He waits. Things like these (faith, hope, fun, being a child) didn't come easily to Damian, and it did hurt to watch him attempt to figure it out when it should come naturally to him. But Kyle's long since managed to get past most of his anger about that, and come to respect the kid.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, after all.

He doesn't speak when Damian puts down the soup bowl in front of him, and he makes no move to eat, either. It's incredibly difficult to even broach the subject of a chosen family with Damian, given that he was bred for it, and taught to believe that his genes made him superior or better suited than everyone else. And maybe, that was what people saw: the little Wayne who was destined to do great things, inherit a heavy legacy, but Kyle saw a child, a friend, and a kindred spirit, who should never have had to carry anything like this. Not so young.

(But Ganthet is in an alley, holding out the ring, and saying, 'You will have to do.' And there isn't any other choice. Swim, or drown.)

'Aside from a painting she made for me? It is.' He is quiet, picking at his own salad. He hadn't had the best relationship with his (overbearing, he'd have said, then. Now? He'd say loving.) mother.

'Faith is a choice. I'm going through the motions of it, but it's not really there at all.' A pause. 'Hope is a choice, too, but you can't go through the motions of that.'