[for Selina]

[daretodo]

I’m still riding the adrenaline rush from a training session with Cap as I make my way back home. My t-shirt’s bunched into a ball in my hand, and I tip my face up to meet the sun through the trees. I wouldn’t say no to some rain to cool off, but the sky above me is clear.

Figures. When you want it to rain, there’s not a drop to be found.

I stop on the spot, taking in a deep breath — smelling the flowers, so to speak. When I look back ahead and see who’s coming down the boardwalk, my stomach flips, then drops out. There’s no room for a hasty exit, so I stand my ground, holding my empty hand palm out in a mocking gesture of surrender.

“I swear I’m not following you,” I tell one Selina Kyle. “It’s a free boardwalk.”

Comments

[daretodo]

Well, well, well. That's interesting. Not that I have time to think on her apparent dislike for narcissistic, complacent rich guys for very long, 'cause I realize I just came dangerously close to outing myself.

"No," I say, and I tell myself it's not a lie because I'm answering a different question. "We're friends because we're scientists. We speak the same language."

[purrloined]

"Different dialects," she says, knowing he'll know what she means, expression and tone a little closer to flat, to neutral, where she wanted it.

[daretodo]

My earlier sympathy evaporates in an instant. Maybe I should've just stuck with the superhero conversation. I can count on one hand the people I've actually told here, but I recognize the looks I get sometimes. I'm a story somewhere, too, my life condensed into bite-sized entertainment fit for a ten-year-old. I could just tell her. Spider-Man won't mean anything to her.

I get the unwelcome mental image of Norman Osborn asking me to choose which woman I want to save and I force a breath out through my teeth. I let my hands relax when I feel my nails digging deep into my palms.

"Point is, we still get each other."

[purrloined]

Her eyes narrow behind her shades but not in displeasure. She's figured out some of Pete's buttons and can press them deftly enough, but the ways he reacts, the varying intensity, it doesn't make a full picture. It doesn't totally make sense. She looks him over, gaze traveling down to his hands and then up, taking in the ropey muscle, the scars. She feels herself tensing slightly in reaction to him because whatever it is she just brushed up against, it's much more sensitive nerve than the one she'd hit at Mardi Gras.

"...Look," she says quietly, after a moment, not sounding contrite, but tone softer, at least.

"I don't oh, God," she says, starting to shrug back into what is unquestionably a fighter's stance when a giant blue parrot descends from the trees above them and lands on her. It's on her, giant grey talons curving around her bicep and shoulder. It's on her and angling its face in her face then scooting up her arm to get, of all things, closer.

"What are- what- what the hell."

[daretodo]

It takes me a second to process what the heck I'm even seeing, but the disbelieving laughter is quick to follow.

Talk about a change in mood.

"Omigod, it's Tweety Bird's revenge," I cackle, instinctively moving forward to help get the parrot away before Miss Puddy Tat, here, brings out the claws. All I see are flailing arms and feathers, but I get a grip on the bird's talons, prying them off her arm. "Here--!"

[purrloined]

"Why is this happen- shut up, Parker!" Selina snaps, sneaking her own hand back, behind her neck, pushing her hand under where the bird has planted its other foot across her neck and shoulders.

"Get- Hey!" she snaps again as the bird allows its feet to be slightly dislodged but lifts the sunglasses off of her face delicately, with the curve of it's beak.

[daretodo]

"Did you take those from his girlfriend?"

Mr. Parrot -- I'm assuming it's a mister, maybe it's a missus -- is giving a surprising amount of fight. I catch a mouthful of feathers and spit them out, prompting me to keep my mouth shut while I try to my hand around on the other talon, pulling it open so he doesn't scratch up her neck.

[purrloined]

"Ow," she mutters, snapping her hair tie out so the bird's foot will not getting caught in it, and she ducks back and away from the flapping wings, reaching out and taking her sunglasses out of its mouth.

She puts two feet between them and leaves the bird to settle on Peter.

"Rude."

[daretodo]

I hold an arm aloft, hissing a little as sharp talons dig into my forearm. He's heavier than I expect, but he doesn't stay put for long, giving out a loud squawk before spreading his wings and heading back up into the trees. I watch him go, bewildered, a hint of a smile still tugging at my mouth. A blue feather falls from my hair, and I crouch down to pick it up, spinning it between my fingers.

I laugh again. "That was different."

[purrloined]

"This is why people live in cities," Selina grouses, replacing her sunglasses and shaking her hair out between her fingers before tossing it back over her shoulder. She curves it forward and tips her chin down, examining a little red smudge there, a small line of raised skin where she was scraped just enough.

"Damn it."

[daretodo]

I pocket the feather and stand up. I'm a little scraped myself, but island injuries aren't anything new. I inch forward a couple of steps, mouth twisting thoughtfully as I eye her scrape. I hesitate for a very, very long moment.

But despite my better judgment about not inviting known thieves over, I say, "I don't live too far from here. If you wanna drop in, I can clean that up."

[purrloined]

"You have neosporin? Wait, we're in the land that time forgot. How about iodine?" she asks, shooting him a quick look that is only mildly wary.

