"Shayera! Keep your stance wide! You don't want your opponent to knock you off balance!" her father shouted from the balcony above the sparring ground. Eight-year-old Shayera blocked the instructor with her spear, only for her to take a shot at her solar plexus. "Ugh!" she doubled over in pain.
"Get up!" she heard her father shout. She ignored the pain in her abdomen and kept fighting. The sparring continued for another minute before Shayera was once again hit. "Ow!" she screamed when her instructor's sword caught her forearm. She immediately flew back a couple of feet, gripping her right forearm.
"Don't retreat! Suck it up and get back over there!" Shayera's father screamed.
Shayera flew right at her defender with a mighty war cry, but her instructor sidestepped her attack and came down on her wings with his sword. "Aaaahhhh!"
Shayera awoke with a gasp. Her hair was wet with sweat and stuck to her forehead. "Shayera!" Bruce burst through the door.
"I'm fine," Shayera sat up just as Bruce flipped the light switch.
"Another nightmare?"
Shayera scoffed as she laid back down. "Another memory. It's like…all the pain and trauma of my past is playing on repeat, and I don't know why."
"Shayera," Bruce sat by the bed, "your body has gone through a horrendous shock. I didn't realize how vital your wings were to the other systems in your body."
"Yeah," Shayera breathed, staring at Bruce's lavish ceiling.
"It makes sense that you are reliving trauma from your past."
"How do you mean?" Shayera rolled her head to the side, looking at Bruce tiredly.
"I am by no means a professional. I could be very wrong. But it seems that your brain is searching for a time where your body was in this much pain, attempting to recall the survival instincts utilized at that time."
"But I haven't been through anything as bad as this," she closed her eyes. "I wish my brain would get the memo. Bruce," she opened her eyes, "you don't have to be with me. I can handle the nightmares."
"It's not a problem."
"You just got back from patrol 2 hours ago."
"And it's Saturday," Bruce smirked. "The office is closed until Monday."
"Still," Shayera frowned. "You probably want your bed back."
"I'm not going to lie, and I miss my bed. That mattress is custom-made. Does wonders for my joints."
"Well," and Shayera couldn't believe she was about to say this, "this bed is big enough for the two of us. It could probably fit two of you and two of me. So why do you have such a big bed?"
"I like to sprawl," Bruce shrugged before flipping the light switch.
Shayera watched as the billionaire vigilante expertly navigated his way to the other side of his bed through the dark. She couldn't believe she had made the suggestion.
"Just stay on your side of the bed," Bruce said as he made himself comfortable.
"You're the one who likes to sprawl," Shayera said.
"And no groping. I realize I am a gorgeous specimen, but I ask that you wait until I'm awake before you begin feeling me up."
Shayera huffed. "Please, you're not irresistible."
Hours later, after three long naps and two meals, Shayera stared at the bedroom door. Finally, finally, she was going to do this. The past week had been spent walking painfully slow on a treadmill. Her back felt stronger; she could feel her legs; food stayed in her stomach. Shayera felt her body getting better, stronger; and she was sick and tired of this bed…no matter how comfortable it was. She needed to get up.
Sitting straight up, Shayera stared at the bedroom door with resolve. Given the current state of her body, it would take her approximately 25 to 30 steps to get to the door. But she was going to do it in 15.
Shayera slowly lifted herself into a sitting position, releasing a painful groan. She could do this. She gave herself a quick mental pep talk before throwing back the covers and swinging her legs to the side of the bed. "I can do this," she whispered to herself as she flattened her feet against the floor. "I can do this." With the help of her arms, Shayera lifted herself into a standing position. Her back was on fire; her legs were on fire; a thin sweat covered her face, but she was standing alone. Know handles, bars, or crutches. She, Shayera Hol, was standing and balancing on her own. This was great! Now, it was time to walk. She shuffled her right foot forward, then her left. "Baby steps," she whispered. The movement no longer sent a spasm of pain to the place in her back where her wings once connected to her vertebrae. She felt…sturdier. Her steps grew more confident and firmer as she got to the door.
"Almost there," Shayera whispered to herself as she neared her target. "Got it!" she celebrated, placing her hand on the doorknob. It took her more than 30 steps, but progress was – "Ah!" she released a yelp as the bedroom door unexpectedly flew open. She stumbled backward before tripping on a rug and landing on the floor…on her back. "Ow," she whined as the pain radiated. But truth be told, the pain was nowhere near as bad as it used to be.
"Shayera?"
Shayera glared at the person who so rudely startled her. "Bruce," she replied.
