Red Chapter 9: Worth, a batman fanfic

Selina Kyle perches on the edge of her seat, glancing dully at the pistol cocked by her temple, "Is that really necessary?"

"Hm," Falcone tips his head to the side in consideration but waves his hand. The pistol drops away, though the guard keeps it close to his side, his finger resting on the trigger. Selina carefully watches from her peripheral vision. Could she dodge a bullet this close? Probably not, and then she would be dead. Unfortunately, Selina doesn't have nine lives-sometimes she doesn't even think she has one. "I apologize, Miss Kyle. You were a difficult woman to get ahold of."

"Afraid I'll make a run for it?"

Falcone's wicked smile flickers, "Not when cash is involved, no."

Selina never liked Falcone much. He might be handsome, but there's something nasty in his smile. Something nasty in, well, everything the man does. Selina can spot men like him from a mile away, two miles, probably even three, on a clear Gotham day. And even when it isn't clear, there's a sixth sense. Every word he says is a bluff. But Selina is predisposed to believe that people are lying. When you get lied to so often, for so long, well, there just isn't much trust left to give if you wanted to.

Falcone's security filters in and out of the door behind them like ants in an anthill. Selina watches them in the reflection of the floor to ceiling windows, slowly removing her fur coat from her shoulders and gracefully draping it across the back couch. Mink, worth a pretty penny. Not more than the glass coffee table or the industrial, artistic chandelier, but enough to be forward. Enough to catch eyes. And Selina loves the catch, the chase, anything which could be won from looking expensive. And Selina wants to look expensive.

Expensive things are rare. And so is Selina. Funny, how they have so much in common.

"I was just heading to the opera, when you called me," A lie, Selina was meeting with a client. But she doesn't like for other men to know when she spends time with their sex, just like she doesn't want Falcone to know she's wearing fake diamonds on her wrist. It's all about perception, really, "They're showing The Marriage of Figaro."

"Ah, yes. Mozart."

Selina watches Falcone roll up the sleeves to his suit-Armani, by the label. Her coat's worth more, at least, "Have you seen it?"

"I'm afraid not. I've been out of country."

"To Italy?"

He gives her that wicked smile, and something crawls up her spine. No, she's never liked Falcone much, "To my villa. You remember, don't you?"

Selina does remember. It's been years and years, but she could recall every second, every millisecond, of working for Carmine Falcone. It didn't last long, and Selina thanks the gods. Thanks the gods that her bills were paid, that her clothes were clean, that she didn't fall into the trap of full time employment to the Falcone empire. She's a burglar and a thief, but she has decent tastes, and maybe a conscience. When the time calls for it, she has a conscience.

"And how was Liguria?"

"Very enlightening," he says, rolling the ice in his drink, "Would you like whiskey?"

"Is whiskey all you have?"

Falcone doesn't bother to answer, only nodding towards his impressive security detail. Another thing which bothers her about Falcone, there is no choice. Never a choice, because he makes all those choices for you. Selina swallows down the irritation, because that wouldn't get her anywhere. She made the choice to come here, and he makes all the others. Plain and simple and precise.

"Italy was more beautiful this time than the time we shared there together," Falcone says, rolling his whiskey in his glass and keeping those handsome eyes on her. Like a bird of prey. Selina runs her fingers over her mink, suddenly feeling trapped, "There is something that I would like for you to do for me. For old times sake."

Selina takes the glass that is offered to her, not bothering to hide her shock. Something raises in her throat, sticking to the back of her tongue, "I thought I was here for Kitrina."

"Kitrina?" He laughs. It isn't funny. That something in her throat solidifies, making it hard to breathe. And she fumes, "What would I need to know about Kitrina?"

"I'm not sure. She's your granddaughter."

"And how is my granddaughter?"

"Well,"

"I'm glad," He shifts again, leaning down to shuffle through a few papers situated on his expensive coffee table. He chuckles to himself as if something truly funny just happened, hot embarrassment curls up Selina's spine, "'I thought we were here for Kitrina', really. Do you expect me to pay you for that? I didn't make her go to you, Miss. Kyle."

