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Characters: Bruce Wayne
Location: Whichever sector you fancy.
Situation: Bruce is braving the increasing hostility of the kedan radicals to be his usual arrogant, playboy self out in the public sector.
Warnings/Rating: None yet! To be updated if anything occurs.
Notes: I'll do action or prose with equal verve, so hit me with whatever you'd like. Just pop a note in your subject line about which Sector you want and off we go!

[Reconnaissance is more or less his superpower. He's reached the end of Devin Craig's immediate usefulness, and Batman can only do so much from the shadows. Sometimes, the man for the job is the one he feels least like being: Bruce Wayne.

The blood tests he took from the site of the executions were inconclusive. Hard to do much without the resources to run them through the proper battery of tests. The blood has abnormally low levels of albumin, but beyond that it's structurally similar to that of a human. Close cousins. It doesn't have any of the same markers in common with other shapeshifters he's encountered, and he can't do more without proper equipment.

What he does know is that the scraps of cloth he gathered from the bodies are congruent to fabric samples of the upper east side in the Fire Sector, which at least confirms their territory. A night's tracking lead him to the headquarters of the Black Kirin, formerly one of the most affluent presences in the sector. The place had been left in ruins, and was still a smouldering mess when he found it. Any insignia the gang had used to identify themselves had been smothered with graffiti, torn or burned.

Turf wars.

Not a thought he likes to entertain. Not when he doesn't know the locals, the customs, the movers and shakers of the underworld. Handling such events in Gotham takes every ounce of his not inconsiderable resources and the marshalling of everyone in his network. He has to operate differently here.

But that isn't why he's out here today. Today, he has business of a different sort to conduct. He needs to start amassing capital. Lieuen's little show of wealth wasn't impressive so much as tasteless and wasteful, and Bruce still hasn't abandoned the idea that the entire execution was staged between Lieuen and Evandau. But the question is - was it for the benefit of the kedan, or the 'foreigners'?

And what did they mean about saving? Everyone he's asked about it has been maddeningly vague, to the point that he's considering finding some unsavoury individual and holding them upside down off the tallest building in the Metal Sector.

Hm.

Still. For the time being, he's speaking with shop-owners, negotiating where necessary. He's chatty, amicable. If he happens across any foreigners, he'll smile and wave. Bruce Wayne, ladies and gentlemen. He's a charmer.]

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I had business elsewhere.

[He starts unpacking groceries, turning his back to Damian. The boy no doubt knows it has less in common with being dismissive and more an attempt at... trust. Especially for them.]

[No, yes, this is a language Damian speaks fluently.

And maybe now when he returns to his suite, he may still drink the long-cold cup of tea.]

Understood.

[And, because he has been under Pennyworth's influence for the last year or so, and because Grayson had insisted (and Damian learned) to follow the butler's instructions, and some of those habits stuck...

Damian will now at least try to help with the groceries, rather than push the lurking behind Father's back.]

Maybe I can be of assistance.

[Carefully phrased. Because Father knows about Robin. But maybe he doesn't know everything else about him. And Damian does want to help.]

[Bruce hides a very slight smile, and he gestures at the second of the bags.]

By all means.

[... sorry, Father, that's not what he meant. Hence Damian gives a small snort.

And starts working on the second bag without further comment. It'll be always up to others how far they'll be willing to involve him in their endeavors. That much, he's learned. So he'll take what is offered.]

[Oh, he knows. Batman, remember?

Call this another one of his little tests.]

Do you think you're prepared to work beside me?

[Think very carefully before you answer that question, Damian.]

[This question? Makes the boy freeze almost literally mid-stride. Then he carefully works his way through the anger.

At Mother, for utterly failing to prepare him in the one way that does matter. At himself, for failing, plain and simple. At Father, for not accepting all the work he'd put in, anyway. At the rest of the Robins, for having earned his trust and his affection where he can not. At himself again, for just not being good enough.

He takes a slow, measured breath. Lets it out. Resumes his work on the groceries, though some of the tension is still there.]

In the work I know will need doing, more so than I used to be. As to the rest, it's highly probable that I have better preparation to assist than would be expected, although I couldn't be definite without knowing details.

[quietly] Apparently, a lot of education can be fit into ten years, if one omits certain distractions that most people assume are a necessity.

