Work Text:
Pages flapped through the air for an instant before the book's spine hit the floor with a resounding crack. It was accompanied by a low groan as Shayera ran a hand over her face. The novel had been a nice thought, but she just couldn't keep focused. She needed to move, to run, to fly--hell, she'd be thrilled to even pace the Watchtower's halls.
Shayera sent a withering glare to the cast keeping her arm at a perfectly square angle. She couldn't help but fantasize about flexing her arm despite it and busting through the damn plaster. Of course, that wouldn't be happening, it hurt like hell just to tense her muscles. The next time she saw Bizarro, he was getting a nice, charged mace right in his ugly mug.
All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. John had been quick to get to her after Bizzaro had flung her through one of a building's last supporting pillars. The rubble, coupled with the force of a Superman-level blow, had done considerable damage, but she was strong, and her team was effective. Shayera sighed as she flopped back onto her pillow, wincing as a sharp pain shot up her wing. Her scowl deepened, fading only slightly once she turned her gaze up to trace the ceiling tiles and began rubbing a thumb over her cast's unique texture. As soon as Bizarro had been restrained, Batman, with Flash's speedy yet steady assistance, had worked to properly set her crooked limbs as efficiently as possible.
She was left with a compound fracture to her left arm, a fracture in her right wing's ulna, and multiple hairline fractures in her right ankle--along with the usual assortment of scrapes and bruises.
Somehow, the hairline fractures ended up being the most irritating. It wasn't a full break, and it didn't hurt like a break, but it had to be wrapped and she couldn't walk on it. Well, she could, but Batman had pointedly stressed that if she did, the hairline fractures could grow into full fractures and she'd be out of commission even longer. She'd been willing to risk it, in favor of keeping herself sane, but Superman had backed him up with an expression reminiscent of a kicked puppy at the sight of her injuries. So, she resolved to grit her teeth and accept the novel Clark had offered her instead--something about exercising the mind when she couldn't exercise her body.
That had been over a week ago.
It wasn't that the novel was bad, exactly, but she just could not stay focused--too many metaphors, not enough plot. Maybe in another circumstance she could've dealt with it, but the long, drawn-out chapters only made her need to do something, anything, ten times stronger.
Shayera released another groan and ran a hand over her face and through her hair. She grimaced when her fingers came away with a coating of oil from her scalp. Ew. That settled it, Bizarro was in for a proper beating if he decided to escape prison again. Shayera had only been able to wipe herself down with washcloths since the fight. Any other time she would have stuck her head into the shower to avoid getting a cast wet, but some particularly nasty bruising along her back and sides was making bending over like that impossible.
She wiped her hand off on the bedsheets and considered her options. A: she could pick the book back up and hope it put her to sleep. B: she could take a walk around the Watchtower, hairline fractures be damned, and let off a little steam.
A huff rushed from her lungs and Shayera carefully stood from her bed. She crouched down to grab the book--bending her spine as little as possible--and tossed it onto the sheets before making her way into the hallway. A walk would do her good. She was in need of a snack, anyways.
Fluorescent lights forced her to squint as she stepped out into the hallway. Shayera took each step with care, both savoring the feeling of being in motion once more, and taking stock of her ankle and the various minor injuries to her lower body. She also kept an ear out for any other Leaguers walking the halls.
The last time she had been caught out and about while technically on bedrest, Barry had swept her up and back to her room before she even knew she’d been made. He had then proceeded to talk her ears off for the better part of an hour, interpreting her boredom as an invitation for meaningless gossip. The time before that, Superman had levelled her with that kicked puppy look and given her that dry novel to occupy her instead. This time, she made it through the dorm wing and into the main hallway without encountering a soul.
By the time she had successfully made it to the kitchen, she found herself wondering if anyone was even still on the Watchtower. Not even a second later, a glance at the microwave clock answered her query. Its bright red numbers showed that it was far too late for most of the League to be awake, let alone still on the Watchtower.
Shayera blinked at the display, wondering how she had managed to spend the past several hours without noticing the time. Her moment of contemplation was brief. She shrugged and resolved to go about getting her snack. Sleep could come later–probably after her wing had managed to heal more fully. For now, Shayera would enjoy the leftover tuna salad someone had left in the fridge.
