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but what will we do when we're sober?

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This "new Bruce", as Alfred was calling him, had all the tools to impress Selina. She walked to the door of the club that apparently was now his trying to look the part as she always did, working hard not to frown at all the rich people her age that were coming and going with dazed smiles.

Alfred had promised her name would be in the guests list, and she hoped to God he wasn't fooling her. If there was something Selina hated, it was to be fooled, and Bruce had been making a habit of getting on her nerves. His butler sure wouldn't trail behind.

As a matter of fact, Selina shouldn't even be there. She got a call from a distressed Alfred the previous night asking for her help, under the false hope that she could talk some sense into Bruce, but she didn't feel the last bit willing to help – or so she said. As usual, Babs and Tabby read right through her, and if she'd be bold enough to admit it, even Alfred did, for he told her he'd make it so her name would be in the list that night, and every night for as long as it took for her to show up.

It was a shot in the dark, really. If just half of what Alfred had said was true, Selina was sure she wouldn't make the last bit of difference talking to Bruce; not even when they were "equal" (or as equal as they could be) he listened to her, what made Alfred think that he would now was a mystery to her.

"Selina Kyle," she said at the door after cutting the line.

She was wearing one of Barbara's dress, the only one of her friends whose clothes fit her on the chest and still managed to be sexy, but the heels were Tabitha's. Everything was black and leather, and her hair had been straightened, though it still had a 80s volume that was absolutely incredible. Her makeup was heavy on the eyes, her lips were painted red, and as she walked inside the club, plenty of heads turned in her direction, men and women alike.

It was good to walk like that, with people getting out of her way just because of the power she exhaled. Smirking, she scanned the room with sharp eyes and found Bruce at the very back, an impressive set of champagne bottles on the table and a girl by each side of him.

He… was changed and it was unsettling, somehow. On the back of her mind, Selina remembered of a certain night at his house's study, and she had to shove the memory down in order to do what she came down there to do. She walked to the back of the room, hardly stopping at the VIP cord that separated him from the others.

"Let her," Bruce said lazily when one of the security guards moved to make her stop.

Selina's hand was ready to reach for the switchblade hidden under the dress, but his interference kept her from doing anything dramatic. He was smirking, but she wasn't anymore, and he reached for one of the bottles, leaving one of his companions aside.

"I saw your name on the list," he said without looking at her. "Didn't think you'd show up, though."

"The fact that you keep assuming you know me, Bruce Wayne, baffles me," she said as emotionless as he sounded.

Bruce looked up at her with that stupid smirk of his. Selina wanted to slap it out of his face, and for the first time she understood what Alfred had meant on the phone. He was impressing her, alright, but not in a good way. Bruce took a few gulps from the bottle and settled it down the table again with a loud "AH" before standing up, both his companions now alone and pouting.

"Come on, Bruce," one of them, a sugary brunette, said taking his hand and trying to pull him back to the sofa, but he easily disentangled from her.

"It's been a while," he said stepping closer to her. Selina could smell the alcohol in his clothes, and she wondered how much time he'd been spending partying. She didn't step back, which meant that she had to look up at him, and she couldn't help but remember of simpler times, when he was just a clueless kid too good for his own good. "What did Alfred put you up too?"

She smiled at his words, a bit offended even.

"Alfred only put my name on the list," she said, the lie rolling out easily. "I wanted to meet the hottest club of Gotham's elite, but I realized… I don't have your number."

"Well, you never provided me with yours either," he replied smartly. "The easiest way to have you over was leaving a glass of milk outside my window."

Selina chuckled.

"Cute," she said and he mirrored her smile. "How about a dance, Bruce Wayne?"

"Well, aren't you always the one to take the initiative?" he said, and to her surprise snaked an arm around her waist. Selina tried not to push him away as an immediate response to anyone touching her.

"Hey!" one of the girls, a red head that almost made her think of Ivy, said standing up. "We got here first!"

She tried to take Selina from Bruce's half-embrace, but Selina stood her ground, getting on the girl's face.

"Try me, bitch," she said sharply, staring right into the girls eyes, and watched the red head – who was easily a head taller than her – cower back to the sofa. Bruce laughed loudly, dragging her to the dancefloor.

"Ah, Selina Kyle," he said, his cheeks red with the heat and the booze, his breath minty and alcoholic. "I sure missed you."

Selina shook her head letting her hands go to the back of his neck as they began to dance ever so closely.

"And you sure is drunk," she said and he laughed again.

"Probably," he said interrupting his laugh. "But who the fuck cares, am I right? Let's party."

Her mind went back again – don't change too much – and she shook her head lightly, just to straighten her priorities. He changed too much, hit a new low, but she'd been there, done that, and maybe she could help him back up. She only needed a little time.