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Jazz had regrets. So many regrets. What possessed her to think that getting her doctorate on an accelerated program was a good idea? If only she could go back in time and slap some sense into her younger self, eager and naïve and so damningly hopeful, fresh out of her bachelors. No, she would go back further, to her high school days and shake herself down and maybe instill some good goddamn habits in her–Jazz had so many regrets.She barely resisted the urge to drop her head on the hard metal tabletop. She had claimed this corner for herself half an hour ago, what felt like an eternity now. She still had another half hour before the washing machine finished, and then another hour or so for the dryer. Jazz had taken great pains to find a good laundromat close to her apartment, and this had been the closest to her standards. Unfortunately, while the area may be safe, the machines were not the newest in stock. There were no cutting corners for her.It wasn’t so bad. Now she had the chance to get ahead on some studying. Much to her regret. She loved her classes, she really did. She just wished she had gone about this smarter. There was no breathing room between all her exams and work. When was the last time she had hung out with her friends? It’s been so long since she saw Danny, would she even recognize him?…That might be overly dramatic, but she hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, so sue her. Any minute now the hysteria would kick in and Jazz would like to be safe in her apartment when that time came.Her mind refused to settle on her homework. Jazz resigned herself to boredom, flicking her pencil up the textbook and watching it slide down to rest against her nail again.She had so many better things she could be doing right now. Even if it wasn’t homework. She could be watching that movie Spike had recommended to her forever ago. She could be ringing up Danny for a health check. She could be–Jazz squeaked at the sound of rattling metal. Fight or flight kicking in, she whipped her head around for the intruder. Her eyes fell upon another woman, perhaps around her age. Jazz had almost dismissed her, eyes already trailing away. But then she saw her kick the machine out of frustration, and that rattling sound was back again and what was her problem? These machines weren’t that old, there shouldn't be anything wrong– oh.“Do you need help?” Jazz offered. The woman’s head snapped to the side, eery in its speed, and Jazz nearly squeaked again.Her eyes, nearly obsidian, locked on Jazz in seconds. She tried not to shiver. Jazz felt a little silly about it too; she had fought against literal spirits of the undead. A little social interaction with a pretty girl should not scare her so much.“No,” the woman told her flatly. Jazz immediately curled into herself, face flushed with embarrassment.“Oh I’ll just uhm. Sorry, I’ll just go back to, yeah,” Jazz stuttered, twisting away again. She could feel the woman’s eyes follow her, while Jazz tried very hard not to look.She was so stupid, honestly. Gotham City didn’t take well to kindness. Danny had tried to warn her too, never accept help in places you couldn’t easily escape. Jazz didn’t think the other woman was a danger to her, but she didn’t know if Jazz was a threat either. She’d probably just made her uncomfortable and paranoid. Ugh, Jazz swore she had such a complex sometimes…She wished she could bury her face in her hands from the shame. The woman was still staring. The blush still refused to go away.“Yes, I…” The woman spoke again. Jazz peeked at her through the curtain of her bangs. The woman shuffled on her feet, all shy and apologetic. “I would like. Help.”Jazz’s blush grew to the tips of her ears, and she felt like she might just melt from the heat. She shot to her feet anyway, trying to contain the rush of anxious gibberish that was sure to follow. It only took a few steps for Jazz to stand beside her. The woman stared at her, unflinching at their considerable height difference. Jazz didn’t know why she always felt the need to apologize for inheriting her size from her dad.“Well. Uhm. What seems to be the problem?” That’s right, Jazz, stick to the script.“I turned it on. It didn’t work,” the woman said, blunt as a bone.Jazz nodded and ventured a look at the machine. It looked like she had selected all the options to turn the washing machine on. It wasn’t a dryer that needed its lint tray cleaned out. She puzzled over it for a bit.“What kind of detergent did you add?” Jazz asked. Detergent could mess the tubes up, couldn’t it?The woman cocked her head. “Detergent?”Oh this was more serious than Jazz had thought. “Yeah, like… soap! For the machine to clean the clothes with?” Jazz explained.