She had just bitten into her half-sandwich when heavy bootsteps announced an imminent intrusion. Pausing mid-chew, Shayera glanced back at the clock to re-confirm the time before slipping onto an island stool and going back to her sandwich. There was only one person that could be.
Right on cue, the bootsteps reached the kitchen and there was Batman. He stood, frozen, just beyond the doorway for a moment. For once, he seemed more surprised to see her than she was to see him. Even his fingers remained stopped in time, hovering just above the corner of the eye she had caught him rubbing. Then time resumed as abruptly as it had stopped and Batman’s hand was firmly at his side again as he gave her a stiff nod in greeting.
Shayera tried not to smile as she kept chewing and gave him a quick raise of the fingers in a wave with the hand occupied by her tuna salad sandwich. “You’re here late.”
Batman didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t until he was midway through filling the coffee machine with tap water that Shayera heard a quiet. “Yes.”
She watched him set up the machine, noting that he put far more ground coffee in the filter than she deemed reasonable. By the time the coffee maker had been flipped on, it was clear that the man had no intentions to elaborate.
“So? Slow night in Gotham or did you just miss me?”
The Bat looked at her for a moment, blinking slowly before turning back to the machine and rubbing the back of his armored neck. Shayera found herself wondering just how long he had been awake.
“It’s usually slow after a particularly large bust, yes.”
Shayera hummed, swallowing before pointing with her free pinkie finger at a new bullet gouge in his chestplate. “Right, Falcone, was it?”
Batman nodded.
“Hm, Flash mentioned something about that yesterday–I think. It’s hard to tell with how fast he talks sometimes. Something about a drug bust, right?” Shayera took another bite of her sandwich when she finished, chewing slowly to coax a response with feigned patience. Hopefully Batman was feeling sociable tonight, she didn’t think she could stand sitting in her quarters for another dozen hours yet.
The coffee machine gurgled, filling in the space of Batman’s pause. As the dark liquid began to drip out, a sigh escaped the man and he leaned back against the counter. “Yes, fentanyl, but also weapons. Assault rifles.”
Shayera gave a sound of disapproval. “Nasty business.”
Batman nodded, looking up from the floor and pausing when his gaze met her face. His gaze didn’t leave that general area for a few seconds and his head cocked to the side slightly. Then, the machine’s drips slowed to a halt and he turned to collect his mug.
Furrowing her brows, Shayera squinted at the side of his head. “What? What was that look for?”
He resumed leaning against the counter, eyes now fixed on his coffee. “You don’t dry your hair after showering?”
Shayera blinked, squint intensifying at the random question. “Huh?”
Batman looked up at her once more, and gestured vaguely at his cowl.
A few moments of silence stretched out as Shayera tried to work out just what the hell he was getting at. Confused, she set the remainder of her sandwich down to brush over her head in a mimicry of Batman’s gesture. Immediately after her fingers reached her hair, it hit her. He thought her hair was wet–or at least damp–because of how oily it was. She cringed and drew her hand back, wiping her fingers on her pants. Did it really look that bad?
“Oh, uh, yeah, usually. It’s not wet, though, just oily. I haven’t been able to wash my hair since before the fight with Bizarro.” She sheepishly told him, finishing off her sandwich after.
“Oh.”
There was more silence, and Shayera contemplated going back to her quarters to try to wash her hair. It would hurt like hell, but she could probably manage it now. If her hair looked damp from the oil, she needed to at least try.
“Would you like assistance?”
“Huh?” Shayera’s gaze snapped up from the countertop at Batman’s question. He wasn’t a telepath, was he?
“With your hair,” Batman clarified, “Since your injuries would make it difficult to wash.”
“Uh… I mean…” Was Batman offering to wash her hair for her? Shayera subtly tensed her muscles, using the pain to ensure she wasn’t having some weird fever dream. “That’d be a lot of help.”
Batman took another gulp of coffee before setting his mug down and nodding. “Wait here.” Without another word, he vanished into the hallway.
Shayera could only stare after him. What was happening? Did she just agree? What exactly did she agree to? Wouldn’t washing someone require some degree of undressing? Why did Batman offer to wash her? What the hell was happening?
Before she had spiralled to the point of plotting an escape, Batman was back with a thick towel and two bottles in his arms. Without a word, he set his bounty onto the counter and began cleaning the kitchen island sink with supplies from a nearby drawer.
