Work Text:
Martinez hated commuting through Gotham after his late shift. It was nearly 4 am and soon the sun would be up, but not before he managed to get home and living in Gotham, one learned fairly quickly that that was never an assurance. And Martinez as a cop knew exactly what kind of twisted shit some of the local criminals could do.
But well, it wasn’t like he would up and move so Gotham public transport it was.
Even this late, there were always some stragglers. He ignored the people around, letting the sway of the train rock him back and forth in his seat. At least there were free seats at this hour.
He found himself thanking whichever gods that his shift had been sort of calm—he wasn’t returning home with any bruises—and no shady individuals in sight. Martinez was there, a nurse judging by her scrubs, most likely in the same predicament as he was, and a bunch of teenagers, drunk, but not causing any ruckus, or well, not more than one would expect of a group of drunk teens.
Martinez sighed, standing up just so he wouldn’t fall asleep and miss his stop. It would be only about two more minutes till he needed to exit. He shuffled to the door, keeping a steady hand on the rail. If he hurt himself out of the uniform, on a public transport no less, his co-workers would never let him live it down.
It was customary—a sort of unspoken rule—to let the ones exiting go first, before you got in, but somebody apparently missed the memo. As Martinez was getting ready to step down onto the platform, somebody ran into him.
Exhausted from a long day at work and definitely a little sleep-deprived, his reflexes weren’t at their best. Martinez never saw the person coming, and sure, the impact wouldn’t have been all that bad, probably wouldn’t leave more than a couple minutes of an irritating ache, but the hot coffee that they spilled, now that was just terrible.
Martinez hissed as the hot liquid met his skin. In order to get the burning to stop somehow, anyhow, he quickly rubbed his hand against his jacket, the thought of having to wash it out later not even crossing his mind.
“Jesus, watch it!” he yelled, not really looking at the other person. He waved his hand in the air, hoping the chilly breeze would ease the pain a little. He glared at the person, some middle-aged guy, looking all apologetic.
Martinez heard the man’s rushed apologies, but still, the man shouldered past him, and onto the train. Martinez, still cursing under his breath, stepped out on the platform, out of the doors before they could snap closed at him.
What a day, really. He couldn’t wait to be home. But that would require several more minutes of walking and his hand hurt more than it probably should.
So the station bathroom it was.
Martinez was gazing at his hand, the skin was red and hurt to touch but there weren’t any blisters forming, thank god. He could probably get some ointment for it tomorrow and it would be fine. With his shoulder, he leaned into the door to the men’s restroom and walked in, not really looking ahead, not expecting anybody there at this hour. Granted, hardly anyone really came there during the day. These facilities weren’t exactly known for their cleanliness.
“Goddamn prick,” he muttered, cursing out the guy again as he entered the restroom. Only then did he bother to raise his head. Martinez immediately froze.
The dark mask resting at the dirty bathroom sink was unmistakable. As was the tall figure of the man who stood in front of that sink. He had his hood up, and turned his back to Martinez instantly, all he could see before were a few strands of dark hair. Martinez hated that he knew this but the mask was the real deal, not just some copy, as were the all too familiar boots. There was no doubt in his mind that this guy was Batman. He had forced his way into too many crime scenes as of late for Martinez not to recognize him.
“Ah, shit, man,” Martinez said. The air around them tense. He could see Batman clenching his fists at his sides, but refusing to face him. Martinez was the one in control here. He had the only exit at his back, he had Batman cornered in a seedy bathroom. He was really, really too tired for this kind of shit right now.
Martinez sighed heavily, very vividly recalling the last time somebody had tried to take off Batman’s mask back in the police station. And while he was curious to know who was behind the mask, as was pretty much everybody in Gotham, he was certain the man would sooner bash his head into the sink rather than let him see.
So Martinez chose his words carefully, or as carefully as he could in the dead of the night, hand still very much hurting. So that was, not careful at all. Martinez had never been too scared of this guy. He knew he was a good cop, he did his job right, Batman had no reason to hurt him. And he sort of felt like that after the thing in Riddler’s apartment, they were sort of co-workers now. Surely Batman wouldn’t see him as a threat, ‘cause he really wasn’t.