[like fun. And playing. And chilling out. And hanging out.]

I have... better ideas on how that knowledge is to be used than I did while I was acquiring most of it.

[And Bruce is watching him carefully every step of the way.

They are still so new to each other. They've spent so little time in each other's company that the fact that Damian calls him 'father' is almost a mockery of the meaning of the word. It would seem more natural coming from Dick or Tim, or Cassandra, all of whom know him.

Damian only knows what he's been taught.

Bruce sets several apples out into a countertop basket. He doesn't speak, but he does close his eyes briefly.

Damn Talia for keeping this from him. He should have known. He should have suspected she was lying when she told him she'd miscarried. He should have--

No. Focus. No point dwelling on the might-have-beens when all they have is the here and now. This is already a duty he's shirked far more than decency should have allowed.]

Damian.

[That single word holds so much more meaning than its three syllables suggest, but Bruce's tone is steady and even.]

You'll do fine. I--

[... the pause could almost be deliberate, except that it isn't. For a moment, Bruce has no idea what to say. Absurdly, he wishes-- that he'd had more time to learn this from his own father. And that he wasn't so afraid that following in his father's footsteps wouldn't end the same way for his children that it had for him.

Yes. He is afraid.

Fear has always been a tool for him. An impetus, to do better, to be better. It's something he's wielded on far more occasions than he's had cause to lift a batarang. He uses his own to great effect.

But he's never been afraid quite like this before.

It's... different with Dick. He was only twenty-two when he took the boy in; they... grew up together, learning each other, every territory they touched on was new and unforged. Bruce was younger then, and reckless, and he'd never stopped to think--

It was different with Jason, who was his perfect complement. And with Tim, who knows him better than possibly anyone alive.

He and Damian are strangers, and Bruce feels as if he's expected to live up to some perfect, unattainable ideal--

But the boy doesn't need an ideal.

He needs-- damnit, he needs Dick. But Dick isn't here. Each of his children has their area of expertise where they have surpassed him or will one day. Dick and his acrobatics. Cassandra and her combat. Tim and his intelligence. But Bruce has never been outclassed by Dick's strength of character in a way that makes him feel as wholly inadequate as he does right then.

He's wondered, numerous times and always in idle passing since his return, if maybe it was better for him to have stayed lost in time. His people... they shone without him. What was he in their lives but a dark cloud, forever keeping them to the shadows?

It's not a fear that they've left him behind. It's the knowledge that they should.

And Damian... he still needs a father.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, and wonders what Alfred would do. He would, in his very proper British manner, tell him he was being foolish, and would Master Bruce care for a cup of tea to go with his shameful and unspeakable idiocy?

God, he almost laughs.]

--Didn't mean to imply otherwise. You've done well as Robin. I'm proud of how far you've come. I wish I could have been there for you.

[Bruce wishes for things about as often as he hopes for anything, but it's true.]

[To look at him, body nearly at attention and head down, almost perfectly still while Father starts those words... and finishes them, one could almost think he is being scolded, rather than praised. Encouraged.

He really has no idea what to do with this.

He could scorn and mock the opinions of his attendants and trainers and teachers (not Pennyworth, but he is a special case). He could dismiss Grayson's words as though they didn't matter (they've grown to matter, but he doesn't know how to let him know, other than complying). Mother never really saw him, so her praise, while unpredictable and lavish, didn't really have this effect.

But Father?

Grayson has done a good job to teach him about Bruce Wayne, the real person with flaws who is still great and amazing (and loved, though Damian suspects more and more than anything he comes up with won't be the same love that Grayson has... for anyone). Damian's had time to observe him first-hand, too, if not very greatly.

Father is still the most important person in Damian's universe. The model to which he compares himself. Against which he comes short.

He can't dismiss the words. Not even pitted against the times he's received - earned - Father's censure. And... he really doesn't know what to do about it. Something he's been trained to seek and then grown into wanting on his own for all of his conscious life. That he's had long, long periods when he's considered impossible. And now it's offered to him, and he... throat choked, pulse beating loud in his ears, and a flush on his face, he... stumbles for words.]

I... try, Father.

[And, at the last part, his eyes shoot up.]

You had my promise, Father. So long as I keep it, you are there.

[Bruce shakes his head.]

No. There's a difference between someone having an impact on your life and being present in it. Believe me.

