fille_fatale | ( IC CONTACT )

Things did not go well with Constantine, and that was only the beginning. Going home was her number one priority, but the price was too high. When it came down to it, Selina has always lived by one rule: look out for herself. And the prospect of some apparently all powerful stranger fucking around in her head, taking her memories, was not looking out for number one. The whole thing came to a close when she tried to punch Constantine, and with the attempt her chance to go home evaporated.

She didn't trust it, at first. Why believe some creep who had just wanted to mess with her memory? Selina told herself that she left to find other possibilities, other roads home, but the real reason was Bruce. She may be trapped in his world, but she didn't have to be trapped in his home, staring every day at a gutted manor that would always make her think of the one she remembered scaling, dealing with his quiet moodiness.

No thank you. She had to know she could fall on her feet, even here.

It made the prospect of leaving Gotham easier - especially since she took the Aston Martin with her, pawned it for too little because of the scratch and the dent she'd left in it. It still funded her through a few cities - Metropolis first, where she had to learn what the hell a Kryptonian was, and then New York City, which wasn't bad, but it wasn't home. She even headed to Chicago, and would have headed for Miami if the money from the car hadn't run out.

The important thing was that there wasn't another option. No other way home. Nothing. She'd had that feeling all along, but the really important thing was that none of them were Gotham. None of them felt like they could even become home. Stubbornness keeps her away longer than she wants to, and it becomes a rhythm that carries her through five years. When her twenty-first birthday comes around, she realizes that she wouldn't need a fake ID anymore, except for the fact that the Selina Kyle of this world has been dead for almost a decade. Her license (a fake she picked up in New York) says Cat Pepper on it, in memory of Ivy. It's about as much sentiment as she allows herself; thinking about the few people she left behind doesn't even bother her anymore.

She tells herself that until she believes it.

When she gets off the bus in Gotham, she breathes deep and shakes her head at the smell: at least that is still the same. But there are differences, of course; she's different. She's not a street kid anymore, and any leeway she had out here thanks to her age is gone. It's okay, though: Barbara Kean told her once that she was pretty, and that it should be her first weapon. She still carries a switch blade, but she understands the lesson better, now.

She carries something else, too, but that only gets retrieved at night, when she goes to work. Not many people talk, but the ones who mutter to nurses in emergency rooms mention some crazy bitch with a whip.

It's not just robbing bookies anymore: she's done with just surviving. The problem with moving up in the underworld in this Gotham is that she doesn't know all the players, yet. It takes time, a couple months, before she's satisfied that the jeweler she robs isn't protected by anyone that can get to her easy. Finding a fence is a little easier: no matter the universe, that's a world she knows how to navigate. Finding a good price takes some aggressive negotiating, but she's not a kid with no hope of taking on a little muscle, anymore. She gets by.

So she's doing some actual legal shopping - with less than legal cash - when she spots him for the first time. It turns something in her, and before Selina can decide if it's anger or satisfaction or nostalgia, she heads for him and puts a pair of very expensive shoes in front of the cashier he's at.

"He'll get these for me."

The idea of him paying for things doesn't bother her so much, now. Maybe it's because she could absolutely pay for them herself, but she doesn't spend too much time considering it.

There's no double take this time. Which can only mean he's been keeping tabs on her throughout the years on some level. He might have even orchestrated being in the same place at the same time now that she's back in Gotham.

The woman behind the counter, who's been trying to attract his interest from the moment he walked in, seems perturbed. She casts her gaze from the shoes, to Selina, and then back to Bruce, silently asking if she should ring them up. He offers her that well crafted playboy smile, designed to pacify and charm. "You heard the lady."

Once the shoes are wrapped up, he offers Selina his arm. The bag hangs in his other hand. No greeting. No explanation required. No apologies.

Selina flashes the cashier a brief smirk, though she almost feels sorry for the other woman. Almost: Selina isn't a very sympathetic person. But she's satisfied that she still has Bruce wrapped around her little finger (wrong Bruce, she thinks, and quickly moves past the thought). It's easy enough - that smile is distracting. It suits him the way a well tailored suit fits a hobo: it works, but it still feels wrong. She hides any surprise she might feel, though, by taking his arm.

A few years is enough to stop being angry. A few months was enough, really, but the time away was about her, not him. Besides, she's hardly about to apologize for stealing his car.

"This is the part where you ask how long I've been in town."

He doesn't expect her to. In fact, there's really no need. What was his became hers. And now belongs to him again. Maybe someday she'll come across it in his garage. The dent and the paint were fixed long ago.

