Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, Nolanverse or otherwise.
Summary: The entirety of his body is like a patchwork quilt of scars, each with their own memory, each with particular significance, each of which Selina finds fascinating. BruceSelina, post-TDKR, oneshot
God, The Dark Knight Rises was a masterpiece. Yes, that sounds totally cliched, but I don't care, haha. I loved this movie so much and I ship BruceSelena so incredibly much. Anyway, this is my first attempt at a TDKR fic. I really love this pairing. They just won't leave me alone, and I just wanted to write a little something for them, and this idea struck me as interesting. I hope that y'all enjoy!
Scars have always held a certain fascination for Selina Kyle.
She doesn't want to sound morbid or anything, of course, but at times she cannot help herself.
She's seen many scars, many times. Most of her other partners were littered with them. They formed a lattice over their bodies, and she would often wonder how they got them, but she never had the will to ask how they were made. She was never that interested in them - or the men themselves at all - she supposes.
Scars are a way of telling how person has lived, how a person has fought. They are indicators of times of strife, indicators of what a person has gone through. However, the absence of scars does not exactly indicate a privileged individual, but possibly someone who just bears their injuries differently, in a place where no one can see. Visible scars are not the only remnants of a hard life, she knows this as a sure thing, as it rings a bit too close to home for her.
People wear their scars differently, as well, she notices.
Some wear them as a kind of sign, a warning signaling that this person "is bad news." Though, no one is bad news for Selina. She's ignored that for years. Bad news is most likely good news in her world.
Some wear them purposefully. Self-inflicted horrors of a troubled mind. That clown comes to mind, though she isn't sure how exactly he got his scars...
Some hide them away, ashamed, embarrassed. Selina both dislikes and relates to these people. People wanting to hide their past, people who want to start over, without being asked about their scars, whatever and wherever they may be.
She ponders all of these things as she slips her boots on, effortless, a practiced thing. She perches on the edge of the disheveled bed, already clothed and eager to start the day. They're in Australia for the week, a place she had never been before, and as soon as Bruce found that out, they were on the first plane to Sydney.
Selina really doesn't know why this sudden thought entered her mind, but she isn't worried about it. Sometimes her mind goes to places she doesn't want them, and most of the time those places include things such as her supposed feelings.
The bathroom door opens, and Bruce appears, towel wrapped around his waist, another being used to dry his hair. A lazy smile crosses his face as he takes her in, wearing black even in the heat.
That same smile crosses her face, tinged with a hint of playfulness. Her eyes rake over his bare chest, and her train of thought from earlier comes crashing back to her.
The massive scaring along his jawline? A gift from Bane.
The scar along his side? From Talia al Ghul.
Though unseen at this moment, she can picture the intricate web of scars along his back, a morbid reminder of his encounters with the Joker.
A scar on his upper arm and the crown of his head, left from Ra's al Ghul in his training with the League of Shadows.
The thin white scars along his legs, left from the mad Crane.
Even the batsuit has some flaws, she supposes, when faced with the appropriate foe.
And then there are the ones left unseen, the ones she remembers musing about earlier. The ones left by his parents' untimely demise, the ones left by the deaths of Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent, the ones pressed into his soul because of his former position in Gotham. Each different, each damaging in their own right. She peers at him with an increasing sense of curiosity. He'd always been an intriguing individual, though she'd been remiss to admit it to anyone, particularly herself.
She rises from the bed, walking over to him with natural grace. He says nothing in response, only stares at her with only an inkling of bewilderment as he runs his fingers through his hair. A small, barely visible scar flashes at her from the space between his thumb and index finger, an incident of his childhood, a knife slipped between his fingers as he sliced through an apple.
"I thought we were going surfing today," he says, amused.
Selina hums a bit. "You just can't stop swimming with sharks, can you?"
"It's my natural calling."
She gives him a smile that could cut through steel. "I'm eating lunch first."
"Alright, then," he replies. "I'll join you."
"I didn't ask you."
"You didn't have to."
Rolling her eyes, she says, "Fine, if you can figure out which restaurant I'm at, we can eat together."
She leans against him, savoring the feel of his muscles. "Always."
Bruce looks intrigued by the challenge and nods an assent to her challenge, the thrill of a problem to be solved settling in his eyes.
She nods in return, and before she leaves the room, Selina presses the words "good luck" to his neck, right over the scar that resides in the crook of his neck, in the vulnerable space between his neck and shoulder.
That scar is her particular favorite - after all, she was the one who put it there.