Selina hates Carmine Falcone, so sudden and real she can taste it in the back of her throat. Hates his whole family, hates how he raised his children, hates that Kitrina had nowhere to go when her father was murdered-and where was her grandfather? The great, powerful Falcone, leaving his least favorite child's daughter to starve. She had come to Selina with nothing but the clothes on her back and a basket full of burdens, and grown, now, grown to a beautiful young pre-teen, with a bright, sassy smile, and a quick wit, somersaulting over the couch, dressing herself in Selina's costume jewelry and heels when she goes out to parties, "She made the dean's list at school."

"I don't care about her, Selina. I brought you here for work, not to catch up."

Sharp, demanding eyes. They're nothing like Kitrina's, "I don't work for you anymore."

"But you did once," he shrugs, "And I let you go with no strings attached. Information and all. That was kind of me, wasn't it?"

He wants her to say 'yes, Falcone, so great to me' but instead all Selina can think of is the nearly white light of the sun on the Mediterranean coast, how it illuminated his sins, his wedding ring sitting heavily on a golden plate as he indulged himself to the lifeblood of other women. Selina is no angel. Far from an angel. But she would never sit on a throne of lies and pretend she did right by her family, because she didn't. Her life is burdened by mistakes. And she's trying, trying so hard, to atone for them, to be the sort of woman who's worth it, worth a thousand dollars, a million dollars, more expensive than diamonds and pearls.

"You only asked me to do one job," Selina tells him instead, not indulging him, because you can never indulge men like him for very long before it becomes impractical, "Let's not pretend I saw anything you didn't want me to see."

His smile has a small edge to it. Good, Selina thinks.

"Let's say I do this job," Selina runs her hands over her mink, letting the soft strands settle between her fingers, "What's in it for me?"

"How does three million sound?"

Three million dollars. What's worth three million dollars to Falcone? Selina's mouth taste dry. She never works for that much. Nearly, depending on the client, but never that much. And being on that kind of payroll for someone like Falcone? This has got to be one hell of a job, "That sounds like a lot of money."

He chuckles, leaning back so that his head is directly under the chandelier. How much effort would it take her to break that on his head? How much would Kitrina be affected if her grandfather were to be killed? It's not like he loves her. It's not like he cares. He divorced Kitrina's grandmother as soon as their children decided to start killing each other. Selina watches as he digs around in his suit jacket pocket, pulling out a small, plastic box full of what looks like small beads, considering.

"Three million dollars in pure cut rubies," Falcone tells her, "To seduce Bruce Wayne."

Selina laughs.

"You've lost your mind," Selina tells him, trying to save at least some of her dignity by covering her mouth with her whiskey glass. What a waste of time! She should have gone ahead to her other client. "You're kidding me!"

He doesn't look like he's kidding.

"I'm afraid I'm not," Falcone tells her, still with that wicked smile on his face, as if he knows that he'll sway her over if he only gets the chance. "The Wayne foundation has been funneling money into my competitors' pockets for several weeks now. It's effecting my business on the streets."

"That's typical,"

"He needs a distraction, from things that aren't important. Someone to convince him that things on the street are better improved, that they're doing just fine," that smile grows larger with each passing second, "And what better distraction than you?"

Selina takes a sip from her whiskey glass instead of dignifying that with an answer. She's one of the highest paid escorts in the city, and her night job doesn't do to badly either. She's set something good up for herself, no longer living in poverty, affording things she has lusted after since her childhood. Does that mean she has her hands wrapped around the private parts of some of the city's elite? Of course. It's all for a cause. But Bruce Wayne is another story. Bruce Wayne is a different beast entirely.

Selina can put aside that the man has money, owns a good half of the city's infrastructure and probably has investments in the other half of it. Selina can put aside that his family is so deeply embedded in Gotham culture that without the Wayne's there would be no city. She can put these things aside and ignore them. He's a rich boy, so what? Selina entertains a lot of rich boys.

