the young and rich

[crusaded]

I can't sleep.

While the sun has yet to dip below the horizon, it's been days since I had any semblance of rest. Pain and fatigue have worn mostly down, only a light thrum remaining in the air, pressing against my temples and forcing every thought to a roadblock. Every action is stilled by a need not to interrupt that steady ebb and crash of water that sounds. I can't decide if it's my imagination filling the silence, or if the beach is truly so close. I lie on the sofa, a T-shirt several times too large loose over my shoulders, the first serviceable item of clothing retrieved from the box. I should check on my suit. Make sure everything is in working order, and every weapon accounted for.

Instead, I'm waiting until Damian gets home, thinking more carefully through Stephanie's words. At least when it comes to this, it's likely that she knows better than I do. She's spent more hours with him and can see through the quick tongue that he uses to lash out at everything that isn't to his satisfaction. And, if nothing else, discovering the fact that I've been missing to him for months, dead for months, better shapes my perspective.

Here is an opportunity to make an effort I've owed for some time.

Comments

[aworthyone]

"You told me to meet you near Dino Territory," Damian says. He's stopped in the front doorway, posture gone rigid for having seen the common area occupied by someone other than himself, Stephanie, or Stephanie's mess. It's strange, seeing his father now, dressed in something so ill-fitting and garish that he may as well be a different man entirely from the dark knight who stalks the streets of Gotham, striking terror into all those he encounters. In that outfit, Bruce Wayne is not a myth, but simply a man. Unimpressive, but no less able to instill an overwhelming sense of disappointment into his youngest son all the same.

His lip curls in distaste. "What are you wearing?"

[crusaded]

I don't know whether Stephanie sent Damian my way, or if she's possibly picked tonight as an evening to stay far from the hut, waiting for the inevitable reunion between Damian and myself to take place, hoping to avoid whatever whatever fallout may occur. Somehow, the possibility of Stephanie keeping her distance from the situation doesn't seem altogether unlikely. For her to care that the conversation isn't forced, or shaped by the presence of a third person in the hut. Regardless, I feel relief in knowing that Damian alone stands at the door, and I sit up on the sofa, resting my elbows on my knees. Wishing I had the right words. Wishing I knew how to even invite him inside.

Practicality always seems to outweigh.

"Changed my mind once it became clear that I'd have to cross the terrain as Bruce Wayne, rather than attracting more attention to the cowl. Or calling attention to you," I reply, refusing to rule out the possibility that some people's eyes may be as sharp as our own. "This was faster."

I glance down at my shirt. "The source of the island's clothing wasn't very forgiving," I add, tone wry, before I glance up to meet my son's eyes. "Why don't you come inside, Damian?"

[aworthyone]

"Tt."

Damian's hesitation melts away. It would be unfair to say that his posture relaxes (he prefers being wound up), he becomes more comfortable in his own skin for the invitation. Unfortunately, his own skin is not to everyone's tastes, his father's, seemingly, included. He peels off his domino, the mask slipping easily into his fingers, and he shuts the door behind him with his foot as he steps further into the room. There's no one watching from outside. He's already made sure.

"This is my house. I don't need you to tell me to come in."

[crusaded]

"This is a house that you share with Stephanie," I point out. Manners may not be the most important lesson for him to learn in Gotham, but it's one of many that fall along a similar line. For all that it's important to be able to fend off immediate and physical threats with tenacity, so is learning flexibility and tolerance. In a community as stymied as this one, the support or acceptance of the greater populace is key. It serves as the only road which will provide access to the island's greatest research products, now that we lack our normal resources.

Beyond that, it wouldn't hurt for Damian to make some friends.

"But I wasn't giving you permission, Damian. It was a request," I clarify, moving to the side of the sofa, curious to see if the boy is even willing to sit down for a talk after our prior exchange. It's good to see him out of the mask.

[aworthyone]

"I filled out all the paperwork," he mutters with a roll of his eyes, tugging off each of his gauntlets in turn, and shoving them under one arm as he stalks towards the sofa his father's made his perch. Staring at the empty spot for a moment, Damian scoffs.

