The love you give away

by Bruja_oscura

Summary:

After Jason, there were rules. No more children. No more promises that could shatter. They were done. For Selina, that meant building walls around a heart that had already broken too many times. For Bruce, it meant drowning his grief in the shadows of Gotham's endless night.

It was a shame neither of them were good at following rules, even if it were their own, and that they both shared a bad habit of collecting strays.

(Or: the story of how Bruce and Selina came to adopt Cass, and how they chose each other again along the way.)

Notes:

Hello my loves, I'm back! ♡
Just a quick note: this story is part of a series and serves as a prequel to my other two fics, but it can absolutely be read on its own. That said, if you're craving more Batfamily feels from this AU, I'd love it if you checked out the rest.

Fun fact: this entire chapter was plotted during my 40 minute/1 hour university commute. My brain refused to think about anything else, so I came home and poured it all out. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

The warm sun spilled through the windows, a lazy, golden haze that painted Bruce’s room in a soft, forgiving light. She loved being here, in this instant of time where nothing else mattered, where everything was possible, where she let herself feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Here in the space she’d unofficially claimed as her own over the past year, her apartment mostly abandoned these days. Though the room smelled mostly of him—sandalwood, old books, and the crisp, clean scent of Gotham at dawn—it was slowly accepting her presence, too. A silk robe draped over a chair, a pair of her earrings on the nightstand, half of her makeup next to his austere skincare creams, a good part of her wardrobe now sharing the vast space of his closet.

This was the longest they had ever stuck together, and they had been content, happy even. They were starting to learn, day by day, how to keep their walls down without feeling the immediate, panicked urge to rebuild them.

Selina lay nestled against Bruce’s side, her head on his chest, listening to the steady, solid rhythm of his heart while one of his arms was wrapped around her, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare shoulder. It was a rare moment of pure, unguarded peace, the kind that only came after a night spent running across rooftops, a shared exhaustion that left them both pleasantly drained. They had just woken up, and by the sheer amount of light flooding the room it was closer to midday than dawn. The boys, despite having stayed up late themselves and having no school today, would surely soon begin to wreak their particular brand of havoc through the manor, never able to stay quiet in one place for long. So she treasured this fragile peace, this suspended silence, for as long as it would last.

“You took both my boys from me,” Bruce murmured, his voice a low, sleep-roughened rumble against her hair.

A slow, feline smile touched Selina’s lips. She tilted her head back to look at him. “Did I now?”

“I’m very upset about it.”

She chuckled, a soft, breathy sound. “I’m sure you are, Bat.”

But the content smile on his face betrayed him, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was a sight that still sent a warm, unfamiliar thrill through her. This version of Bruce—relaxed, almost playful—was one only a handful of people ever saw.

“Dick is agile and witty and sarcastic and charismatic no matter how many times I tell him to better keep it quiet in the suit,” he listed, his tone light with feigned accusation. “And Jason prefers to pick pockets and blend in with the Gotham underworld. It's like I didn't raise them at all.”

“Mmm, maybe you have a point, they do tell me constantly that you are kind of boring,” Selina conceded, her own smile turning wry at the indignant puff of air he let go. She reached up, her fingers gently smoothing the furrow that had begun to form on his brow. “But physically, they are all yours, and don’t get me started on your temper, is like living with grumpy bears.” She let out an exaggerated sigh, her touch lingering. “But really, with how uncanny alike all of you are, I’d believe you if you told me you grew them in a lab, especially Jay.” And damn if that wasn’t the unchangeable truth.

The socialites of Gotham still whispered that Jason was Bruce’s biological son with some low-life woman from the East End, the official adoption just a convenient cover-up. It was a theory Jason, in his more rebellious moods, seemed to secretly relish. He was, after all, a perfect vessel for the Wayne intensity, with his broad shoulders and stormy expressions. Even as a teenager, he was getting bigger by the hour, almost as tall as Selina already. She was sure he would grow up to be Bruce’s mirror image in both form and fury, but even now, he was the sweetest boy she had ever met.

Bruce hummed, his gaze drifting to the sun-drenched windows as if lost in thought. Selina kept caressing his face, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw, memorizing the feel of his skin under her fingertips, wanting to brand this moment into her memory forever. She analyzed every little detail—the faint scar near his temple, the way his dark lashes cast soft shadows, the quiet intensity that settled over his features when he was turning something over in his mind.

Then he looked at her, and the intensity in his eyes shifted into something softer, but no less fierce. It was a look, she had learned, that meant he was working through something important, something closer to his heart than any case file. And she loved him enough to be patient, to give him all the time he needed to order his thoughts.

Just when she was sure he wasn't going to say anything else, he spoke, his hand coming up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Maybe we'll just need a little girl that looks just like you but acts like me, then." His voice didn't tremble when he spoke, and he had far too much control over his heartbeat to let it race when he was nervous, but she could tell anyway. She was paying very close attention to his eyes, after all.

The statement was so unexpectedly wistful, so un-Batman-like, that Selina’s heart gave a tender, almost painful squeeze. She laughed, a little breathless, a little less in control than him, and far too surprised to feel anything else yet. “You want a little girl?" she asked, propping herself up on an elbow to study his face more comfortably, her own expression a mixture of wonder and fear, fascinated by this side of him.

His blue eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were soft as they met hers. “Don’t you?”

The air shifted with the realisation that he was being completely serious. The playful banter evaporated, leaving something fragile and significant in its wake. Selina’s breath caught in her throat as she carefully studied his face, searching for any hint of a joke. “Bruce…,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What are you asking?”

He held her gaze, his expression open and terrifyingly sincere. “I- Would it be so bad? If we didn't stop with the boys?" His thumb stroked her cheek, a slow, grounding caress that sent a shiver through her. She felt her entire body getting warmer and warmer, her pulse getting dangerously quick, a frantic flutter against her ribs that she was sure he could feel.

“What if we… planned one?" he continued, his voice dropping to that low, intimate rumble that was for her alone. "One made of the two of us.”

The world seemed to tilt. A child. A real, planned, theirs-from-the-beginning child. Someone they could take care of in every stage of their life, someone they could watch learn to walk, learn to speak. The thought was a tidal wave of conflicting emotions. A primal, thrilling hope surged through her, so potent it stole her breath. To have a piece of him, of them, woven together from the start. To build a life that wasn’t just patched together from broken pieces.

She waited, bracing for the cold, suffocating sensation of too-much too-fast, of feeling cornered, of not being able to breathe. The phantom sensation of a chain, a cage. But surprisingly, it never came. There was just the normal, almost unbearable, fear she felt every time she let herself think too much about kids, about Jason and Dick, about the immense, terrifying place they already occupied in her life. And the memory that always came with it: her own body, young and terrified in a cold clinic, making a choice that had haunted her for years. The guilt of that decision, a ghost she’d learned to live with, now whispered that she didn’t deserve this. That her hands, made for stealing and fighting, weren’t meant for cradling something so innocent.

But in the safest place she had found since she was a child, she let herself begging to fall, she let herself imagine it, hope for it. Could they truly hold a new life without breaking it?

“I…” she began, her voice shaky. “I never thought… I never let myself think…”

“I know,” he said softly, understanding her better than anyone in her life before. He knew, after all. He knew what she’d been through in her childhood, had been there for some of it, and he knew what had happened to her, what she had had to do. And still. “Neither did I. Not until you. Not until… this.” His gesture encompassed the room, the manor, the two boys sleeping down the hall—the fragile, beautiful life they were building together.

And in that quiet confession, Selina felt the sharp edges of her fear begin to soften—not vanish, but soothed by the sheer force of his certainty. The idea, once given voice, felt less like a threat and more like a possibility. And wasn't that something? She was so accustomed to standing alone, to facing the world with only her own wit and will. But so was he, and here he was, offering her a chance at something deeper, even when he had already given her so much. So, for the first time in her life, Selina Kyle allowed herself to truly dream.

“We’re not even married,” she pointed out, the words a necessary anchor to reality. “We’re just finding our footing. And our jobs, Bruce… they’re not exactly safe. Do you really think it’s wise to bring a child into our world?”

He watched her, his gaze steady and impossibly calm. “Do you want to get married?”

The question struck her with the force of a physical blow. Her mind went blank. The warm, hopeful haze of moments before shattered, replaced by a cold, suffocating sensation that tightened around her throat. “Bruce-”

He didn’t let her finish. “I’m not proposing,” he clarified, his voice low and even. “I’m asking if it’s something you would want. If it’s something that interests you.”

Selina focused on drawing a slow, deliberate breath, forcing air past the constriction in her chest. She concentrated on the feel of his hand on her skin, using it as a tether as she wrestled the panic into submission. She looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of expectation, and found only a deep, genuine curiosity. He truly just wanted to know her answer, to understand if the woman who had always prized her freedom above all else still felt the same.

After a long moment, the tension in her shoulders eased. "My opinion hasn't changed since the last time we talked about this." It was strange how the thought of having a child with this man didn't stir even a fraction of the panic that the idea of marriage did—even though he was the love of her life. Perhaps it was the ghost of her parents' disastrous relationship, the memory of her mother's life and what it might have been without the burden of a husband. But she didn't want to dwell on that now, not when this fragile hope was beginning to bloom.

When he simply smiled and caressed her cheek, she was profoundly grateful that he understood. That in all the ways they didn't work out, that they lashed out at each other and were so fundamentally different, in this, at least, he didn't push her.

“And about bringing someone into our world,” Bruce began again, his voice a low, steady rumble that held no pressure, only a quiet resolve. He shifted, his hand moving from her cheek to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling gently in her hair. “We’ll just work to make it safer. It’s what we do. The rest… the risks… I find I can’t bring myself to care about them, not when I…” He trailed off, his gaze growing distant for a moment before finding hers again, more intense. “I look at Jay, or at Dick, and it feels like I’ve loved them my entire life. Like I’ve known them forever.”