"What are you doing?" Bruce asked as he slowly helped her to her feet.
"I was attempting to walk," Shayera replied, allowing Bruce to help her to bed. "I was fine until someone kicked the door open."
"I didn't kick the door open, but I am sorry." Bruce paused, taking a quick look at Shayera's back. "Are you in pain?" he asked worriedly.
"My legs feel like jello," Shayera shrugged as Bruce helped her onto his bed, "but the fall didn't cause any more damage to my back. Actually, the pain feels…good." Bruce raised a brow. "You know," Shayera continued, "like the muscle pain after a hard workout."
"Okay," he folded his arms, "but you aren't supposed to be walking by yourself."
"I was bored," Shayera replied.
"Why didn't you call for Alfred or Tim, hell, even Jason?"
"I don't need someone to hold my hand every step of my healing process."
"Shayera," Bruce sighed.
"And shouldn't you be out on patrol?" Shayera accused.
"It's 4 a.m., Shayera. I returned from patrol an hour ago."
"Well…I was asleep. How would I know?" Shayera snapped, feeling her anger rise.
"Shayera."
"I'm not weak, Bruce!" she yelled, misplacing her rage.
"Shayera," Bruce spoke calmly and succinctly, "I do not think you're weak."
"I'm not – I'm not helpless," she stared at him with large green eyes.
"I know," Bruce replied, sitting on the bed.
Shayera's breathing grew rapid, and a warmth spread to her cheeks as Bruce studied her with his blue eyes. "Is this about the dream?" Bruce asked.
"What?" Shayera leaned away, taken aback. "What dream?"
"Last night's dream."
"No," Shayera answered, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "This healing plan you have me following is taking too long. I'm not fragile."
"Shayera, I have never once thought of you as fragile. So, what's really going on?" he pinned her with an icy stare.
"I don't know," Shayera sighed. "Too much downtime, maybe…too much thinking. I don't know. All I know is that I have to move around. I'm ready to move. I can't stand being helpless!" Shayera's hands began to tremble with anger.
"Shayera," Bruce grabbed her hands, rubbing his thumbs across the backs, "I understand wanting to move. Alfred still has to drug me every time I have a concussion," Bruce smiled. Shayera's face remained passive. "About four months after the invasion, Bane broke my back." The surprise on Shayera's face made Bruce want to laugh.
"What?" she shifted closer to him.
"It took me a good four months to completely, fully recover. I spent almost eight weeks bedridden. I nearly drove Alfred insane."
"Wow," Shayera breathed, "I think the worst injury I've seen you obtain is a broken arm. For a short time, I was convinced that you had to be meta."
"I am not meta anything, but I do know several magicians, sorcerers, and healers," he winked.
Shayera looked away with a blush. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, pulling her hands away from his.
"So, you understand – I do know what it's like to feel helpless. But, Shayera, I swear to you, I am only trying to help you heal. You've allowed me to help you this far, don't stop now."
"But what happens after?"
"After?"
"Yes. If Thanagar decides to attack, and we defeat them…what then? What happens to me? I doubt you'll allow me to return to my cave. But that cave is my only home. I have nowhere else to go. I have – I have no one."
Bruce fixed her with a pointed stare and said, "You'll have me."
"I'll…what?"
"And – and Alfred, Jason, Tim, and Barry. You won't be alone. Unless it's what you want."
"I…" Shayera looked down. What do I want? "I don't know what I want," she slowly admitted.
"Well," Bruce smirked, "as long as you're bedridden…."
Chey-Ara was seething with rage as she stalked the early morning streets. Lobo? She wants me to work with Lobo? Another thing that added to her rage - Chey-Ara realized she was being followed by some…idiot, and she had only come to this realization two hours ago. (She could point out a Thanagarian from a mile away.)
Granted, she lost him half an hour ago. How long had that been going on? Good thing Lieutenant isn't here. She then stumbled as a thought hit her. How could I be so stupid? Chey-Ara face-palmed herself. For all she knew, her stalker was probably sent by her SO. He probably reported directly to Lieutenant Issi.
A wave of fear and nausea washed over Chey-Ara. No, no, no. Chey-Ara had spent the last three days exploring this new world, e.g., not doing her job. If that fatus was a snitch for Lieutenant Issi, Chey-Ara was screwed. Everyone in her unit knew how sadistic Lieutenant Issi was when she became angry or annoyed. Chey-Ara would need a miracle to survive whatever punishment her SO had planned for her.
But first, she needed to exterminate a pest.
