Work Text:
Bruce paused in the doorway to the kitchen, startled. At the kitchen island sat Stephanie in civilian clothes—a purple sundress and clean white tennis shoes. Her phone was propped up on an unopened can of Sprite and she was hunched slightly to look at herself in the camera, arms raised to hold her hair as she seemed to be attempting a braid.
He stood there just a moment too long to be able to leave silently without it being awkward.
“Hello, Stephanie,” he greeted, stepping into the room. He just meant to clear away his coffee mug and maybe get himself some water. Social interaction was not a part of his plan, and even less so with his son’s girlfriend/his former mentee who he’d failed horribly.
“Hey, B,” she responded distractedly, not looking away. Her fingers were fumbling as she tried to pick up another piece to add to the braid. She pulled this piece under the one to the right, frowned, then tried to raise it over. This did not unwind the braid, but the piece in question ballooned away from her head, and no amount of pulling was getting it to lay straight.
Bruce tried not to notice these things as he rinsed his mug, but then Stephanie let out a loud groan and dropped all the hair she’d been holding.
Pushing her face into her hands, she mumbled, “I thought maybe I could do something fun with my hair while I wait for Tim to get ready, but apparently my braiding skills are even worse than I remembered.”
“I could help,” Bruce said before he could stop himself, and winced.
Stephanie looked up at him in bemused skepticism. It was so similar to an expression he'd seen on Cass's face just the other day, and he wondered idly who learned it from whom.
“You think you could do better?”
Bruce inclined his head to acknowledge her as he filled the clean mug with fresh water.
“It’s been many years, but I did learn during my training.”
That made Stephanie burst into surprised laughter. Her whole body shook with it, and Bruce bit back his own smile at the sight of her so comfortable in his presence.
“You had to learn to braid in order to become Batman? What, for all your undercover crossdressing missions?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “So you heard about Christina?”
Stephanie choked and spluttered a moment before narrowing her eyes. “You’re messing with me.”
“Am I?” Bruce took an innocent sip from his water, leaning back against the counter. This was… fun. He wished it was always like this. Setting the mug aside, he continued, “Early in my travels I worked with a thief named Lucie. She taught me many skills, both tactical and practical. I can French braid your hair for you if you’d like.”
Stephanie was still looking at him skeptically, but she was smiling.
“Let’s see it, old man. You’ve got maybe ten minutes before Tim sorts his shit out.”
Bruce pushed off of the counter, setting his mug down and rounding the island to stand behind Stephanie. She straightened her shoulders, tense and waiting.
From the new position, Bruce could better see the start of the braid Steph was making. It seemed like she was trying to do two French braids, but her parting line was uneven in the back and the beginnings of the braid she was working on unraveled messily at her scalp.
Tentatively, worried she might change her mind suddenly, Bruce reached up to take hold of her hair. It was soft and thick in his hand. Hidden in that mass were some damp locks, evidence of how freshly washed the hair was. As close as he stood, Bruce could smell the sweet vanilla scent of her conditioner.
He ran his fingers through Stephanie’s hair gently, beginning at the bottom and working his way up to detangle all of the little knots as painlessly as possible. Starting at her widow’s peak, he used the tip of his nail to part her hair down the center. It’d been a while since he’d done this, but his movements were confident as he partitioned the hair atop the right side of her head into three equal parts. His fingers were thicker with muscle now, but also better trained and more dexterous.
He relaxed into the job, trying to enjoy the process. When Jason was younger he used to let Bruce comb his hair sometimes before school, and it was a treasured quiet moment before the start of a busy day.
Bruce might not have that anymore, but he would appreciate this new trust in him for as long as it lasted.
~
Stephanie’s phone camera was still open, and she watched their reflection there as he slowly but precisely plaited her hair. The weave was tight, but not painful in the way her mom’s braiding sometimes was.
Bruce was never one to care about awkward silences, but Stephanie quickly grew antsy.
“My mom likes to braid my hair sometimes, when she’s in a good mood,” she said, for lack of any other apparent topics of discussion.
Bruce made a vague sound, as focused on her hair as he got on the Batcomputer. Stephanie took this as permission to keep monologuing.
“I used to hate it, actually, ‘cause it always felt really random. Like she’d be totally gone one day, and the next she’d be making us hot chocolate and doing my hair as we watched old Disney movies. I think I get it better now. I’m sure she’d say yes if I ever asked her to do my hair, but I feel like I’m too old for that now. At this point it’s kinda pathetic to ask her for help, but I still don’t even know how to do a French braid.”