"How long have you been in town?"

Of course he'd buy it back: if she ever spots it, she'll probably wind up questioning her own surprise.

The smirk comes back when he asks.

"A month, give or take." Give or take a couple extra months. "City still stinks." But there's a fondness in her voice: she doesn't like this town, but she does love it, a little.

"Always has, always will," is his quick reply. But it's clear he also loves Gotham, otherwise he would have left a long time ago and taken his business with him. Gotham is home. It's in his blood.

"It's been more than a few years. Where've you been spending your time?"

"Oh, you know. Here and there." Vagueness has been her bread and butter since she was a kid. Plenty of cops in Gotham were too damn tired to put up with it, and more inclined to get distracted for a minute so she could disappear.

"Saw your name in the papers, a few times. Must be good to be in control of your company." She knows Bruce was investigating his, back home - but this is home now. There's no point thinking about him.

He could press her for a more complete answer but he already knows the basic details. Keeping himself from watching her journey too closely has been a difficult task, the inherent instinct to protect her still very much alive and well. So he lets the comment slide, accepting it as enough for now.

A short walk away is a modern Benz gullwing. No vintage automobiles for them today. "Don't believe everything you read. I never lost control."

She doesn't wonder about the differences - he's not the Bruce she watched obsess over the fine details of his board of directors. Instead, she makes a quiet noise in the back of her throat, acknowledging noncommittally.

"Yeah, you don't seem the type."

When she spots the car, Selina shakes her head as she whistles. "At least you still have a sense of style." When they reach it she stops, pulling her arm from his so she can face him, leaning against the Benz. "Where you headed?"

It's her way of making herself clear: just because she's back doesn't mean things will go back to the way they were.

He would never presume. Especially after the way in which they parted. But if he were just seeing her again for the first time in many years, he would be struck by the changes that have taken place. She's grown into a confident young woman. Gone is the teenager just scraping by. He can't say he expected anything less. "Back to the office. Can I drop you someplace?"

He still has her shoes.

Sometimes you have to leave home to grow up. Sometimes you have to get trapped in an alternate universe. Maybe it was a little of column A, a little of column B for Selina. A smirk quirks the corner of her mouth; she seems satisfied with his answer.

That doesn't stop her from leaning forward to pluck the bag from him.

"You could. Or you could blow off the office, and I'll let you buy me lunch."

Her smirk is familiar and disarming so the bag slips out of his possession with ease. He was half hoping she would forget about the footwear, giving him an excuse in the future to return them.

"That's very generous of you," he teases, reaching into his pocket to click a button. The doors of the gullwing begin to swing upward and open. "Chinese?"

There's still a chance: depending on lunch, Selina half intends to leave them in his car. She's gotten better at that, in general - at not feeling like she has to cling to what little she has, at adjusting on the fly and not being angry with everyone around her when she's really just angry at herself.

Okay. She's still working on that last part.

When the car doors begin to open, Selina just laughs. She doesn't say wow, seriously, doesn't roll her eyes at him. She just gives him a look, and lets that say it all.

"Chinese. Chicago can't make decent lo mein to save their lives."

Boys grow up but they still enjoy their toys. Her laughter and look make him smile. It isn't the well practiced pretend smile he gave the clerk. It's an honest smile that touches his eyes.

He slides in behind the wheel but takes a second to text his secretary about his change in plans before pulling out into traffic. It's less than a five minute drive to a hole in the wall mom and pop restaurant. They've missed the lunch crowd by an hour so the place is practically empty. The owner greets them at the door, speaking enthusiastically in Mandarin. Bruce replies in the same language before he shows them to the table in the back. The menu has no English translations.

Ah. There's the real Bruce. Seeing his smile makes hers soften, just a little, just around the edges. It suddenly feels easier - like she was telling herself what is, is, but now she believes it.

The ride is too short, and she decides that, if not today, at some point she is going to drive this car down a straightaway at much too high a speed. It'll be worth having to cry her way out of a ticket.

The conversation that follows just gets a raised eyebrow from Selina, and she only glances at the menu before snorting at Bruce. "Gee, why didn't I think to teach myself Chinese?" She knows a handful of words and phrases - enough to follow the gist of their conversation, if not the details - just from growing up in about as diverse and area as Gotham gets, but she's not about to tell him that, yet.

It has an insane top speed. She'll enjoy every second of it.