What Selina can't put aside is the stories. Or lack of stories.

A notorious playboy whose never been caught with his pants around his ankles? Who employs no services from women like Selina or her colleagues? No one has ever taken pictures of the inside of his bedroom, never the inside of his bathroom? There's no pictures of him drunk, high, no videos of him doing stupid stunts, no porn, no sex tapes? And every woman he takes home with his from parties decide to keep their time with him private instead of selling stories to the tabloids. It doesn't sit right to Selina. He's careful, picky, single by choice. There's a rumor that it's all for show and he's an embarrassed asexual, another that he had a bride from the middle east he kept secret from Gotham elite, another that he's really a vampire.

Anyone can see something is standing in his way. Selina has him on her no call list, knowing that if a man that powerful wants a woman he reaches out and takes her. But she hasn't heard stories of him doing that, not even one. It makes her suspicious. She doesn't want a part of that, when she can make easy money with a smile elsewhere.

"And if I don't succeed?"

"Hm," Falcone thinks, lifting his glass for a re-fill, "Well then. I guess you'll have to kiss the rubies goodbye."

Selina thinks of Kitrina, of her dark, intelligent eyes, of her skinny arms wrapped around a pillow, leaning defeated against the headboard of their bed. 'Do you think he ever thinks of me?' and Selina had responded, 'yes.' Yes a thousand times, because Kitrina is worth more than the three million dollars in rubies in her grandfathers pocket, worth more than mink and fox fur and Givenchy handbags and anything you can buy at Bloomindales. Yes, because every woman deserves a yes. Deserves for a man to love them so truthfully, so fully, like the expensive things that they are. Yes, because for all her life Selina has tried to look expensive to cover up how worthless she feels. Yes, because when Selina was that young, she was homeless. Yes, and it is a promise from Selina to her adopted kid. I will take care of you. I will stand with you. I understand.

Three million could buy her and Kitrina a house outside the city. Maybe somewhere warm and sandy. Maybe afford Kitrina university tuition in England or France, so that the cycle of prostitution will not continue. Things that she would have had if her father was better loved. Things she would have had if Falcone cared for his children. Instead, he is wasting three million on quietly moving an unmovable man instead of on what's truly important.

Selina pushes down all the pain that causes her. Pain for a little girl who never asked to be born. And for herself, another child lost and unloved by the men who were supposed to protect her. And ignores that little voice in the back of her head, berating her for already knowing what her choice would be when faced with such high numbers.

"How much upfront?"

Falcone's slow, nasty smile makes her uneasy. But she ignores it, and takes the rubies offered.

…

"Hold on," Barbara -smacks- her hand against the door as it tries to close, "I'm only here to talk."

The girl behind the door looks just like her picture on the database. Stephanie Brown, aged sixteen, 5'7 and 136 lbs, goes by the alias Spoiler. She's one of the ones that Bruce allows to be active without intervention, mostly because she only has one target, and because she hasn't made herself annoying yet. She keeps herself to herself, and probably doesn't even realize that's the smartest choice. She glares accusingly behind Barbara, which, to be honest, is for good reason, "And what's she doing here?"

Babs glances back at Black Canary, who insisted on being in uniform. This isn't exactly an official call, just a hunch, but that doesn't make a difference to Dinah when she's pissed, "Reinforcements."

Babs sighs, "No-"

The door nearly closes again on her legs again, almost sending her chair skittering backwards off the front porch of the brownstone they stand in front of, "Hey-hold on!"

Dinah sticks her whole forearm in the doorway, her other hand on her hip like a mother chastising her daughter, "Don't you shut the door on us!"

"Enough, enough," Barbara says, grabbing the back of the Canary leather jacket and using it to pull her chair closer to the door so she can see the girl nearly hiding behind it, "We're not here to fight or make demands of you. We just need to see Robin."

