choosing our jagged truths, by abvj (m)
Aug. 7th, 2012 07:41 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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het_reccersFandom Category: Batman/The Dark Knight Rises
Pairing: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Fic Title: choosing our jagged truths
Author: abvj
Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/480339
Rating/Warning(s): Mature
Genre: Post-film. Drama/Romance
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: Insta-rec. This is the best Selina voice I have come across, because it is brutal and honest about her nature, exploring her independence as well as her relationship with Bruce. I love it to pieces, and there are so many quotable lines where I pointed at it and said, "yes, that's it. That's exactly Selina." A lot of other fics, even ones I keep reading and enjoy, often gloss over Selina's antagonistic side. And it's to the detriment of the story, because Batman and Catwoman, any and all incarnations, will never just fall into "happily ever after." They will not be domesticated. It's one of the things that constantly tugs them together and pulls them apart. As much as I love some of the other fics which have them together, this fic gets their dynamic right precisely because it doesn't gloss over their individual hang ups with commitment.
On the Friday after Batman stupidly gave his life to save this city, to save these people who would never fully appreciate the full weight of his sacrifice, she borrows an abandoned car and drives north to the outskirts of town. Wayne Manor stands mostly whole against the skyline in the distance, but the chaos reached its hand and touched here too. The grounds show wear from the riots, looting, and vandalism it had to endure these past months.
As a child, Selina used to revere this home and the people in it. When she was still young and childish enough to want for such things, Wayne Manor served as a backdrop for her imagined happily ever afters. Like most little girls in Gotham, Selina believed in the fairy tale of the Waynes and dreamed of the handsome prince who would one day save her from desolation, who would give her a better, richer life. As a child, this house was as castle, a fortress, an awe-inspiring sight, but eventually she grew older and wiser. Her life grew to have little room for naïveté, for foolish wishes and wants.
Eventually, this house became just another mark, another door to con her way past, another set of locks to pick.
Eventually, Selina stopped waiting for the prince to save her and figured out ways to save herself.
After she cuts the engine to the car, the silence of the vacant grounds pops in her ears. She considers the house quietly for a moment – the sharp edges rich with history now marred with spray paint and a cracking foundation, the once tidy lawn now unkempt, sidewalks buried under layers of snow both old and new. A window in the southeast corner has a crack that spiderwebs from pane to pane and is surrounded by glassless frames. Selina sees it first, notes it as a point of weakness, a possible entry strategy. The service entrance is used instead, however, the lock picked in under forty seconds and the security system disabled quickly thereafter out of habit and habit alone – the police were too engaged in salvage and recovery, the city in mourning, too busy to deal with a burglary in a now abandoned house.
Besides, she’s eager to start feeling a little bit more like herself, and picking locks and disabling security systems feels like as good a place to start as any.
Inside, there is a stench of rotten food, glass and antiques broken into shards on the floor. Selina steps over the wreckage and walks the endless hallways and climbs the stairs without getting herself turned around. She had studied the blueprints for days before making a ploy at lifting Bruce's fingerprints, and remembers the pathway from the kitchen to the east wing with acute clarity. Closing her eyes, she does the final ascent from muscle memory alone, smiling a little when she reaches her destination without pause.
There is no real reason to be here – none that she can wrap her mind around anyway. Still, she tries to rectify the events of the past weeks and months in her mind. Perhaps, Selina muses, she's here looking for him, or perhaps she's just looking for further confirmation of the facts she has long since accepted as true. Bruce is more than likely dead. She knows this. Selina does not try to convince herself otherwise because there is no need. He is nothing to her – not now, not then – and Selina knows better than to try to build something out of absolutely nothing.
The space he locked himself away in for eight years is exactly how she remembers it: the photos arranged just so, the furniture underused, the curtains drawn tightly. Selina eyes the safe, her fingers twitching to reach for it, but she curls them into a fist instead, keeping the urge at bay.
She draws a line through the dust collecting on the shelves, traces the edges of photographs, and tries to make sense of who this man is – was– and what made him believe this city was worth giving his life for.
