Drabble (from desolutionlogs)
Who: Selina Kyle
When: Early morning hours of August 22th.
What: Coming to terms with the whole alternate daughter thing. Or at least starting to.
She’d spent the past few days on autopilot, sleepwalking through the routine she'd built up over her time in Babylon. Exercise and work mostly -- it was all too easy to wander through the motions. Even with regards to bad habits. World spins out of control? Find a warm and willing body to take solace in. But it got old quickly. Nothing there but silence and feelings that couldn’t be hurt, if they even existed at all.
On the plus side, there was no pity either. She'd avoided the network after the first day. The sympathetic overtones had worn thin all too quickly. God, even her roommate. It was embarrassing. And the worst part was that not a single one of them had a fucking clue what the real issue was.
It wasn't that she was Helena Kyle. It was that she was Helena Wayne.
The rooftops and rain had always belonged to the Cat and the Bat and the ongoing dance. Sam... he’d been a good man and there had been something of a spark there. But no real fire--just another passing moment. Adrenaline and rebellion.
She finally understood how Bruce had felt that night in the graveyard. Why he’d pushed her away. Not knowing who was in control… the uncertainty tainted everything, even the things that you wanted the most. But still, Bruce had trusted her enough to let her underneath the mask. To see the whole of him. And while they’d never been able to define the dance…
...I really can't see any version of me making the same mistake twice.
Could she have made a better one?
It was thoughts of Bruce that finally pulled her back to the computer, the monitor too bright in the early morning darkness. Much like him, she couldn’t tolerate being out of touch with her surroundings for long. And for the first time, she had only her own eyes and ears to rely on.
Curiosity, morbid or otherwise, drew her back to the conversation that had sent things spiraling. Maybe enough time had passed or she was simply numb enough, but this time she was able to read the words for what they were. Words she had missed the first time around.
...I had my mom...
Had. Helena said had.
She stared until the letters spelled nonsense. If she didn’t make the same mistakes twice, why did this feel so familiar? Maybe a different flavor than what had happened with Holly, but still too close for comfort. Still wallowing too deep to notice someone else’s pain.
And damn it, but she was getting so fucking tired of self pity.
She switched the monitor off, the glare replaced by the hint of false dawn outside her window. She stretched, actually feeling it for the first time in days. Maybe breakfast, maybe a walk. The regular kind or the rooftops, it didn’t matter. Just as long as she was awake.
When: Early morning hours of August 22th.
What: Coming to terms with the whole alternate daughter thing. Or at least starting to.
She’d spent the past few days on autopilot, sleepwalking through the routine she'd built up over her time in Babylon. Exercise and work mostly -- it was all too easy to wander through the motions. Even with regards to bad habits. World spins out of control? Find a warm and willing body to take solace in. But it got old quickly. Nothing there but silence and feelings that couldn’t be hurt, if they even existed at all.
On the plus side, there was no pity either. She'd avoided the network after the first day. The sympathetic overtones had worn thin all too quickly. God, even her roommate. It was embarrassing. And the worst part was that not a single one of them had a fucking clue what the real issue was.
It wasn't that she was Helena Kyle. It was that she was Helena Wayne.
The rooftops and rain had always belonged to the Cat and the Bat and the ongoing dance. Sam... he’d been a good man and there had been something of a spark there. But no real fire--just another passing moment. Adrenaline and rebellion.
She finally understood how Bruce had felt that night in the graveyard. Why he’d pushed her away. Not knowing who was in control… the uncertainty tainted everything, even the things that you wanted the most. But still, Bruce had trusted her enough to let her underneath the mask. To see the whole of him. And while they’d never been able to define the dance…
...I really can't see any version of me making the same mistake twice.
Could she have made a better one?
It was thoughts of Bruce that finally pulled her back to the computer, the monitor too bright in the early morning darkness. Much like him, she couldn’t tolerate being out of touch with her surroundings for long. And for the first time, she had only her own eyes and ears to rely on.
Curiosity, morbid or otherwise, drew her back to the conversation that had sent things spiraling. Maybe enough time had passed or she was simply numb enough, but this time she was able to read the words for what they were. Words she had missed the first time around.
...I had my mom...
Had. Helena said had.
She stared until the letters spelled nonsense. If she didn’t make the same mistakes twice, why did this feel so familiar? Maybe a different flavor than what had happened with Holly, but still too close for comfort. Still wallowing too deep to notice someone else’s pain.
And damn it, but she was getting so fucking tired of self pity.
She switched the monitor off, the glare replaced by the hint of false dawn outside her window. She stretched, actually feeling it for the first time in days. Maybe breakfast, maybe a walk. The regular kind or the rooftops, it didn’t matter. Just as long as she was awake.