"I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting...

And maybe I don't quite know what to say,

but I'm here in your doorway...

They told me all of my cages were mental,

so I got wasted like all my potential...

I just wanted you to know

that this is me trying"

~ Taylor Swift, "this is me trying"

Chapter 27: Jessica's Law

It was no secret that Damian Wayne went to lengths to get what he wanted. He used any means at hand to accomplish something, which were often beyond any ordinary person's capabilities, and this applied to a variety of things in his life from school to Robin to his interpersonal relationships. It was selfish, he wouldn't deny that, but it made sense to him; it was one of the few ways he knew how to live.

Perhaps he could have convinced Bruce to write up the letter and gather the funds. Perhaps it wouldn't have been a particularly difficult feat, and he suspected it had something to do with the undeniable fact that his father had a soft spot for Jess; both Bruce and Batman wanted her to succeed, and if Damian had simply proposed the idea, his father may have agreed. Yet the former assassin had been unable to shake the natural conviction to take care of a problem by himself, to take matters into his own hands and be in control where he could.

It also voided any possibility—however small it may be—that Bruce would have refused, and Damian was not one to tolerate any obstacles.

Of course, that wasn't to say he hadn't spent a great deal of time considering doing this for Jess; he'd most certainly weighed the pros and cons, asked himself multiple times if offering such a grandiose gift was appropriate let alone logical and practical for this stage of their friendship. He'd already been somewhat put off by how close they'd seemed to grow over the course of a single summer, so characteristically, a part of him had been reluctant to go out of his way and devise a means for her to stay. Years of friends and girlfriends come and gone were enough to make him decidedly accept that she had to return home... but that stubborn, selfish part of him had also fought to justify this gift to her.

Because Damian and Jess would be able to continue their friendship in a way that wasn't hindered by distance, in a way that he wanted, in a way that didn't make things more complex than they needed to be.

And he'd be able to keep her close and out of trouble.

It felt peculiar, lying side-by-side on his bed again, just as they did when Titus had passed. And just like that time, he was on his back, looking up at the ceiling while she laid on her side, arms tucked underneath her head on the pillow. For a while now, neither of them had said anything, hearing only the soft sniffles she made while her face glistened in the dim light of his lamp.

He hadn't glanced in her direction once for fear of making her feel weak or vulnerable in her state. At least for him, he didn't like having eyes on him while he was in such an emotional position, so he'd figured she felt the same. Yet minutes passed with her still crying beside him, and Damian found himself searching for any way to curb her obvious distress and suffering. The only solutions his brain would come up with had everything to do with telling her what he believed she should do—which she already knew—and less with what she needed.

And what was it that Jess needed?

Before he could try and consider another option, he was aware of her shifting closer until her head found the crook between his arm and chest, forcing him to lift his arm until she was curled right up against his body. Her face, which she was covering with her hands, was turned and buried into his chest for a reason he didn't know.

"You were right." Her words were muffled and followed by a sharp sniffle.

"About what?" he asked softly.

"Everything," she answered, pulling her hands away and scooting back a little to look up at him. "And now I... I don't know what to do from here. I keep thinking about it, but… I don't think I can figure this out on my own."

Propping himself up and resting his head on his hand, Damian glanced down at her. Her hazel eyes, rimmed with redness, met his briefly before glancing down at the comforter beneath them.

"I really don't know why I just don't think for myself, like you said. Maybe I make dumb decisions 'cause I think it'll turn out fine anyway," she ranted quietly in a shaky voice, more tears escaping. She pressed the heels of her hands to them, taking a deep breath.

"God, why do I do this to myself?" Jess added as another sob rose up in her, making her bury her face into the bed again.

Instinctively, Damian leaned forward and wrapped his free arm around her, resting his cheek against her shoulder beneath him. As always, she was warm, and he could vaguely detect how she smelled. It had taken him some time to put a finger on the exact scents, but now, he could picture the flower as if its petals were tucked away somewhere in her pockets—a light, musky aura softened by calming, sweet lavender.