"I don't know a Robin,"

"You can't lie your way out of this one, kid. We've been keeping surveillance on this house. We know he's in there,"

Her eyes are a bright, bold blue. That was what Alfred remembered of her, the few times he had seen her at PTA meetings. She's bright and bold. The crush is kind of cute, if Barbara wasn't so put out with Tim right now. Something she would have teased him about, told Dick about, maybe allowed to circulate through the team just for kicks, if things were different. But they aren't different. Babs and Dinah have more than one reason to be pissed with him right now. More than one reason to be pissed with themselves, in all honesty. And even though the crush is cute, Barbara pushes it to the back of her mind.

At Gotham General Hospital her father is under a medically induced coma. And she is here, trying to pull back the strings that united her family, because she needs to, because she has to. Her whole body aches with it.

Stephanie puffs up her chest, but she'd never best Dinah in a contest on intimidation. She still has a bit of baby fat around her stomach and her makeup is in that teenage stage where they wear to much eyeliner and fill in their eyebrows to dark, "I told you I don't know a Robin, now get lost!"

"You've got a lot of attitude for such a little punk!"

"Canary!"

"It's okay, Steph,"

It's been a while since Barbara had heard that voice, even longer since she's heard it in person. She was worried, before. Worried that maybe he wasn't taking care of himself, or that he's hurt or hurting his body-there was no telling, with Tim. He'd hide things, not tell them things, not tell anyone when he was injured on patrol. But the kid looks fine, closed off but fine. Barbara has seen his walls come down slowly, inch by inch, for the better part of five years. It's almost painful to her now, to see them back up again. As if they're progress hadn't even happened.

"You sure?"

"It's fine."

Dinah suddenly throws the door open, letting it hit the foyer wall with a very distinct -crunch-. Barbara winches, rolling her eyes skyward with the effort it takes for her to remain composed, "Nice of you to let us in, you little shit." She grabs the handles of Barbara's wheelchair, forcing her through the now wide open front door with the sort of conviction that must come with the papal office, "Letting the people who practically raised you sit out in the cold like that, having to ask where you are like we're a bunch of strangers! After everything we've done for you!"

"Uh, that was my wall!"

"Robin," Barbara calls to him, "Robin, listen. Please."

He sits down on the staircase just inside the foyer. There's not even three feet between them, but it might as well have been miles. Did she really know him? Babs didn't think he'd be the one to abandon his Batman, and is still shell-shocked with the news, even all this time later. To leave Batman, never him, not Tim, who needed the symbol just as much as Bruce does. Or does he? She doesn't know because she doesn't know him, may never have known him after all, and the thought makes her feel sick. Because she cared about him, in the same way she did with every member of the Bat Clan. Cared about him enough to be hurt when he turned his back.

Maybe trying to talk some sense into him would work and maybe it wouldn't. All she wants now is some contact, to know this kid is okay. And maybe that contact will sway Bruce. And maybe that contact will bring her family back together when she truly needs them to be.

Barbara thanks God that Alfred's call had been right.

"I'm listening,"

"Dude, that really was my wall! There's a big ass hole in it!"

"Don't even get me started with you, kid-"

"-How am I supposed to tell my mom!"

"Shut it," Dinah settles her intense gaze on Tim, who doesn't shrink away. He would have, two years ago. He's grown stronger since then, "You abandoned us. We needed your help on that bridge and you left us there without reinforces. We could have been seriously injured, one of us could have died. But you ran away. Like a coward."

Stephanie Brown, bright and bold, steps in front of him, "You can leave if your going to be rude!"

"Steph," He reaches out his hand and put it on his elbow. She doesn't move away from his grasp, but she also doesn't move from in front of him, "It's okay. She's not wrong."

For some reason, Babs didn't think he would admit it. She thought he would remain indulgent to his own agenda, like he was when he deflected. It softens something in her, something she wishes was soft for him since the beginning.

"Why, Robin? Your Batman needed you. We needed you. Why?"

Robin shakes his head. His dark hair falls over his mask. Barbara wonders briefly if Stephanie Brown knows his real identity, "I needed to fly."

"You fly with us, we fly together!"

