretend that Damian's remarks didn't bother him, that he wasn't hurt, that the very suggestion that he patch things up with the boy when he'd been trying to do just that for months (and, by extension, the implication that it was his fault) didn't wound him. But he'd left that baggage at the door, and he had a whole different intention in coming here. Yes, she would be fine. He'd make sure she got enough rest, and if she tried to go out before she was ready he figured he could wear her down if he was stubborn enough, if he insisted enough. Her desire for a quiet future and the adrenaline of rooftops, that conflict, was partly why he was reluctant to make promises of marriage or a family in the future. He didn't think he could have those things while he was Batman, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. But, at the same time, he wasn't sure if he could give the cowl up either. It was a tangled, twisted mess, and he thought it was better to focus on the present instead of getting ahead of himself.
"I suppose it's hard for me to understand," he admitted. "My Gotham was better. That's why coming back here, after... it took me time to adjust." Which was an understatement, one he cringed to recall. But they were both here, now, and neither of their Gothams was this one. "Just don't push yourself too hard," he told her, grudgingly, realizing with every word that it was hypocritical of him to say. He frowned when she mentioned missing girls, and while he'd heard whispers he didn't have any concrete information. "Something bigger?" His frown deepened. "What do you think it is?" Damian hadn't breathed a word, but that didn't surprise him. Just another thing for him to say no one was doing anything about. Making nice with Ivy wasn't very reassuring; Harley was one thing, but Ivy was shrewd enough to be dangerous. "Be careful," he warned, though he knew she was smart enough to do just that. He would tell anyone the same, it didn't mean he thought her weak or didn't respect what she was capable of.
And here it was, the reason he'd come. Whatever Eddie had said didn't matter, since he was fairly certain he'd been disillusioned that night. but it certainly didn't help his case. He sighed. "What's not true? That I've never smiled at you like that? I don't know if I have," and that was honest. Drinking the memory was the first time he'd seen that moment, himself, from another perspective. "Yes, I was happy in Italy. At that time, I hated Gotham. I was tired of everyone's expectations and I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from all of that. It was freeing. And yes, Iris was there. I care about her." He looked at her, calm and steady. "You care about Banner. Those things are fact. But I don't want to be with her, and she doesn't make me happy."
She knew about tangled and twisted messes, but she was starting to understand that Gotham would always be a twisted mess. And maybe that was easier for her to see, because this Gotham was kind compared to hers. In her Gotham, little birds died and died, and the Bat got worse and worse, and there weren't any sunny days on the horizon. There weren't any sunny days in the rearview, either, and she remembered how it felt to go back to that. No, this place was better, kinder, and she knew it made her option of the world skewed. The others saw something worse, but she saw something better.
She nodded just a tiny bit, avoiding the thrumming in her temples as much as she could. "It was the reverse for me when I went back home. It took me ages to get used to it again, and part of me never did," she said honestly. But he said not to push herself too hard, and she gave him a smile that was almost lush and teasing. "Are you worried, Mr. Wayne? Somehow, I suspect you would make a terrible convalescent, so cut me a little slack. Anyway, most of my practice on the rooftops has always come from avoiding you, and I'm not as inclined to run these days." But the frown that followed was expected, and it almost made her grin. It was a long way from his hatred of the city to this renewed worry. "Don't make me jinx us by naming a monster you really don't want to meet. I'll let you know if I hear anything," she said, but she knew that she and Ivy and Harley made a great (albeit immoral) team. She just didn't know if Ivy was feeling friendly.
Ah, but there was the elephant in the room, and there was really no point in avoiding it, was there? "You haven't," she said of the smile. She didn't sound angry, no bubbling over jealousy. There was just a sad truth in the words, acceptance that had taken her an entire night of drinks to acquire. "You were happier there than here. You were happier there with her than you are here with me." She shrugged her shoulder, and she ignored the ache. "Bruce, it's fine. You can let me be selfless for once." She exhaled, and she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "Let's be realistic? Your daughter hates me. Your son wants to destroy me. If It wasn't because we stumbled into a door together, Iris would probably be here with you right now, and who's to say she wouldn't make Gotham more tolerable? Damian loves her, and Helena might too. This is never going to get easier for us," she said, twitch of fingers and she gave in and touched the back of her fingers to his jaw. "Robert and I can't be happy together. We tried. You and Iris never got the chance."