[Thomas and Martha. Bruce keeps them close to his heart, but it's not the same thing as hearing his father's voice, catching the smell of his mother's lingering perfume after she's left a room. It's not the same as picking out birthday presents year after year, as watching the grey come into someone's hair, as bringing the girl you love home to meet them for the very first time.

Bruce crouches down so that they're almost of a height. Damian is so small compared to him. Fragile, he thinks, although he's seen all due evidence to the contrary. Damian's hand, splayed out, would barely cover his palm.

In another life, he might have seen him grow to this point. He might have known him. Might have given him a better life. Bruce doesn't want this path for any of his children. But it's chosen them, just as it chose him more than two decades ago. All he can do is guide them. There is no going back.

Not for any of them.

But they're not alone. Hell has turned out to have some very fine company indeed.]

Damian, I'm not perfect.

[That still bothers him to admit. Though... not as much as it used to. Now he's almost ironically amused by it. No. He's not perfect. But look at how far he's come.]

But I want to be your father. Family is as much who you choose to surround yourself by as it is blood. I've been... angry at Talia for so long I didn't stop to think of how that anger might impact you, and what you might think it means. Forgive me.

[The first words run through his head, and he understands the meaning behind them, but doesn't understand it, his brows drawing down, then quickly twitching up, one after the other.]

I wouldn't know.

[It's said without self-pity. A statement of fact. Until his eighth birthday, there hadn't been anyone present in his life, only the distant shadow of his Mother, the teachings about his Father, and people he was taught to think of as discardable. After that... Mother was more than a presence. Vaguely.

The only two people who have been there in his life, ever? Grayson and Pennyworth. And that has been over the last year. Even in his short life... that is not enough for him to be confident in knowing the difference. Not... not the way he thinks Father means it.

... and then he's crouching in front of him, and Damian automatically pulls up to his full height. Why do people think this makes anything better? He hates being patronized (though is this really a surprise, from Father?) and he is accustomed to the height differences he encounters, he adjusts and compensates for them and this is completely unnecessary.]

>Tt.< I know you are not perfect. Just better than everyone else. Nobody is perfect, but some are striving for perfection, and you come closer than people usually dare.

[Perfect certainty and confidence, as though it's an obvious fact. And to him, it is.
He nods, slowly, at the part about family. That, he has begun to comprehend, if not fully accept. He's put his life in danger to protect the brothers Father has chosen for him - all three, really - and has had his life saved by one of them (multiple times)... well, maybe two, and by the sister so chosen (and by Pennyworth). It means something to him. Not that he does not risk his life to save strangers, nor that he does not intend to. When it is people he knows, people who know him, it is a different thing. A thing he was never allowed, before, than he is still learning to accept being able to do.

... and then the last part comes, and Damian quivers only for an instant, just a single shake at Mother's name brought up. Again.]

And now I am more angry at her than you. And you were not wrong. I understand, Father.

[At least... he understands the anger. Not the impact. And not the apology, though he holds Father's eyes and nods, carefully.]

I-it is I who brought harm to your house. Maybe am meant to bring worse harm. [The words of the zombie clone... not easily forgotten. Or dismissed.] I who need to be forgiven. When I become the person who deserves it.

[Not yet. If he cannot bend his pride to ask for it, he clearly is not there yet.]

But I would rather have it no other way than you as my Father. No other way would be... right?

[... No. This isn't a time for words.

It's easy to shift from his crouched position to his knees on the floor, and from there he just pulls Damian into a hug.]

[Yelp--

What is--

Damian freezes, his usually tense body whipping up to strain, registering that he must not comply with his reflex to fight it off before he registers what his Father is doing.

When he does, he lets out a breath, allowing some of the tension to drain out of him. Ever so slowly, he lets himself inch (expect it's in much tinier increments) closer...

This is. Different from Grayson's hugs. Father is even bigger, for one thing, and, for another, he doesn't glom onto him like some sort of... an octopus. But the intent, the-- the warmth is there. Here. (Making it different from other embraces that he's tolerated since he was five and was taught finally that such behavior was punishable...)

And then it hits him. His Father, Bruce Wayne, is holding him. A fact that he considered impossible, for a long while, and almost completely improbable, since. The small sigh that shakes him is completely silent.

But he's pressing close into it. And he lowers his head so it will rest on Father's shoulder.]

