(no subject)
001
Damian would hate to admit it out loud -- especially in front of Dick and other adults he tries so hard to be mature around -- but he missed her so much. He wants to hug her and bury his face against her skin and breathe in her scent and cling to her like some sort of love-starved baby, but that would be childish. He buries the itch by taking her hand instead, looking up at her with a smile.
He deliberately angles himself so only she can see that rare smile, but perk in his attitude would be noticeable for miles around.
"Mother. I'm glad you're here." There's a pause. "Father's here, too."
It's hard to not sound a little excited about it. Both of his parents in one place again. He didn't think this would ever happen again, and now it could even happen in the real world.
Maybe things will be better.
002
"Your hair is growing long," his mother says, gently combing her fingers though his hair.
His hair is getting to that stage where it still looks deliberate but is bordering on unkempt. Damian likes it short, but there's just something cool about having longer hair, especially when it gets all windswept.
He makes a face when she reaches for the dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of scissors.
"Mother," he scowls, "No. I like it like this."
She raises an eyebrow, gently tapping the closed blades against her palm.
"Then you'll have to grow it longer and tie it back. You can't be fussing with your bangs in your eyes in the middle of a fight, Dami."
"That'd be stupid looking," he argues, ducking his head when she reaches to touch his hair again. She gives him a dissatisfied look. He continues: "Dick keeps it this length."
"And if Richard was killed in battle, you would do the same?"
"That doesn't even make sense."
Talia looks at him sternly, and he feels like putting up more of a fuss, but her hand slides down the back of his neck to rest between his shoulder blades, and he finds himself being steered to sit. He sits, though he throws himself into the chair with a resigned sort of loathing. Stupid hair. Stupid Grayson. Stupid mother.
"Just don't make it too short," he demands, and he hears the metal click of the blades coming together on a lock of his hair.
003
They're talking.
It only takes Damian a second to realize the vents around the room aren't big enough to crawl in, and another second to realize that his stealth-trained father and mother would likely notice the sound even if he could fit in the vents. It takes a full five seconds of mental temper-tantrums and frustration before he resorts to just pressing himself against the door, ear flush with the wood, trying to hear their conversation.
Unfortunately for him, Paradisa has ways to soundproof things. When he realizes the door isn't yielding results he drops to his knees to peer under the bottom, straining his ears to hear.
That is precisely when two strong hands grab him around the middle and hoist him from the floor. He knows who it is instantly, but he tries to elbow Dick in the face anyway, just for interrupting him before he could hear anything. His elbow connects with thin air; no one can handle Damian's knee-jerk lashes like Dick can.
There's a few seconds of struggle before Dick sets Damian on the couch. Damian instantly tries to clamber off.
"Hey! Hey." Dick says it quietly but sternly as he crouches down in front of the couch and puts his hands up in surrender. Damian falls back on his heels, seething already. "Let them talk in private."
"They're talking about me!" Damian hisses, "And if they're going to live together! That is my business--"
The door opens, and both Dick and Damian turn to see. There's the two of them, expressions both a mix of different emotions Damian just can't place. Bruce is at the door, holding it open, and Talia stands deeper in the room, hands on her hips. Damian is at once full of both hope and dread.
"Come here, Damian. We have much to talk about," Talia says.
004
Damian's never been a particularly affectionate child, but at times the mood strikes him.
Paradisa in particular affords these moods more often than home ever could: here, there is no League, little in the way of crisis and so much in the way of free time. It is the only time in his life that he feels he can get his mother's undivided attention, and he soaks it up like a sponge. He follows her around the suite so close that he almost gets underfoot, peers nosily into whatever she's reading, and takes his afternoon naps curled up on the couch with his head against her thigh.
Of course, if Dick asks he'll play it up and complain that they didn't do anything interesting all day, and that he was bored out of his skull. When his mother fusses over him, he'll complain of being smothered or treated like a child. But Dick knows how that works -- the moment Damian isn't getting that same attention, there will be complaints about how she doesn't love him enough.
It's just a struggle to express affection, especially for a boy so far removed from tenderness.