“Oh,” the woman said as she looked back at the machine. She seemed to have realized her mistake too.“It’s alright, though! It’s an honest mistake to make your first time,” Jazz rushed to reassure her. She could only assume that this was the woman’s first time doing the laundry on her own. Somehow she had gotten away without this chore for so long. Jazz didn’t know how she’d managed it but it wasn’t Jazz’s place to judge. “I have some detergent if you need some?”“Yes, please,” the woman mumbled, still looking a bit abashed.Jazz went over to where she had left her pile of things. “Do you have any allergies? This stuff is supposed to have a gentle smell but it still makes my brother sneeze sometimes.”“It’s okay,” the woman told her. It didn’t sound too confident, but well. Jazz didn’t know her well enough to call her out on it. “I appreciate it.”“No worries!” Jazz shot her a sunny smile, “I’m happy to help!”A blush crept over the woman’s face and– Jazz turned away abruptly, hoping to hide her own damning blush. Best to focus on the problem at hand.“By the way, you uhm. You’re supposed to separate the laundry by the colors and the whites.”“Oh.” Jazz spent a lot more time with the woman than she’d expected. Her own load had finished before hers, of course, but she still walked her through how to start the dryer as well and how to find the lint tray. Jazz even showed her a couple ways to fold clothes, just to pass the time. The woman seemed to be a willing participant, an avid listener as Jazz prattled on to ease the nerves.When she asked, Jazz let her fold some of Jazz’s clothes. She took all the undergarments for herself though. Jazz would never live down the blush that burned her when she saw the woman holding up her one lace bra.The woman watched her every move and copied it, down to the way Jazz pressed down the crease of her pants. She felt weirdly naked and strangely seen. Maybe Jazz had scrambled her brain when she accidentally smacked herself across the head with the laundromat door. She could believe it.“Uhm, sorry if this is too private,” Jazz began, “but I was just wondering… why is this your first time doing the laundry?” The woman blinked at her and ahhhhh Jazz might have screwed up. She didn’t even know her name, why did she think it was appropriate for her to ask that! “I’m so sorry, you don’t have to answer that–”“I have a, uh, learning disability,” the woman explained. Before Jazz could drown in the guilt and shame, she went on, “my dad, he… worries about me. I didn’t have a normal childhood. I don’t know how people… people. I want to prove that I can take care of myself.”Jazz blinked at her. The woman clenched a hand into a fist, tight around the knuckles. Her brows pressed together, with the hard set of her forehead. Her eyes glittered something fierce, as if she were about to head into battle.It wasn’t anger that drove her, and Jazz recognized it well. She recognized the determination, the frustration, the drive. The desire to do something well, do something right. Wasn’t that why she had gone into medicine in the first place? Where had that relentless motivation gone?“You’re really cool,” she told her. It was breathy and soft and maybe filled with more awe than was warranted.The woman seemed to pick up on it too. “Oh,” she said, stumped. “Thank you.”“Sorry that I’ve been so weird tonight,” Jazz laughed awkwardly, tucking her bangs out of her face. “Gosh, it’s like I’m back in high school all over again. Getting all giddy talking to a pretty girl–”“You think I’m pretty?” The woman asked. The cock of her head just made her adorable and Jazz’s poor heart couldn’t take it.“I mean, of course, that’s so– uhm,” Jazz stuttered when the woman’s gaze intensified. It felt like standing in the glow of a thousand suns.The woman looked down suddenly. “Your hands are pretty.”Jazz jerked at attention, already lifting her hands to take a look herself. But then the woman was sliding her hands forward, intertwining her fingers with Jazz’s own seamlessly.Wow, that was so slick. Jazz felt a little weak in the knees.“Thank you,” Jazz mumbled, giving the hands–coarse from years of hard work–a gentle squeeze. “I’m Jazz, by the way.”“Cass,” the woman replied. Jazz’s heart did a little weird flip flop. Her textbooks could probably explain her condition, but she had abandoned those hours ago.Besides, she didn’t need a textbook to know she was maybe, sorta in love. Just a little bit.She could melt into a puddle of happy goo any second now, and she knew she’d be safe because Cass still hadn’t let go.Jazz had no regrets.