"small world."

sienna steadies the box against her hip before it can slip, fingers tightening briefly along the lid. the reflex is quick, balanced in a way she's only started noticing about herself lately. her eyes lift to his.

recognition settles in easily.

a clinic hallway comes back first. fluorescent lights. the slow realization that the patient she'd been siphoning money from wasn't just another rich idiot with good insurance and worse attention to detail. men like him usually didn't negotiate when they caught someone stealing from them. she'd expected a grave. instead, he let her walk.

the memory hangs between them like it never really left.

a pulse presses behind sienna's eyes — sharp, familiar now. march has been doing this to her again. the headaches, the strange instincts, the growing certainty that there are nights where someone else is a little more comfortable in her skin than she is. she knows because of what gets left behind. a watch once. diamond earrings another time. things expensive enough that she'd never pretend she bought them herself. sometimes there are bruises she doesn't remember earning; muscles sore in ways that feel suspiciously like climbing.

she hasn't decided what that means yet.

the box in her arms is easier to understand. inside is a veil — not the same one, but close enough to the one her mother wore before sienna's father disappeared from their lives years ago. her mother never threw the dress away. still keeps it wrapped carefully in plastic like time might circle back if she waits long enough.

hope can be stubborn like that.

sienna adjusts the box lightly against her hip, weight settling instinctively through the balls of her feet without her thinking about it. her gaze returns to him.

"didn't expect to see you again," she says, voice even. her eyes drift once across the rows of white dresses around them before settling back on his face, "...definitely not here."

"Neither."

Sienna shifts the box against her hip, fingers tightening along the lid. "Anniversary gift."

The headache spikes hard enough that the boutique blurs at the edges - lace, mirrors, rows of white dresses swimming together as the pressure behind her eyes sharpens into something deeper. For a second it feels like standing in two places at once, like the room is sliding sideways while something else pushes forward behind her thoughts.

Then the balance tips.

Selina inhales sharply through the pain when the world snaps back into focus. The headache doesn't disappear when she takes the wheel - if anything it lingers, pulsing stubbornly behind her eyes as she steadies herself in a body that clearly wasn't expecting the handoff in the middle of the day.

That's new.

Usually, she wakes up in this girl's life sometime after midnight - apartment, job, quiet streets - not standing in the middle of a bridal boutique with a box in her arms and sunlight coming through the windows. Selina winces once, rubbing at her temple before letting her hand fall. Her gaze lifts - and lands on him.

Recognition is immediate.

The tension in his posture, the tightness behind his eyes like he's holding someone back under the surface. Selina's head tilts slightly, studying him through the lingering throb in her skull while rows of wedding dresses drift into her peripheral vision - lace, silk, veils hanging like quiet little promises.

For a brief second the irony of it almost makes her laugh.

"...you've got a hell of a sense of humor, universe." The headache pulses again as her attention settles fully on the man in front of her, watching the shift flicker behind his eyes. "Bridal shop, Bruce?"

"That's one way to put it," she murmurs. Selina's smile flickers slightly at the corner of her mouth when he answers. The bridal shop feels strangely quiet around them now, like the world has politely stepped back to give the moment room to breathe. Silk and lace spill from mannequins in soft waves, veils pinned carefully in place like fragile little promises. Selina's gaze drifts over them without meaning to, catching on the long train of one dress near the mirror.

White. For a heartbeat the memory presses close - Gotham skyline, roses, the weight of a choice she knew she had to make before she ever stepped onto the rooftop that night. The look on Bruce's face when he realized she meant it. Not cruelty. Not rejection. Freedom. For him. For her. For the thing he could never stop being.

The moment passes like it always does, and Selina's attention settles back on him, eyes meeting his with the same familiarity that's always been there no matter what bodies they're wearing. Time, lives, universes - none of it ever really managed to erase that particular recognition.

"Silk?" she repeats lightly with a quiet huff of amusement, fingers shifting along the edge of the box resting against her hip before her shoulders lift in an easy shrug. "Pretty sure we skipped straight past that one."

There is softness in the joke, but also the faint trace of something older - the shared understanding of what might have been and why it never quite worked. Selina studies him for another second, head tilting slightly.

"You look good, Bruce," she says after a beat, the words easy but sincere in a way she rarely bothers hiding from him. "Considering."

