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

[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."