Batman stood stoically at the window, watching the surgeons work. As Batman, he had to be firm, logical, factual, by-the-numbers, no smiles, etc. So, when J'ohnn had told him they may need to amputate her wings, a stern "Hmph," was the only response he gave the Martian. He then turned on his heel and began searching for the best doctors, surgeons, and veterinarians the world had to offer.
"Maybe, if they had torn clean off…" Batman remembered one doctor say when asked if the wings could be saved. Removing her wings would be the last option. "Her body is healing…wrong…and too fast," another doctor said. "If we do nothing, her wings will resemble a mangled mess. She won't be able to fly, anyway." And just to make sure none of the doctors were biased, J'ohnn performed an in-depth reading of each and every doctor's mind. After ascertaining all were telling the truth, Shayera's 2-week-long, medically induced coma became a 3-week-long, medically induced coma. And the surgeons were entering hour 8 of the operation. "How's it going?" the voice of Superman came from behind him.
"Her body keeps fighting the anesthesia," Batman answered, not turning to look at the Man of Steel. "She's almost awoken 3 times. J'ohnn is down there, now. He's keeping her asleep." Superman said nothing. "She can recover at Wayne Manor," Batman added.
"You think she'll be comfortable around you?"
"You think she'll be comfortable around them?" Batman motioned towards the door where nosy league members were doing their best to sneak peeks.
"You have a point," Superman conceded. The two heroes stood in silence. "I didn't mean for this to happen," Superman said. Batman merely glanced at the depressed Kryptonian. He couldn't think of a single thing to say to make Superman feel better, so he said nothing at all.
The surgery lasted for another three hours. Batman had almost lost track of time. He was tired. But he refused to rest. And he refused to return to Gotham without Shayera. Sympathy towards the fallen Thanagarian from his comrades would only last for so long. This would not be the best environment for healing to take place. "The doctors suggest not moving her for at least a week," J'ohnn said as he and Batman left Shayera's recovery room, "but I believe she is strong enough to make the trip to Gotham…if you wanted to move her tonight." Batman looked at the sleeping Thanagarian. She looked…pale…weak. "How much longer will she be asleep?" Batman asked.
"Her body stopped fighting the anesthesia," J'ohnn answered, "she should remain in that deep sleep for 8 – 14 hours."
"Hmph," was all Batman said. "Let's give her another day. I want to make sure her body begins healing itself before we transfer her to a different location."
Shayera blinked her eyes open slowly. She burrowed her head further into the soft pillow. Where was she? Shayera moved her head, looking around slowly to take stock of her surroundings. She was in a bed, that much was obvious. But there was an older gentleman dressed immaculately standing at the foot of the bed giving her a friendly, comforting smile. "Oh, you're awake," he spoke with a British accent, the smile never leaving his face. "Master Bruce will be most pleased. You had us all worried. It was touch and go there for a minute. But Master Bruce remained as positive as ever." He walked to the side of the bed as Shayera tried to sit up. "No, no, Miss Shayera," the man said pushing her down gently by the shoulders, but she all but threw him off her as she sat up moving her shoulders in a way she had never been able to before. Something is wrong, Shayera thought. Her back felt…weird…different. Like, something was missing. It hit her like a ton of bricks! Why couldn't she feel her wings? Where were her wings? Why couldn't she feel her wings! Her breathing became erratic. The walls were closing in. Her head was pounding. She reached her arms towards her back, her hands shaking. She needed to feel them. "Where…where are they?" she asked in a whispered panic. "No, no, no, no," she felt the tears come to her eyes as she began speaking in Thanagarian. "I can't – I can't feel- "She was going to throw up. Her hands gripped her head as her memory came rushing back in. Her ex-teammates, being forced to her knees, the pain when – she gasped. They were gone. Her wings were gone! She needed – well, she didn't know what she needed, but she needed to go.
The entire time her brain was processing this new information, the older gentleman had rushed back to her side, attempting to push her back on the bed. "Miss Shayera, please calm down," he begged "You'll tear your stitches."
"No, no, no, no, no," she said not hearing him. She couldn't handle the pain, the trauma. Neither her body nor her mind would allow it. She began to fight Alfred, trying to get out of bed. She needed to get out of here.
The older gentleman, who was a lot stronger than he looked, forced her onto her back, causing a wave of pain to shoot up her spine. "Ahhh!" she screamed, tears coming to her eyes. "Get off!" she screamed.
"What is going on?" a young man asked, bursting into the room.
"Help me, Jason!" the British man screamed. Jason grabbed Shayera's legs to hold her still. "Tim!" Jason screamed. "Get Bruce!"
"We need to calm her down. Hand me the syringe!" As soon as she heard those words, Shayera threw both Jason and Alfred off her and jumped from the bed. She stumbled out the room into the hallway, using the walls for support. Without her wings, her balance was non-existent. She had no idea which way to go, but she needed air. She ignored the moisture on her back as she slowly walked towards what she assumed were stairs a few yards away. "Shayera!" she heard a deep voice call. But she was in too much pain to care; her body was in a fight-or-flight mode, and flight seemed like the best option. The pain in her back, the pounding in her head, the nausea – she physically couldn't take anymore. She slumped to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest as she began rocking back and forth while muttering to herself.
A warm, comforting hand landed on her shoulder. Shayera looked up into a pair of blue eyes. "Bruce?" she whispered unsurely. Before she could say more, she felt a pinch in her arm; and her whole world began to sway. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed once more was a handsome face with eyes the color of the sky gazing at her with an unidentifiable emotion.
Bruce gently picked up the stressed, unconscious Thanagarian. He carried her back into the room. "Her stitches tore," a winded Alfred said as Bruce entered the guestroom. Bruce looked around before gently placing Shayera onto the bed. Both Jason and Tim were doubled over, trying to catch their breaths. "You know," Jason gasped, "for some reason, I just assumed she'd be a lot weaker without her wings."
"Why would you assume that?" Tim questioned. "Wings or no wings…she's still an alien."
"So?" Jason shot back, "Is it written somewhere that aliens are automatically stronger than humans?"
"Seriously?" Tim glared at him.
"Boys!" Bruce interrupted. "Just…not now."
"Your assistance is no longer required," Alfred stated dryly, "you may both leave." Jason and Tim left the room still arguing with each other under their breath. "There's a lot less blood," Alfred said as he checked the sheets. "I'll grab a clean set."
"Are you okay?" Bruce asked. Alfred, along with Jason and Tim, had been sprawled on the floor by the time Bruce reached them.
"Just a minor bruise, sir, nothing to fret over," Alfred said, grabbing a pair of spare sheets from the closet.
"Hmm," was all Bruce said before turning his attention back to the unconscious female in his bed. "I can do this. You should get some rest."
"Sir, you have a meeting with the board in 2 hours."
"I'll manage," Bruce smiled tiredly.
"Nevertheless, I shall go prepare the coffee," Alfred said, handing the sheets to Bruce.
"Bed, Alfred," Bruce tried to order.
"Don't tell me what to do, sir," Alfred threw over his shoulder before exiting the room. Bruce rolled his eyes before beginning to carefully change the sheets, Shayera was laying on.
Bruce Wayne sat in a comfortable chair, watching Shayera stir in her drugged sleep. As Batman, he had to be firm, logical, factual, by-the-numbers, no smiles, etc. As Bruce Wayne, however, he was free to show sadness over his friend's detrimental loss. He resolved to be right by her side as she lived through this nightmare