Her gaze drifts once more to the gowns surrounding them - silk, careful stitching, long white trains waiting for someone else's future - before returning to him again. Selina's smile softens just slightly. "We always did know how to pick a venue," she murmurs. Not bitter. Not regretful. Just honest.

Then the familiar glint returns to her eyes.

"But I meant what I said that night."

Memory rises up thickly between them and Bruce knows he can't deny that it's painful. That had been the start of dominoes that had ended up with him a bitter old man, living in the manor for years with the only company being his dog, Ace. It had lead to so many different avenues, yet that had been the end point.

At least for awhile. At least until Terry had stepped inside of his house.

There's still world of hurt between there, even though the scars have lessened. They just feel fresher than usual as he takes her in, ashe finds the little things about her that have remained consistent through out their lives. The look on her face that he can see isn't disguising her emotions so much as keeping a lid on them; the quirk of her mouth that he used to love so much; the way she says her words in such a way that they're more evocative of an black and white star than they are of a woman who spends her life on rootftops, loving spoils.

And there are other things he spies too, things he decides to not dwell on, with a hum. "We did. I don't think I've really taken a thought to most anniversaries, though. I tend to miss them." Bruce allows himself to relax just a little bit more, taking in the place around them. "Thank you. I don't think you need me to say that you're still — you, no matter how I see you."

It's clumsy, ill handled. It's as sincere as she, though, down to the bitter twist of his stomach at the reminder. A bitterness that would be a lot thicker if maybe it was months ago. If it was a lifetime ago. It's gotten smaller, softer, and Bruce sighs. "I never thought you didn't mean it. I know you. You wouldn't have put that pen to paper otherwise." A part of him wants to reach out, yet his hand still stays at his side. "I suppose some part of me has just always thought that maybe—maybe you weren't right. That you had it all wrong. Or that maybe I misunderstood."

Yet. He hasn't misunderstood her. He knows it, with how many times he read over that letter in the Manor whether it was before everyone had slowly left or when people had started to come back.

There's the sound of laughter, cheering from around a corner. "Did you ever find a way to be happy, yourself?"

Selina listens without interrupting, the faint curve of her smile fading into something quieter as Bruce speaks. Memory sits thick between them now, not sharp like it once was but heavy in the way old wounds settle into the bones. The years he describes flicker through her mind easily enough - the lonely version of him she always suspected might be waiting at the end of the road if things went wrong.

In some lives, it seems, they did.

Her eyes drift briefly toward the dresses again when he thanks her, the silk and lace glowing softly under the boutique lights. The compliment earns a small huff from her nose, half amused, half dismissive, though the warmth behind it is genuine. "You always did have a way with words, Bruce," she says lightly. There's no sting in it. Just familiarity.

When he speaks about the letter, about misunderstanding, Selina studies him for a long moment. The quiet around them feels strange compared to Gotham rooftops, like the air itself is waiting to see how this conversation ends.

"You didn't misunderstand," she says at last. Her voice is calm, certain. "I meant every word." Her gaze drifts once more across the shop - the gowns, the veils, the future someone else will step into later today with champagne and photographs and a version of happiness that fits neatly into a single afternoon. Selina's fingers tap absently once against the edge of the box tucked against her hip.

"I just knew something you didn't want to believe yet." Her eyes return to him then, softer but steady. "That Batman doesn't get to be happy the way other people do." The laughter around the corner reaches them then, bright and careless. Bruce's question lingers in the air between them.

Did you ever find a way to be happy yourself?

Selina considers it for a moment, head tilting slightly as if testing the idea. Then her mouth curves again, slow and familiar. "I stopped trying to define it," she admits. A beat passes. "But yeah," she adds quietly. "I did."

Selina studies him for another moment, the faint curve of her mouth returning as the laughter from around the corner drifts through the shop again. Then her head tilts slightly.

"What about you, Bruce?"

"I knew I didn't," the smile he gives is sincere, bittersweet.

That Batman doesn't get to be happy the way other people do.

It hurts, the reminder of that line. There had been so much devastation then and there, reading it. Wanting to deny it, wanting to not believe her. The pain of everything crashing around him, a future that he had felt so ready, so wanting to grasp only to have it fall through his fingers like so many bits of sand. It still makes his throat tighten, still makes a part of him just—

Pained. Sad. Because in a way she had been right. That has Batman, he cannot fully be Bruce Wayne. he can't fully step out of a life he'd sworn himself to at eight years old. That he can never truly walk away from it, even in another life. And that happiness for him isn't—

Simple. Isn't easy.

