08.01.12- For some reason when I tried to edit this chapter, it stopped showing up, so I had to upload it again. =/ Many apologies.

Title: Making a Mess
Chapter 4: Second First Impressions, Part 1
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Ted Grant, Selina Kyle
Disclaimer: DC Comics and Warner Bros own.
AN: Many thanks to chipsnopotatoes for looking this over! Also, there are a lot of flashbacks that take place during the earlier part of Batman Begins.

It was the first place he sought after being thrown out of Falcone's underground establishment. The combination of humiliation, frustration, and revenge made him think of it. He remembered seeing the address on an ad in the newspaper once, a coupon had been attached. Bruce did not have any of that and the place might have closed since then, but he didn't care. After tossing his wallet and switching coats with the man trying to stay warm by a small fire, Bruce ran anyway.

It was on a rundown street in the Narrows. Eerily quiet and dirtier than he was used to. No one was around except an old man vomiting in an alley. The Narrows was one place Bruce never expected to end up, but that was before Falcone took away his ability to avenge his parents' death.

The gym was still there. It looked nothing like he expected, still he stepped inside. The place was small. Mirrors lined one wall and the ring in the middle took up most of the space in the room. There was a heavy bag, a speed bag, a few jump ropes hanging near the only window, and very little else. How could anyone learn anything there?

"You lost, kid?"

Bruce turned to the voice. He recognized the man instantly. The one-time Heavyweight Champion of the World — imposing as ever — looked back at him. Hands taped up, arms crossed over his chest, the man appeared ready to step into the ring at any given moment. A flash of recognition crossed the Champ's face, but Bruce was grateful he said nothing of having Gotham's most famous orphan in his gym.

"I, uh, was hoping to train here," Bruce said, then added, "To learn how to box."

The Champ laughed.

"Ya don't 'learn how to box,' kid," he snorted, "Ya wait and see if the sweet science chooses ya. Lets ya pick it up, got it?"

Bruce swallowed, then nodded.

Just being there, he felt better. Felt like doing something was the way to go. He wasn't sure exactly why he needed to do this, but he was sure he didn't want anyone else to know, so he took a few tentative steps towards the other man, "Is there any way to arrange private lessons?"

"Sorry, kid," the Champ laughed again, "I don't swing that way, but I'm flattered. Tell ya what though, ya wanna see if ya got what it takes, follow me."

He turned and headed towards a metal door, opened it and stepped through.

It took Bruce a second to consider his options. He looked away towards the only other door, the exit. He could walk out, finish college, and do all the other things people expected of him. Or he could stay and really do something.

Bruce chose to follow the one-time champion.

"Sit down," the Champ ordered, pointing at the worn black, leather couch.

Bruce took a seat, "I can pay you double for—"

"Ya think I'm doing this for the money?"

Bruce's lips thinned to a straight line, "I don't know."

"Look, ya don't wanna stand out, kid, then don't. That jacket's a good start, but ya wanna blend in? You'll have to do better. I'll be honest with ya. Most people around here ain't gonna notice ya. They're too busy trying to get through their day. But for those few looking for a quick, easy buck, yer a big, shiny target." He sat down on the edge of his desk and continued, "Now, about closing shop? Not many can afford to come here in the first place. Most of the kids that do, I don't even charge. So, it's a no can do, ya understand?"

Bruce frowned, "Yes."

"Good," the Champ smiled, "The kids call me Grant, Mr. Grant or Champ. Pick one, I don't really care. What matters is while yer here, ya do as I say when I say, got it?"

"Yes," Bruce replied, "But I…I don't have any gloves or equipment with me."

"Did I say ya needed any?"

"No, but I assumed—"

"Then don't worry about it." Grant stood then, "Day's been pretty slow. Ya ready to start now?"

"Now?" Bruce asked surprised.

The Champ nodded his head and cracked his knuckles, "Now."

…

Trying to stand, body refusing, Bruce decided that a few minutes with his back to the mat, while embarrassing, was necessary.

"Ah, c'mon, kid, don't tell me yer through for the night?"

His body ached as it never had before and he was starting to regret ever walking into Grant's Gym, but Bruce wasn't about to give up. Two quick breaths and he forced himself to sit up. A dull pain ran through his body and Bruce cursed under his breath. He managed to get to one knee when the door swung open. A cool gust of wind swirled through the gym and a girl with chocolate brown hair walked in. She glanced at him, then at the Champ, and she looked upset.