"And I built that sofa."

[crusaded]

I raise a brow, glancing down at the sofa. To be fair, the thought that Damian would ever be forced to build a piece of furniture never crossed my mind— or, indeed, the idea that he would put up with such a mundane task. Brushing my hand briefly over the armrest, I let out a deep sigh. His attitude could still use work. Then again, I suppose one could say that about any of us.

"It's well-made," I acknowledge, for what it's worth. It might not be the validation he's truly seeking, but I don't see what it could hurt. My gaze raising to meet his once more, I pat the empty space. "We need to talk, Damian. About our next steps."

[aworthyone]

Damian strongly doubts that there exist more ominous words than those. His chest tightens with something he'd never categorize as fear, what little cheering up Stephanie had done the day before fading into the wisp of a half-forgotten memory. This is it, then.

Drawing himself to his full height (very tall for his age, but hardly imposing compared to his father), Damian stands with his shoulders back and his head held level. Careful to keep eye contact, he drops his earlier attitude, replying in a deceptively calm voice, "If you're about to dismiss me, I'd prefer to stay standing."

[crusaded]

"I'm not."

He's so proud. I don't know who he gets it from. No doubt that Talia al Ghul has carried herself with that same confidence before, but I come from no less impressive of a family, no less of a legacy, and this house is ultimately the one that Damian has chosen. I wonder now, just how much of a reflection Damian is of me, or how much of myself I should expect to find in those eyes. I worry for the childhood that he seems to have been robbed of, and at far younger of an age than mine was taken from me. If there is a sigh on my lips, it isn't aimed at him so much as it feels for Damian, and exhaustion passes over my features as I'm reminded again of Stephanie's words.

(It won't happen again. Damian isn't Jason. I should stop comparing the two.)

"Damian, I've been told that you worked admirably at Dick's side as Robin. And different though our styles may be, I know that the position isn't one that Dick takes lightly," I begin, watching and wondering if he'll sit. "However, I also haven't seen this progress for myself."

[aworthyone]

"That's because you haven't given me a chance to show you," Damian points out, the anger in the words barely suppressed. His breath's gone shallow, the thin veneer of enforced calm chipping away, much as there's some hope to be found in his father's reply.

"And you've already thrown away the one I might've had by going to chase after the nutcase by yourself."

[crusaded]

"His name is Jason," I remind him. Because calling him a nutcase does Jason no justice. Because it ignores everything that he's been over the years, makes light of his sacrifices and his lessons alike. Because, should one call Jason Todd mad, that madness has only ever descended upon him as a result of my mistakes. Damian may not realize that and he may not care, but should there be any way to avoid igniting fires between the two, then I need to keep Damian aware.

Leaning forward, I press my fingers briefly to my lips. "So show me. Tell me, given what you know of Jason's past, what you think you could have done to help me in that mission. I'm listening."

[aworthyone]

"I wouldn't have negotiated," Damian says, simply. "You could have knocked him out easily and brought him up to the surface, but you didn't. You hesitated. And so you failed. Todd has never responded well to reason in the past. I don't know why you thought he would do so now."

[crusaded]

"And what would you have done with him, once brought to the surface?" I ask, raising a brow. "The inclination to hide would not have been solved. Sooner or later, he would have escaped and we would find ourselves back at square one. My goal, Damian, wasn't simply to bring him to the surface if it came at the cost of scaring him further."

I lean against the back of the sofa, crossing my arms over my chest.

[aworthyone]

Damian considers that for a moment. Allows his father's reasoning to sink in as much as he is able. He is not so stubborn to see that there's a sense behind the words, but they beg an important question all the same.

"If you didn't want to scare him, why go down there at all?"

[crusaded]

Folding my hands neatly under my chin, I rest my gaze on my son for a few seconds. There are countless ways to answer this question. Not all of them will please him, and I can't say that I don't understand why. Jason has not, after all, been part of his family. Damian owes him no debt, no obligation to try and understand the ties that bind, and I'm sure that Talia must have impressed upon Damian the significance of a blood relationship often enough by this point that the mere suggestion that both boys are equally important to me may be taken as an insult.