He paused, and Selina watched the struggle in his eyes, the way he searched for words to describe a feeling so profound it defied language. “But then one of them will mention something—a birthday party at Haly’s, a street game Jason played in the Alley—and it… it hits me.” His thumb stroked her temple in a soothing, rhythmic motion. “There’s a part of their lives I don’t own. I get… frustrated. A little jealous, if I’m being honest.” The admission was a soft exhale; a confession he’d never voice to anyone else. “I wasn’t there for their first words. I didn’t hold them when they were small enough to fit in the crook of my arm. And I… I want that.”

His eyes, usually so guarded, were completely open, the blue of them deep and clear. “I want that with you, Selina. To have it all, from the very beginning. Dick… he was the one who taught me I didn’t have to be alone in this big, empty house. That a family could be built, not just inherited or lost. And then Jason, and you… you made that foundation solid. You made me believe we could actually do it. You made me want more.”

Selina was utterly still, mesmerized. This was the longest, most vulnerable monologue she had ever heard from him, a torrent of feeling from a man who usually spoke in clipped sentences and tactical commands. It was true they were getting better at this—at talking instead of fighting, at touching without it leading to a chase—but the raw honesty in his voice, the sheer magnitude of what he was offering, stole the air from her lungs.

She saw it so clearly then: The Gotham shadows that usually clung to him had receded in this sunlit sanctuary, leaving behind the man he was still learning to be—a man who dreamed aloud. This was a far cry from the fortress-hearted vigilante, she had met all those years ago, who had once seen family as the ultimate vulnerability. Dick had make sure to chiseled the first crack in those walls, and Jason had widened it with his fierce, stubborn heart. Now Bruce was asking her to help him build something new and beautiful in the space that was left.

A feeling, fragile and precious as spun glass, settled in her chest. Selina knew the weight of a good thing when she held it, and this—this—felt like the greatest treasure she’d ever claimed. She held her breath, half-afraid that the wrong move, the wrong word, would shatter the delicate peace they were weaving around themselves.

She was so overwhelmed that the only answer she could give him was a kiss.

It was a soft, deep, and lingering press of her lips to his, a silent seal on the promise he had laid bare. Her hands came up to frame his jaw, her touch both gentle and certain, pouring every ounce of her own tangled hope and fierce, staggering love into the connection. When she finally pulled back, resting her forehead against his, her breath was unsteady, but the panic was gone. In its place was a quiet, resolute warmth. She didn't need to say anything. He would feel it in her touch, see it in her eyes. He would understand. He was good at it, at least with her.

"Let me think about it, okay?" she softly murmured against his lips, her voice barely a whisper. "I- I'm not saying no, but, god Bruce, it's a pretty big thought. This would change our life forever."

"I know," he conceded, his own voice a low hum of understanding. He didn't push, his hand simply moving to rest on the small of her back, a steady, grounding pressure. "But we already have two teenage boys in the house who are bound to us for the rest of our lives. How different could it really be?"

She deliberately ignored the plural in that sentence—the implicit our, the thought of Dick and Jay being hers in the same irrevocable way they were his. She couldn't dwell on it, not when she still sometimes felt like she was playing pretend, like when she attended a parent-teacher conference or when one of them came to her with a problem instead of Bruce, it felt like walking in another woman's shoes. So she concentrated on what she could control, the practicalities a safer harbor than the storm of her emotions.

"I don't even live here, not officially," she pointed out, her brow furrowing slightly. "Do you want me to move in?"

But Bruce shook his head, a small, tender smile touching his lips as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. "I'm not saying right now. We'll go as slow as we need. This…" he gestured between them, encompassing the entire conversation, "…is just something I wanted you to know was in my heart." He held her gaze, his eyes utterly sincere. "And for the record, if this—you, me, the boys, exactly as we are—is all you will ever want, I'll be more than content. I already am. They are no less my sons just because they aren't biologically mine. Is like you said, is just a pretty big though that I have, that's all."

And once again, Selina felt a wave of emotion so potent it threatened to undo her—not from the dream of a future child, but from the man before her. He was giving her a choice, with no expectations and no pressure. He was offering her his deepest hope while simultaneously vowing that her 'no' would never diminish what they already had. In a life built on taking what she wanted, someone giving her the space to simply be, to decide, to breathe, was the most breathtaking thing she had ever experienced. He respected her, her pace, and her heart, and in that moment, she felt more seen and loved than ever before.

He was prepared to set this dream aside, just for her. No one had ever loved her with such selfless, unwavering respect. And so, tentatively, she let herself imagine more. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, resting her head against his temple, and the images came, unbidden and vivid. She imagined the irrevocable change in her body, not as a cage, but as a testament to something they had created together. She pictured Bruce, his large, capable hands—hands that could break bone and calibrate supercomputers—trembling with a different kind of intensity as they rested on the swell of her stomach, his voice a low, awed rumble speaking to the life growing within.

She saw herself, no longer just Selina Kyle or Catwoman, but something more, something anchored. She envisioned lazy mornings in this very room, propped up by pillows, feeling a tiny foot press against her ribs while Bruce read case files aloud in a voice meant only for them. She could almost hear the chaos that would follow—Dick, with his effortless grace, swooping in to steal the baby, spinning around the room in a gentle, acrobatic dance that would make her laugh until she cried. And Jason—her fiercely loving, big-hearted boy—wouldn't even try to hide his wonder. He'd be the first to curl up beside her on the bed, as he so often does, his head gently resting against her shoulder as he traced a single, reverent finger over a tiny, perfect hand, his usual bravado melted away into pure, unguarded adoration.

But the most powerful image was of herself, in the deep quiet of the night, holding a swaddled infant in her arms, just her and her baby. She imagined looking down into a tiny face, into eyes that would look back at her with an absolute, unshakable trust. The thought of that complete and total dependence—of a life that would rely on her for everything, that would see her not as a thief or a vigilante, but simply as Mom—should have been terrifying. Yet, instead of feeling the old, familiar panic, a profound sense of calm settled over the vision. It felt like a purpose. It felt like coming home. For the first time, the idea of being someone's entire world didn't feel like a cage; it felt like the ultimate freedom.

It was a future so tender, so full of a messy, vibrant love, that it made her chest ache with a sweet, sharp longing. It was a happiness she didn't know what to do with, a gift she was only now allowing herself to unwrap.

So for once, she decided to silence the cold whisper in the back of her mind, the one that always warned her that good things were never meant for her, that they would be ripped away. For once, she chose to believe that this dream, this man, this family, could be hers to keep.

A slow, genuine smile spread across her face, one that reached her eyes and softened all her sharp edges. She leaned in and captured his lips with hers once more, a kiss full of promise and nascent hope.

“It's not a no," she repeated against his cheek, her voice thick with emotion. “just… let me get used to the idea, Okay?"

It was the most hopeful thing she could offer him.

They lay there in silence for a long moment, bathed in the hopeful morning light, letting the impossible, beautiful idea settle around them. The future, for once, didn’t look like a threat. It looked like a choice. Their choice. It was as if their lives were finally finding a happy rhythm, a gentle melody after years of dissonance and pain. And Selina, with her hand resting over his heart, thought that yes, she just might be ready to walk this new path beside him. For the first time, the road ahead seemed paved with light, not shadows.

It was in that perfect, suspended second of hope—the very second she truly believed in their happy ending—that fate, with its impeccable timing, intervened.

A loud, impatient knock rattled the door, followed by Jason’s unmistakable, vibrant voice. “Selina! You awake? You promised we would go to the shelter before lunch! It opens in an hour. No backing out!”

Bruce’s head fell back against the pillows with a soft thud. He turned his gaze to her, one eyebrow arched in a look of pure, theatrical accusation. “You promised my sons a pet?”

Selina laughed, the sound real and free, the heavy conversation momentarily shelved but not forgotten. A seed had been planted. She swung her legs out of bed, reaching for her robe. “You know how I am with strays, Bruce. I can’t help but love them. And it’ll be good for the boys. Teach them responsibility.”

“The last thing any of them needs is to learn more responsibilities,” he grumbled, but there was no real heat in it, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It’ll just be more work for Alfred.”

“A child can’t grow up without an animal,” she declared, tying the silk sash with a flourish. “And it’s not like you don’t have the means to take care of one more creature in this cavernous manor.”

As she moved toward the bathroom to get ready, Bruce sighed, a long-suffering sound that was completely betrayed by the fondness in his eyes. “You do know they are going to choose a dog, don’t you?”

Selina paused at the doorway. As a creature of feline grace herself, she held a quiet hope for a kindred spirit—a sleek, independent cat that wouldn't disrupt the manor's delicate equilibrium. But she knew, with absolute certainty, that the boys would be drawn to the creature that was the polar opposite: A dog. A loud, slobbering, endlessly energetic dog that would track mud across the Persian rugs and whose barking would echo through the marble halls. And the thought, instead of annoying her, filled her with a surge of affection. If a chaotic, messy dog was what would make her boys happy, then a chaotic, messy dog is exactly what they would get.

She placed a hand on her heart, her expression one of mock suffering. “Ay, the things one does for love.”

She winked, and then she was gone, leaving Bruce alone in the sunlit room with the ghost of their shared future hanging in the air and the imminent reality of a new, four-legged, undoubtedly canine resident for Wayne Manor.

True to Bruce's words, they had gotten a dog. Jason had picked him—a scrappy, bright-eyed pup whose lanky limbs and intelligent gaze already looked suspiciously like those of a German Shepherd—so he got to name him. Dick, deep in his angsty teen years, didn't give the puppy much attention, or to any of them really, which left Jason as the principal owner. Bruce, of course, had immediately instituted a rigorous training regimen, and even Selina had to admit it was adorable to watch the boy and the puppy learn commands together. The pup, who Jason had solemnly named 'Ace', was already proving to be fiercely loyal, a trait she noted with a fond, approving smile. It was a beautiful beginning, a new thread woven into the fabric of their growing family.

It was a shame that in the end, Jason would never get to grow up with Ace, or with any of them, for that matter.