The laughter reminds him of those nights. Reminds him of how much he'd wanted to figure out what had gone wrong. How many weddings, births, funerals he'd missed in his lifetime. That rejecting invitation after invitation had happened until they had simply ceased altogether.

There is this though: that she had found something, maybe someone else for herself in the end. That was always the deeper fear, after so many years of heroes falling, of things ending. That some endings were opaque to him, and now this one's more or less crystal clear, this situation be damned.

"I..." There's a complicated answer if anything. Because, even though he's in pain thinking about her, even though he can still feel those old scars, there are other things. Bruce can feel his expression growing a little warmer just thinking about it. "I think happiness is different for me now than it has been. What I remember before this is jumbled. Here, though... it's not what I imagined. Not who." His lips twitch a little more. "Not someone from our world, though I've seen more and more as the weeks go on."

Another round of laughter, giggles. "I've been here since January. Maybe more, I can't recall. And it seems we've run into each other before. Our other halves. I take it you're keeping her out of trouble?"

Selina watches him as he speaks, the faint curve of her mouth softening slightly when she sees that warmth cross his expression. It is subtle, but she knows Bruce well enough to recognize the difference between guarded contentment and something real. The dresses around them blur into the background for a moment - silk, lace, long white trains waiting for someone else's story to begin - while she studies the man in front of her and the strange, sideways life they have both ended up inside.

When he admits it is not what he imagined, not who, Selina lets out a quiet breath through her nose.

"Good," she says simply, and there is no teasing edge to it yet, only sincerity. "You deserve that."

The words linger between them for a moment before the familiar glint returns to her eyes and the corner of her mouth lifts again. "Even if I am a little curious what kind of person managed to surprise you."

His mention of their hosts draws her attention briefly down to the box tucked against her hip before she looks back up at him again.

"Sienna," she says, as though trying the name on properly. Selina tilts her head slightly, considering the girl whose life she keeps borrowing. "She is doing alright. Smart. Scrappy. Has a habit of picking fights with men she probably should not."

Her gaze settles back on Bruce, amusement flickering faintly. "You would like her."

The laughter from around the corner drifts through the boutique again, bright and celebratory, and Selina's eyes follow the sound briefly before returning to him. "But if you are asking whether I am keeping her out of trouble..." Her smile widens just a little.

"Bruce, you know me better than that."

That quiet breath...

Bruce wishes deeply that things could have been different. That the future he'd imagined had come to pass. At the same time, that quiet breath she takes tells him everything he needs to know. That she means it. That she really has been worried about him. That even though what they thought was there wasn't what they wanted—

It's still there. Diminished, yet still meaning something. Still meaning that sometimes they could orbit around each other, that they could still be something. Just not in the same way anymore, not held up to the same wants, no longer a regret or a wound that can really be opened up freshly.

The world comes into a sharper, cleaner clarity. Some of the years, some of the weight falls off of him in that instance, and it feels like they're back not quite at square one but some place better. Some place where they aren't holding up masks or holding back or bitter and hurt.

Not forgetting. Just able to go on.

It makes his wry smile at the mention of Sienna a little warmer. "I do seem to recall she's scrappy. Michael seems to like her spine. Something you two have in common." He sends the amusement back himself, knowing exactly what Michael gets up. "Though I feel you'd have quite a bit to say if you met him and just him. He's more of a Gothamite than what you'd expect. Might even send you on a goose chase one of these days."

Bruce doesn't seem surprised at all at the answer. He cocks his hips a little bit, bringing his knuckles on his hips. "No more trouble than what she can chew, right? We've got a lot more than the usual out here." He cocks his head towards the direction he believes Michael was looking for. "People called mutants and teams called the Avengers."

Selina's smile deepens slightly at the mention of Sienna's spine, the compliment landing somewhere between pride and amusement. The comparison does not surprise her. Scrappy recognizes scrappy, after all.

"Sounds like Michael's paying attention," she says lightly, though the look she gives Bruce sharpens just a touch. Gothamite carries a certain weight when Bruce Wayne says it like that, and Selina has spent enough nights circling men like that to recognize the implication without needing the rest spelled out.