"We don't though," he tells them, "You fly together, the Birds fly together, but I didn't fly together with Br-Batman. He didn't want me to."

And oh, that is true, isn't it?

"That's not an excuse,"

"I didn't want it to be one."

Dinah shakes her head, clutching harder at the wheelchair handles, "I don't even get you. You got everything you ever wanted. You wanted this, remember? You wanted to be a part of us and now you just don't anymore?"

Barbara reaches forward, setting her hand on his knee. It's a long, awkward stretch, with Stephanie almost in the way, but worth it. He's solid and real. For a while, Barbara was worried he wouldn't be. That he had disappeared like a ghost, like Jason. But he's alive and well under her fingers, and it is a small victory, "Babs, don't-"

"I'm not here to fight-"

"-Yeah sure," Stephanie grumbles, "Really giving off the 'no fighting' vibes."

"Don't," Tim tries to shove her hand away, but Barbara's had practice holding onto the people she loves, "I'm serous. You can't just go back now. You can't just pretend."

"We don't know what your going through, but you could have come to us," Barbara tries not to make it a lecture but she was scared. Scared for him, and scared for Bruce, and still scared for her father, "We've always been right here, you get that? Right here for you."

"Then you should have acted like it."

What is it with Robins, who are so bitter? Why is that a trait they all seem to have? It's like a prerequisite is to have a long memory and a short fuse.

Stephanie Brown puts herself firmly between Barbara and Tim, breaking their contact. She sits in his lap as if that's going to win this battle of wills, shielding him from their view, "Listen, I think it's time you go. This has been great and all. Really, I'm a big fan. I mean, I don't know who you are but I'm a fan."

Dinah snorts, "This is just a waste of time."

"I'm not a waste of time."

It's said with such conviction that it nearly startles her. Is that what he's been thinking? Is that the way they've made him feel? Babs tries to go back in her memory to find a time when she had misused him, but all she can think about is Jason. How they slowly realized that he was filling a void left by the dead. How he steadily fought his way into everyone's hearts, winning over their affection bit by shuttering bit. And maybe that wasn't easy, but it was never a waste of time. Her hands shake as she places them back in her lap, "I never said that, Robin."

"I'm not Robin anymore," Tim tell her, with the same power behind his voice. Maybe he gets it from Bruce, maybe he gets it from his own father, or maybe some other place, somewhere inside himself, "I don't owe you anything."

"You owe Batman everything, kid."

Barbara considers that maybe bringing Canary wasn't the best idea. Not that she's lacking in compassion, she's just harsh when she's hurt, and has a habit to say things she doesn't mean, "Please, Canary, stop talking."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Stephanie tells them, "Batman hasn't come, has he? You've been the only ones who've come."

That's…unfortunately sound logic, "Batman is…not doing well right now."

"Not doing well?" Tim demands, then laughs, hollow, like the inside of a lead pipe, "I've been tracking his movements, you know. He's looking for the Red Hood. He doesn't miss me at all. He's just looking for some creep in a mask."

"Yeah," Barbara answers, "Yeah he is."

Barbara remembers. She was younger, with her legs, then, but she remembers. She remembers Bruce's obsession with the Joker. She remembers how it took over everything he thought, everything he did, in that way OCD people get with cleaning or color. Tim wasn't there for it, but Barbara was. And she wants to tell him that no one matters to Bruce right now. Tell him that Bruce is sick in his own way, that he needs help, that he needs his partner to steer him back onto the right road. Because there wouldn't be another Tim to save him, maybe there wouldn't be any way to save him this time at all.

Barbara wants Jason back, but she can't have him. She wants Tim back in the same way, wants him more than anything, because saving what they have is more important than revenge for the dead or wishes or regret. Barbara thinks of her father lying in a hospital bed, strong but fallen, and Bruce, lost, and aches for them. Aches for all of them.

"We'd tell you more, but you've decided to be a little prick."

"Canary!"

"I don't want to know more about him," Tim tells them, "I just…Here. I already know everything in need to."