And the dream they had woven in the sunlight—of a little girl, of a future built from the very beginning—would shatter into a thousand irretrievable pieces, scattered by a crowbar's blow in a dusty warehouse. Broken, never to be touched or spoken of again, a fragile hope buried with a boy in a coffin, its ghost haunting the silence that grew between them like a chasm that would eventually unmade them. The silence that was a physical presence, a thick, suffocating shroud that settled over Gotham and seeped into the very stones of Wayne Manor.

And in that silence, Selina drowned.

The loss changed them irrevocably. The tentative trust they had learned, the careful lowering of guards, the brave, vulnerable spaces they had carved out for each other's hearts—all of it sealed shut, replaced by fortifications built from fresh pain. They could not survive the magnitude of this grief as a unit; it shattered them apart instead, each retreating into their own solitary hell. Bruce became a stranger. His grief was a black hole, a riptide that didn't just pull him under, but actively pushed her away. In his obsessive, solitary mission, she saw the corpse of the man who had whispered about family in the sunlight. Selina had lost her son, and in the process, she had lost the man she loved. The one person she thought understood the fractured pieces of her had proven that, in the face of a loss this profound, no one had anyone's back.

Because Bruce hadn't just lost a son; he had lost the version of himself that was capable of dreaming about a happy family, about a future that held something more than his mission. The openness that Dick had nurtured and Jason had strengthened was cauterized shut, replaced by an impenetrable darkness that would define the Batman his future children would first come to know. Alongside the boy, he lost the very capacity to believe in a happy ending. Selina understood his pain, felt it, every day, a brutal kind of hell that poison her bones, a pain that rewrote her entire nervous system —but understanding wasn't a bridge; it was just another shared, suffocating prison. She had tried, God knows she had tried, to be an anchor in his storm, but his grief was a riptide that pulled them both under, and to survive, she had to let go.

Losing Jason was an amputation. He had been hers in a way that was fiercely personal, a mirror of her own wild, damaged youth that she had sworn to protect. When she had finally began to embrace the title, the place she occupied in his life, when she began to feel the weight and wonder of being someone's mother, this was the universe's retribution. She had been incapable of protecting her sweet, fierce boy who only ever wanted to help, who had been lured and manipulated by the worst man—if you could even call him that—she had ever known.

And now he was gone.

Selina would never see the unique, stormy blue of his eyes again, never watch them crinkle with a timid, genuine smile meant only for her. She would never know if he would have grown to be Bruce's mirror in form and fury, or if the soft-hearted boy she knew would have softened his edges. She would never hear his voice again—not his boisterous laughter echoing through the Cave, nor the quiet, hesitant tone he used when he sought her out for advice. She would never again feel the solid, reassuring weight of him leaning against her side during a movie, or have to patch up a scrape he tried to hide, or smell the familiar scent of Gotham rain and minty shampoo on his jacket. The agony was so profound it became a physical law: she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think.

And this loss came accompanied with the brutal annihilation of the future she had, for one glorious, foolish moment, allowed herself to want. The dream of a daughter, of a life built with Bruce from the ground up, hadn't just died; it felt like a cosmic punishment for her audacity to hope. The message was seared into her soul: love was not a shelter; it was the weapon that would be used to destroy you. To survive, she had to build her walls higher than ever. She would never give the universe that kind of power over her again. She would love, but from a distance, with an escape route always clear.

And in that all-consuming darkness, in her grief, she had failed Dick. Just like Bruce had. The boy who had just lost his brother was left to navigate the ruins of his family alone, while the two people who were supposed to be his anchors sank in their own private oceans of sorrow. Bruce vanished into his mission, a wraith of vengeance, and Selina retreated into the shadows, a ghost of the woman she’d been. She ached for Dick, a constant, dull pain beneath the sharper agony of losing Jason, but the simple truth was a shard of glass in her throat: she had nothing left to give him.

Her own wounds were too deep, too raw, and the well from which she might have drawn comfort was utterly, terrifyingly dry. The only thing left to her was a silent, desperate plea sent into the void—a hope that Bruce, in whatever fractured state he existed, would remember the son who was still breathing. It was a failure of the heart so profound that years later, the memory would rise like a specter, making her question if she had any right to the title Dick would one day offer her. How could she be his mother when, in his darkest hour, she had been just another adult who abandoned him?

The awful truth, the one that would haunt the empty halls of the manor for years to come, was this: when death had come for one of their own, their family hadn't stood united. It had shattered. And every broken piece, sharp and bleeding, had been left to fend for itself.

Maybe it was for the best, she thought, the realization a bitter poison seeping into her veins, that they never tried to build anything new again. If their lost could so completely blind them to the suffering of their first son, what hope was there for a more fragile dream? No, it was better to let it all die here, with Jason. To bury the future alongside the boy. It was the only way to be sure they would never fail anyone else so catastrophically again.

And so the wound was left open between them—a raw, weeping scar that would never truly heal. A permanent monument to their beautiful, stolen boy, and to the love that had proven, in the end, too fragile to hold.

Notes:

I probably should have been doing the mountain of work I have due, most of it to next week, if not this Friday. This includes five different maps with their respective papers, a timeline spanning three millennia, a presentation on Norwegian economics, studying for two exams, and the cheerful, early onset of finals preparation.
What did I do instead?
I wrote this.
I hope you loved reading it as much as I loved procrastinating by writing it. xx

Chapter 2

Notes:

So, apparently the AO3 author curse is real, because I wrote this to distract myself while my dad was in surgery (he has brain cancer, which he didn't have before I thought about writing fanfics, but hey, apparently it's all going well). (Cue me sobbing a little as I type this.) (hence the reason I took so long to write the second part)

On a slightly less emotionally charged note, I have absolutely loved exploring this dynamic. I adore Selina with my whole heart, and getting to delve into this pivotal moment for her and Bruce has been my comfort.

This ended up being more than twice as long as the first chapter, whoops. I hope you enjoyed this emotional rollercoaster as much as I needed to write it.

Thank you for reading. <3

Life was unexpected, full of surprises, good and bad, and sometimes, things did not always go the way you wanted them. This, Selina had learned across her life. If she were a little younger, a little more naive, perhaps she would try to go against the current. But she was far too tired to fight the universe at this point.

And so, a year after swearing she would never be responsible for a child again, she found herself making breakfast for a fourteen-year-old. Sunlight, a rare and defiantly golden commodity in Gotham, streamed through her penthouse windows, Up here, above the perpetual grey clouds, the morning light glinted off the sleek, modern surfaces, warming the air..

"You're burning them," a sleepy voice mumbled from the kitchen island.

Selina glanced over her shoulder, a familiar, easy affection warming her chest. Tim Drake, already dressed for school, was slumped on a stool, his hair a charming mess. Like this, he looked his age for once, not like the brilliant, obsessive detective who had reassembled the shattered pieces of their family and handed them back, a fragile, glued-together whole. A child who had seen a man drowning and, instead of looking for an adult, had decided to become the life raft himself. The thought still made her chest ache with a mixture of awe and sorrow.

"I am not burning them," she retorted, flipping a pancake. "This is called 'caramelization.' It's for sophisticated palates." She slid a perfectly golden disc onto a plate before him. "Something you’d know nothing about, given your unwavering allegiance to cereal that turns the milk a radioactive blue."

A faint, genuine smile touched Tim’s lips. “It’s efficient. And Alfred isn’t here to judge me for it,” he said, as if the thought of eating such a thing under her roof was ever a possibility.

“Alfred would have a quiet, very British aneurysm if he saw you pouring that sugar-loaded sawdust into a bowl,” she said, leaning against the counter. Her gaze softened. “Now eat. I know they’re not his, but I tried. And you have that physics midterm today, so you’ll need more than blue milk to power that brain of yours."

"Thanks, Selina," he said, the smile reaching his eyes this time. "I mean it. I love your cooking."

A low, pleased purr rumbled in her chest. "I love when you lie so prettily to make me happy," she murmured, leaning over to press a firm kiss into his messy hair. The gesture was still a conscious rebellion against the part of her that had wanted to curl up and die after Jason. This boy, with his too-old eyes and his easy trust, had been her lifeline. He was the one good, pure thing to emerge from the ashes, living proof that her capacity to love hadn't been entirely extinguished.

Maybe this was the universe's answer, she mused, turning back to the stove. Maybe it wasn't trying to punish her, but to show her a path she'd been too blind to see. If motherhood wasn't for her, it wouldn't keep sending her these stray kittens. Tim, especially, felt like a direct rebuttal to all her doubts. He needed her, and in the simple, terrifying act of showing up for him, she had found a strength she didn't know she possessed. If only she had shown the same maturity with Dick months ago, when he was the one lost and grieving, when he had needed a parent.

The thought was a fresh wave of guilt, cold and sharp. But what was done, was done. She had failed one boy at his lowest. She would not fail another.

"Alfred texted," Tim announced, reaching for the syrup she kept stocked exclusively for him.  "He wants to know if you're joining us for dinner at the manor tonight."

Selina placed a bowl of fresh berries between them. "Are you asking, or is Alfred conducting a diplomatic mission via my favorite messenger?"

"A bit of both?" He offered a small, knowing look. "I think he's trying to make sure you and Bruce actually talk about my patrol schedule instead of just… you know. Communicating in intense, silent stares until one of you caves."

She let out a soft, real laugh, the sound feeling good in the sunlit room. She plated her own, much smaller stack of pancakes and came to sit on the stool opposite him. "We don't 'intensely stare.'"

"You absolutely do. It's very dramatic. All brooding and narrowed eyes." He took a large, happy bite. "But it's okay. I know it's… complicated." He watched her then with a focused intensity that was so like Bruce it sometimes stole her breath. Was it not possible for the universe to give them a child who wasn't a perfect, miniature clone of the man?

The word hung in the air between them. Complicated was a pale, bloodless term for the chasm of grief and love that separated her from Bruce. She loved him with a ferocity that scared her, a love that had become a dangerous thing. Together, in their shared sorrow, they were a vortex of pain, pulling each other under.

"You know," Selina remarked, sliding a fresh cup of coffee toward herself, deftly steering the subject onto safer, sweeter ground, "Alfred would have a minor stroke if he saw the syrup-cake ratio you’ve got going on there. He trusts me to feed you correctly."