[daretodo]

I nod. A very small part of me is hoping she'll decline, but the truth is, no matter how bad things get, I don't know how not to help people.

Even people who've done little but insult me since we've met.

"And bandages. A whole first aid kit, actually. I'm kind of a klutz."

[purrloined]

"I seem to remember you falling down a mountain or something to that effect." She stifles a sigh and looks at him again.

"What's closer, your place or the compound?"

[daretodo]

I could lie and say it's the Compound. It's at the tip of my tongue, but the truth worms its way out of me. I blew my big lie quota earlier.

"We're literally five minutes from my place," I say, kicking myself a little. We're miles from the Compound. "I can just grab the stuff and come back, if you want."

[purrloined]

"It would make more sense than inviting me over to case the joint," Selina points out, absently crossing her arms under her chest and cocking her hip to one side.

He wanted her to stay away from the nice part of town and he knows at least something of how accomplished she is as a thief- not that she'd imagine he has anything she's interested in acquiring.

[daretodo]

"...I'll be right back."

I take off at a jog in the wrong direction until I'm out of sight, and double-back up in the trees where I'm less likely to be spotted or followed. I've taken this same route so many times in the middle of the night that I could probably do it blindfolded.

When I get home, I top up Martha's water bowl, then grab the red first aid kit out of the bathroom. After strapping it around my waist, I lock up the front door and take the same circuitous path back to where I left the resident cat burglar. A quick glance at my watch tells me the whole trip took just a little over ten minutes.

"I come bearing gifts," I say, pulling out the small tube of neosporin. "Lemme see?"

[purrloined]

The scrape has puffed up enough to be categorized as a weal, if a small one. Selina looks up from the boulder she was reclined on, in the shade, and stands easily to saunter back up onto the boardwalk.

"I was starting to worry you'd injured yourself."

[daretodo]

"Maybe tomorrow," I reply, gesturing for her to sit back down since it'll probably be more comfortable for her.

"I'm not a doctor, but I know what I'm doing. You okay if I..." I lift my hand, but don't touch her just yet.

[purrloined]

"I've patched myself up before," she says, not sharply, but succinctly.

Because it's true.

She holds her hand out for the kit.

"I can do it."

Even though the scratches are in awkward places for her to reach. She can manage. She's managed considerably worse without aid.

[daretodo]

I know exactly what's in the kit, so if she tries anything funny, at least I'll know who stole it. I frown, hesitant, but hand the kit over with a reluctant sigh.

"I'm sure you can," I tell her. "I'm just saying you don't have to. But fine. Whatever." I lean back, resting my weight on my palms. I'll deal with my own scrapes once she's done.

[purrloined]

"Thank you," she replies because he's done her a favor and she may not care about expending a lot of effort on niceties, but she's not intrinsically rude.

She lets her fingertips trace up her shoulder lightly, patting out the line of the raised scrape and then reaches into the kit. She squeezes the neosporin onto her pinky fingertip, swipes it over the scrape, then thumbs a long gauze strip with light adhesive edges over it. She does it with the practiced ease of someone who has spend a lot of time doing something.

There's another over the ridge of her collarbone, much smaller, and it's the same quick gestures- the swipe of the antibacterial, the tapping on and soothing over of another small bandaid.

"Is there one here?" she asks him, turning her head away and pulling her hair over her opposite shoulder. She felt one of the talons scrape the back of her neck, low, over the first knob of her spine, but she can't be sure of it without a mirror.

[daretodo]

I'm only half-paying attention to what she's doing when she asks me a question. I sit up, looking over as she exposes the long, pale column of her neck. It's a good neck, and with her turned her away from me, well...

I look. My hand instinctively comes up to touch the scrape, but I catch myself before I make contact, my hand hovering an inch or so above her skin. I push down the sudden, stupid urge to brush my mouth over the point where her neck meets her shoulder, fighting a blush I'm glad she can't see. I try to even out my breaths.

"Ah- Yeah, you--" I say, stumbling a little over my words. "Yeah. There is."

[purrloined]

Of course there is. She whips her hair with one hand, the one with no neosporin on it, up into a messy half ponytail at the side of her neck opposite the scratch. She reaches back to gently feel for the scrape and has a moment's search before letting out the quietest exasperated breath. She arches her spine and reaches back, one arm bent over her head and back, the other inverted and bent up between her shoulder blades. It's a pretty basic yoga pose, and she can tie herself into knots if she has to. She shouldn't, for this.

"Should I even bother?" she asks.

It may seem petty, but the more scars she avoid accumulating, the happier she'll be. She has her share. She doesn't want new ones. They're unavoidable sometimes, but she'd rather this not be one of them. Getting clawed by a parrot wasn't one par with the rest of her scar stories in terms of being impressive.

[daretodo]

I glance away, quickly, like I've never seen a pretty girl doing yoga before.

(No, not a pretty girl. A very dangerous lady who hasn't gone out of her way to be particularly nice. to you. Remember that, Parker, before you get any more bad ideas.)

"It'd just take me a second," I blurt out, barely refraining from slapping myself in the forehead. Idiot.