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That earns him a look up from the stovetop, and a definite relaxing of the boy's features.

"Yes." And, after a moment, "please."

'Any fruits in particular you like, or should I surprise you?'

He speaks carefully, surprises are not things Damian takes well to, usually, but this is the good kind of surprise.

No negative response. In fact, Damian's face relaxes even more as he gives a small, approving nod, starting to scoop cookies on a baking sheet... stand-in.

"More fruit and less added sugar is generally preferred. As to which fruit, I have no great displeasure about specific ones, or allergies." So you can choose.

Pause.

"If you are making a drink for Grayson, and you can find any, he insists on adding ovaltine when he has any control over it. At least the one from my world does."

He nods his acknowledgement and approval. 'That's fine, I'm not overly fond of too much sweetness anyway.' We can drink the same stuff, together. 'I almost miss lemonade though, the really sour stuff. That was a nightmare to try and import to Oa, I think we had to bribe maybe seven people.'

It's just rambling to distract himself from getting overwhelmed. Already, he's running through various combinations while seated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and doesn't quite pay attention to what Damian is doing. The aroma of the soup is also beginning to affect him visibly and he inhales deeply, savouring it.

'Have you ever tried ovaltine?'

"Don't they have 'ethnic food imports' or something of that sort, then?"

Damian's tone is dry, but empty of venom. He notices the look on Kyle's face, and, after he sets the cookies to bake and gives the soup another stir, he scoops out some of the salad into two plates and settles one of them in front of Kyle, taking a seat around the corner from him.

"I have drunk the 'shakes'-called drinks that Pennyworth has concocted at Grayson's behest, yes."

While the words are nearly derisive, his voice is still - softer that could be expected. He misses both of them.

He makes a face. 'They do, but supply lines are always an issue. It's easier to ask another Lantern if they're popping by your home planet so they can get you what you want, but a lot of them can't really navigate Earth so,' a half shrug, 'we don't try. Besides, it's actually not that a far a journey if one's really desperate, and it's not really necessary to life on Oa.' But it would be more comfortable, he doesn't add.

He picks up a fork and, after saying grace, eagerly tucks in, chewing slowly and carefully.

'Milkshakes, you mean?' His tone, in contrast, is quite curious. He doesn't know a lot about Damian's life at the Manor, besides inferring that it is probably extremely spartan.

Edited 2013-07-15 12:27 (UTC)

... sorry, Damian is still sort of staring. This is just the first time he sees somebody do this.

Ever.

In his life.

He's not shocked. But he doesn't get it.

Kyle, however, thinks that he's got something in his teeth. 'What?' he says, surprised. 'Is there sauce on my face?'

He looks down.

"No. There is nothing wrong on your face. I don't understand what you were saying, however."

It makes no sense to him.

It clicks. 'Grace?' He pauses, wondering how to explain that. 'You don't have to say it, but it's usually polite to bow your head or observe me quietly.'

Another pause.

'I'm not religious, not anymore. It's a habit I never broke - it's... all I have left of my mother.'

Damian stays still and quiet for a long time, only nodding to Kyle that he should continue eating. There is a lot in those few sentences that he's trying to connect, fit together.

So. 'Grace.' Grace is a religious thing. It is also a habit. And it is also...

After a little while, he gets up to take the soup off the fire and serve a bowl for Kyle. He sets it down, carefully, then stands by the table, his body making his point louder than any words could, a messed up mix as he is of both his parents, forever incapable of escaping their legacies.

"It's not all that you have left of her. But I was merely - confused." Not criticizing.

After another moment, he sits back down, picking more at his salad.

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.'

Damian wants to point out that he wishes he had that little left from his mother. Or he would, if wishing were a thing he did.

But he doesn't. He doesn't understand completely the answer, because he cannot comprehend calling 'mother' somebody that is not bound to him in many, many more ways than... these. The one Rayner listed.

And yet that is what Damian is given, and he'll work with it. Until he has more information.

Instead, he keeps his face down into his food and. Eventually, he does ask.

"What was it like when it was more than going through the motions?" Beat. "If you recall."

Damian doesn't deal in hypotheticals, which means Kyle has to find an analogy from the kid's life to compare it to. He chews (ha) this thought over, and after a few minutes he puts down his cutlery, gathers himself for what he's about to say.

'It felt like how you do, with the Dick Grayson from our world. And when I didn't have it, it felt like what you were feeling, when he disappeared from here.' Sadness. Anger. Unfairness. Because it had been comfort, and strength, and it wasn't there anymore.

He might have done, with a hypothetical. Only with more questions.

This simile, however?

Damian sets his fork down, both hands holding on to the edge of the table. His voice is even, less controlled and more empty of judgment, because he's tired of judging himself, right now (he's tired).

"But you keep going because it used to matter." Small nod. That, he can understand, yes. Including the constant, choking feeling that it just might never matter again.

'Yes. It mattered to her, so I kept it.' He doesn't reach over, though it's obvious he wants to. 'As long as I keep doing it, it will matter, because it keeps her with me.'

He gives it a few moments, before he gently nudges the bowl. Hey, let's eat.

"Meaning a different thing does not mean it doesn't matter." For some reason, he thinks like he should point that out.

Small pause, then he nods, slipping off his seat again to take the cookies out to cool and turn the oven off.

Then he settles back down, returning to his salad. Quietly.

'True,' he concedes. It's something he'll learn, eventually, but for now, that hasn't sunk in yet.

Then, 'Those smell really good. Do you make them, at home, or does Alfred cook everything?'

It's something Damian thinks obvious.

(Of course, should it be his things that change importance, he'll probably need reminding, in turn.)

The boy shrugs, voice blank. "I have not cooked or baked much at the Manor."

He lets a silence lapse. Then, 'Do you mind cooking for me, sometimes? When you're rested.'

Damian considers that, then shrugs. "I don't mind. If it will ensure that you're properly fed."

Kyle smirks. 'I might just start giving away my food if it earns me your scintillating wit.'

...

(He's tired. He's probably misunderstanding this, because.)

Damian blinks, eyes narrowing.

"Then I would not be cooking for you." If Kyle is giving the food away.

He sighs. 'It's a joke, little bat. It means I would do a lot to spend a bit more time with you.'

Damian? Has no idea what to say (or do) about that. His mouth opens, then closes, and he's back to picking through his salad. Takes a forkfull. Chews and swallows it.

"I'm here." It's not like I need excuses.

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