“Alfred isn’t here,” Tim said, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. “It’s the one advantage of staying at Mom’s place. Lower syrup surveillance.” Selina skillfully ignored the sudden, quiet lurch of her heart, a bittersweet stumble at the casual title—even as part of their harmless banter, the word never failed to send a fragile thrill through her, quickly followed by the ghost of a guilt she couldn't quite name. The memory of Jason was a fresh wound, a constant, aching presence. She saw him sometimes in the line of Tim's jaw, heard his laugh in the silence of her penthouse. Tim took another bite, savoring it. “Besides, this is the good stuff. The real maple syrup. You have better taste than Bruce.”

“In all things, baby bird,” she said, her smile turning wry as she started on her own food. “Don’t you ever forget it."

Their arrangement was strange, she knew. A shared custody agreement for a teenage vigilante they’d never planned on, born from a fracture so deep neither she nor Bruce knew how to bridge it. It was a pact forged in the silent understanding that this child had already shouldered enough of their burdens. They had failed Jason; they had failed Dick in their grief; they would not fail Tim by letting him continue to play the savior. He needed parents, not people to manage. Sometimes, Bruce's fortune had its unique advantages; the sheer, audacious force of Wayne wealth and legal influence had somehow managed to weave a highly unconventional co-parenting agreement, granting them shared legal custody of Tim despite not being a couple, married, or even living under the same roof. And against all odds, it had become an excellent arrangement, a fragile life raft in the stormy sea of their shared history. 

“He was out late,” the teen mentioned, his tone a little too casual to be anything but deliberate, with his eyes back on his tablet and his carefully neutral tone. “Even for him. The comms were quiet after 2 AM. Oracle said he was running a solo op in the Bowery."

A familiar, cold knot tightened in Selina’s stomach, a phantom echo of a pain that never truly faded. The Bowery. It was always the places that smelled of Jason, that echoed with the ghost of his laughter and his rage. Bruce’s grief was a silent, prowling beast, a shadow that seemed to grow longer and denser with each passing month, threatening to swallow the man whole. But he damn well shouldn't be pulling that shit on a night Tim was scheduled to be with him. This was exactly the kind of behavior their entire arrangement was meant to prevent.

This year had been complicated enough. She had spent the first half of it in a place so dark and numb that some mornings, on the days Tim wasn't with her, the sheer weight of her sorrow kept her pinned to the mattress, the silence of her penthouse a suffocating blanket. She was only now, finally, pulling herself together, piece by fractured piece, a choice she made every day.

Bruce, on the other hand, had never quite learned how to let things go. Of course, there was no predetermined time to mourn a child—her own heart was a testament to that—but Bruce’s mourning was a particular, obsessive force. It had carved something fundamental out of him, leaving a void that he now filled with a relentless, single-minded drive. While he was far from the feral beast he’d been transforming into before Tim had crashed into their lives, he was still walking a path she wasn't willing to follow. Not when she knew, with a certainty that ached, that he wouldn't have her back.

Not when his way of honoring Jason's memory seemed to involve throwing himself to work and punch the life out of every low class villain he could find.

Still, she couldn't help but understand him, even as it frustrated her. She knew that every ounce of Bruce's will was focused on the Herculean tasks of not letting the grief kill him, of being the father Tim needed, and of mending the fragile, frayed threads connecting him to Dick. For him to have anyone's back other than his own in that storm was an impossible ask. But a small, weary part of her couldn't help but wonder: if she could claw her way back from the abyss, one painful inch at a time, for Tim's sake, for Dick's… then why couldn't he?

"You know how he gets," she said finally, her voice a masterclass in careful neutrality.

Tim looked up, his young face suddenly, breathtakingly serious. "I do. That’s why I’m telling you. It wasn’t a normal patrol. He was… relentless." A sharp pang of sorrow and anger lanced through her. She hated this—hated that he had to be so mature, that his childhood was measured in sleepless nights spent worrying about the very adults who were supposed to be his protectors.

"Tim, tesoro, let it go, please," she said, her tone gentle but firm. She reached across the island, giving his hand a quick squeeze. "I'll talk to him later. I promise."

Oh, she would talk to him alright. When they had forged this fragile arrangement, they had made a promise—he had promised—to prioritize Tim, to lock their grief away when the boy was in their care. It was the only reason Selina had agreed to share him, to willingly walk back into the orbit of the Wayne Manor and its haunted master instead of keeping this brilliant, kind boy all to herself.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, and Selina slowly set her fork down, her own breakfast suddenly seeming unappealing. Tim watched the action, his shoulders slumping in a soft, frustrated huff. He knew a closed door when he saw one. Pushing his own food aside, he glanced up at her, his voice quieter now, tentatively steering them toward safer, sweeter ground. "Does that mean you'll come to dinner tonight?"

Selina took a slow sip of her coffee, studying him over the rim of her mug. "Do you truly want me to?"

His gaze was earnest, almost pleading. "I don't want you to do something you don't want to, only because of me."

Her heart, that battered, fiercely protective thing, squeezed tightly in her chest. "Then you don't have a single thing to worry about, because I always want to spend time with you."

A genuine, relieved smile broke through his careful composure, brightening his whole face. "Then I'd like it if you came. And maybe... you could come on patrol with us after? For backup."

"Let's see how dinner goes first," she said, her own smile softening. It was a non-answer, but a fond one, a tiny flag of truce she was willing to wave.

Seemingly satisfied with that small victory, Tim pushed his empty plate away and leaned forward on his elbows, a new, slightly nervous energy thrumming through him. "So, uh, completely different topic," he began, the words rushing out a little. "Gotham Academy’s winter formal is in three weeks."

Selina set her coffee down with a soft, deliberate click. A slow, feline smile spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with pure, unadulterated delight. "Really?" she purred, leaning forward as if they were co-conspirators. "Alright, baby bird. Spill. Do you need me to case the joint beforehand? I can have the security system specs and the guard rotation on your desk by noon. Or is this a fashion emergency? Because I can have a sample sale from Milan relocated to your bedroom by dinner."

Tim’s composure broke into a genuine, flustered laugh. "No! God, no. No relocating international fashion events. It's... I might be going. With a... date?" The last word was barely a whisper.

Selina’s grin turned razor-sharp. She reached across the island, tapping a single, perfectly manicured finger on the table in front of him. "Start with the most important thing. Are they worthy of you? Or does someone need to find a very expensive, very tasteful bouquet of flowers on their doorstep with a note that just says 'Run'?"

"No! No threatening floral arrangements either, please," he pleaded, his cheeks flushing an even more brilliant shade of crimson, if it was possible. "They're... they're great. But maybe... you could help me? With a tie? One that isn't... you know, the funeral black Bruce Wayne special" Tim smile, a helpless, embarrassed little thing.

"Darling," Selina declared, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she placed a hand over her heart. "Consider it done. We are going to find you a tie with so much personality, your father will need to lie down in a dark room just from looking at it."

A real, happy laugh burst from Tim, the sound so bright it seemed to cleanse the penthouse air. "Okay. Yeah. That sounds... perfect."

"Of course it does," she said, her own heart feeling impossibly full. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before standing and gathering the plates with her usual fluid grace, a glance at the delicate watch on her wrist brought her back to the present "And we will, but later. Because right now, you're going to be late for school. Go finish getting ready. I'll call for the car."

"I am ready," Tim protested, grabbing his backpack from a nearby chair.

"Not with that hair, you're not," she retorted without even looking, her tone leaving no room for debate as she pulled out her phone. "Go and do something about it. You look like you fought a bird's nest and lost."

With a long-suffering sigh that was pure teenager, he trudged toward the bathroom. Selina shook her head fondly, her thumb hovering over her driver's contact. But before she could tap it, a notification slid across the top of her screen.

Bruce.

Her breath hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible thing. That was strange. Lately, their communication was almost exclusively in person, during the awkward hand-offs when he came to pick up Tim or she dropped him at the manor. It was the only way she knew how to love Bruce anymore—from a distance. If something was urgent, Bruce typically just called. A text was… unusual. A text that simply read, I need to show you something. Come to the cave. was downright alarming.

A cold, heavy sensation began to coil in the pit of her stomach. What could be so important it couldn't wait until tonight? And why the cave, not the manor? It wasn't a case, she was sure; if it were, he'd be calling Batman's allies, not her. Besides, according to Tim, nothing major happened last night that warranted this, and he didn't seem to be hiding anything, which meant whatever this was, it happened after his patrol, after he'd come straight here to sleep.

Something must have gone wrong in those hours, when Batman was alone, unchecked. She was tempted to call orphan, but figured that going straight to the source was the best course of action.

The sound of the bathroom door opening broke her frantic train of thought. Tim emerged, his hair damp and neatly combed, backpack slung over one shoulder. He took one look at her frozen posture and his brow furrowed. "Selina? Everything okay?"

"What? Yes! Of course," she responded, the words coming out a beat too fast. She forced a smile, her fingers flying across her phone's screen to finally text her driver, with more urgency than necessary. She slipped the phone into her pocket and walked toward him, closing the distance. "I was just thinking… I know you're supposed to come back here after school since it's my day, but since I'm coming for dinner anyway…" She gently took his arm, steering him toward the penthouse's main door. "How about I have the driver take you straight to the manor? You can get a head start on whatever homework Alfred will inevitably ask about, and I'll see you there tonight. You can come back here after dinner, and we'll have all day tomorrow together since it's Saturday."

She was profoundly grateful when his face lit up, his concern about her odd behavior seemingly forgotten in the face of this new plan. She knew she hadn't fooled him for a second, but she was thankful he'd chosen to let it go. "Yeah, that's… that's great, actually," he said, a genuine smile returning.

They reached the door, and as she pressed a kiss to his now-damp hair, a fleeting, unbidden thought crossed her mind: He is not as tall as Jason was at his age. But she pushed the thought away with practiced ease. "Have a good day, tesoro."

