The door creaked open, hinges groaning like they shared your exhaustion. You and Cass stepped in, silent as shadows, blood drying on your gauntlets and your boots tracking in Gotham’s finest filth. The patrol had been long, the criminals unusually chatty, and your patience was already half-dead. You were ready to collapse. Cass dropped her hood, gave you a side-eye, then froze mid-step.

The apartment smelled like incense and smugness. “No,” Cass said flatly.

You followed her gaze and felt your soul momentarily eject from your body. On your couch, lounging like she paid rent — which she absolutely didn’t — was Sandra Wu-San, Lady Shiva herself, wrapped in your chemise, sipping from your tea mug that said “#1 Brooding Bat.”

She looked up and smiled like a cat who found the canary, ate it, and posted the remains on your social media.

“Welcome home, darling bats,” she purred. “I’ve redecorated. By which I mean I moved one plant an inch and sat down dramatically.”

Cass immediately turned on her heel.

“I’ll sleep on a rooftop,” she muttered. “Don’t be like that, Cassandra,” Shiva called after her. “I made dumplings. And I only mildly poisoned two of them for training purposes.”

Cass slammed her door shut.

You dragged your cowl off and dropped into the armchair opposite Shiva, who was already propping her feet up on your coffee table like she paid property tax.

“You can’t just… move in, Shiva,” you said, rubbing your temple. “This isn’t a safehouse. This is a house-house. For people who—who shower and have boundaries.”

Shiva sipped her tea. “I’m on vacation.”

“You’re an assassin.”

“And assassins can’t take mental health days?” she quipped. “Besides, Gotham’s ambiance is quite therapeutic. The sound of sirens, the smell of urban rot, the nightly existential crises — truly, five stars.”

You exhaled slowly, counting to ten in your head. She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Also, Cassandra missed me.” “She threw a smoke bomb the last time you hugged her.” “Which means she cares,” Shiva said, dead serious. “She’s just shy.”

You stared. “You stole my chemise.” “It was lonely,” she said, cuddling it like a cat. “It needed a body of pure deadly grace.” You stared harder. “Also,” she added, tilting her head, “it smells like you. That delightful mix of angst, fire retardant, and trauma.”

You covered your face with your hands. Silence fell for a moment, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the sound of Cass muttering behind her bedroom door. Probably Googling “how to emancipate yourself from both parents.”

Then, Shiva’s voice came, low but lighter than usual. “You know I’ll stay as long as you let me.” You lowered your hands. “That’s the problem.”

She smiled, not her usual smirk — something slower, worn-in. “I always leave before it gets real. I thought maybe… this time I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because the truth was, when Shiva was gone, you slept easier. But when she was here… your heart remembered how to race for something other than adrenaline.

She stood, walked over, and crouched beside you. “I’m not asking for forever,” she said. “Just a little chaos. A little couch. Maybe some shared silence and a daughter who keeps trying to tranquilize me.”

You looked down at her, this woman who could kill gods and make your life unravel with a smirk. “…Fine,” you muttered. “You can stay.”

She grinned like she’d already known you’d say it. “Excellent,” she said, standing up. “I’ll need a drawer. Two, actually. And I threw out your expired almond milk. You’re welcome.”

Cass opened her door just enough to yell, “If she reorganizes the spice rack again, I’m burning it.” “Tell your father I only touched the turmeric,” Shiva called back sweetly.

You leaned back, staring at the ceiling, wondering why your life was like this. And, despite yourself, smiled.