"What the hell, Ted? You said I got to initiate all the rookies."

Grant didn't look at her, he seemed to be waiting for Bruce to stand if only to send him back down to the mat, "'S not my fault, Kyle. Ya weren't here to do it."

"Bullshit," she argued.

"Hey!" Grant turned to face her fully giving Bruce a few extra moments to get up, "Not in my gym."

"Right. Sorry," she rolled her eyes, "I was simply expressing my frustration with the situation, sir. I am terribly upset that I did not get to pummel the new kid like I had been previously promised, sir," her brown eyes twinkled as she mock saluted and Bruce looked on in amusement.

"Don'tcha get cute with me."

She shrugged a shoulder, "Fine, but don't finish him off yet. Gimme a minute to change and I'll do it!"

Before Bruce could fully stand, she was running in and out of the locker room and into the ring wearing all the necessary sparring gear.

"Yer hands ain't taped up," Grant argued.

"And his are?" she asked pointing at Bruce with her glove.

"Alright," Grant chuckled, stepping out of the ring, "But take it easy on him."

Bruce could tell the girl hadn't given the Champ much of a choice. Seems he didn't have one either. And now she was going to pummel him senseless because of it and by the big smile on her face, she was going to enjoy it, too.

"Remember, kid, hands up," Grant hollered at him, "Strong defense and when ya see yer opening, take it!"

The girl threw a punch, but Bruce dodged it.

"This one's fancy," she said, then threw a quick jab. Then, another.

Both jabs connected, but carried nowhere near the level of power behind one of Grant's punches.

"Has a hard head, too," she added.

"Quit yer yapping, Kyle, and focus," Grant barked. "Kid, don't be afraid to go after her."

Bruce threw a right hook just like Grant had showed him a few hours earlier. It hit the side of her head making her smile disappear. Obviously, the girl did not like it. Her eyes went wide for a second and he realized they were a lovely warm brown, darker than he first thought though. Those brown eyes then narrowed to slits and the next thing Bruce knew, he was lying on the mat staring up at the ceiling again.

…

The chatter from inside the hall nearly drowned out the orchestra, still a few notes managed to reach them outside on the balcony.

Selina Kyle. He'd never known her full name then. Never knew much of about her, really. He had the resources to look her up, but chose not to.

She cocked her head to the side, an amused grin overtaking her lips. Her smile as lovely as ever. Wisps of brown hair flowed along her cheek and Bruce had the sudden urge to reach for the dark tendrils. She looked different. The same and yet so very different…

…

"I think I killed him, Ted."

She didn't sound too concerned, however.

"Nah, he's fine," Grant said, jumping into the ring, "Aren'tcha, kid?"

"Y-Yes," Bruce managed to say, but when he tried to sit up, the whole gym spun and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Hey, any mess ya make, yer cleaning up. Gym rules."

Bruce's dazed gaze traveled from the Champ to the girl. They were both looking down at him with the same haughty expression; it was obvious neither thought he'd manage to get up. His traitorous body seemed to agree with them.

But something inside him kept fighting, urged him on. Bruce closed his eyes for a second and willed himself up. However, that only got him so far. He sat on the mat with his knees pulled up and his arms draped over them. That's when the girl did something he didn't expect. She took off her gloves and offered her hand.

"Ya surprised me, kid," the Champ said, jumping out of the ring, "For that, ya can come back tomorrow." The door slammed shut behind him as he disappeared into his office.

Bruce removed his gloves and took the girl's hand.

"Didn't hurt you too bad, did I?" she asked as she helped him up.

Being knocked down was bad enough, he wasn't going to admit to being in any pain.

"I'm fine."

She cocked her head to the side as she watched him. The piercing gaze made him feel uncomfortable.

"Someone picking on you?"

"What? No." Her question took him by surprise. Why would she think that?

"Someone take your girl away?" she smiled, "Or wants to?"

Rachel's face flashed in his mind's eye. He remembered the slap outside Falcone's. It stung, but not nearly as much as the disappointment in her eyes. She'd said his father would be ashamed… Rachel was ashamed, too, he knew. But…he didn't want to think about Rachel or anything else except this.

"No," he replied.

"So, then, why are you here?" the girl asked him.

"Kyle," the Champ was suddenly standing ringside. Bruce hadn't heard him leave his office, "Leave 'im alone. Ya should be cleaning up, not messing with the new kid."