Or, worse yet, as indication that his loyalty and presence will go unacknowledged.

"Because he is also my son, Damian, and one who I let down," I explain. He's seen the uniform. He knows the history. "The least I could do is make sure that his life here isn't suddenly disturbed by my arrival. Which is not a message he can receive from anyone else."

[aworthyone]

"Tt."

He bristles at the mention of yet another false son. Drake had been bad enough, but Damian will never lower himself to call Todd his brother. One good deed at Halloween doesn't erase the past, let alone the other boy's pedigree.

"Not all messages need delivering through words," Damian points out. Though some of the intricacies of civil discourse remain lost to him, he has a cannier understanding than many are inclined to give him credit for. "Ignoring him would've been less of a disturbance than hunting him down to deliver a message about how you plan to ignore him."

[crusaded]

Lacing my fingers, I pause; the suggestion isn't one that failed to cross my mind in those few seconds it took for me to work up the conviction to try again, to cross the island and head down into Rapture, to make a reconciliatory attempt and pull Jason out of a city he'd found himself all too comfortable in. Even now, had I the opportunity to try again, I know that heading down into Rapture would have been an inevitability. But why? How do I try to convey that to a son who has no obligation to try and understand? Who likely will never accept the notion that Jason or Tim are sons in their own right, and thus deserving of as much attention as Damian himself has ever been?

Or do I keep the thought to myself?

(I went down because he needed that moment, defenses down, because I needed to see that his finger wasn't ready to pull the trigger.)

"Perhaps," I confirm, sitting straight. "But then it would have become a waiting game. Each waiting for the other to attack. No trust formed."

[aworthyone]

"As opposed to now where he trusts you completely," says Damian, expression as contemptuous as his voice is sarcastic. He rolls his eyes. "Right. That makes perfect sense."

[crusaded]

"As opposed to now, where he hopefully realizes that he may trust in the fact that I have no plans to hunt him down for crimes he has yet to commit," I reply, the tone of my voice having taken on an edge. This boy needs to better learn respect. "It is not an alliance, no. But it is a call for truce, and I fail to see another way of forming it other than by direct conversation."

"Or can you think of anyone who would have sufficed as a serviceable go-between? Knowing that he has reacted in extreme and violent ways before?"

I wouldn't want to send my son to that.

[aworthyone]

"I've spoken to him several times with little incident," Damian counters, and though the change is subtle, there's a defiance in his posture that becomes more evident the harsher his father's voice becomes.

"Would that have been serviceable enough for you? I could have helped."

[crusaded]

"Holding a regular conversation with Jason is a different matter entirely than discussing family," I point out, convinced that Damian trying to speak to Jason about me, of all people, wouldn't have gone over smoothly. Especially when Damian sees himself as the only true son, having come to blows with Tim before on the matter. (I've placed no small amount of weight on the fact that Dick brought these observations to me, and that Dick has since taken Damian under his wing as Robin.)

"It's too much of a risk," I conclude, more firmly than before. "I won't throw my son into that."

[aworthyone]

"Tt," says Damian, rolling his eyes. This is surely a lost cause, if his father thinks that sending him to talk to a nutcase is more of a risk than anything Grayson had him do in his tenure as the Batman.

Including going up against the Red Hood.

"Are we done here or do you wish to tell me I can't do something else because it's too much of a risk?"

[crusaded]

"I don't appreciate that tone, Damian," I reply, gaze sharp as I sit straighter, not sure if it's in an effort to set an example, or if I'm simply too well-aware of the fact that my patience is being tried. Worn thin. Even Damian might not escape a sharp word or two if this continues, but I see no benefit to arguing.

It's late.

"We'll speak again tomorrow. You'll start lessons, and we'll train come evening. But I want you to get sleep tonight." With a look, I add, "And I'll know if you haven't."