Chapter 23 : Rooftop Conversations
The address Selina texted led to a rooftop in the neutral zone between territories—a commercial building with easy access and a perfect view of Gotham's skyline.
I found her sitting on the ledge, feet dangling over twelve stories of nothing, a wine bottle beside her.
"You came," she said without turning.
"You doubted?"
"Always expect disappointment. That way, the surprises are pleasant."
I sat beside her. The city sprawled below—a carpet of lights and shadows, sirens and silence. The Gotham I'd come to know from ground level looked different from up here. Almost beautiful.
"Same wine as the theatre," I observed.
"I know what I like." She poured two glasses. "It's been a week of phone calls. Figured we should talk in person."
"Any particular reason?"
"Do I need one?"
We drank in silence. The wine was good—rich, complex, the kind of thing I was learning to appreciate. One of the small pleasures of building an empire.
"Tell me about your past," Selina said eventually. "The real version."
"I've told you what I can."
"You've told me fragments. Hints." She turned to face me, green eyes catching the city lights. "I've shared more with you than I've shared with anyone in years. I think I deserve something back."
She was right. The imbalance wasn't fair—she'd opened up about Holly, about her mother, about the walls she'd built. I'd given her almost nothing in return.
"What can I tell her? Not the truth. Never the truth. But something real."
"I woke up in this city with nothing," I said slowly. "No money. No connections. No identity that mattered. Everything I'd been before—it was gone. Like it happened to someone else."
"Witness protection? Amnesia?"
"Something like that." I stared at the skyline. "I don't remember who I was. I remember skills, knowledge, instincts. But the person who learned those things, who lived that life—he's gone. I'm what's left."
Selina was quiet for a long moment.
"That sounds lonely."
"It was. At first." I met her eyes. "Less lonely now."
Something softened in her expression. The careful mask slipping, just a little.
"There was a man named Holly," she said. "When I was running the streets, before I learned to survive. He taught me everything—how to steal, how to hide, how to be invisible." Her voice dropped. "He died protecting me. From someone I'd stolen from."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago." She drank deeply. "I tried being legitimate after that. Honest work, honest life. It never took. The skills I have, the things I'm good at—they don't translate to a nine-to-five."
"So you became Catwoman."
She smiled at the name. "Someone else came up with that. The papers, I think. I just became... myself. Stealing from people who deserve it. Protecting the East End because no one else will."
"The Daggett job. That was personal."
"They're all personal, in a way. Men like Daggett take everything and call it business. I take a little back and call it justice." She set down her glass. "Most people don't understand that."
"I understand."
"I know." She was looking at me differently now. "That's why I keep calling. That's why I'm here."
The silence stretched between us—comfortable, weighted with unspoken things.
"What is this?" Selina asked. "Us. What are we doing?"
The question I'd been asking myself for weeks.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I know I think about you more than I should. I know I want to keep seeing you. Beyond that..." I shrugged. "I'm figuring it out as I go."
"I don't do relationships." Her voice was careful, defensive. "They're... complicated. People get close, and then they leave, or they die, or they betray you. It's easier alone."
"Is it?"
She didn't answer.
"I'm not asking for anything," I said. "I'm not making demands or setting expectations. I just want to keep seeing you. Whatever that means, whatever it becomes—we figure it out together."
Selina stared at me for a long moment. The city hummed below us, indifferent to whatever was happening on this rooftop.
"I think about you too," she said finally. "More than I should. More than is smart."
"Smart is overrated."
That earned a small laugh. "Says the man who built a criminal empire with an organizational chart."
"Structure is important."
"So I've heard."
We sat together, watching the city, sharing silence. She didn't kiss me. I didn't reach for her. Something about the moment felt too fragile for that—too important to rush.
"Sometimes silence is more intimate than words."
When the wine was finished and the night had grown cold, Selina stood.
"Same time next week?"
"Maybe sooner," she said.
It sounded like progress.
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