[And Bruce, for his part, simply holds him.]

Forgive yourself. The rest will follow.

[Hypocritical. But if any of his sons can learn from his mistakes, having made them becomes worth it. Bruce knows there isn't much about himself that he can change. He's trying. By degrees. Being here, doing this, that proves it.

(The first truth of Batman--)

But no. He's too old, too set in his ways. He will go to his grave with some tricks yet unlearned. Maybe if he could have forgiven himself decades ago, his path would have been a different one.

Because a child's helpless anger at a situation they can't change can fester and rot until the bones and sinews of it become guilt and shame-- being helpless always seems so shameful when it's your expectation that you should be otherwise. (And he had left the theatre feeling so strong--)

And Damian... he knew no better. Helpless? Perhaps not physically, but he had never been taught emotions by a gentler hand, and without that frame of reference he had... stumbled. Expecting someone to describe the ocean when they've lived their life in the desert is a folly. Bruce's own folly. He made so many mistakes with Damian--

But even Jason had known softer emotions before Bruce took him in. Dick had loving parents, and Tim's, for all their distance, still cared for him.

Damian was worse than orphaned. He was used.]

And Damian? It's your house as well.

[Bruce tightens the embrace briefly, and lets him go, sitting back until he's in seiza.]

[No, Damian's knowledge of softer emotions is remote, faint, and, until Grayson, understood as something to be avoided on pain of punishment. His understanding is still frail, experience - next to none.

And forgiveness is decidedly among those.

He has learned to react and punish (before), or to take things in and go on, more recently. He can take pain, and, while when it's inside, he is far less gracious at dealing with it, it as still something he understands. And is used to dealing with. Forgiveness... not yet. Although if - when - he thinks about it (and he will, when this conversation is over), he'll figure it out. That he has been forgiven by two people, at least, even if the words have never been said.

Three, now, maybe?

Forgiveness to himself? That is even more confusing. He has always done the best he has been able to. The mistakes he has made - they were in front of Father's eyes and Mother's (each of them pushing him away, in turns... though not now. Not now.)

He doesn't understand. But he doesn't dismiss it, either. (It is another rule, his mind says. But it is one he can tell is important to Father, means something to him. So he will comply.)]

I shall try, Father.

[Both his voice and his frown show his uncertainty. But he doesn't ask. He will think and meditate on this, and if he still doesn't understand, then - maybe - he'll ask. Grayson would have explained, the thinks. And it makes him have to force his thoughts away - he is not missing the preposterous, constant rambling, he certainly isn't...

Good thing Father is shifting the topic again. And this... this is easier. When they pull back (Father pulls away, Damian straightens), his face is... not calm, but definitely more open, the thoughts behind it turned away from hostility and failure and plots into things that don't make his teeth grind. Only that small crease between his brows crease as he processes. And his eyes are... open. Steady.]

It can be, now. When I understand that taking it is not the only option.

[The house. The world. There are things that he still things he must take, because they will not be given or shared with him. But he sees alternatives, now, in some cases. Sees, or can reason out, he doesn't need to fight everyone, everywhere, until he's established he's the top of the food chain.

He is not always the top of the food chain... and, some places, that is how things ought to be.

Even if habits die hard. Very hard.

Thoughts flit behind his eyes, fast and conflicting and some of them difficult, but he doesn't look away. Not until he realizes that he ought to do more than acknowledge the offer Father extended.]

Thank you. It is an honor... to be accepted as part of your household. It... [Words. What are good words?] It means a lot to me.

[Yes. Dick did good work with the boy. It's a responsibility that should never have fallen to him, much like the mantle of Batman itself, but... Dick's adaptable. He makes things work for him.

Sometimes, Bruce thinks he doesn't give him enough credit. And others he's worried he gives him too much. In this, the former. Dick's done something Bruce didn't consider to be possible for Damian. He's made him... human.

Performing as Batman in the same capacity he served in as Robin. Keeping someone with Wayne genetics sane. The thought makes him ache for his eldest boy, something bone-deep with sorrow and shame.

He stands, drops his palm against Damian's shoulder. He has nothing more to say, and he still feels beaten and bruised on the inside from even so brief a conversation.

(He should have done better--)

From there, he simply moves on to the rest of the groceries, silent and efficient in motion.]

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