"I wasn't messing with him," she rolled her eyes dramatically. Then she stepped close to Bruce and hooked her arm around his. "Back me up," she whispered while out loud added, "Right?"

"Uh, yes," Bruce agreed, but other words failed him as his mouth suddenly went dry. His body was on fire at every point where her body made contact with his. The soft, damp skin of her hand against his bicep, her right breast against the outside of his left arm…

She smelled…he couldn't explain her scent. The mixture of her perfume and her workout was more enticing than anything he could have ever imagined. The perspiration along her collar bone, her shoulders and chest made her skin glisten. He could hardly look away.

It wasn't until he heard the Champ chuckle that Bruce managed to tear his gaze away from her. He might have blushed, he's not sure. It was ludicrous. He was far from being a kid and yet he was acting like one because of a beautiful girl.

…

Selina…Kyle… She was just as stunning now as when she first knocked him down in that old ring. Perhaps more so.

Yet, Bruce knew there was something wrong about standing so close to her. When had he moved closer? Had she? He couldn't think straight. For a moment he was that young kid again, tempted, drawn to her… Even if he'd wanted to distance himself, he couldn't tear himself away. There was this connection between them. Something he couldn't explain, something that had a lot to do with what happened that night he met her.

…

"How do we clean up?" Bruce asked clearing his throat and moving away from her.

"We'll start with the floor," she replied and jumped out of the ring.

They'd mopped it up, then washed the ring clean, and finally did the windows.

Bruce glanced at her from time to time and mimicked her movements. He understood cleaning, in theory, but had never engaged in the practice. His arms were sore, more from that than the actual boxing, and he wondered how Alfred managed to keep the Manor so spotless.

Alfred. What had Rachel told him? What must he be thinking?

Bruce wondered if he should call and quickly settled against it.

"I think it's done."

The girl was standing next to him.

"That window?" she pointed, "It's about as clean as it's gonna get."

"Thanks," he said absently. Too many thoughts were running through his head. Alfred. Rachel. He couldn't help but picture the disappointed looks on their faces. Then there was Falcone's smug expression. Joe Chill's…right before the blonde woman shot him… Bruce blinked hard. He looked up at the girl. "Are we done?" he asked. He wanted to get away from it all, away from himself.

"Yeah, c'mon, let's put this stuff back in the closet."

He followed her, his body moving on automatic pilot, his mind somewhere else. Was he really going to leave everything behind? Everyone? What was he thinking?

"Hey, you okay?" she asked. He looked at her and she suddenly looked so young. She couldn't be more than seventeen, eighteen maybe. In any case, she looked worried about him. "You look like you're going to hurl again."

"I think I might."

She grabbed his hand and dragged him outside.

Bruce sagged against the wall, the cold air making him shiver and feel better all at once. He shut his eyes and took several deep breaths of the cool, night air. Could he really leave it all behind?

After a while he opened his eyes expecting the girl to be gone, but she was still there. Curious brown eyes watching him all the while. Without saying anything she disappeared inside and came out with their coats.

"You eat yet?"

"No," he replied as he slipped on the worn coat.

They didn't speak as he followed her down the street. They didn't speak as they entered the small diner. She ordered two house specials once they sat down in a booth, but they didn't speak then either. Still, Bruce enjoyed the warmth of the establishment, the relative quiet, and the surprisingly good food. He only wished his mind would let him enjoy the moment. No sooner had he felt a rare calm settle over him that he began thinking about Rachel again. Alfred. His parents. The futility of trying to avenge them… He turned to the girl, "Been boxing long?"

She looked up at him and smiled. She had a very pretty smile.

"Mm, nope."

"Oh," he was surprised, "I just figured with your skill…"

"No," she shook her head, "I meant you don't get anything from me unless you give me something in return."

Bruce wiped his mouth with the rough paper napkin. He must have looked confused because she explained.

"Boys like you," she pointed and Bruce panicked, "You like to know things, but when it's your turn to share…?" She half-smirked at him and shook her head. Then, she looked out the window for what seemed like a long time. He wondered what she might be thinking given her far-away look. When she turned to him again, she said. "Tell me something. Anything." She laughed and it sounded forced. "It doesn't have to be true."

Bruce ransacked his brain. Nothing seemed appropriate or the kind of thing he imagined she wanted to hear.

