Floyd winced when he touched the deep flesh wound on his arm, little droplets of red liquid dripping into the sink, a stark contrast against the white tile. He'd only had time to take his helmet off, staring at a pale reflection in the mirror, with a pained expression staring him back. He rolled out the bandage with his teeth, hissing a sharp curse under his breath as more black spots guarded his vision. He'd managed to eliminate his target, but a surprise visit from the Bat had not been part of his contract. The bruises against his ribs had already blackened the skin, from the glimpse he caught when cleaning up his torso, and irritation bubbled in his chest.

Kicking away a pistol that had fallen to his feet, Floyd ran the tap with cold water in an attempt to wash away the blood staining his hands, hitching up his sleeve. Damn Batarangs could do some damage when the Bat was of mind. As he hunched over the sink, water dripping from his face, he caught movement from the bathroom door out of the corner of his eye. He winced when he tilted his head, and saw you staring at him with wide eyes. Shock barrelled into him. You were meant to be asleep - he had tucked you in hours ago.

The fear on your expression made Floyd's gut churn, watching your eyes dart from the blood, the sniper rifle leaning against the bathtub and the weapons strapped to his uniform. Just as you started to back away, Floyd snapped out of it.

"Hey, buddy," he breathed, pushing off the sink towards you. "Hang on a—"

Floyd hissed, his ribs rattling from the movement. He watched you pause; he didn't want you to see him like this. No child should see their father in a state like this, nor did he want you to find out about his job. Not like this. He moved slowly this time, with less sense of urgency, a supporting hand on your shoulder as he crouched down to get a better look at you.

"Why are you awake at this hour?" He chastised softly, nudging your cheek. "It's late. Too late for you."