He felt her turning over from pressing her face into the sheets, prompting him to lift his arm and lean back. Inquisitive, green irises looked over Jess as she wiped under her reddened eyes. "This past week really sucked, you know," she told him, following with a weak laugh that wouldn't have fooled anyone. "With us, I mean... And I feel like it was my fault."

"Like it always is," she seemed to mutter to herself.

He was quiet, turning her words over in his mind as he was reminded of their recent arguments. They seemed to be fine now, of course, but as they say, there was certainly an elephant in the room (or two). In spite of all the things he'd said to her and how he felt about her decisions, it still didn't sit well with him that she was expressing such distaste with herself. Not that it was the first time she'd done so, but there was a small part of him that felt it was partially his fault she was beating herself up for her mistakes. He'd been harsh with his approaches, hadn't he? These decisions had been Jess's alone, yes, but perhaps, as her friend, he might have been unconventionally callous about it. He wasn't supposed to hurt her feelings while trying to help her; he didn't need Dick to tell him that.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Jessica," Damian found himself admitting.

She met his gaze from where she lay and then looked at his chest as if she didn't want to hold the eye contact.

"All I cared about was getting you to see that you were making a mistake. I..." He had to pause and gather his thoughts, aware of the slight anxiety rising within him. Unlike their previous conversations, the older teen was taking caution to choose his words carefully. "I didn't know how to do that without being blunt no matter how it affected you."

"Well, it's not like you were wrong," his friend answered in a whisper, her eyes still trained on his shirt.

Damian shook his head. "Still, I was needlessly spiteful and insensitive towards you."

She pursed her lips in thought before replying, "So was I." That was when she met his gaze again, her eyes flickering back and forth between his. "When I said that maybe you—that you weren't good for me either."

He cast his mind back to that moment, one during which he'd actually felt genuinely hurt and bewildered at such a statement. It'd been almost as painful as watching her take her hand back and walk away... away from him, to Kade, to all the things he wanted so badly to remove from her life.

Damian had always liked to think there were few things in the world that could hurt him, and somehow, that day in particular had left him feeling thin-skinned and weak.

"I didn't mean that," she continued, lifting her head to curl her hands underneath. "And I definitely didn't mean what I said about not wanting to stay... 'cause I do want to.

"But I-I do have to go back." Jess paused, dejection across her face. "My options were to extend probation by another month, which would mean missing the first two months of school or to basically pay a fee. My aunt picked the second one—I pretty much had no say. I mean, I'm not complaining about not having an extra two months of all this, but..."

Damian's eyes lingered on her face as she laid there in silence, her gaze roaming around on his plain shirt; it felt like she was purposefully avoiding meeting his eyes. Why?

Her face was dry now and the redness in her skin and eyes had faded, but Damian had a feeling anything could send her into tears again.

"You don't have to leave."

Now she was looking up at him, hazel irises swimming with undeniable bleakness. "Yes, I do, Damian."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a shake of her head. "I can't take that scholarship from you and Bruce. It was really, really thoughtful and kind of you, but..." She bit her lip before exhaling heavily. "It's honestly too much."

He'd never thought he would end up being honest enough to tell her that he wanted her to stay in Gotham. Yet their second confrontation in his car had pushed him far enough that he'd had to say it... because that was simply how she'd finally be able to understand.

"I don't deserve it. I really don't."

"Then what must you do to feel like you do deserve it?"

Jess pulled at the hair tie on her wrist, seeming to think for a moment. "Misty said something to me… I was telling her the same thing about how I don't feel like I deserve it. And she said that maybe I need to earn it."

Raising a brow, Damian responded smoothly, "I wouldn't disagree." He paused, then continued, "I didn't do this only because I want you to stay. I also did it because you've expressed how much you'd rather be here than go back to Central City... This is how I can help you do that."

She seemed to take a moment to examine him, her stare running over first his nose, then mouth, then back up to his eyes. It was as if she was searching for an answer in his face.

"I don't know if your dad told you... but I talked to him about the letter yesterday."