It had been difficult, at the beginning, to push these thoughts away so quickly. For months, it was a constant, exhausting effort not to see Jason in every little thing Tim did, a fight to silence the echoes of a laugh that was just a little different, a smile that wasn't quite the same. It had taken a conscious, grueling effort to claw her way out of that pit, to force her eyes to see Tim as Tim, and not as some ghost.

Oblivious to the storm raging silently within her, the boy offered a final, easy wave. "Bye Selina. Love you," he called over his shoulder as he stepped into the private elevator, giving his affection as easily as breathing.

"Love you too, sweetheart," she replied, her voice as soft as she could make it.

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing her in a silence that was suddenly too loud. She leaned against the doorframe, the ghost of his words hanging in the air. It was a sensation that never got old: a warm, sharp thrill that pierced straight through her, immediately chased by the familiar, aching squeeze in her chest. A reminder of the gaping hole where another boy’s voice should have been.

Tim had been a skittish thing at first, all sharp angles and wary eyes. But he had thawed so quickly, so completely, starving for affection and readily offering it in return once he felt safe. He loved so freely, so openly. Every "I love you" felt like a precious, stolen jewel pressed into her hands—a treasure she was terrified she hadn't earned, one she was afraid to clutch too tightly lest her touch alone tarnish its shine. But Tim needed her. More important, he wanted her. And for a woman who had built her life on taking what she wanted, that simple, offered truth was the one thing she could never refuse. So that was all that mattered. The whisper in the back of her mind that insisted she was a thief in a mother's skin could go to hell.

Pushing off from the doorframe, she moved through her home with a renewed, anxious purpose, trading her silk robe for practical, dark-wash jeans, a soft cashmere sweater, and sturdy boots. As she swept her hair into a sleek ponytail, she caught her own reflection in the mirror, her green eyes already shadowed with a familiar dread.

A wry, almost bitter smile touched her lips. Here she was again, dropping everything and running the second that impossible man called. He was the love of her life, the father of her children, the man she could never truly quit, and it was a special kind of hell to love someone so completely yet be unable to live with them. He was a gravity well, and she had long ago accepted that her orbit would always, inevitably, pull her back toward him. The "why" didn't matter right now; he needed her, and like the fool she was, Selina was already on her way.

 

**

 

Selina didn't bother with the Cave's secret entrances. Bruce had summoned her, not Catwoman, so she drove straight to the manor's main gates, the familiar crunch of gravel under her tires a sound she thought she'd left behind. Ringing the front doorbell felt both strangely normal and utterly surreal.

The door swung open to reveal Alfred Pennyworth, his posture as impeccable as ever, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. "Miss Kyle," he greeted, stepping aside to let her in without a moment's hesitation.

"Alfred," she nodded, stepping into the grand foyer. "I hear the master of the house is lurking downstairs."

But before she could take another step, a familiar weight bumped gently against her leg. Ace, the only dog she had ever truly liked, greeted her, his tail wagging steadily. Selina crouched down, running her hands over his broad head and sturdy shoulders, he instantly leaned into the touch and she felt the aching sadness that always seemed to fill her every time she saw the pup. He’d gotten so big since Jason had been gone.

"Indeed. He is... awaiting your arrival in the Cave," Alfred confirmed after letting her catch up with Ace, his tone neutral but his eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. "He mentioned he called you."

A wry smile played on Selina's lips. "Something like that. How is he today?" she asked, the question laced with a complicity born of years of navigating Bruce's moods.

"Subdued," Alfred replied succinctly. "And notably... perplexed. More so than usual. I believe that is the reason for your summons."

"Perplexed is a new one," Selina mused, already moving toward the grandfather clock. "Well, let's not keep the Bat in suspense."

"Would you care to stay for dinner, Miss Kyle?" Alfred called after her, his tone dry. "I'm confident the invitation was extended."

Selina paused, a hand on the clock face, and glanced back at him, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "Do you really think whatever this is will take that long? It's not even midday, Alfred. But since everybody insist," she added, her voice softening. "Yes, dinner sounds perfect. Is my pretty bird coming too?"

"I haven't received an answer from that one, Miss. But perhaps he would be inclined to accept if he knew you'll also be here," Alfred replied, a knowing look in his eyes. "I'll make sure to inform him."

"Good. Do that. Thank you, Alfred."

"Very well, Miss Kyle."

The clock mechanism engaged with a soft click, and Selina descended into the mountain's heart. The air cooled, the silence giving way to the low hum of the supercomputer and the distant drip of water. As she walked, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, firmly ignoring the glass case that held a uniform of yellow, red, and green, colors way too bright for the gloom that surrounded them.

And there he was.

Bruce stood by the main console, out of the Batsuit, wearing a simple black t-shirt and grey training pants, his hair slightly damp. He looked... human. Vulnerable. The sight sent a sudden, sharp pang of longing through her. She missed this man—the one without the armor, the one whose shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world even in civilian clothes. A part of her soul, a part she kept locked away, ached for him. But none of that showed on her face. Her expression remained a carefully crafted mask of cool composure.

"You called, Bruce," she said, her voice echoing slightly. "What's so important it couldn't wait for dinner?"

He turned, his blue eyes finding hers. They held their usual intensity, but beneath it, she saw the confusion Alfred had mentioned. He looked... lost. "For starters," he began, the words coming out stiffer than intended, "I wasn't sure you'd come." It was a startling admission, clumsily buried under layers of emotional constipation, but there nonetheless—a genuine insecurity that she might have said no.

A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. "Alfred is an intelligent man. Sending a messenger I can't hardly say no to."

"Mmh." The non-committal sound was all she got. Normally, he would have at least offered a dry retort, playing along with her teasing. But now he seemed distant, his mind churning on something far heavier. His gaze drifted back over his shoulder, toward the darker recesses of the Cave where the training areas lay, as if pulled by an invisible threat. What struck her most was his state: he was here, in the Cave, clearly agitated, but out of the Batsuit. So this was something that affected both the man and the myth.

"What is it, Bat?" she asked, her voice softening, the playful tone vanishing as genuine concern began to bloom within her. She closed the distance between them, her sharp eyes scanning his face, searching for the root of his turmoil.

"I... I don't know how to explain it," he began, his voice a low, frustrated rumble. He ran a   hand through his hair, a gesture of pure helplessness she'd seen only a handful of times. "I needed you to see this. To see her."

"Her?" Selina's eyebrow arched. 

Instead of answering, he gestured for her to follow him deeper into the Cave, toward one of the smaller, more isolated training areas, usually reserved for honing stealth and precision. He stopped at the entrance, not going in, and pointed.

There, curled in the far corner, was a girl. She was young, with dark hair falling over her face, her thin frame folded in on itself. She was utterly still, a statue amidst the technology, dressed in dark, practical clothing that was torn and dirty, and she seemed to be making herself as small as possible.

"I found her last night. In the Bowery." Bruce's voice was barely a whisper. "There was a fight. She was in the middle of it, but she wasn't with them. She was... dismantling them. Her movement, Selina... I've never seen anything like it. Pure, lethal efficiency."

Selina watched the girl, a cold dread beginning to mix with her curiosity. So that’s what he was doing last night then. "What happened?"       

"When it was over, she just... stopped. She looked at me, and there was no fear, no aggression. Just... a void. I tried to approach, to talk to her. She didn't respond to any language I tried. She didn't react to threats or offers of help. She just... followed me. When I moved toward the Batmobile, she followed. When we got here, she walked in, sat down right there, and hasn't moved since.

"So you showed her your face," Selina said, gesturing to his civilian clothes. He looked at Selina, the perplexity in his eyes deepening into a helplessness she rarely saw in him.

"I thought maybe this would be less intimidating." Let no one ever say that Bruce Wayne didn't try, in his own awkward way, to make a frightened child feel safe. "I've been trying to get a response for hours. Food, water, signs... nothing. She doesn't react. I called you because... I don't know what else to try. Maybe she's scared of me. Maybe it's... this." He gestured vaguely at his own formidable physique. "Maybe you could..."

Selina stared at him, then back at the girl in the shadows. A deep, maternal sigh escaped her, one she had been trying to keep at bay. "Bruce," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Another child? Really?"

His jaw tightened. "I know. But I found her like this. I couldn't leave her there."

He didn't have to say it. The ghost of another dark-haired child, found in a different alleyway, hung heavy between them. Selina looked at the girl again. She saw the tension in her coiled form, the absolute silence that spoke of profound trauma. This wasn't just another stray. This was a soul shattered into a thousand pieces. And looking at her was like looking into a dark mirror of her own past, a reflection of the feral, broken thing she had once been. It was the same raw material she had seen in Jason.

"Do you even know who she is?"

"Not her name," Bruce admitted, his voice low and intent. "But I know what she is. I saw her move, Selina. The way she fought... it was a language in itself. Flawless. Predictive. There's only one person who trains assassins of that caliber, who forges weapons, not people." He met her gaze, the detective in him taking over. "She's the daughter of David Cain."

The name hung in the air, ominous and heavy. 

"Oracle confirmed it with what little data we have. There were always rumors that Cain was raising a child from the cradle to be the perfect weapon. That he deprived it of everything—language, connection—so it’s only means of reading the world would be through the intent in an opponent's body." His jaw tightened as he looked back at the huddled form. "I think the rumors were true. And I think she is that child."

"The daughter of David Cain?" Selina hissed, the name a venomous whisper. Her protective instincts flared white-hot. "I knew you were in a bad place, Bruce, but are you out of your mind? You bring the daughter of a legendary assassin into the house where our child lives?" She took a sharp step toward him, her voice dropping to a furious, hushed tone, as if the girl might hear them from where she was fiery watching them. "Were you even going to tell me that if I hadn't asked?"

Ignoring the last question—not like she didn't already know the answer—Bruce said, "I told you, I didn't bring her. She followed me."

Selina's frustration boiled over. "Oh, of course! Because that makes the situation so much better!"

"Look at her, Selina," Bruce implored, his voice strained. "She's just a child."