“Tilt your head down,” Bruce murmured, guiding her with his hand against the top of her neck. After a moment of silent braiding, he continued, “I can teach you, if you want. Some other time. Maybe we can get Babs in here as a model.”
His voice was vague, distracted as he was, but the offer was real. She felt it, him trying. Didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him.
“I’ll have to see your handiwork first. I can’t accept lessons from anything less than a master.”
Bruce huffed a laugh into her hair.
“Challenge accepted. Hairtie?”
Stephanie quickly pulled two off her wrist to drop into his outstretched hand.
“You’re such a fascinating guy sometimes. Just when I think I have you figured out, you show a new secret power.” It was honestly quite annoying—hee was a frustratingly difficult man to hate. “Isn’t there anything you can’t do?”
“Alfred won’t let me touch an iron. I only have theoretical knowledge of the mechanics, but would not be sure how to operate one.” Behind her, Bruce tied off the first braid and got started on the second, positioning the pieces carefully to be as symmetrical as possible.
“That’s such a stupid answer. Be real with me here.”
“I’ve also been told my communication skills are lacking.”
Stephanie snorted.
“That’s one way to put it.” They sat in silence for a long moment, but Stephanie wasn’t done. She was suddenly somewhat desperate to find this fatal flaw of Batman’s, something she could truly hold over him. She knew she’d never compare to him as a vigilante, but there had to be some skill she was better at than him. “No really, how are you at painting?”
“Nothing compared to my mother.”
“I didn’t know she painted,” Stephanie said, curious. Normally she would avoid bringing up someone’s dead parents, but if Bruce mentioned it first she figured she couldn’t be blamed, and it was true that she knew very little about Bruce’s childhood before his parents’ deaths.
“All of the paintings hung up throughout the manor are hers,” Bruce responded, still twisting her hair calmly. Stephanie thought about the family portrait at the front of the house. There was a beautiful forest landscape in Tim’s bedroom. She’d never put much thought into them before. “When I was little she let me paint with her, but I haven’t tried again since she died.”
“Really?” Stephanie almost turned around in her surprise, but Bruce’s hand anchored her in place. “That’s what, thirty years? And you don’t even want to try?”
Bruce was quiet for a long moment, his fingers slowed but not stopping in their movements.
“Nothing I can make would be sufficient to honor her memory. I’d just feel like I’m insulting her by trying.”
“Well that’s bullshit,” Stephanie declared, ignoring Bruce’s noise of surprise. “That’s not the point of art. Literally any middle school art teacher would tell you that art’s about expression, not just the end product.”
“I’ll admit I never paid much attention in school,” Bruce responded dryly, tying off the second braid.
Stephanie picked up her phone, lifting it above her head and moving it around to try and see as much as possible of her hair. It looked good. She couldn’t help but smile, though she quickly masked it.
Turning around, she squinted at Bruce, who looked hilariously nervous, like this was a serious test. Steph couldn’t help but revel in it a bit. Look at the power she had over him! She leaned back against the counter behind her.
“Let’s make a deal. Tim and I are gonna come back after lunch. You’re gonna teach me how to braid and I’m gonna teach you how to paint without stressing about disappointing your mom’s ghost. Deal?”
She said it confidently, for all the nerves that coursed through her. This shouldn’t matter really. It’s not like she needed Bruce’s approval, for Tim or Batgirl or anything else. This was a mutually beneficial proposition she was making for entirely practical reasons.
And then Bruce smiled. Not the Brucie grin or the Batman smirk, but his genuine look of happiness that felt so rare. It always made her feel desperate in a way she resented, especially since he seemed completely oblivious to how powerful he was.
“Deal,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. It was such a stupid dad move and Stephanie did not want to analyze her feelings about that.
Bruce moved away awkwardly, placing himself back in his previous place at the counter. His hand reached out to fiddle with the handle of his mug, though he didn’t lift it yet. Just as he looked ready to go back to awkward small talk, the sound of loud footsteps echoed through the hall.
Tim ran into the room frantically, stopping just in the doorway.
“So sorry, Steph, I got completely distracted.” He smiled at her, offering a bouquet of pink roses, which she generously took. “Your hair looks really cool tonight.”
Biting back a laugh, Steph looked over her shoulder and winked.