Work Text:
The glare on Damian’s face said everything, despite how much he tried hiding it. Damian was clearly bothered by something.
His paintbrush was threatening to snap with how tight his grip was, not to mention his jittery brushstrokes were filled with aggression. Damian Wayne was aggressive on the outside but everything he did was incredibly calculated, including his painting.Selina knew exactly what he was doing.
Ah yes, Selina’s favorite technique, stress painting. There was something so familiar in that feeling. The anger that came with it was something so universal.
A small smirk graces her features as she remises on some of her endeavors in artistic stress relief. It was like she was watching her younger self working on one of her early forgeries, back before she was Neal and had to give up her dreams of anything other than not getting caught. She sighs.
“What’s wrong Baby-bat?” Damian’s brush snaps. Damian’s glare deepens as he looks at her. Oh. Selina gets it now, he’s mad at her. She stalks closer.
“Kyle.” He doesn’t turn to address her.
“Your technique is off.” It’s less a complaint than critique. That gets his attention. “Excuse me?” “The feathers, you’re too tight with the strokes. Same with the color, try using some brown or purple to darken it instead.” He glares harder.
Damian loosens his grip on the brush, the strokes are looser. He scoffs and speaks up. “You paint?” He softened, more curious than angry but still keeping that mask of aggression.
Selina snorts. “I dabble.” Damian raises an eyebrow. Now it’s her turn to scoff, “What kind of master thief would I be if I didn’t at least know a little about forgery?” There’s some truth to that but there was also her previous career as a conman that really required her skills.
“Tt. There seems to be more than that.” She should have known better than to let the son of the world’s greatest detective leave it be. “Catwoman doesn’t tend to replace what she steals, much less with a replica.” He had her on that. Catwoman is definitely not known for forgeries.
“Are you interrogating me?” She remembers her time with the FBI, when their casual conversations became full blown interrogations. A ghost of a smile covers Damian’s face. “Depends.” That little shit. He so is. She’s in too deep, his stress seems to be almost completely gone. She indulges.
“I’m more than just a pretty kitty, kitten. You might actually be familiar with some of my other works.” Damian gets a little sparkle in his eye. Shit. She knows that look. Peter used to have it when he wanted to discuss some of her more alleged crimes, Sarah would get it whenever she would mention the Raphael she allegedly stole.
“Elaborate.” Curiosity certainly killed the cat this time. “Well, I’m pretty well known for my great forgeries. You can probably find some of them in a few museums if you look hard enough.” That just made Damian even more curious.
“Tt. Forgeries are lazy excuses for art.” He’s trying to provoke her. Selina makes a mental note to give Damian some lessons on manipulation. “I wouldn’t say lazy, forgeries actually take a lot of skill to make, especially when you want them to be really convincing.”
“How so?” Selina’s smile grows, it’s been so long since she’s been able to talk about art, much less forgeries, with someone. “Well, the secret to a truly convincing forgery is with the aging. It’s really important that you get every detail right. Like say you want to replicate a Degas, what do you think the first step is?”
Damian thinks for a moment. “Making sure you’re using the right paint?” Her grin widens. “Exactly. You want to make sure you’re using pigments from that era. The best way to get those pigments is to use some from other paintings of that timeframe.” Damian cringes. “Doesn’t that deface the other art?”
Selina makes a so-so motion. “It’s actually something that takes a lot of skill to get. The trick is to make sure you only take what you need. You actually don’t need much of you know how to reactivate the paint properly.”
”Hold on let me go get something.” Selina slips out of the manor, she returns a few minutes later with a bag. Damian eyes the bag curiously. “This right here,” she holds up the bag, “is a bag of my painting supplies.”
She rummages through the bag and pulls out a small box. “And this is probably the most valuable paint palette in the world.” Damian eyes the palette unimpressed. The box itself was severely underwhelming, just a small dark wooden box with a small metal clasp.
Selina smirks, sits next to Damian, props the box up on his canvas, and opens it. It’s messy inside, clearly well loved. The colors are vibrant and well taken care of.
“That,” She points to a sunshine yellow, “is Picasso’s signature yellow, taken directly from his Portrait of a Woman with a Hat.” There’s a sense of pride in her voice as she speaks, there’s clearly a story behind each of the colors. “And this,” she points to a deep blue, “is from Matisse’s the Conversation.” She continues with each of the colors, each from a different artist, each even older.
Damian stares at the palette, his face painted with admiration. Selina sighs, she’s too soft for this kid. “Do you want to use it?” Damian stares at her incredulously. “Tt. No.” Selina scoffs. “I know that look kitten, you’re starstruck.”
She holds the palette out towards Damian.
“Here, use it. I’m not willing to fully part with it just yet but I’ll let you borrow it when you ask.” Damian notes her use of when instead of if. He takes the palette. “Fine, if you insist.”
She knew he just needed a little nudge.
She grabs her bag again and looks through it. She pulls out one of her favorite brushes and puts it by her palette. Damian gives her another look. “I don’t want you going anywhere near that palette with your broken brushes.” She playfully jabs at him.
They spend the rest of the evening in comfort together, content silence only interjected by small talk between one artist to another. The night ends with Damian asleep on Selina’s shoulder, her paintbrush still in his hand.
When Damian awakens the next morning he’s in his bed. The only proof of last night’s events were his now finished robin painting and the small dark wooden box on his desk. On top of the box sat a neatly written note.
‘You have a week, take good care of it for me.
— Selina’