Her mouth tilts faintly.

"That kind of Gothamite?"

There is no judgment in it. Just curiosity, and the quiet familiarity of danger she has always navigated comfortably.

Bruce's mention of mutants draws a small, thoughtful hum from her. "Mutants," she repeats, considering the word. Then a flicker of memory crosses her expression. "That explains the redhead."

Her gaze drifts briefly toward the dresses again before returning to him. "Ran into one of them tearing apart a clinic not too long ago. Telepath, if I had to guess. Powerful, angry, and very uninterested in anyone telling her what to do."

Selina's mouth curves faintly at the recollection.

"I liked her."

The mention of the Avengers pulls her attention back fully, interest lighting behind her eyes now. The laughter drifting through the boutique feels almost surreal against the conversation they are having.

"So let me get this straight," she says slowly. "Mob bosses, mutants, superheroes..."

The corner of her mouth curves again, unmistakably Catwoman.

"Bruce Wayne, I think you finally dropped me somewhere interesting."

What parts of them seem to connect and what parts don't is a thought that's cropped up in his mind from time to time, in the few moments he'd had to himself. Connor and Terry seemed fairly well alike while the first time he'd been able to get his bearings it didn't quite seem as if he and Michael were well suited. The mob fixer who seemed too intimate with violence, meshing up with Bruce?

It hadn't felt like a good fit at first. Now, he's seeing the parts of them that are closer than he thought, can see the parts of him reflected in Michael sometimes. Sienna and Selina though?

He can tell instantly it's a good match. Particularly with how Selina reacts, though her question has him nodding. "If you would've asked me before, I would've guessed he's a dyed in the wool Falcone." The name has no meaning here beyond the two of them, in this bridal shop where he can hear a bridal party oooh and ahhh. "It's more complicated than that, now that I know better."

It's the mention of a redheaded mutant that seems to surprise him the most. There are options there, he knows from Joseph and the comment that she liked her? Well. "Maybe you two can be friends. I've come across Harley, too—turns out she's married, and not to the Joker."

Bruce can't help it; he does crack a smile at her words. "I don't think I can take all the credit. I don't think I could come up with half of what we see here. I can say that at it seems we might be in just as much trouble soon as we are at home."

He doesn't bother to hide the edge of excitement, the edge of accepting a challenge. In some ways, well. Selina is right. It's comforting, strangely, to know that she's right. "But I think we can handle that, can't we?"

Selina's eyes narrow slightly when Bruce mentions the Falcones, the name settling into place with the quiet weight it has always carried in Gotham. That particular family has a way of coloring the air around a man long before you ever meet him, and the comparison tells her more about Michael than Bruce probably realizes.

"That's not a small accusation," she says, voice thoughtful rather than skeptical. In Gotham, being compared to a Falcone means you are either very powerful, very dangerous, or clever enough to make people believe you are both. The fact that Bruce has already revised that judgment only makes the picture more interesting.

Her gaze drifts briefly toward the boutique windows, sunlight spilling across the street outside in a way that feels almost too peaceful for the conversation they are having. "If he's the sort of man you're comparing to the Falcones," she says after a moment, "then he's not here to live quietly." Selina's mouth tilts faintly. "Men like that build things. Territory. Influence. Problems."

Neither possibility surprises her.

Bruce's comment about Sienna earns a quieter sort of amusement. She has already felt the way the girl's instincts line up with her own - the balance, the quick decisions, the refusal to fold when someone tries to corner her. "She does alright," Selina says simply.

The mention of Harley pulls a low laugh from her, surprised and genuine. "Married," she repeats, clearly entertained. "You step outside Gotham for five minutes and Harley Quinn builds herself a whole new life."

Bruce's excitement draws her attention back fully, and Selina recognizes that look in his eyes immediately. That spark has always been there - the part of him that wakes up when the world throws something impossible in his path. Her smile grows a little more genuine. "Mob bosses, mutants, Avengers," she says slowly, letting the list settle between them. "That's a lot of different kinds of trouble sharing the same city."

Selina tilts her head slightly, studying him in that familiar, measuring way.

"But you're right about one thing."

Her expression sharpens, confidence settling comfortably back into place.

"We've handled worse."