Shayera blocked the flurry of attacks before taking down a perp. Using her mace, she attempted to block and dodge the multitude of bullets being fired her way. "Ow!" she fell to one knee as a bullet got her in the should. Flying to the shooter at an alarming speed, the Thanagarian knocked him off his feet. A whizzing sound flew by her ear, striking something behind her. What was that? She looked around as she took down the remaining gangsters. Turning to a man on the floor who was screaming his head off, Shayera saw a batarang protruding from his shoulder. Shayera looked up at the rafters, her eyes adjusting to the dark. There. He was crouching in the rafters.
Shayera rolled her eyes before knocking the screeching gangster out with a swift kick to the head. "What are you doing?" Shayera asked as the figure swung from above, landing on his feet with all the grace of a ballerina…surprisingly. "I had him. I didn't need your help," she said in annoyance, ignoring the shooting pain in her arm, shoulder, and back.
"Gotham is my territory," the figure answered gruffly. Shayera rolled her eyes as she approached the crates in the dark warehouse, stepping over unconscious bodies. "I hate to encroach on your territory," Shayera replied sarcastically before prying open one of the crates.
"I've been monitoring their movements for weeks now," Batman said. "Tonight, was the night they meet the supplier."
"Well, I'm sorry my mission ruined yours," Shayera flinched as a wave of pain shot up her arm. Looking around briefly, Shayera eventually said, "What I need isn't here anyway. Sorry for invading your space." Shayera flew up, flinching with every move her left wing made. She flew out of the hole in the warehouse ceiling just as cops arrived on the scene. Batman could deal with them. Shayera was done for the night.
Batman followed the hawk from a distance. He had placed a tracker on her while she was fighting. The fact that the dot on his screen stopped told him she had found his tracker. Batman raised a brow. It had taken her a full five minutes to find it. She was losing her edge. Either that or her injury was worse than she was letting on. Batman was betting on the latter.
Pulling into a dark alley, Batman exited the batmobile and shot his grappling hook onto the roof of another warehouse. "Seriously?" a voice in the darkness asked as he landed on the roof. Batman turned to see Shayera glaring at him with a tiny, crushed tracker in her hand. Also, blood was pouring down her arm and soaking her uniform and wing. "Do you know how expensive that was?" Batman asked referring to the shattered tracker in her hand.
"Send me the bill," Shayera threw the crushed metal back at him. Batman caught it with ease. "I'm getting sick and tired of all this. Tracking me? Again? You pair with me every mission just so you can keep an eye on me. You always want to know my whereabouts when I'm off-duty," Shayera was becoming hysterical. "What do you want from me? What else do I have to do to prove to you guys that I'm not going to betray you again? Haven't I lost enough?" Her face then pinched in pain. "Whatever," she said as her wings began to slowly, painfully flap. She was out of here. "You've been shot," the voice of Batman stopped her.
"Wow," Shayera sneered in annoyance and pain, "no wonder they call you the world's greatest detective. What gave it away? Was it the blood gushing down my arm?"
"I'm trying to help you," Batman marched up to her as her feet touched the rooftop again. "The tracker was just in case-"
"I don't need your help," Shayera interrupted. But before she could pull away, Batman had grabbed her uninjured arm, stopping her. Shayera could feel his eyes narrowing behind his cowl. "The bullet is still in there," Batman said as he began to gently check her arm.
"I know," Shayera rolled her green eyes again.
"Come with me," Batman demanded.
"I can take care of myself," Shayera argued. Batman glared at her. Shayera returned his glare in kind. She eventually looked away as nausea began to pool in her lower abdomen. "Fine," she relented. She had no more fight left in her, both physically and metaphorically. She silently followed the Dark Knight across the roof, clenching her arm the entire time.
Shayera hissed through her teeth as Bruce pried open the wound. "Are you sure you do not require anesthesia, Miss Hol?" Alfred asked.
"I'm good, Alfred," Shayera gave the old butler a friendly smile. "Thank you." The butler nodded before turning his gaze to Bruce. "Do you require help, Master Bruce?"
"I got this, Alfred," Bruce answered, not taking his eyes off Shayera's arm.
"How about some tea and soup?"
"No," Bruce glanced at the butler in confusion. Did Alfred not realize that he was in the middle of pulling a bullet from his teammate's arm? "Not you, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, "I was speaking to Miss Hol." Alfred turned to Shayera. "Master Bruce did say you've lost weight. I must say, it's true."