It's to no avail, of course.
Pairing: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Fic Title: choosing our jagged truths
Author: abvj
Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/480339
Rating/Warning(s): Mature
Genre: Post-film. Drama/Romance
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: Insta-rec. This is the best Selina voice I have come across, because it is brutal and honest about her nature, exploring her independence as well as her relationship with Bruce. I love it to pieces, and there are so many quotable lines where I pointed at it and said, "yes, that's it. That's exactly Selina." A lot of other fics, even ones I keep reading and enjoy, often gloss over Selina's antagonistic side. And it's to the detriment of the story, because Batman and Catwoman, any and all incarnations, will never just fall into "happily ever after." They will not be domesticated. It's one of the things that constantly tugs them together and pulls them apart. As much as I love some of the other fics which have them together, this fic gets their dynamic right precisely because it doesn't gloss over their individual hang ups with commitment.
On the Friday after Batman stupidly gave his life to save this city, to save these people who would never fully appreciate the full weight of his sacrifice, she borrows an abandoned car and drives north to the outskirts of town. Wayne Manor stands mostly whole against the skyline in the distance, but the chaos reached its hand and touched here too. The grounds show wear from the riots, looting, and vandalism it had to endure these past months.
As a child, Selina used to revere this home and the people in it. When she was still young and childish enough to want for such things, Wayne Manor served as a backdrop for her imagined happily ever afters. Like most little girls in Gotham, Selina believed in the fairy tale of the Waynes and dreamed of the handsome prince who would one day save her from desolation, who would give her a better, richer life. As a child, this house was as castle, a fortress, an awe-inspiring sight, but eventually she grew older and wiser. Her life grew to have little room for naïveté, for foolish wishes and wants.
Eventually, this house became just another mark, another door to con her way past, another set of locks to pick.
Eventually, Selina stopped waiting for the prince to save her and figured out ways to save herself.
After she cuts the engine to the car, the silence of the vacant grounds pops in her ears. She considers the house quietly for a moment – the sharp edges rich with history now marred with spray paint and a cracking foundation, the once tidy lawn now unkempt, sidewalks buried under layers of snow both old and new. A window in the southeast corner has a crack that spiderwebs from pane to pane and is surrounded by glassless frames. Selina sees it first, notes it as a point of weakness, a possible entry strategy. The service entrance is used instead, however, the lock picked in under forty seconds and the security system disabled quickly thereafter out of habit and habit alone – the police were too engaged in salvage and recovery, the city in mourning, too busy to deal with a burglary in a now abandoned house.
Besides, she’s eager to start feeling a little bit more like herself, and picking locks and disabling security systems feels like as good a place to start as any.
Inside, there is a stench of rotten food, glass and antiques broken into shards on the floor. Selina steps over the wreckage and walks the endless hallways and climbs the stairs without getting herself turned around. She had studied the blueprints for days before making a ploy at lifting Bruce's fingerprints, and remembers the pathway from the kitchen to the east wing with acute clarity. Closing her eyes, she does the final ascent from muscle memory alone, smiling a little when she reaches her destination without pause.
There is no real reason to be here – none that she can wrap her mind around anyway. Still, she tries to rectify the events of the past weeks and months in her mind. Perhaps, Selina muses, she's here looking for him, or perhaps she's just looking for further confirmation of the facts she has long since accepted as true. Bruce is more than likely dead. She knows this. Selina does not try to convince herself otherwise because there is no need. He is nothing to her – not now, not then – and Selina knows better than to try to build something out of absolutely nothing.
The space he locked himself away in for eight years is exactly how she remembers it: the photos arranged just so, the furniture underused, the curtains drawn tightly. Selina eyes the safe, her fingers twitching to reach for it, but she curls them into a fist instead, keeping the urge at bay.
She draws a line through the dust collecting on the shelves, traces the edges of photographs, and tries to make sense of who this man is – was– and what made him believe this city was worth giving his life for.
It's to no avail, of course.
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