"I've never been on a date," he blurted out and wondered why in the world he said that. He drank from his soda to keep from having to look at her. When he was finished with it he continued avoiding her gaze.

"I've never left Gotham," she said. Bruce turned to look at her. Her lively countenance disappeared and for a split second she looked like she might cry.

…

How strange that Selina should be there with him, in his home, so many years later. Did she know he'd been on many dates since then? Should he ask her if she ever managed to leave Gotham? She must have, she seemed like the determined kind.

Someone called his name, but he was lost in his thoughts and failed to hear. Her lovely face, those lips… There was a flash of light Bruce ignored. A pair of brown eyes captured his full attention.

…

The waitress brought the check and placed it on the edge of the table. "I'll just leave this here," she said, "Take your time."

Selina stood, searched her pockets and left enough cash to cover the bill and tip. She didn't say anything as she walked out the door.

Bruce sat in the booth wondering what to do. What could he do? He wanted to go after her, but he had no reason for it. They only just met and she had done enough already: helped him at the gym and even bought him dinner.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her walk past him outside the window. The waitress returned while he stirred the straw absently.

"Does no good to fight, you know."

Bruce looked up at the older woman. Her smile was warm.

"We're not… We weren't fighting," he told her. He's not sure what happened, actually. They had just been sitting there. Not talking or anything. Was that what bothered her? He grabbed his coat, jumped out of the booth, and ran out.

Halfway down the second block he caught up to her. Bruce cleared his throat but didn't say anything. They walked side by side, but she gave no indication whether she cared or not that he was there.

"I'm not going back home," he admitted, sounding out of breath.

Selina stopped. He stopped, too. It wasn't quite a smile, but she looked…pleased, he decided.

A loud noise followed by a cat scurrying past startled them. They both turned to look down the alley to see a couple of trash cans toppled over and further away a man with a knife threatening a young boy.

Bruce could not move. A terrible chill ran through him, as though the blood in his veins had frozen solid. He didn't see when Selina left his side. Everything except the gun and the boy faded to oblivion. He was eight years old again. Frightened. Helpless. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. For the blast that startled him awake from his nightmares. For the world shattering gunshot that changed everything.

"Hey!" he heard Selina yell. "Leave him alone!"

Bruce blinked, her voice bringing him back to the present. That vile, horrible gun wasn't pointed at him, no, a knife was pointed at another scared, little boy.

The knife was turned to Selina. Without any shame, the man smiled as he looked her up and down. Bruce felt sick again. Do something, he thought. Help them.

He looked around the alley for something he could use. There was nothing. For a second, he regretted flinging the gun he'd taken to the court house into the river, but quickly dismissed the thought. He would never resort to that sort of weapon again. That was for cowards.

"Think you can take me, little girl?"

Bruce watched aghast as Selina stepped in front of the young boy. Without taking her eyes off the knife, she whispered something to him. The young boy gave one shaky nod.

She stood up straight. "I know I can," she grinned.

The disgusting smile gone, the man charged towards her. Selina ducked and pushed the boy out of the way.

"Go!" she yelled at him.

Without looking back the boy disappeared down the alley. The man swung the knife towards Selina again. He missed, but before she could get away, he grabbed her hair and yanked her back violently.

"You shouldn't have done that, girly!"

It wasn't until the blade pressed against her neck glinted brightly in the dark alley that Bruce finally moved. He ran towards them just as Selina rammed her elbow back into the man's stomach. The man stumbled back, but somehow managed to slice through the air in time to cut her.

Selina cried out as she fell to the ground, grabbing her shoulder.

The man stood above her and laughed. He turned to Bruce as he approached, "What, you next?" he asked just as Bruce tackled him to the ground. The knife flew out of his hand and skidded across the alley floor.

Grant's training fresh in his mind, Bruce punched the man with everything he'd learned. Right cross, upper cut, left jab. It wasn't enough. The man remained conscious and continued to struggle underneath him.

Everything stopped and Bruce ceased his attack. A warm sensation spread across his stomach seconds before he was shoved off hard to the ground. The man got up and disappeared down the alley the same way the boy had, but Bruce forgot all about them. With trembling hands, he grabbed at the front of his shirt. It felt wet. When he looked down he saw his palms painted red with his own blood.

The first faint shrieks of sirens could be heard now. Selina grabbed his jacket and tried to yank him up.

"C'mon," she said, "The cops are coming. We gotta go."