Oh.
Oh.
He intended to wash her hair in the sink, like at a salon. It was still weird, but the worst-case-senarios that had popped up in Shayera’s mind were now safely dismissed. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about having her hair washed by the guy who was basically her boss, but she knew that something had needed to be done with her hair for many days now. By the time Batman had finished thoroughly rinsing the sink free of cleaner, Shayera had resolved to let what happens happen.
Batman partially unfolded the towel, and laid it out next to the sink in a manner that had Shayera assuming it was meant as a cushion for her upper back. He then placed the two bottles, which Shayera now recognized as the standard shampoo and conditioner stocked for anyone who needed to shower while on the Watchtower, out of the way. Once everything was set the way he wanted it, Batman’s gaze turned to Shayera.
She took that as her cue to approach.
“... Okay, so, how are we doing this, exactly?” Shayera asked as she stepped around the kitchen island.
“Lay on the towel, on your back, so that your head is on the edge of the sink.” Batman instructed as he went about removing his gloves and gauntlets. The Thanagarian couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Hm?”
“Oh, nothing.” Shayera waved off his curious grunt with her good arm as she sat on the island counter and carefully maneuvered herself into position. “It’s just that this is probably the last thing I expected to be doing tonight.” There was another, less decipherable, grunt as she settled her head so that it was over the sink without straining her neck. Her wing didn’t hurt as badly as it had before, but it was still a bit sore against the hard counter. She didn’t have the time to really focus on it before a finger tapped her forehead.
Barely a moment later, chilly water was raining down on her hair while fingers rubbed at her scalp. Just like that, the absurdity of it all hit her once more. She wasn’t sure what was stranger, the fact that he was sans gloves, that he was willingly touching someone, or that he was actually pretty good at this. Shayera had only been to an Earth salon once, as she preferred cutting her own hair to sitting in those weird chairs with her wings shoved under a coat, and this was basically the same, if not a little better. Somehow, Batman was gentler with her hair than the hair dresser had been.
When the ministrations stopped so that Batman could grab the shampoo, Shayera tilted her head back to get a better look at his face. “Are you a hair dresser or something during the day?”
Batman paused to give Shayera a look that she vaguely understood as his ‘amused’ face. “No.” He then returned to the task at hand with no other measurable reaction.
“Huh, well you’re pretty good at this. I’d be kinda surprised if it was your first time.” No she wouldn’t, not really. He was notoriously good at quickly picking up new skills. Besides, this was the guy who carried hair ties in his belt in case a teammate with longer hair needed to get it out of the way quickly. After finding out about that and the speedster-specific protein bars, she had learned to expect the unexpected from Batman.
There was a long, comfortable silence as Batman rinsed the shampoo from her hair and then applied more to properly defeat the excessive oil. Shayera had just gotten used to the feeling of having her scalp massaged by someone other than herself when he spoke up unprompted.
“I used to do this for my sister.” He said quietly, like a confession. “She broke her arm and asked for help, then it became a thing we’d do when she didn’t want to do it herself.”
For a moment, Shayera said nothing, too stunned at the mention of anything remotely personal from Batman to formulate a response. There was something oddly melancholic when she glanced over at his face, or what little she could see of it.
“That’s sweet. You two must be close.” Shayera finally settled on a gentle response. She deliberately used the present tense, something about Batman’s use of the past tense gave her a bad feeling.
Batman gave an affirmative grunt. Shayera couldn’t tell if the pause before it was normal or counted as hesitance. As much as she wanted to pry, she restrained herself. Slamming him with questions would only ensure he didn’t share anything so freely with her again. She hoped this sister of his was still around and alive, but it wasn’t her business.
Shayera resolved to relax into his ministrations as he rinsed out the last of the shampoo and applied conditioner. It wasn’t much longer before he rinsed that out as well and helped her towel off her hair.
“Thank you Batman, that was a huge help.” Shayera insisted before she gave into the man’s not-so-subtle nudges toward her quarters. He grunted in acknowledgement with a nod of his head and that was that.
Later, when Shayera laid down on a fresh pillow, she found herself drifting to sleep rather quickly. Her hair was still damp, but she didn’t care, she felt cleaner than she had all week.