Damian would hate to admit it out loud -- especially in front of Dick and other adults he tries so hard to be mature around -- but he missed her so much. He wants to hug her and bury his face against her skin and breathe in her scent and cling to her like some sort of love-starved baby, but that would be childish. He buries the itch by taking her hand instead, looking up at her with a smile.
He deliberately angles himself so only she can see that rare smile, but perk in his attitude would be noticeable for miles around.
"Mother. I'm glad you're here." There's a pause. "Father's here, too."
It's hard to not sound a little excited about it. Both of his parents in one place again. He didn't think this would ever happen again, and now it could even happen in the real world.
Maybe things will be better.
002
"Your hair is growing long," his mother says, gently combing her fingers though his hair.
His hair is getting to that stage where it still looks deliberate but is bordering on unkempt. Damian likes it short, but there's just something cool about having longer hair, especially when it gets all windswept.
He makes a face when she reaches for the dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of scissors.
"Mother," he scowls, "No. I like it like this."
She raises an eyebrow, gently tapping the closed blades against her palm.
"Then you'll have to grow it longer and tie it back. You can't be fussing with your bangs in your eyes in the middle of a fight, Dami."
"That'd be stupid looking," he argues, ducking his head when she reaches to touch his hair again. She gives him a dissatisfied look. He continues: "Dick keeps it this length."
"And if Richard was killed in battle, you would do the same?"
"That doesn't even make sense."
Talia looks at him sternly, and he feels like putting up more of a fuss, but her hand slides down the back of his neck to rest between his shoulder blades, and he finds himself being steered to sit. He sits, though he throws himself into the chair with a resigned sort of loathing. Stupid hair. Stupid Grayson. Stupid mother.
"Just don't make it too short," he demands, and he hears the metal click of the blades coming together on a lock of his hair.
003
They're talking.
It only takes Damian a second to realize the vents around the room aren't big enough to crawl in, and another second to realize that his stealth-trained father and mother would likely notice the sound even if he could fit in the vents. It takes a full five seconds of mental temper-tantrums and frustration before he resorts to just pressing himself against the door, ear flush with the wood, trying to hear their conversation.
Unfortunately for him, Paradisa has ways to soundproof things. When he realizes the door isn't yielding results he drops to his knees to peer under the bottom, straining his ears to hear.
That is precisely when two strong hands grab him around the middle and hoist him from the floor. He knows who it is instantly, but he tries to elbow Dick in the face anyway, just for interrupting him before he could hear anything. His elbow connects with thin air; no one can handle Damian's knee-jerk lashes like Dick can.
There's a few seconds of struggle before Dick sets Damian on the couch. Damian instantly tries to clamber off.
"Hey! Hey." Dick says it quietly but sternly as he crouches down in front of the couch and puts his hands up in surrender. Damian falls back on his heels, seething already. "Let them talk in private."
"They're talking about me!" Damian hisses, "And if they're going to live together! That is my business--"
The door opens, and both Dick and Damian turn to see. There's the two of them, expressions both a mix of different emotions Damian just can't place. Bruce is at the door, holding it open, and Talia stands deeper in the room, hands on her hips. Damian is at once full of both hope and dread.
"Come here, Damian. We have much to talk about," Talia says.
004
Damian's never been a particularly affectionate child, but at times the mood strikes him.
Paradisa in particular affords these moods more often than home ever could: here, there is no League, little in the way of crisis and so much in the way of free time. It is the only time in his life that he feels he can get his mother's undivided attention, and he soaks it up like a sponge. He follows her around the suite so close that he almost gets underfoot, peers nosily into whatever she's reading, and takes his afternoon naps curled up on the couch with his head against her thigh.
Of course, if Dick asks he'll play it up and complain that they didn't do anything interesting all day, and that he was bored out of his skull. When his mother fusses over him, he'll complain of being smothered or treated like a child. But Dick knows how that works -- the moment Damian isn't getting that same attention, there will be complaints about how she doesn't love him enough.
It's just a struggle to express affection, especially for a boy so far removed from tenderness.