And Selina looked. She truly looked at the girl curled in on herself in the dark corner, and she felt her heart constrict. She did have a habit of looking after strays, it was true. But still. "We both know that 'just a child' doesn't mean harmless," she countered, her voice tight. "She's probably better trained than me. Maybe even than you." Her sharp eyes continued to analyze the situation. "What if Cain sent her?"

"I ran a full scan on her," Bruce replied, his tone shifting into the clinical, reassuring cadence of Batman. "She doesn't have a single microphone or device on her, magical or technological. The Cave blocks any unauthorized outgoing signal. She has no way of contacting anyone... I think she came here looking for help, and that she is a victim."

Selina crossed her arms, knuckles white. "I don't like this."

"And what do you want me to do?" Bruce's hands clenched, a visible effort for control. "Throw her back to the streets?"

"Don't you dare," Selina shot back, her voice sharp as she took a step forward, a finger jabbing in his direction, "make me the villain for wanting to protect our family."

Bruce sighed, the sound heavy in the cavern's silence. He ran a hand down his face, the gesture weary. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, more measured—an attempt to bridge the gap between her fear and his conviction. "I'm not. I understand. I share your concern. But I have a bad feeling about what happens if we turn her away. I think she's just trying to find somewhere safe." His gaze drifted back to the girl, softening into something painfully close to pity. "And I think she has no idea how."

The reality of it settled over Selina, cold and heavy. "And come to think about it, where exactly would we send her?" Selina agreed, speaking mostly to herself. She looked at the girl again, who seemed to grow smaller and more fragile the longer she stared. "The poor thing probably doesn't have a single piece of documentation to her name. If she even has a name." Knowing David Cain's reputation, who knew what horrors she had been subjected to. She wasn't just an assassin's daughter, she was a ghost.

"You said she can't speak?" Her resolve was dissolving by the second.

"That's what the files say," Bruce confirmed quietly. "That Cain raised the perfect weapon and didn't bother to teach it anything else."

A profound, searing hatred bloomed within Selina for a man she'd never met. It was a specific, cold fury that only this particular brand of violation could ignite. The thought of a man—always a man, with his power and his entitlement—taking a little girl and systematically carving her out, silencing her voice before it could even form, turning her into a beautiful, silent object for his own use... It was the ultimate act of control.

To not just hurt a woman, but to prevent her from ever being able to speak of the hurt. To make her wholly dependent, a tool whose only purpose was to fulfill a man's ambition. It was the core of every injustice she had ever fought, the very antithesis of the freedom she clawed for every day of her life. Her heart shattered for the girl, and with every passing second, the shards reformed into a colder, sharper hatred for the man who had done this. It didn't matter if this ended up being a trap, she decided right there, Selina would help this girl, even if she refused. She would spited a man like Cain by reclaiming what he had tried to destroy.

"Alright, then," she whispered, more to herself than to Bruce, as she took a slow, deliberate step into the training room.

Her focus narrowed on the still figure against the wall. The girl was small for her age, which Selina now placed around sixteen or seventeen. She was all sharp angles and coiled tension, her thin frame folded in on itself as if trying to disappear into the cold stone. Her dark, choppy hair fell over her face, but Selina could feel the girl's gaze on her—an intense, unnerving pressure, like a predator tracking movement in the dark.

Selina remembered Bruce's words: Her only means of reading the world would be through the intent in an opponent's body.

Deliberately, Selina let out a soft breath, relaxing her shoulders and letting her hands hang loosely at her sides. Every movement was slow, predictable, non-threatening. She was a hunter, too, and she knew how to make herself seem like something else, something safe, like a sanctuary. Her expression softened, the sharp edges of her own defensiveness melting away to reveal a calm, open patience. Where the father of this little girl had demanded silence, she would offer presence. Where he enforced obedience through pain, she would offer choice through patience. Selina Kyle would make herself the antithesis of David Cain.

Her eyes flickered to a tray on the floor beside the girl, where Bruce had also left a bottle of water and a protein bar, both untouched. The sight sent another pang through her. The girl wasn't just traumatized; she was disconnected from her own basic needs. Another form of control—making her so alienated from her own body that she wouldn't even recognize its simplest demand.

So Selina decided words were useless here, a foreign language to a girl who understood only the grammar of violence. Instead, she slowly lowered herself into a crouch a few feet away, her movements a study in non-threat. She kept her body language open, her gaze steady but soft. Then, with painstaking slowness, she reached for the forgotten water bottle, and made a show of unscrewing the cap, the click echoing softly, then took a small, deliberate sip herself before placing the open bottle on the floor between them.

A nudge forward, just an inch. An offering. An invitation spelled out in the only dialect this shattered girl might understand: I see the chains that had been put on you. I am not here to add new ones. You are safe here. The choice is yours.

She then settled back on her heels, a silent sentinel

Minutes bled into an hour, marked only by the distant rhythm of Bruce working at the main console—the soft clack of a keyboard, the low hum of a server. A steady, background proof that they were not alone. Selina didn't move. She breathed, she waited, her own stillness a mirror she hoped the girl would eventually recognize. Then, she saw it. The barest shift. The girl’s shoulders, once locked tight, dropped a fraction. The tension in her jaw eased ever so slightly. It was a microscopic change, but in the vast, silent emptiness of that room, it felt seismic.

A quiet, profound relief washed through Selina. A start. It's a start. It was enough for now. Any more pressure might shatter the fragile progress. Slowly, careful not to break the spell, Selina rose to her feet and turned to leave, a small, hard-won hope blooming in her chest. But as she walked away, her sharp eyes caught the flicker of movement. A small, grimy hand darted out with hesitant speed, snatched the water bottle from the floor, and vanished back into the safety of the girl's cocoon.

A wave of fierce, triumphant warmth flooded Selina, so potent it stole her breath. Yes, she thought, her heart swelling with a pride that felt ancient. That's it. You see? When it's yours to take, you will.

She walked back to where Bruce stood, his posture taut with anticipation. "She finally took the water," Selina reported, her voice low.

Bruce let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for an hour. The relief on his face was stark. "That's good."

"I've been sitting there long enough to know my back is going to complain tomorrow," Selina said, stretching slightly. "And that we need a plan of action. A real one."

"I started by looking more into her," Bruce said, turning back to the main console where several files were displayed. "Since she was with you I didn't need to focus on her 24/7 and I could finally dig more about this. Oracle and I have been pulling everything we have on David, we crossed-reference with all known associates, medical records, and anything from the League of Shadows databases we've compromised," Bruce said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “There's not much, but we found something."

He pulled up a blurred photograph on the main monitor. The grainy image, lifted from a decades-old security camera in an unknown city, showed a woman with sharp features and dark hair, her posture radiating a lethal grace even in the poor-quality footage. She was holding the hand of a small child, no more than three or four years old.

Selina's breath caught. "Shiva? What does she have to do with this?"

"We always knew Cain and Shiva had a history, both as rivals and... occasionally, as allies. But we never had confirmation of a child." Bruce's voice was grim. "Oracle managed to enhance the image. Look at the little girl's eyes."

Selina leaned in, studying the grainy picture. The child's eyes were wide and serious, but there was a familiar intensity in them—the same deep, watchful gaze of the girl now sitting in their cave.

"You think...?"

"Oracle's facial recognition software gives it a 94% probability. The timeline matches. And it would explain the girl's... extraordinary abilities. She's the daughter of two of the most dangerous martial artists in the world."

Selina's gaze drifted from the haunting image on the screen back to the training room, where the girl still sat curled against the wall. "My God, Bruce," she whispered, her voice thick. "What have they done to this poor child?”

The rest of the day was spent in a grim, focused whirlwind. The revelation solidified their purpose. If he girl had sought out the Bat, a symbol she might have been taught to fear, the maybe she felt safer with him than with what she had left behind. That’s why they had decided to care for her, at least until they knew more.

Selina went upstairs and returned with an armful of soft sweatpants, hoodies, pillows, and blankets. She approached the training room entrance with the same deliberate care as before and gently arranged the items around the periphery of the space, creating a small, soft fortress of comfort so the girl could choose to use if and when she felt ready.

At this point, Cain would undoubtedly know his "perfect weapon" was lost, if he hadn't sent her himself that’s it, the possibility of a trap wasn't entirely dismissed. But in any case, it would be useful to pinpoint his last known location. They also began researching methods to help non-verbal, cognitively delayed teenagers, pulling up studies on cognitive development and literacy programs for trauma survivors. And the one thing they all had in common, was the consistent offering of safety.

At some point, Alfred descended with a tray of sandwiches and coffee, his quiet presence a steadying anchor. And almost without realizing it, they spent the entire afternoon working side by side. It was likely the longest stretch of time they had spent together since Jason's death without a single argument, the shared mission a fragile bridge over the chasm of their grief.

More than once, Selina had caught herself watching the tense line of Bruce's shoulders, her fingers itching with the old, familiar impulse to reach out and soothe the stress from them. She missed that, missed him. But biting the impulse back, she channeled all of that restless energy into the task at hand.

The first real break in their focus came with the familiar sound of the clock mechanism whirring. Tim’s voice echoed down the stairs before he did. "Selina? I thought you were coming later—" He stopped at the bottom step, his eyes scanning the scene: the intense glow of the monitors, his parents hunched over the console, surrounded by files and empty coffee cups. He wasn't used to seeing them like this, so intensely focused in the Cave without their suits, and without the tension of a fight crackling between them. "You're already here. What's going on? You both look... stressed."

Selina blinked, pulling her gaze from the screen. She hadn't realized how much time had passed, but if Tim was back from school then it was well into the afternoon, and judging by his damp hair, and the casual clothes replacing his school uniform he'd been back for a long while.

"Tim," Bruce said, turning in his chair. "There's something we need to tell you." Together, they explained. They told him about the girl found in the Bowery, about David Cain, and about the profound silence that encased her. Tim listened, his sharp mind processing the information, his expression shifting from shock to a protective concern that mirrored their own. And later, when Dick arrived they told him the same story. The decision about dinner was quick and unanimous. Alfred brought down a simple meal, and they all ate in the Cave, none of them willing to go upstairs and leave the girl alone.