"I know it doesn't look like much but the food is good." He was about to say 'authentic' but that's not really why he comes. The food is good and the owners treat him well, leaving him alone when he wants to be alone. He's never brought a date or business here. He picks up his chair and walks it around the table. Placing it beside her, he takes a seat at her shoulder. Then he proceeds to walk her through the menu systematically. "Or," he finishes, "just ask them for anything. The cook likes a challenge."

"You don't have to explain a hole in the wall to me, Bruce." She practically grew up around them, after all - stealing from some, patronizing others. When he joins her on her side of the table she watches him, eyes sharp and unblinking. There are a lot of reasons people call her Cat.

She lets him go through the menu, though she's only half paying attention: the food doesn't really matter to her. Being back in Gotham matters. And maybe hanging out with Bruce Wayne again matters, but only a little. She won't let herself admit to much else.

"I like being challenging." That seals it: screw the menu. Bring on the dim sum.

The scrutiny doesn't seem to bother him, although he's acutely aware of it. His actions are strictly gentlemanly, close but not invasive.

He had a feeling she'd say that and he can actually find the statement amusing now. Five years does a lot for sharpening a man's perspective. Once they've ordered, he scoots back and cocks his chair so he can sit face to face again with her, the table at his elbow. "What else doesn't Chicago do well?"

There are plenty of people she wouldn't have allowed to get as close as this, but Bruce Wayne - just about any Bruce Wayne, it seems - is rarely one of those people.

"Pizza." The answer comes immediately, with raised eyebrows. Chicago should not be allowed to make pizza at all. She cocks her head to the side, shrugging one shoulder. "But Metropolis managed that okay. You didn't tell me I had aliens to look out for."

"Didn't realize I needed to." There might be one person who lives in a cliff monastery in some remote corner of the world who doesn't know about Superman. His good deeds, death, and resurrection were splashed all over network television, newspapers, and social media. Her comment does drive home a particular point. A lot has happened in the world since they last saw each other.

"Chicago. Metropolis. Sounds like you traveled a lot." He has a hard time imagining Selina calling anyplace but Gotham home.

She lets it go rather than pointing out that for all the freaky shit back home, aliens weren't among them; five years has been enough to make it clear that this is home, now, and everything from before has been relegated to memory.

It hasn't been so bad: she already had to do it with her mother.

Leaning forward, one elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, she gives him a lopsided smile. "Never made it to Miami. Thought I'd see if there were any Falcones down there." It had been a passing thought at best, and she'd made it to Baltimore before bailing on the plan. Selina's loyalties had never been tied to the don - hell, she'd helped Fish try to kill him.

She's past hitching her cart to whatever rising criminal star comes up on Gotham.

"Gotham's got something nowhere else does, though."

He's far too taken with that lopsided smile right up until she drops the "F" bomb. In this case, Falcone. He tenses but tries not to let the surprise creep into his expression. The last remaining Falcone family members have been dead for years but their lives were a blight on Gotham. Not one of them turned out well. Everyone and everything they touched went to hell. He's glad she never followed up on that plan.

"Oh? What's that?" He'd like for her to say 'you' but he's not getting his hopes up.

She can see the tension creep into his shoulders, even if he keeps it from his face. Her smile just turns a little wry. "Relax, B. Just putting pieces together." Finding faces, names she recognized - it was a part of getting a lay of the land, here. A very, very weird part, but an important one. She's not looking to stand in anyone's shadow again - not Falcone, not Fish, not Penguin. And look at her luck: two of them aren't even players in the game, anymore.

Saying you would be too obvious, so of course she doesn't. But she doesn't have to: the look she gives him is fond and teasing, like she knows exactly what he wants her to say, and that's why she won't.

"Nostalgia." Her mouth quirks into a smirk. "And some well priced real estate."

The answer doesn't please him. No, it saddens him. She's come back to do what she does best. Steal. He's going to watch her walk down those same roads, make the same mistakes, piss off the wrong people. Will they chase each other on rooftops after burglaries? Will they fall into the same patterns of flirtation? Will they ever be on the same side?

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I own a lot of real estate in Gotham," he points out. Is she going to rob him too?

"I bet you do." Her eyes are bright, excited even, and it's not just because she's back in town, or finally seeing him. She's always liked doing something unexpected. "I was thinking of buying a bar."

Fish had her place, and then Penguin made it his - she used to think it was a lot of work for not a lot of reason, when she was a kid. Now, Selina sees it for what it can be: a home base, a place to sift information in and out.

A place to carve as her own, to belong.

"Know any good agents who work the Narrows?"

for bought_the_bank

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