THE BATMAN,

❛ It is not often your theories prove wrong. ❜ It is an observation as much as any other. As she speaks, her body begins to reject the needle, to ease it from her skin so that she may return to silk.

His hands are careful. Familiar with every stroke of a thread that pierces skin and knits it together. Stilling at the force of repulsion that seems to contest basic human physique. He leans in closer, finding it all so fascinating.

" Not often no." He admits, leaning back then, as if waiting for her body to knit itself together naturally. Tilting his head still with a faint wave of fascination in his gaze. " No. Blood means you're like them. Fallible. "

" Yeah. You're still bleeding." He points out. Hypocritical, he knows. He's pretty sure he just got a hairline fracture on his knuckle but it will heal. It has before, after all. Diana, on the other hand, was bleeding from an angry looking gas across her arm which to Bruce seemed more pressing than whatever argument she might come up with.

He grips her by the shoulder gently, only to make her sit while he moved about to and get the items he would need to address her wound. Too focused to listen to any protest. Too focused on ignoring his own body's protests. Too focused on trying to not address whatever panic seemed to have seized him frozen in the moment when their attackers looked as if they would overpower her.

She wears her head high, but there is no denying that she wants him to care for her wounds as much as he needs to do so for himself. And Bruce does so with soft hands and a gentle intention that surprises even her.

“ Hm. Can’t have that. “ He retorts quickly, without missing a beat. Pulling a chair towards himself and setting it down in front of her so he can sit and carefully start working on cleaning up and treating the cut. 

It’s easy if he can focus on one thing. No wandering thoughts. No anxieties. No more worrying. It’s just threading the needle and watching as the skin closed in over the wound and he makes his fingers bloody. That was familiar. That was certain. 

A soft chuckle and he’s pulling himself up to a sitting position. Watching her. Studying her outline against the night sky, the shape of her underneath his shirt, and the strong and sudden urge to reach over and pull her down over him. Instead, he gets up. Stretching his arms and legs and walking around the bed instead of wrapping his arm around her waist.