“Look, man, I can’t see your face from here, god knows those mirrors haven’t been cleaned in decades, and I’m not gonna look so just, I don’t know, stay there a minute and I’ll be out,” he ranted a bit, walking toward the two sinks in the room. Seeing the mask there in front of him was sort of unsettling.
He had never really thought about how Batman moved around Gotham. He just sort of assumed he swung around or something. Guess not.
“Get out,” Batman said, sounding as menacing as ever, that was, not really as much, turned with his back to Martinez still.
“I said I will, so chill, would you.”
Martinez stopped at the sink and turned the faucet on, turning the tap as coldest as it would go.
“Martinez,” Batman warned.
Ah, so he did remember his name. That was kind of nice. Martinez, as one of the younger cops, still mostly doing patrols and standing outside doors and the like, wasn’t exactly a somebody. And yet Batman had remembered his name.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, sighing a little in relief as he put his hand under the water, the chilly flow feeling amazing on his raw red skin. “I hear you. Gimme like thirty seconds, some jerk spilled hot coffee all over my hand. That burns.”
Batman was silent, and only after several long seconds, so long that Martinez thought he wouldn’t speak again, he asked, “Are you alright?” In the empty bathroom, with nothing but the old lightbulb buzzing in there, it sounded almost soft, hesitant.
But just as he had said, Martinez didn’t turn his eyes on Batman, kept them on his hand, away from any mirrors or reflective surfaces. Batman had saved a lot of people after the flood. He was a good guy, Martinez could see that now, even if he still didn’t particularly fancy this guy’s crime-fighting methods.
“Ah, yeah, I’ll be fine.” From the corner of his eye, he could see the massive coffee stain on the edge of his jacket. “This jacket on the other hand…” he sighed again, “I kinda liked it, not sure my detergent’s gonna get this out.”
He let the water run over his hand for a couple more seconds, but then turned the tap off, not about to drive this man to his limit. Batman always seemed calm, not reacting much to anything. But he was still a man under there and he was already in a situation he probably didn’t really like all that much.
“Are you done?” Batman asked him, his tone not too friendly but also not hostile. With Batman, neutral was good. Sometimes, Martinez doubted the man could do friendly. He hadn’t seen him smiling around Gordon either.
“Yep, I’m leaving now.” Martinez flicked his hand a bit, getting off some of the excessive water. He would have dried his hand on his pants any other day, but now, that would probably aggravate his wound, and he had just gotten it to hurt less. “Guess I’ll see you around, man,” he said, getting to the door, not looking anywhere near the man.
“You will,” Batman said and Martinez had to wonder if the guy ever actually thought about what he was saying, sounding like some kind of movie character. Well, he was a caped vigilante, with no superpowers, as far as Martinez knew, so really, just some guy running around in a bat costume.
Martinez couldn’t hide the light chuckle escaping him. “Weirdo,” he muttered, more to himself than to the actual man, the word leaving his mouth just as the door swung closed behind him. He didn’t think Batman would hear him. And even if he did, Martinez had called him worse before.
This time, well, maybe he was too tired, maybe he had seen too much of the guy, but as he said it, there was no malice.
The bat costume was still crazy and all sorts of weird, but maybe the guy behind it wasn’t so bad, what with his icy gaze and dark hair. Now, Martinez wasn’t about to wonder if every guy with long-ish dark hair was actually Batman, but it added a small human touch to the man. Yet another one in Martinez’s eyes.
Martinez didn’t linger at the station. Didn’t wait for the man to exit the bathroom. Batman probably didn’t trust him enough to do so. He would probably put the mask back on and try a different place. Martinez wasn’t too upset about that. He didn’t think himself too special, and definitely not special enough to know the identity of the Batman himself.
Instead, Martinez went straight home.
He was no detective, but he wasn’t a bad cop either. Still, Martinez never noticed his shadow as he walked the few blocks to his apartment. Never noticed the cape fluttering on roofs and balconies. Didn’t see the dark figure watch him until he got into his place and locked the door firmly behind himself.
And Batman, well, he got home later than usual, Alfred glaring at him from the breakfast table. Just yet another sleepless night.