He gave her a long look, one that wondered at what she'd gone through in her Gotham during those years-- or one that knew, that had seen, and was remembering. It was difficult to tell. Oftentimes he was purposely unreadable, others it just happened that way. Instinct. But all that was gone when she asked if he was worried, and he didn't think he needed to answer. Oh, he did, but he didn't need to. "I always worry, Ms. Kyle." Smooth, and some of the old teasing in his tone. His smile went wider, almost a smirk, when she said she wasn't inclined to run as much as she once had been, and he remembered how he'd once fought so very hard to keep from chasing. "I might think you want to be caught," he teased, but his frown returned at her cryptic response. He knew his Gotham lacked many villains from her world, but he felt he'd been here long enough to be prepared to handle whoever might come their way. "Alright," he conceded, albeit reluctantly. He still wanted to know who this so-called monster was.
There really wasn't anything for him to say when she told him he hadn't smiled like that at her. It wasn't intentional, and he didn't think she'd like it if he apologized, so he said nothing. "I was happier there at the time," he said, and he shook his head. "You can't compare the two. It isn't the same." It wasn't fine, and his frustration climbed with each passing second. But he could stay calm, and he could stay rational; he tried, at any rate. "Helena hates everyone. I think Damian and I are the only people she's talking to," and once the words started coming, they didn't quite stop. "I'm fairly certain Damian is going to try to kill me, or at least challenge me to a duel, so you're not the only one he wants to destroy, and us being in that door is not what kept Iris and I apart. Her being here wouldn't magically fix everything, Selina." Despite her fingers against his jaw, he still scowled.
"You're doing exactly what I did. I pushed you away because I thought Banner was better for you. I thought you would be happier with him. I didn't want you two together," he snapped. "But I thought I was being selfless and doing the right thing. Iris and I had a chance, and I left her in Italy because I wanted to be with you." He wondered if he had been this frustrating.
"You don't do that nearly often enough," she said of that almost-smirk. It was new, and she liked it, and she didn't bother hiding that she did. She was too tired for it, too aching and raw, and the memories from the evening before were still replaying in her mind like a very bad theatrical. She liked the smirk. She liked the smirk on him. As for her desire to be caught, that made her drop her gaze with just hint of I'm caught. "Really?" She looked up, all mossy green and grin, despite the tiredness in her eyes. "And here I thought you didn't notice. We might need to work on your chasing." But his frown came back, and she knew he was having a hard time conceding. She exhaled, and she considered keeping quiet. "When this same thing happened in my Gotham? It was Dollmaker. I think his name gives you a little bit of an inkling of what it was the man did with the street girls he kept obtaining."
She was glad he didn't apologize for the smile; it would've made it worse to hear him apologize for something like that. "Why isn't it the same?" she asked, curiosity, and she could tell he was getting frustrated. The fingers on his slid to his ear and back, and she tried very hard not to smile when he scowled at her. "I don't know what I did wrong with Helena. We fought while you were taken, but her plan was bad, and she fought with everyone on the comms, because she wasn't communicating. I haven't ever seen Dickie as angry as that day. We thought she was going to get you killed," she admitted, but she followed that with a very brief shake of her aching head. "But before that? I tried. God, I tried, and it never worked." And maybe that was a sign. But Damian was a bigger risk, because Helena would never hurt Bruce, not really. The fingers on his jaw twitched, and it was a show of concern before she pulled her hand back.
Snap, and she wasn't actually surprised when his voice turned angry. She didn't move away. "If we hadn't ended up in zombies, where would we be now?" she asked, calm in the face of his ire, but she exhaled a moment later. "You didn't want us together?" she asked with a hint of hope, and maybe that wasn't the most important thing he said, but it was the one that resonated.
This time, he didn't have to ask what she was referring to. "I'll try to work on that in the future, then, if it's something I should do more of." He paused, something like humor in her gaze. "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean that I'll try, I mean that I will," he amended, aware that they both had very different definitions of the word 'try'. He smiled again when she said she thought he didn't notice. "I'm very perceptive, thank you." His smile turned a touch warmer. "We might. We can. I think I can make time." While he was glad that she didn't just stay quiet, that she didn't keep whatever knowledge she had to herself, the implication of who was behind the missing girls and what was being done to them was troubling. It disturbed him, and it showed. "Yes, it does." His frown deepened. "You think it may be him, or someone like him?"