Tim reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a dark colored billfold which doesn't seem to hold any cards or money. Instead it holds sheets of papers, scraps and whole folded notes and copy paper. And from the very front of the billfold he pulls out a picture of a little girl, with long dark hair and plain eyes and staring at the camera from what appears to be down a street-vaguely, as if she doesn't quite know it was there. Barbara can't help but think that she's seen this girl before, though she doesn't know where. Maybe she resembles someone that Barbara knew.

"We've been tracking this girl for a while now, but she's completely off the grid. Last we've seen her, she was with Red Hood. So, we've been matching Batman's movements, because the quickest way to Red Hood is through Bru-Batman. You should know. You should keep it."

"I'll keep it if you turn your tracker back on."

He narrows his eyes and the mask folds just so at his pinched eyebrows. Barbara knows it's a hard bargain. There's no telling who this kid is or where she came from without the picture and so she will need it to track her, but that's a risk she is wiling to take. This girl means nothing to them. Tim means everything. It's a fair trade.

"You said we fly as a team."

"Only if you want to be part of the team."

"I don't want to be around Batman."

"Don't be, then," Barbara tells him, "But you have to contact Nightwing. He's….he'll want to know your okay. He loves you. He's a mess right now. And your lucky it wasn't him who came to your door."

Stephanie Brown has fallen down between Tim's knees on the step below. She clutches at her stomach as if she's going to be sick, her head resting back on Tim's chest. Tim nods into her hair. And maybe Barbara can deal with this, can deal with this safety that Tim has found. Can deal with the unresolved anger at him leaving, because that's how they get over everything in this family-by not talking about it. Maybe that will change here. Maybe Dick will force him to talk about it, force him to face his feelings, and force all the rest of them too-when he's ready to go to him. Maybe they will change to keep this one so that what happened to Jason doesn't happen to him. To keep Tim in a place where not even death can reach him. Because he deserves that.

Barbara is so done feeling guilty.

"Babs?" Dinah reaches into her purse, thrown against the back of her chair, "Your phone is ringing."

"Oh," Barbara dabs her eyes, because God, she's made herself teary. Not the best look, in front of Stephanie. But she doesn't seem to be doing to much better either, if her own sniffing is to go by. She checks the caller ID. "It's Detective Montoya."

"Shift change?"

"Yeah, probably."

Tim stands suddenly, reaching out to give her the picture, "I'll turn the tracker back on. But I don't want Batman to find me. Can you program it?"

"Only if you make me."

"You're a little shit," Dinah tells him.

"You're not that far from shittery yourself, ma'am."

"Watch it, kid." She flicks her fingers in Stephanie's direction, but doesn't comment further. They both know by now, Stephanie Brown is going to be around for a while.

"Babs, I'm sorry," Tim tells her, as he follows the few steps to the door, "I'm so sorry about Gordon."

She smiles, dry and humorless, "I am too."

There's something so fragile about being a child of a father who expects great things. Something so honest about being the fallen one. When Barbara took that bullet to her spine, she thought her father would never forgive her for not defending, for not fighting back, for not being good enough. His expectations were heavy as lead. But they were only that, expectations. And nothing could change the reality of who she became because of it. And maybe she prefers this person, once she got over that she will never be who her father wanted her to be.

Maybe she has more in common with Tim than she thought, maybe more in common with Jason and Dick and everyone else who felt love for Bruce Wayne. And even when he loses himself, Babs will be there to hold him together, because he has never failed to do that for her. And her own father, who reconstructed his vision of her when she was hurt and loved her anyway. An age old team, two father figures she needed as she grew up.

She needs her family together, now that they have both fallen. It will take all the children of the Bat to bring them back. It will take all of their resources to bring the city back to working order again. And at the end of the day, Barbara is a strategist. She will work through these growing pains and bring them out of it if it's the last thing she does.

Because she needs to. Because her hurt is so great right now, she thinks no one will ever lift it.

