rachel hesitates for a moment, hovering in the doorway of the spacious living room like a shadow. she’s still extremely sore from her beating the night before--- long sleeves hiding dark bruises that mark her light skin, a dull ache continuing to throb in the back of her head---

   and yet, there’s the stretch of skin that could only be from a string of stitches, and the firm wrappings of bandage around her injured hand. something bruce didn’t do. no--- it was alfred who tended to her wound after passing out last night.