Though his face remained still, Damian's interest was piqued. She'd gone out of her way to seek answers from his father, who had been clueless about the ordeal—until now. A small part of him wondered what Bruce had thought upon finding out "he" had written the recommendation and why he hadn't approached Damian yet. Was it not concerning to him? Did he somehow approve of Damian's artful tactics and had no intention of putting a stop to it?

With a shake of his head, he answered, "No, he hasn't spoken to me about it."

Jess pushed herself up on the bed and readjusted her position until she was sitting with her legs crossed beneath her, eyes turned downward to her hands in her lap. "He said pretty much the same thing you did... How you wanted to do it for me and to help me."

The statement confirmed Damian's suspicions, sending an ache through his chest. So his father had lied through his teeth to her and managed to play off his ignorance... all the while making highly-accurate guesses about his son's intentions. He'd had the chance to out Damian for his deception—but he hadn't.

Bruce surely knew him well.

"But how could you still want me to stay even after... everything that's happened?"

"It would take more than a few disagreements for me to decide you're longer worth my company."

That much was true. He already considered his standards high when it came to letting anyone get close enough to him. That, in turn, meant it would take a harrowing experience to let that person get past his defenses enough to hurt him.

Jason could speak to that.

"I have a feeling I know what you'd want in return," Jess was saying then, her voice quiet as she averted her gaze.

Damian contemplated his answer before speaking. "Well, I would certainly hope that if you did take the offer, you would discontinue your use of stardust.

"But I also hope you will stop regardless of whether you stay or go back home... I want to see you live the better life you always talk about."

He couldn't say anymore. Something had stopped him—whether it was a clench in his heart or the abrupt thickness in his throat—making him only able to watch her face carefully as she remained silent.

But then her eyes were roaming his face again, latching on to his temple for a reason he couldn't name until she leaned forward and reached out—

And didn't touch him.

"Can I?" she asked, searching his eyes.

The bruise. Damian hadn't cared since his encounter with Jason to do anything about it, but now he recalled how she had tried to heal him when they'd been in his car. At the time, he had refused her so quickly and in part due to the way he'd been feeling about their strained friendship. Her offer had only made him feel weak… It had reminded him of the way his older brother had interrupted his investigation, how Damian hadn't been good enough to block the hit. Furthermore, he had already been struggling to remain composed and strong upon arriving in Kade's neighborhood to speak with her.

Still unable to respond, Damian simply nodded, giving her the permission she needed.

Concentration filled her hazel eyes as that odd glow of her hand radiated softly between them. He couldn't feel anything in particular, perhaps a slight tingling, though the area had never hurt unless pressure was applied. Moments later, she met his gaze and smiled a little while lowering her hand.

"As good as new," she told him in a satisfied tone.

It seemed far too easy, the way she could do something so incredible at her hands. A bruise, a few minor lacerations, a three-inch gap in his leg… Jess had healed them all, helped him when he had never asked for or wanted it. For the briefest moment, he saw again the heavy rain and her dark hair plastered to her face as she nearly begged him to remain still on the wet pavement. He could almost feel the downpour around him and the initial shock at seeing how his bloody skin had sealed back together. He recalled wondering later on why she had done it, then realizing he had never asked her. That night, she had told Jax she wouldn't hurt anyone innocent, yet was that the real, full answer? Was there more?

Perhaps it was merely because that was who she was. Despite the string of crimes and mistakes and a history of painful experiences in her life, Jess was still a good person. She had even gone out of her way to remedy the physical trauma she had given Patrick Dobra in her days with the gang.

And here she'd been all along, taking away Damian's pain and injuries since the beginning because she wanted to, as if it were child's play or…

As if it was something she was meant to do.

Why won't you let me help you, too?

The first time she'd truly felt like someone cared to have her around—in a long, long time—had been the day of Titus's burial.

She recalled the disbelief that she hadn't been able to shake off at the apparent fact that Damian would rather have her there instead of his own siblings... besides Dick, of course. Granted Jess didn't know a whole lot about his relationships with them and if there was some kind of unresolved trauma, but that hardly made it any less shocking that he obviously valued her presence.

