It's neither a warm welcome nor reminiscent of your past rendezvous.

Pride almost halts the words from escaping her lips. "Please," Selina implores, relieved her voice is far steadier than she feels.

Brows pinched together, dark circles marking her eyes, a hunched posture. Selina's disheveled appearance starkly contrasts the composed woman you usually see. The Catwoman is usually much more put together when meeting you.

It pains her to ask you for help, not when she's vowed never to depend on anyone again.

"I don't know what he'd do if— if I—"

She sits on the edge of your couch, her shoulders curled defensively. Her body tenses, as if ready to make her escape at any moment. It's a harrowing realization; something's growing inside of her as she speaks.

The tight coil wound in Selina is either from the earlier argument with Bruce or her having to come crawling back to you after months of silence. There was a time she loved you, even if she never said it properly. There were no serious confessions, only secret trysts and hushed conversations on rooftops and balconies.

"I don't know what to do," Selina grits. What a sobering thought. The Cat, always one step ahead, now feels like she's lost her footing.

The Bat can't know. Bruce can't know she's pregnant with his child; it'd mean she'd be bound to him in a permanent, undeniable way. No more blurry lines, only set terms and expectations. Selina doesn't do well with his rules and regulations.