Barbara leaves feeling defeated. She doesn't know why, when what they went for was a success. But in her heart is a father who might never be healed, and Bruce, who has slipped into that dark place he was at before Tim came. She will mourn for what is lost. She will hope that it will be able to be brought back.

…

Something has shifted in Gotham.

"Kate?" Renee sticks her head out of the window, folding her arms on the edge of the fire escape to give her a raised eyebrow and a skeptical look, "What are you doing out here?"

"Don't know,"

Renee adjusts her stance, climbing out after her lover into the cool Gotham evening. The weather has changed, almost overnight. It feels like that slow decline before winter, as crime takes a steady fall until becoming virtually nonexistent in January. Kate wonders if that'll happen this year. This year has been different from all the others. The city has jumped from one tragedy to another, with no period between, and no time for healing. She'll count down until January, for that short reprise, even if it doesn't come. For her sake, and for Renee's. Beautiful Renee. Strong Renee.

Kate watches her girlfriend as she takes the coffee cup form her hands, taking a sip before handing it back. She's dressed in her blues, "Are you patrolling tonight?"

"Nope, taking my shift at the hospital," Renee tilts her head back against the solid metal of the fire escape, a small smile playing on her lips. Renee's perfect, like this. Savoring the last moments before she leaves. "Someone needs to get Gary out of there before he loses his mind."

Kate surrenders the rest of her coffee. She doesn't need it as badly, "How'd the surgery go?"

"Fine,"

"Just fine?"

"Kate," Renee shakes her head and shrugs, "He's an old man."

"Don't let him hear you say that-"

Renee laughs, nudging her lover with her foot, "I'm serious, Katie. Gordon's old. He's not what he used to be; anyone can see that."

Something in Kate tugs, That uncomfortable something that has been tugging at her for a while. Sometimes, people make everything worth it. All the terror, all the strife from the last few months, everything that Kate was powerless to help on, all those times Renee had to leave for shifts so long and arduous that she wasn't sure she would come back-worth it. She's worth it. And Kate wonders sometimes, wonders now that they moved in together, decided that she never wants to be apart from her, that being apart would be like losing a limb, is Kate worth it in the same way? Does Renee get the same tug in her chest, or like in all things, is Renee content with what she has?

"And then, with Batman being gone," Renee shakes her head, sipping on the last of the coffee slowly, savoring the dregs, "They had something special, him and the Bat."

"I don't know, Renee," Kate reassures her, "The Bat's been gone for longer than a month before."

"This time's different."

This time has been different. Something is different in Gotham, like it's tilted slightly off its axis, or like all the buildings have been shifted just an inch to the right. Everyone's bumping into things like they haven't lived here their whole lives. Unsteady and strange and uncomfortable in it's strangeness.

"The force wouldn't be the same, when Gordon goes."

Kate has nothing to say back. When she was in the army, she had everything to say. She was so outspoken back then, so honestly obnoxious, that sometimes she cringes. Not because she was discharged, but because of how she was discharged. She wants to be like Renee, to be steady, to speak only when speaking will help her, to learn to be the kind of woman who says important things when she decides to say anything at all. But Kate is not that person. She's full of anger and justice and a will about as iron clad as her ego. But she does hope, she does pray, that one day she will have the same grace as her partner.

"You'll make it,"

"I have to," Renee gives her that smile, that smile she reserves for Kate and only Kate, "What, let Gary run the place by himself? The whole Place would fall apart. Gordon would haunt me form his grave for letting him take the reins."

Kate smiles but it does not reach her eyes. Renee rubs circles into her ankle.

"What're you going to do tonight?"

"Unpack some more," Kate tells her, motioning towards the window, where behind is all the boxes they've been avoiding for almost two weeks. "Maybe take a nap. Pull out my special undies and wait for you topless."

"That's an excellent use of time."