And to make things even more jarring, Bruce had driven the point home when he'd come across her in that guest room.

"It doesn't mean you're any less deserving of being here for him. He wanted you here for a reason."

Now, here she was, trying to tell her friend that it was absolutely ridiculous he'd go as far as offering to pay for her way through school, to stay in Gotham, to not have to go back to Central City. This was the same guy who'd intrigued her upon their first meeting, easily intimidated people around him, came off withdrawn and distant, regarded everything and everyone with hardened eyes, walked around with a thick layer of walls to keep most people out...

But he was also the same young man who had a soft spot for animals, had managed to crack and allow himself to be vulnerable when he'd needed her, sometimes "laughed"—it was always more like rolling his eyes or smirking—at her stupid jokes, was a good sport when she and Dick poked fun at him, taught her how to drive (again), went out of his way to help her get back into skating, shared his favorite vegetarian recipes in the manor's kitchen.

If she'd known she would grow so close to someone during her time here in the city, maybe Jess would have run in the other direction before anyone could even say "Gotham City."

Because that's what she always did, right? Tending to run from her problems and pretend they weren't there... The realities of her friendship with Damian and his intentions were nothing but glaring red signs she'd turned away from, hoping they'd disappear and resolve themselves.

You can't run away now, a voice murmured in the back of her cluttered mind as she looked up at her friend, who was watching her intently.

A tear was slipping down her cheek then, and she reached up to wipe it away. "I'm starting to hate you being right all the time, you know."

"That would make you one of the few people to admit I am."

She eyed him and caught the ghost of a smirk he was trying to hide, rolling her eyes in return.

"Why did you start doing it, Jessica?"

She was silent for several long moments, eyes stinging again. "I, uh... I thought it would help me," Jess began, sniffling and staring once more at his shirt. "I always have these nightmares of the people I did bad things with... or of my parents. And sometimes I just get so caught up in my own head, it-it makes it hard for me to remember why I'm doing all of this, you know, probation and whatnot..."

"You never told me any of this," he then said in a lowered voice.

"Yeah... I know."

There was tension in his tone as he asked, "Is there a reason for you keeping these things from me?"

With a deep breath, Jess made the conscious decision then to be as truthful as she could be. There was no use avoiding it any longer. The best she could do now was try to explain... because he at least deserved that much after all this time.

"I was—I was afraid of what you'd think of me. You've said these things before about how you think I deserve another chance..." Her voice had dropped again, almost a whisper. "And it just made me not want to tell you that... that I'm not as great and deserving as you think I am."

The wetness on her cheeks made her feel stupidly vulnerable.

"Maybe this w-won't count for anything, but I-I never used it when I was with you. I can swear to that. It was mostly because I didn't want you to suspect anything... I'm pretty sure I never needed to anyway."

Why was that? She could see that same question reflecting in his gaze as they at silently for several moments.

"What will you do now?"

Long moments passed with her gazing at nothing across his room and Damian's watchful eyes on her. Jess knew what her initial feeling was in this situation... yet there was no denying that what she wanted was the complete opposite of what she felt she should do.

"Do you ever feel like you're running out of time?" she suddenly asked.

Before her, Damian raised a brow. Would she even be able to coherently put this into words?

"With everything happening... between us, this way-too-nice offer of yours, having to go back home, I feel like—like I just need more time."

He sat up then in the same way she had, crossing his legs across from her and looking down at her fidgeting hands. "Although I could have given it to you sooner, you do have time, Jessica. The school year doesn't start for a few weeks."

His answer was relieving, but that didn't erase the fact that even if, in a perfect, hypothetical world, she was able to attend the academy, she would still have to return to Central City. Even if it was to repack and get situated for living in Gotham for longer than a summer, it meant seeing her aunt again and being away from her two friends. As small as it might have seemed to anyone else, the thought brought her suffocating anxiety.

"You know what I would like you to do," Damian continued slowly, looking up at her, "but this shouldn't bring you more stress than you can handle. Perhaps you can... consider it. Even if you do go back."