In the days that followed, Selina's presence at the manor became a constant. She spent more time there than she had in the previous six months combined, sometimes even staying over in a guest room. Being back was difficult. It meant facing memories in every corner. On the hardest days, she would go and sit for a while in Jason's room, which remained exactly as he had left it. And when all she wanted was to curl up on his bed and breathe in his fading scent, she would instead get up and go spend time with the girl or Tim. Focusing on them kept her strong.

She saw that it was helping Bruce too. With her there almost full-time, Tim started staying at the manor more as well. Having everyone under one roof seemed to ease something in him. He started looking less haunted.

The strangeness of being back was overshadowed by the all-consuming focus of helping the girl. And It was a shared mission, Bruce was just as active, just as invested. While Selina's less physically intimidating presence built a bridge of trust faster, it was clear the girl recognized Batman as a known entity of safety. She watched him, her body language less rigid when he was in the vicinity, understanding on some primal level that he, too, was a guardian. But Selina was who found a way to give her back her identity. She showed her a drawing. "You." Then, a card with a name: "Cas-san-dra." The first thing wholly hers. The name, they had discovered, was one David Cain had recorded but never used. To him, she was only "the project."

They became a team. Selina would work on communication, using objects and gestures, her patience endless. Bruce would analyze Cassandra physical responses, tailoring a rehabilitation regimen that focused on bodily awareness and control that wasn't about combat, but about reconnection. They made decisions together, debated approaches, and celebrated every tiny victory—the first time she used a blanket, the first time she finished a full meal, the first time her eyes flickered towards one of them with something other than pure, unadulterated vigilance.

Working together brought them closer and they fell into a rhythm, making decisions as a unit. Sometimes, Selina would watch Bruce with Cassandra— the careful way he moved around her, the patience in his voice—and a part of her would ache with the memory of the future they had once dreamed of, especially as more of the girl's own personality began to emerge.

For nearly three months, she remained under the protective wing of Wayne Manor. Bruce and Selina, working in quiet tandem, became her unwavering pillars. Her progress, while painstaking, was profound. She learned to associate safety with Selina’s calm presence and steady hands, and with the solid, protective aura Bruce carried. They were her anchors.

When Cassandra had grown comfortable enough, they moved her from the Cave to a proper bedroom on the family floor. The transition was jarring. The girl, who understood the world through the intent in a body's movement, was completely unprepared for luxury. She froze in the doorway, her eyes wide with confusion. She cautiously pressed a hand into the deep, soft mattress of the bed, recoiling as if it had given way beneath her. She stared at her reflection in the polished wood of the dresser, as if she was seeing herself for the first time.

They grew fiercely attached to her, their hearts aching with a mixture of sorrow for all she had missed and a fierce, protective pride as she tentatively began to explore her new world. And as they watched this girl, who no one had ever taught how to be human, overcome every one of her milestones—a tentative smile, a successfully communicated need—she became theirs.

Slowly, Cassandra began to develop her own personality. It started with communication. Her mind, trained to be a weapon, learned with incredible speed. She quickly understood the connections between Selina's picture cards, Bruce's gestures, and the objects around her.

Within weeks, she began to communicate. She started pointing at things—at a piece of fruit, at the window, at Selina's jacket. Each point was a clear message about what she wanted or noticed.

With this new ability came her first clear preferences. She would firmly push away a plate of food she didn't like, like broccoli. But she would look intently at the basket of fresh rolls, making it clear she wanted one. She showed clear favorites in her clothes, preferring soft sweaters over stiff jeans. She was becoming a person with her own likes and dislikes.

The peace they had built, fragile as spun glass, shattered when David Cain finally made his move. He didn't attack the manor. He attacked her mind, sending a manipulated message—a digital cry for help designed to trigger the one loyalty programmed into her bones. Believing her creator was dying, Cassandra fled into the Gotham night.

Bruce and Selina found her absence within minutes, the trail leading them to a derelict warehouse on the industrial docks. And there he was, waiting. Cain’s plan was never brute force; it was a battle of wills, a final, twisted test to prove his conditioning was stronger than the humanity they had offered.

The confrontation was a psychological war. Cain wielded every manipulative tactic, preying on her fractured sense of self. And in a final, cruel blow, he revealed the truth about her mother, Lady Shiva—a truth Bruce and Selina had been carefully guarding, waiting for the right moment to gift her when she was strong enough to bear it. He used it as a weapon, trying to poison her newfound identity and chain her once more to a legacy of violence.

But it was Bruce who became the true force in the room.

Selina had seen him be a shield. She had seen him place his body between danger and an innocent a thousand times. It was his nature, his compulsion. But this was different. This wasn't the Batman, a calculated guardian of the city. This was a man possessed.

As Cain spoke, weaving his poisonous narrative, Bruce didn't just stand in front of Cassandra; he seemed to expand, his presence becoming a wall of pure, unyielding fury. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, dangerous thunder Selina had only ever heard directed at the very worst Gotham had to offer, the ones who hurt children. Every line of his body was a challenge, a declaration that echoed in the dusty air: You will not have her.

It was a fight for a soul, a brutal contest over who had the right to claim this girl's future. And Bruce was not losing. Not again. The ferocity was raw, personal. It was the fury of a man who had once been too late, who had carried a small, broken body from another warehouse. This time, the child was breathing. This time, he would not fail.

In that charged silence, caught between the destiny forced upon her and the future being so fiercely defended for her, Cassandra made her choice. Her eyes, wide with a storm of confusion and pain, flickered from the man who had created her as a thing to the two people who had fought to help her become a person.

She took a step. Then another.

And she moved to stand beside Bruce and Selina.

 

***

 

Days had bled into a fragile new normal. The confrontation with Cain was a scar, but one that had, paradoxically, sealed Cassandra’s place within the manor’s walls. She was theirs, in every way that mattered, a fact now as solid and unshakeable as the stone the house was built on.

It was on one of these quieter evenings, the manor settling into a rare, deep silence, that Selina found Bruce in the study. He was simply standing by the window, a dark silhouette against the Gotham night, a glass of amber liquid untouched in his hand. This is it, she thought, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Just say it. Cassandra is integrated. Tim is stable. Your job is done. Go back to your life. The rehearsed words felt like stones in her mouth. But the set of his shoulders was still rigid, the anger at David Cain a low, simmering heat she could feel across the room. So, as she took a steadying breath, she decided to start with something safe. To offer one last moment of peace before she shattered the fragile equilibrium they’d built.

“They're asleep,” Selina said, finally entering his quiet refuge. Her voice was softer than she intended. “Finally. I think she wore Tim out trying to teach him that new flip.”

Bruce didn’t turn, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good.” The single word was rough, but it was an opening.

She stepped further into the room, the plan to announce her departure already curdling in her stomach. Why does she felt like she would be betraying him in some way, by telling him her decision? This was always meant to be temporary after all. There was supposed to be a certain safety in the distance they keep, for all of the involved.  “You’re still thinking about it,” she stated softly, coming to stand beside him, but not too close. And the space between them felt like a chasm. “About Cain.”

His jaw tightened. A long moment passed, filled only by the sound of her own pulse in her ears. “Yes,” he finally responded, his voice a low, gravelly thing, strained with an emotion that was far more personal than tactical fury.

He’s taking it personally. Of course he is. "He's in a maximum-security cell on the other side of the world," she said, the logic feeling flimsy even to her. "He can't touch her."

"It's not about his location," he spat, the words sharp and hot. “It’s just… How dare he? How dare he come back for her? As if he owns her. As if she is his property to reclaim.”

The raw possessiveness in his tone sent a jolt through her, but she couldn't help but mirror the sentiment. Selina moved to stand beside him, following his gaze to the city lights. “He doesn’t." She said, her voice form yet gentle, and placed a hand on his arm, feeling the tense, corded muscle beneath his sleeve. “He lost any claim he had the moment she chose to walk away from him. She is ours now, Bruce.” The word felt dangerous but right on her tongue. “We’ll take care of her.”

Ours. The word hung in the air between them, simple and monumental. Bruce finally turned his head to look at her, the city lights reflecting in his tired eyes. The anger seemed to drain from him, replaced by a profound, weary vulnerability that made her want to pull him into her arms and never let go. This is the man I fell in love with, she thought, her heart cracking. The one hidden under all that armor and grief.

"We will," he affirmed, the statement a vow that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room.

In the silence that followed, a thought, fragile and dangerous, escaped Selina’s lips before she could stop it, before she could think better of what she was about to say, who she was about to say it. “I guess we have that daughter we talked about after all.”

The air in the room froze.

Oh, God. The air left Selina’s lungs in a silent rush. It was the first time either of them had acknowledged that conversation since their world had been buried with their son. She had just taken the most vulnerable, hopeful piece of his soul he’d ever offered her and tossed it out like a casual observation. The thought made her feel wretched. The awkward, heavy silence pressed in, suffocating.

“Bruce, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” she started, just as he began, “Selina, I never meant to—”

They both stopped. A faint, startled sound, something between a laugh and a sob, escaped Selina. Bruce’s expression softened further, his eyes holding hers with a tenderness that was its own form of torture.

“You first,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor, unable to bear the weight of his stare. “It was insensitive. I know it’s not the same.”

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice rough with an emotion she couldn’t name. “And it’s not. It’s… different. But it’s not less true.” He took a slow breath. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For… everything. For how I was after… after we lost him. I pushed you away. I became someone you couldn’t possibly be with.”

You’re wrong, Selina wanted to scream. She would have lived in any hell with him, but he locked her out and set himself on fire. “You were grieving,” she said instead, her thumb making a slow, almost unconscious, soothing circle on his arm. A habit from a lifetime ago. “We both were. And we were terrible at it together.”

“We were,” he conceded, his hand coming up to cover hers, his touch warm and solid and so familiar it was a physical ache. “But these children, they kept pulling us back, forcing us to be… present. To be better.”

That's right, Selina had to think what was best for the children.

