The fighter, The Princess, and The Mercenary (DC x MaleReader)

Wait...what happened?

Artemis leaned back in the industrial black mesh of her chair, arms folded so tightly she could feel the muscles in her forearms knot up like twisted cables. The whole room seemed compressed around her: the air chilled by the Batcave's endless expanse, the chemical tang of antiseptic and old stone mixing in her nose, and above all, the silence. The only sounds punctuating the hush were the steady, mechanical beeps of the EKG, and the occasional click of the medical scanner calibrating itself over Isaac's battered body.

He didn't look any different, lying on that slab of reinforced carbon-fiber—just as infuriatingly scruffy, just as infuriatingly serene. If not for the pale lines of tape and bandages tracing his arms and chest, she could have imagined he was only pretending to sleep, steeling himself for a punchline or a prank.

Artemis felt the tension in her jaw; she hadn't even realized she was grinding her teeth. She tried to focus on the readouts, as if the numbers would comfort her, but medical jargon was not her specialty, and the graphs only made her more anxious.

She bit her lip, trying to will the frustration away. Isaac had always told her the universe rewards persistence, but right now, persistence felt like sitting in a dark room and waiting for a coin to land on the edge instead of heads or tails.

The familiar, gravelly voice came from behind her, echoing slightly off the cave's stone fixtures. "Any change in status?"

Artemis jolted, her heart skipping a beat. She didn't have to turn to know who it belonged to. She'd heard Batman's voice a thousand times, and it never failed to carry the weight of a courtroom verdict, equal parts judgment and impartial fact.

She composed herself in a fraction of a second, answering without looking away from the monitors. "No, Batman. Isaac's still out cold." She allowed herself the faintest smile, a wry twist of her lips that was as much for her own comfort as anyone else's. "Honestly, it's probably the best sleep he's gotten in months."

The cowl shadowed Bruce's face, but the edge of a sardonic smile was almost visible. "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

He strode closer, the soles of his boots making no sound on the polished cave floor. Batman didn't do small talk, didn't do reassurance—not the way most people did—but Artemis recognized the gesture: a silent check-in, a tacit way of saying I'm here if you need backup. She was grateful for it, even if she'd never admit it out loud.

They stood together for a long moment, neither willing to break the silence first. The EKG beeped. The scanner clicked. Somewhere far above, a bat flitted past the overhead monitors, barely a blur in the low light.

Bruce finally spoke, quieter this time. "He's tougher than he looks. He'll pull through." It was half statement, half prayer.

Artemis nodded slowly. "He is. If anyone can take a hit and keep moving, it's Isaac." Her voice was steady but carried an undercurrent of command, of someone who'd been forged in similar fires.

A soft, pulsing beep emanated from Bruce's gauntlet, the sound clinical and sharp in the hush. He paused, scanning the message with a deepening scowl that seemed to cast new shadows along the hard lines of his face. "Trouble in Gotham," he muttered, a note of irritation curling beneath the usual composure. "Let me know if there are any changes in his condition. I'll be back soon." His silhouette receded quickly—one sharp heel-turn and he was gone, cloak swirling behind him in a silent ripple of motion.

Alone again, Artemis rolled her stiff shoulders and shifted her weight, the chair now feeling more like a restraint than a seat. She stared at Isaac's face, slack and peaceful, and let her mind drift backward—back to the moment everything went from routine to a kind of nightmare she'd always told herself she was prepared for.