"What?" Shayera asked in shock.
"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce mumbled as he pried the entry wound open even further.
"Are you…spying on me?" Shayera asked in disgust. Could she get no privacy?
"I'm not spying on you," Bruce grunted as he grabbed surgical pliers. "You may feel some tension," Bruce looked at Shayera, "the bullet seems to be lodged into your shoulder blood." She turned her green eyes to him, clearly annoyed. "Master Bruce is just worried about your health," Alfred explained, "he's looking after your wellbeing believe it or not. He has told me many times-"
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said dismissively. The butler smirked before turning away. "Ow," Shayera breathed out.
"Got it," Bruce said, holding up the bullet for Shayera to see. She released a sigh of relief as Bruce directed her to hold gauze against her open wound. "It's deep," Bruce grabbed a needle and thread.
"I heal fast," Shayera said. "Don't worry about it."
"I know your physiology," Bruce shot her a harsh look with his blue eyes, ordering her not to move. "I know how long it takes you to heal." Bruce turned from her briefly before returning with a needle and thread. He then sat on the bed beside her. "Your body heals from the inside out, but I still need to stitch the bullet wound closed so blood doesn't continue to pour down your arm. Are you sure you don't want-"?
"I can handle pain," Shayera replied harshly, glaring at him hard as she turned her face to him. Her rage immediately dissipated when she realized how close they were, close enough for her to see softness mixed in the harsh, annoying gaze he was shooting her way. "I can handle pain," Shayera repeated calmly.
"I know," Bruce breathed.
"Just…hurry up, and I'll get out of your hair," Shayera turned away from him, clenching her teeth whenever she felt a sharp pain, or Bruce tugged particularly hard on a spot.
Five minutes later, Alfred appeared holding a tray with tea, a bowl of soup, and what looked like a grilled cheese sandwich. "Here you are, Miss Hol." Alfred set the tray on the table beside her. "Alfred-" Shayera began.
"Now do you intend to stay the night?" Alfred interrupted her.
"No," Shayera said the same time Bruce said, "Yes." The heroes glared at each other. "You need to stay here and rest," Bruce said.
"No, I don't," Shayera argued.
"You can't fly with an injured shoulder blade."
"I've flown through worse."
"Shayera," Bruce said exasperatedly.
"Perhaps," Alfred jumped between the two before things could escalate. "Miss Hol, perhaps you wouldn't mind staying for my own peace of mind." Shayera looked at the butler. She stared at Bruce before looking back at Alfred. Shayera had been raised to respect her elders. Also, Alfred had been the only person to sympathize with her after the invasion. She liked him. Shayera's face softened, giving the elderly butler a real smile. "Fine," she smiled at Alfred. Glaring at Bruce, Shayera asked hostilely, "Are we done?"
"Almost," he smirked at her. He went to one of his cabinets and pulled out a sling. "No," Shayera shook her head. "I don't need it."
"Humor me," Bruce said.
"Fine," she huffed once more. Alfred merely smiled at the two as Bruce gently helped Shayera maneuver her arm into the sling. "Can I go now?" Shayera asked with a huff.
"You're welcome," Bruce replied cheekily.
"I didn't ask for your help," Shayera threw over her shoulder as she followed Alfred out the cave.
Hours later, Bruce found Shayera sitting on a bed in one of the guestrooms, staring out the window. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her red hair draped over her body, blocking her face from his view. She had changed out of her bloody clothes, given them to Alfred who probably burned them. She now wore a wifebeater and basketball shorts owned by one of his foster sons. Her arm remained in the sling. Knocking on the door pane, Bruce got her attention. Shayera turned to look at him. Lifeless, tired, green eyes stared back at him. "I was looking for you," Bruce said upon entering the room.
"I've been here," Shayera replied, turning her head back to the window. Bruce walked to the bed, sat down, and placed what he'd been hiding behind his back, onto the bed.
Shayera turned back to him and stared at him inquisitively. What was he doing? Shayera raised a brow as she realized he was setting up a chessboard. "What's this?" Shayera asked.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten what a chessboard looks like?" Bruce gave her a sexy smirk. Shayera looked away to hide her blush.
"I remember," Shayera eventually answered tiredly, "but what are you doing in here?" Bruce continued setting up the pieces. "I want a rematch," Bruce said eventually. Shayera studied him. "Come on," Bruce encouraged her, challenging her with his eyes.
"You're 0 for 20. You sure you can take another beating?" she smiled softly.