"Which is why," she said, seizing the opportunity with a heart that felt like it was being torn in two, her voice carefully neutral, "we should formalize it. We should have with Cass the same arrangement we have with Tim. It works. Shared custody. It’s clean, and it’s fair." She forced the final, devastating words out. "And now that she’s settled… I can go back to my place. You don’t… you don’t need me here anymore."

Bruce turned fully to face her, his hand dropping from hers. If she didn't know better, she would have thought the look on his face was pure betrayal and unguarded hurt, but that couldn't possibly be right, not with this Bruce. Not when this was what they had agreed on. This was how they survived.

"You're leaving?" The question was so simple, so stripped bare of his usual control, that it left her reeling. How dare he look so hurt? Like she was the one breaking his heart. Like he hadn't left her first, vanishing into a grief so deep and impenetrable there was no room for her inside.

She stared at him, incredulous. "Did you really think I was just going to move back in? Permanently? That we were just going to pretend the last two years never happened? That we didn't fall apart?" The words came out harsher than she intended, each one a shard of the pain she’d carried alone.

"And why not?" he shot back, his voice low and intense, stepping closer until the careful distance she’d maintained was gone. His presence was overwhelming, a storm contained in a man. "We have three children, Selina, two of which live under this roof. Our children. This…" he gestured between them, his finger slicing through the air, "...this is the only thing that’s broken!"

"Broken?" A bitter, disbelieving laugh escaped her. "Bruce, we weren't broken, we were obliterated! We couldn't even look at each other without seeing Jason! And we failed Dick when he needed us most! How in God's name were we supposed to just… to be this?" Her gesture was wild, taking in the two of them.

"Don't you think I know that?" he roared, the sound echoing off the study walls, a rare and terrifying loss of control. "I live with that failure every single day! I see it in Dick's eyes when he thinks I'm not looking! But I was drowning, Selina! I was going under and I didn't know how to ask for help!"

"And what about me?" she screamed back, tears of fury and grief finally springing to her eyes, hot and unchecked. Selina hadn't intended to have this conversation when she entered his study, but she supposed it was a long time coming. "Did you ever stop to think I was drowning too? That I lost a son that day as well? You shut me out! You built a wall of your grief so high I couldn't climb it, and then you blamed me for not being on the other side!"

"I didn't blame you! I blamed myself! Every second of every day! I thought if I let you in, my grief would poison you too! I was trying to protect you!"

"I didn't need your protection, I needed my partner! I needed the man who dreamed about a future with me, not the ghost who haunted this house! You weren't protecting me, you abandoned me! Just like everyone else in my life!"

The words hung between them, brutal and true. Bruce flinched as if she’d struck him. The anger in his eyes flickered, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding.

"And then Tim," she pressed on, her voice shaking, "a child, had to be the one to put us back together. A child, Bruce! He had to do the work we were too broken and proud to do! He saw us failing and he fixed it because we couldn't! Doesn't that shame you? It shames me!"

"Of course it shames me!" he yelled, his own composure in tatters. God, this mansion better be big enough to keep our shouts from reaching the children's rooms, Selina thought desperately. "Do you think I wanted that? Do you think I wanted any of this? I was lost! I am still lost most days! But these children… Cass… she looked at me and she wasn't afraid. She trusted me to shelter her. She gave me a purpose when I had none! She and Tim… they were the only things keeping me from disappearing into the darkness for good!"

 “And what about Dick?” Selina shot back, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Wasn't he enough to give you purpose when Jason died? Did you have to treat him like an employee? Like a stranger? Like he isn't also your son?!”

“I failed Dick then, I know I did!” Bruce's voice was ragged, stripped raw. “I was so consumed by my own pain I couldn't see his! But don't you stand there and act like you were there for him either!"

"You think knowing that doesn’t kill me?" she fired back, her voice cracking. "You think I don't lie awake every night remembering how I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I forgot him? But I thought you got him, Bruce. I trusted that you would be there for him. I love him to pieces, but he is your son, not mine. And even now I try to make it up to him, every day. I try to make it up to all of them."

"Then what is the difference?" he demanded, stepping so close she could see the frantic pulse in his throat, the sheer, desperate need in his eyes. "If we were both failures then, what's changed? Why can you get up every day and be there for Tim and Cass now, but the idea of being here, with me, is so impossible?"

"Because they are children!" she shouted, the truth tearing out of her. "They are innocent and they need me! They don't look at me and see a ghost! They don't look at me and see the grave I can't stop visiting! I found the strength for them because I had to! Because if I didn't, I would have laid down and died next to Jason's memory! So I got up. I fought. I'm still fighting! So why can't you? If I can claw my way out of that hell for them, why can't you try harder for us?"

"I am trying!" The roar was torn from the deepest, most broken part of him.

“Then try harder!”

"I can't do it without you!"

The confession was ripped from him, louder than the shouts, more raw than the anger, echoing in the sudden, stark silence of the room. He looked as shocked by it as she was, his chest heaving.

"You have them!" Selina cried, throwing her hands up in a final, weak defense, retreating a step. "They are your purpose! You don't need me here to remind you of everything we lost!"

Bruce’s gaze locked on hers, intense and unwavering. His voice dropped, the fight gone, leaving only a devastating clarity. "That's the second time you've said that now," he murmured, the words slicing through her. "That I see a ghost in you. Are you so sure it isn't you who saw one in me? That it isn't you who's been running from this house because every time you look at me, you don't see the man who loves you, but the one who couldn't save our son."

The air left her lungs. He saw right through her, as always. He saw the flinch she tried to hide when his profile caught the light just so, reminding her of Jason's smile. She wasn't just protecting herself from his grief; she was fleeing from her own, from the phantom that haunted every corner of this mansion, a ghost with Bruce's eyes and Jason's laugh.

“I never blamed you for that,” she murmured, looking at him with disbelief, as if the very suggestion was unthinkable.

“Didn’t you, though?” he countered, his voice calm and unbearably resigned. “Aren’t you running away from me now?”

"But you left me first," she whispered, hating how small and heartbroken she sounded. "You shut me out. You let the darkness take you and you didn't even look back."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with regret, but his eyes never leaving hers, refusing to let her hide. "I was wrong. I was drowning and I didn't know how to ask for help. I'm trying to be here now. I'm standing right here, asking you to stay. Is it too late? After everything… is it just too late?"

The silence stretched, thin and fragile. Selina could feel the weight of his question pressing down on her, and the weight of her own fear holding her tongue. She saw the raw hope in his eyes, a hope so desperate it terrified her. Because the last time she had trusted that hope, it had shattered and left her bleeding.

He took a slow, shaky breath, the fight gone from him completely, leaving only a devastating vulnerability. "I don't want to do it without you anymore," he confessed, the words a raw, aching truth that felt like it was flaying her alive. "I can be Batman. I can be a father to them. I can run the company. But I can't…" His voice broke, and the sound shattered something fundamental inside her, a dam holding back a tidal wave of her own grief and longing. "I can't be the man who builds a home. I don't know how, not alone. I tried. I swear. But it just becomes a cave." His voice dropped to a broken whisper, his eyes, glistening with unshed tears, begging her to understand. "I need you, Selina. Not to play house, but to build one. With me."

With me. The words echoed in the hollow spaces of her heart. She wanted to say yes. God, she wanted to. The urge to step into his arms, to bury her face in his chest and let his solid presence absorb all her pain, was so potent it was a physical ache. But the memory of his silence, of the cold, empty space in their bed, of the way he had looked straight through her for months—it was a ghost that wrapped icy fingers around her wrist, holding her back.

"I want to," she whispered, the admission torn from her. "But Bruce… the last time I trusted you with all of me, you… you left. You didn't walk out the door, but you left. And it hurt more than anything." A lonley tear escaped, tracing a hot path down her wet cheek. "I look at you now and I see the man I love, and it hurts just as much because I'm so scared that if I let you in, you'll disappear again. I don't… I don't know how to be what we were before. I'm not that woman anymore."

He didn't move to wipe her tear. He just held her gaze, his own eyes swimming with a profound understanding. "I'm not asking you to be," he said, his voice steadier now, filled with a certainty that felt like an anchor in her storm. "I'm not asking for what we were. I can't be that man either. We're not those people anymore, Selina. We're the people who survived. I don't want what we had. I want what we can make now. Something different. Something stronger because it's built on the ruins." He took a tentative step closer, his hand hovering near hers. "I will love any version of you that lets me. Just… please. Let me."

All the fight, all the carefully constructed walls around her heart, crumbled at once, leaving only the raw, aching truth she’d been carrying all this time. The distance hadn't been a sanctuary; it had been a slow, suffocating exile. She had been just as lost, just as lonely. She had just been better at pretending she wanted to be.

Selina looked at his offered hand, then back to his eyes, seeing the same fear and hope reflected in them that was coursing through her.

“You'll need to let me in too,” she said, her voice thick but clear as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I know,” he whispered, the words a solemn vow. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “We'll go as slow as we need to.” He was giving her, giving them, the same grace, the same patient space he had offered a lifetime ago, when the future was a shared dream and loss hadn't yet carved them hollow.

Slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, she closed the final distance between them. Her hand came up, her fingers trembling as they gently brushed against the rough stubble of his jaw. He leaned into her touch, a shuddering breath escaping him as his own hand came up to cover hers, holding it there as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

They were both silently crying when they finally kissed.

Notes:

Yes, I absolutely made Selina scream at Bruce everything I want to scream at him and his writers when they made him such an awful father. Guilty as charged.

I'm fully aware that in the comics, it's Babs who holds the primary role in helping Cassandra find her voice and place, a connection rooted in their shared experience with disability. But in the spirit of my AU where I want Selina to be fully integrated and vital to all of Bruce's children, I've given her that role. My take was that Selina sees her own struggle in Cass—another woman who has been controlled, manipulated, and shaped by the greedy hands of men, forced to survive in a world not made for them. That shared fight for autonomy and self-definition felt like a powerful, different kind of bond for them to build.

"Tesoro" is a the Spanish term of endearment, it literally means "treasure", but we used it like "sweetheart" or "honey."

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Good Parent Selina Kyle Cinematic Universe