They climb back into the apartment, warm and bright and personable like Kate's old apartment wasn't. Renee still isn't fully out yet, and they had a bit of a falling out about it before Gotham fell to pieces this last time and hell broke loose. But after that, honestly, how could she have argued with her over something so stupid when human life is so fragile? Kate had been a fool. It's Renee's pace they're setting now, just like she promised. Just like she knew it would be, because Renee tends to get what she wants from Kate no matter how she goes about doing it.

Moving in is a start. A promise. A decloration, for Renee. To Kate, this is nothing. She wants Renee to post on social media, to yell from the rooftops, to go on the news, something, anything-but that's not the way they're doing it, now. Kate is a proud lesbian, and sometimes wishes she was with a proud lesbian. But that would be going against the principles that Kate does love so much, admires, wishes she had. Maybe that's the problem.

"I'll see you," Renee says, and presses a kiss to the inside of Kate's cheek. How could she have been so close to loosing this woman? How could she ever be enough for her?

"Bye,"

"I want to see those special undies when you get back."

"I'll pose in the living room.

"My God."

Kate stands in her place long after Renee has left, feeling something tighten and loosen in her chest. There's no doubt of her love for her partner, even as up and down as it has been the last year. Even when Kate makes demands in anger, she only does it because she cares. And here she is, a loudmouth, sitting on the edge of something so special, feeling insecure. For the first time in her life, feeling unworthy.

She's a solider, and a good one. She's trained for years and years, traveled, fought in wars, and drank herself stupid because of them. And the mistakes. Lots and lots of mistakes. But what person doesn't make mistakes? She was a Gotham-ite before she left, and she's a Gotham-ite now. And if there's anything they do best, it's atonement. Kate had been on that journey since meeting Renee, because Renee gives her something to aspire to. A leader, a role model, someone who has worked her way up the ladder to earn the respect of her peers. That's what Kate wants, and maybe what she likes most about her lover.

Kate opens up the box under the kitchen table, a box Renee would never unpack. It has a clear, define label as coming from Kate's old flat, and Renee never pry's to deeply. Kate's so glad for that, because Renee would not like what's in the box. She would probably lose her mind over what's in the box.

Kate had been thinking of this for so long, longer than she will ever admit to. She's been nothing but useless since she's come back to the US, jumped from one cheap thrill to another, with barely any stop between. And then she met Renee. And her life wasn't the same.

She could recreate herself in an image that is so nameless and faceless that they had to call him a Bat. She could remake herself into the kind of person that she always wanted, even if she was denied entry into the police academy based on her military record. Even if she hasn't been hired for a single security guard position. Even if she's sitting on her ass on daddy's money feeling ashamed for not being good enough.

She could make herself good enough.

The Batman might be gone. He might have lost himself somewhere in the sewers, or down Main street, or any number of places where people would turn a blind eye. Is Kate is to say, that's what's wrong with the city, the very gentle turning of it off it's axis, the weird feeling of missing a limb. And if Kate knows anything else, it's that the city needs Batman just like the city needs a James Gordon, and if James Gordon dies, the one person who will step up to the plate will be Renee.

Maybe it's a stupid fantasy. Maybe she's more discontented than she thought. Maybe she's just tired of being a solider and not doing anything, not helping, just sitting around useless. Like this, she might as well be dead. Sometimes, she feels like she is. Like there's no hope or light, like the world is only made in two colors and those colors are to dark for her to see through. Kate will never have deserved being kicked out of the army for being gay, nor would anyone else who has been. But she has delivered herself to where she is right now, by being rude and loud and obnoxious since. She should have come back to Gotham and showed them wrong. She should have come back to Gotham and raised up like a phoenix from the ashes, delivering change and social justice. Instead, she partied. She got drunk. She tried to fill the void with people who didn't lift her up.

And then Renee. Always Renee, like the beginning of a storybook or the end of a nightmare.

Kate runs her fingers over the smooth adamantium of her new mask, sculpted into the vigil of a Bat. Sure, Gotham has seen a Batman. But Gotham has never seen a Batwoman.

So, I've taken a lot more liberties in this chapter than in others, such as Selina's origins, Falcone's age, and Kate and Renees relationship. But I ship it, so...