"I'll take my chances," Bruce replied. Shayera gave him a small smile before turning away once more. "I'm not in the mood," Shayera whispered sadly.
"Shayera."
"I don't feel comfortable-"
"Shayera," Bruce said her name again, "I'm done punishing you for something that happened two years ago – something that, to be honest, wasn't completely your fault." Shayera parted her lips slightly, not knowing what to say. She had not been expecting that. Batman, or Bruce, always managed to surprise her in some way.
Looking down at the set board, Shayera gingerly placed her hand on a pawn and moved it forward. "I'm a bit rusty," she admitted to Bruce.
"Good," he smiled as he took his turn. He looked up at her with his intense blue eyes, and Shayera's breath caught in her throat as the amount of heat coming from his gaze momentarily overwhelmed her. "Maybe this time I'll actually have a chance," Bruce continued to smile.
"Yeah," Shayera smiled at him, "maybe I'll give you a chance."
(8 months later)
"Checkmate," Shayera announced proudly.
"Seriously?" Bruce stared down at the board between them incredulously. "I had you."
"You almost had me," Shayera corrected him.
"How did I lose this time?"
"I admit, I was worried for a moment," Shayera's green eyes flashed with glee. "I thought you would win," she said. Bruce said nothing, his mind elsewhere. He stared at the board and mentally went over every move. "The beginning," he snapped his fingers, "I shouldn't have taken your knight. I should have taken your rook." Shayera only shook her head with laughter. "Rematch," Bruce said.
"We've already played 3 times," Shayera laughed.
"We have time," Bruce replied.
"You know," Shayera said as she began setting up the chess pieces again, "if I didn't know any better, I would think you are losing to me on purpose."
"I do not throw chess matches," Bruce gave her a mock-glare. Shayera stretched out on her side, propping her head up with her hand. The soft beach breeze blew through her red tendrils, and Bruce was once again struck by her beauty. His blue eyes watched as the wheels in her brain began turning. She was preparing to win the next match.
Instead of doing the same, Bruce pushed the chessboard off the bed, the pieces flying off the bed. "Hey," Shayera looked up at him in confusion. Before she could say more, Bruce had turned her onto her back and placed his lips on hers softly. Shayera relaxed as her arms wound up behind Bruce's neck as she opened her mouth to him. "Have I told you how sexy you look wearing my shirt?" he asked gruffly as he kissed her passionately, his tongue swiping hers quickly. Shayera's heart began racing in her chest. "If I didn't know better, I would say you wore my shirt to distract me," Bruce continued to lay open mouth kissed on her neck.
"Says the guy only wearing pants," Shayera replied in a breathless moan. "Besides," she struggled to continue as his hands began to wander, "if I really wanted to distract you…I wouldn't have hidden my wings." She smiled as Bruce fused their mouths together once more. Her wings were his weakness…or fetish. Shayera was okay with either one.
A popping noise followed by the sound of multiple buttons hitting the walls nearly startled Shayera. He had ripped his shirt off her. "Bruce," she laughed as he kissed his way down her chest. "Alfred's gonna kill you," she remarked breathlessly as she felt her wings begin to unfold from behind her.
"Worth it," was the response Shayera got as Bruce kissed his way back up her body as her wings flattened beneath her. Having already rid himself of his pants, Bruce gently bit down on her lower lip as he slowly entered her while being mindful of her wings. Shayera moaned loudly as she felt him inside of her. Gosh, she would never get used to him.
Shoving himself in even deeper, Bruce flipped them over so Shayera was on top. Her red hair was messy and covered her breasts; her lips were swollen and parted; her cheeks were flushed, and the pupils in her green eyes were inhumanely enlarged. Bruce smiled up at her before placing a hand on her cheek, a hand that Shayera leaned into. The coolness of the metal encircling Bruce's ring finger did nothing to put out the heat Shayera felt in her cheeks. Placing her hands on Bruce's muscular chest before sliding them slowly down his abs, Shayera watched the muscles constrict every time the cold ring on her finger made contact with his heated skin. Leaning down, Shayera placed a soft kiss on his lips before sitting back up and moving her hips rhythmically. Bruce didn't even bother to hide his moan as his arousal began making its way to a colossal peak.
So, maybe he couldn't beat her at chess; but hearing her say, "I do," yesterday for their secret wedding, was a win Bruce would take any day. Screw chess; Shayera was his wife. No matter how many games he lost to her, deep down he knew, he'd already won the game that mattered most.