He said no more, seemingly speaking with those bold, green eyes that made her wish she didn't have to make this choice.

Because she obviously hadn't been making the right ones lately. If only there was some all-knowing being or simply someone who could see into the future to tell her what to do... She wanted to be relieved of such a heavy responsibility, far less confident in her ability to make the best decision even more than she had been before.

There are a few things you did right, a tiny voice tried to tell her, conjuring memories of her making the phone call that night at the library, showing up for Damian when he'd needed her, reversing the damage she'd caused Patrick Dobra.

The quiet, broody young man before her was one of the few good choices she'd made, wasn't he?

"I can't help feeling like... if there's something that will go wrong, it will," Jess confessed, fidgeting once again with her hair tie on her wrist. "Like I just have bad luck or something."

"Murphy's Law."

"Huh?"

Damian's steady gaze rested on her coolly as he recited, "'Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.'" With a casual wave of his hand, he further explained, "The idiom is speculated to have originated in the second World War: a U.S. Air Force project was meant to determine how much gravitational force a human being could withstand, and after discovering a transducer was wired incorrectly, one of the engineers, Edward Murphy, grumbled about the technician supposedly responsible. Said something along the lines of 'If there is a way to do it wrong, he will find it.'

"People often consider it as a pessimistic or facetious way to view the world, but I personally find it applicable in some situations. It's generally better to expect the worst rather than go in unprepared or ignorant to the possibility of things going awry."

Jess was staring at him, though she shouldn't have balked at the way he'd pulled the phrase seemingly out of nowhere and given her a quick history lesson on it. It only made sense that he knew this, but the awe was short-lived as the phrase sunk into her thoughts, making her feel oddly comforted that she held such a cynical mindset about her decisions.

"Well, then it seems like it's not all that bad that I always expect things to go wrong, huh?" she tried to joke, the corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Might as well call it 'Jess's Law.'"

Emerald greens shifted from their previous aloofness to something softer. "I believe it'd be more fitting if 'Jessica's Law' was... 'Anything that Jessica desires to accomplish will be accomplished.'" His voice, normally tinted with casual indifference, sounded heavy instead with thoughtfulness.

"'If there is a way to do better, she will find it.'"

Though she hadn't been crying for the last several minutes, his words had her eyes stinging with fresh tears. Trying to smile through them (because she still hated responding so emotionally to what felt like anything these days), Jess dabbed at them with the hem of her shirt while avoiding his gaze.

"Geez," she managed to say with a sniffle. "That was, uh... That was pretty deep of you, Dami."

"Tt. Don't get used to it. I'm far from a philosophical person, if you remember... But tell me: am I wrong?"

The look on his face was serious when she finally looked up at him. "I guess it'd be lame if I didn't live up to my own law named after me."

"Jessica." The wrinkles that were always between his brows were almost nonexistent as they were washed away by an expression that her heart skipping in her chest. It was vulnerable... like the way he'd looked at her after grabbing her wrist the other day. "While I would rather you do this for yourself... if you find that you are unable to, then... do it for me." He seemed to hesitate before adding, "Or your parents."

There was nothing else she could say now; exhaustion had suddenly fallen over her like a weighty blanket. Maybe it was all the thoughts and words they'd exchanged, the tears she'd cried, the whirlwind of emotions taking hold of her—maybe it was all of it. What she knew at that moment was that she needed to shut it all off and let her mind and heart rest because they were simply too overwhelmed. She'd revisit her troubles another time, when the choices had to be made.

Because the only thing she wanted to do was to be present, here, under this roof and beside the person who made it feel like home.

Wordlessly, Jess propped up the fluffy pillows against the bed's wide headboard and laid back against them. She patted the spot next to her, silently inviting the older teen to join her. His bold eyes appraised her for a moment before he complied and moved over, and she scooted closer to rest her head against his shoulder. The arrangement felt natural and familiar, one that brought ease and a sensation like peace, and the comforting smell of wood and amber only solidified the experience. Out of habit, like it was a routine, her forearms wrapped around his bicep to hold his arm against her chest.

