Disclaimer: If I say yes, will that make it true?

Deserving

Cam stares at the street as he and Dinah head to the zeta-beam transporter. Thanks to them, the police are handling a group of would-be assassins, sent by the Imperial Region to eliminate the CEOs of a company working for the federal government's surveillance department. The victory is tainted, though, because he did nothing: three of the six men were his, but he allowed himself to be blind-sided barely a minute into the fight. Too focused on one, he wasn't prepared for the other behind him. When he gained consciousness, head still throbbing from contact with the floor, Dinah had already secured the criminals.

Her asking him if he was alright has been the only conversation. He doesn't want to talk right now, and he's sure that she doesn't want to talk to him. Each tentative glance in her direction solidifies his belief that she's angry, and she has every right to be because he was so stupid. Being pulled from patrol duty seems imminent, and it wouldn't be any surprise if she yells at him before he goes to the Cave.

From his peripheral vision, he notices that she's tenderly rubbing her upper arm, as though it's bruised. Hoping to redeem himself, if only a little, the teen places a hand on the wounded area. With a gasp, Dinah jerks away.

"I-I'm sorry," he stutters. "I just t-thought—"

"No, Cam, it's fine," she assures him. "You startled me, that's all."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, an impulse reaction. Apologize as many times as possible, even though it probably means nothing.

"For what?"

At first, he wonders if she's using the same tactic his dad had, forcing him to admit what he'd done wrong, but he knows she's not that cruel. "I messed up."

"Do you really think I would be angry with you over one slip-up?"

"One slip-up? I totally sucked. I didn't do anything right."

"You're going to have off nights every now and then. You can't expect yourself to be perfect."

"So you're really not mad at me?"

"Of course not." Ceasing her walk, she turns to stare at him, but the look on her face isn't the therapist one he's grown accustomed to. It's like she is watching a sad ASPCA commercial and all the poor, beaten animals nobody wants. The brief flare of anger he has is exterminated by his own inner acknowledgement that the description fits him well enough.

With a small shrug, he mumbles, "Only checking."

"You know, Cam, it's pretty late. You should stay the night."

The excuse is weak, considering there are ten minutes to midnight and he's returned to the Cave a lot later than this before. Still, he doesn't want to argue, in case that will be all that's needed to push her over the edge.

When they get to her place, she nods in the direction of the kitchen, saying, "I want to talk to you a little, okay?"

Expecting this, he nods and trails behind her, shifting to normalcy and taking a seat at the table. After flicking on the lights, she sits beside him. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he offers, speaking to his hands.

"Why were you so convinced that I would be upset with you?"

"Don't know," he lies, shifting uncomfortably. There are a lot of things he's willing to tell her, but this is treading a line, crossing into territory that has only been shared with Artemis.

"Your father got angry easily, didn't he?"

"I guess," he returns, his voice uneven.

"Would he…hit you?"

"Yeah." Digging his nails into his palm, he quickly explains, "It didn't happen a lot. Just when I did something wrong during training or a mission. And he only did it because I had to get better."

"Get better?"

"Stronger. Tougher."

There's a moment of silence, which makes his stomach churn. Very rarely does Dinah pause when she's talking to him like this. "Were you expecting to be…punished for what happened tonight?"

"I knew you wouldn't hit me."

"That's not what I asked." Her voice is gentle and soft and so very sad.

"I thought you'd yell at me," he admits. "Take me off of patrol duty for awhile."

"Cameron, I would never do that. You are going to make mistakes. You're human."

"I can't afford to make mistakes."

"What is wrong with you?" A fist connects with his jaw, and he staggers backwards. "How can you not follow simple instruction?"

"I'm sorry," he whimpers.

A punch to the stomach knocks the wind from his body. "Being sorry isn't going to change anything! Get yourself together! Weakness is not tolerated, you understand?"

He nods, waiting for the next blow.

"Answer me, damn it!"

"Yes," he whispers, and the beating continues.

"Cameron? Cameron?"

Head snapping up, he focuses on his mentor. "Yeah?"

"You know that what your father did to you was wrong, right?"

Of course he knows it's wrong. Parents don't have the right to do that to their kids, no matter what. Nobody has the right to do that. Still, he finds himself saying, "He did it for my own protection. If I kept making mistakes, I could've gotten myself killed. He just wanted to teach me, it's how I learn, it's my own fault anyway, I can't screw-up—"

"You're talking in present tense."

Any further explanation dies as full realization consumes him. Standing quickly, he mumbles, "Look, I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."

Before she can respond, he leaves, retreating to the spare bedroom, as though that will help him escape the implications of his Freudian slip.

He hated the beatings, hated the harsh words his dad shouted at him, hated feeling so worthless. It was necessary, though, because there was no other way to teach him to survive in the villain world. The only realm of humanity where natural selection still flourished, those who were inferior would not last long. Alliances were fleeting; the law was the enemy; each day lived was just another closer to death. He was naïve and gentle and that wouldn't cut it, and his dad's discipline was only meant to drive that point home. He needed it, really, and it worked, obviously, because he's still alive, so maybe it wasn't so awful, in a way. Besides, once the beating was over, his dad wasn't mad anymore.

He wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon. Slowly getting to his feet, he shuffles downstairs, each step irritating one contusion or another.

"Hi, Cameron," he dad greets quietly.

"Hi," he returns, managing eye contact.

"You okay?"

He nods, but as he sits down, a rush of pain sweeps over him, and he can't help but wince. Seeing the movement, his dad approaches and asks, "Where does is hurt the worst?"

Gesturing to his ribs, he lifts his shirt, displaying a violet and black splash of color against his pale skin. There's a barely-audible sigh from the elder cryokinetic, who places his hand on the top of his son's head and, for the briefest second, ruffles his hair. It's all the apology Cam needs.

Footsteps bring him to current day, and he watches as Dinah enters the room. "I figured you'd come," he murmurs, trying to smile, but it feels wrong.

"I know you don't want to talk about this," she begins, joining him on the bed, "but we have to. What happened to you as a kid has affected you, whether you want to admit that or not." After a moment, she continues, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to be perfectly honest. Promise me?"

"I promise."

"Do…do you think you deserve to be punished?"

For a second, he forgets how to breathe. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tells the pillow, "Yes."

"Cam—"

"It's just, it's just what I'm used to, okay? Failure isn't tolerated and he didn't want to hurt me, he had to, for my own good, and, and it was how I learned, how I lived, a-and if I just did better he wouldn't have to do it and I deserve it for failing—"

Her hands are gripping his shoulders, and she's turned him so that he can't look away. "Cameron, you never, ever deserve to be hit. It is not a learning technique. It is abuse, and it is wrong. I understand why your father did it, but that doesn't make it right. You have convinced yourself that what he did to you was okay because you love him, but it's not. You do not learn through being punished." She pulls him into a hug. "Please, Cam, you have to believe that."

"I do," he mumbles. "Logically, I mean. It's…I…he just…"

"I get it, Cam, I really do. Your father did what he did because he thought it would help you survive. But you have to get that you did not deserve anything that happened to you. You were a victim of circumstance. The life you had forced you to adapt, but that life is over now. No one is going to punish you ever again for making a mistake. That is not how you have to learn. That is not how you learn. You are so important, Cam." Kissing the top of his head, she repeats, "You are so important."

"Thank you," he whispers, pressing himself closer to her, taking in her comfort and her warmth and her love.

Maybe he hasn't fully escaped his past, but if she keeps helping him, he might be able to do it.