It was difficult to maintain his frustration when she was touching him. It wavered, ups and downs, and he scowled because he didn't want her to stop but he couldn't be properly irritated unless she did. "You're assuming that these two situations, me being in Italy with Iris and me being here with you, are exactly the same. They're not," he said. "Italy isn't my home. Gotham is. I feel differently about Iris than I do about you. And I would have been happy there with or without her." He thought for a few seconds. "I saw a memory of you and Banner. Together. In bed. What if I say that you were happier there with him than you are here with me based on that one moment? Is it the same? Can you compare the two?" Helena was a distraction, and admittedly he didn't have the same feelings of anger and hurt towards her that he did toward Damian. The memory of her cruelty was a faint thing, and maybe it would be that way with his son, too. One day. He shook his head, because he couldn't answer what she'd done wrong with Helena either. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what her plan was, only that I got out. We never talked about that. Dick didn't go into detail about what they argued over either." He looked faintly troubled. "I know you tried. I... don't think she sees it that way. She doesn't remember anyone trying to help when she was sick." Helena had anger in her, too, but not like Damian. And if nothing else, they managed to get along; he wasn't worried about that.
He wasn't angry at her, necessarily, and he didn't think that she would have reason to move away. "I don't know. I don't know if you and Banner would have stayed together. But I would have come back to Gotham eventually, and maybe I'd have realized by mistake then. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to stay away," he said, but he really didn't care about what ifs. Not in this circumstance, at least. He stared at her when she asked if he hadn't wanted them together, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "No. I didn't want you with Banner. I wanted what was best for you-- what I thought was best for you, but I hated knowing that you were with him. I thought he was better for you but I didn't want him to be."
She laughed. That trying quip, it made her laugh, and she couldn't help it. It took a while for her to stop, too, but then their lives didn't come with much laughter, and he didn't joke often, so she let herself have the show of weakness. And, really, who cared? This entire conversation was a show of weakness, and she really had to just accept that things had changed. She didn't know how to successfully rebuild all her impenetrable walls with him sitting there, warm smile and his mouth saying they could make time, and it was like thought this would stick. She'd tried doing this without letting him in, and all it did was lead to confusion and heartache, and it wasn't like he was going to forget her sobbing on him during a wedding, or begging as she tumbled off his lap. No, and she needed to accept that, but it was terrifying. The mobs, the villains, her Gotham, it was nothing compared with the possibility of deliberately letting down her walls and allowing him in. But she was considering it. A precipice, and she was balancing on the edge. But she'd done time away, and she remembered, and she remembered what it was like to lose this and him and to end up back in that place. "Eddie asked me if you remembered an idealized version of me while you were away," she said, the words coming to her lips without much thought, and with very little connection to his little quip from moments earlier.
She nodded when he asked if she thought the girls were missing because of something like Dollmaker. "Damian and I both checked the mobs, and I think he probably made a few pimps bleed. Nothing, so we thought human trafficking, but there was no sign at the docks. It can't be the families, because they'd be at each other's throats over lost capital." A dozen street girls might not matter to Gotham PD, but they brought in a pretty penny on Gotham's streets. "Even the pimps are scared." No. It was something bigger.
And she knew he was frustrated, and she knew her expression should be all serious, but he called Gotham his home, and her smile was a warm thing, lush and tired and disgustingly fond. But she didn't interrupt. Well, she didn't interrupt until he mentioned the memory with Robert. "I was asleep," she reminded him; she'd seen the memory herself, so she knew. But the subject of Helena and Damian, that was harder, more serious, and she exhaled and looked out the long wall of windows, not wanting to rush into the words, which was very unlike her. "I think they expect us all to come crawling. I've crawled for years, and they're adults, Bruce. I think they've done enough harm to everyone that they're the ones who owe apologies now," she said, and she turned that mossy gaze back on him. "My point is that me? I'm not going to make this thing with them easier. You could have someone who does, but that person isn't me. I think Helena's being childish and cruel, and I think if Damian threatens to kill you one more time I'm going to personally claw his face, so." She shrugged a tiny bit, Eddie's warning about how this was the real threat vivid in her mind. "I've tried. That's all. That's my point."
And maybe nothing else mattered in the face of that. She wasn't sure, and it had been eating at her since the incident with Damian on the roof. It wasn't easy, the realization that someone she'd loved once could kill her without even thinking twice, but that was where she stood, and she knew it now. She stood, and she swayed slightly, fingers to the back of her scalp as she walked toward the window, red glinting past the dark strands of her hair. She looked out, Robinson park and she wondered if Holly knew it was named after her. "Robert's not better for me than you are," she said, and she could barely make out his reflection in the grimy glass of the loft. "Is Iris better for you than I am?" Because, ah, that was a harder question, wasn't it?