As she closed her eyes and attempted to let the worrisome thoughts drift away, they were replaced by sentiments that wanted to stick around in her brain like glaring signs that refused to be ignored.

If there is a way to do better, she will find it.

'Jessica's Law'… It kind of had a nice ring to it, didn't it?

Damian had awoken due to his body's natural sleep cycle, just minutes before nine. This year, as it had been for the last few years, Dick wasn't knocking at his door yelling "Happy birthday, Little D!" nor was Jason barging in with a birthday cake—in the morning, for goodness' sake—because instead, the manor was quiet as he rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling after rubbing at his tired eyes. A quick glance at his phone showed a few text messages from Dick, Tim, Stephanie, all wishing him a happy birthday and to give them a call when he had a chance. He cleared all the notifications from the screen, a peculiar sinking feeling in his chest as he realized he'd been looking for a specific message from a specific person.

Well, it was a bit early for her, considering she enjoyed sleeping in, unlike him.

With a sigh, Damian went about his usual morning routine, taking a shower and dressing in one of his typical black turtleneck sweaters. He paused before stepping out of his room, suddenly recalling a day that Jess had taken it upon herself to rummage around his closet and dressers out of curiosity (she had, thankfully, asked him for permission beforehand).

"Why haven't I seen you wear this?" she'd asked, pulling a hanger that held a casual, maroon-colored button-up shirt.

"Dick gifted that to me last Christmas," Damian had responded indifferently from his desk, arms crossed as he sat back and watched her with amusement. "To this day, he has little to no sense of the way I prefer to dress. Not that he is a fashionable icon himself in the first place."

"I think it's nice." His friend had held it out before her, hazel eyes running over it before glancing over at him with raised brows. "Try it on? I bet it'd actually look good on you."

And that was when he'd decided to officially close his wardrobe to her, demanding (nicely) that she put away the flannel and that they find something else worthy to do with their time.

Moments later, that same flannel was pulled over a black t-shirt, and Damian was tilting his head at himself in the mirror as he folded up the sleeves to his elbows. I suppose it does look nice. He had never cared too much about his appearance beyond reasonable hygiene and looking presentable, though he'd certainly always believed he did a better job than most people—and it wasn't like he needed to put much effort into it. Yet something about Jess's comment had piqued his curiosity that morning, prompting him to attempt something different and outside his boundaries.

Opting to think nothing more of it, the young man made his way downstairs, intent on finding breakfast. A small part of him was considering how long he should wait until he should text her when he heard voices coming from the kitchen. A faint, sweet aroma met his nose, and he immediately recognized the smell of Alfred's buttermilk pancakes that he'd always enjoyed as a child.

As soon as he turned into the doorway from the hall, his gaze landed on the two figures busy at work. Alfred was slicing thick, fluffy pancakes into squares within a baking dish on the counter, and beside him, a familiar brunette had her fingers dipping into a bowl of raspberries and blueberries, placing them delicately on the slices the butler placed on small plates near her. Though her back was to him, Damian could see she was wearing an apron, like Alfred, over a sage green shirt tucked into baggy jeans with her locks pulled back into a ponytail.

The sight had both wonder and then warmth washing through him, making him stop momentarily and remain by the doorway in silence to watch them.

"Shoot," Jess suddenly said, glancing down at the plates of pancakes and then Alfred. "Was I supposed to put the fruit on after the syrup or can it go on before? Or does it not matter?"

Damian could see the corner of Alfred's mouth lifting from where he stood. "Either way works, Miss Fairchild. We can let everyone put their own syrup on if you'd like to worry about the fruit instead."

"Guess we'd better do that. Besides, I think we both know how picky Damian is, and I wouldn't want to give him too much or too less of anything." Her tone was joking as she continued placing the bits of red and blue fruit atop the slices.

"I'm sure he would love it simply because you made it."

"Ehh, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We haven't tasted it yet."

Arms crossed, Damian felt something tugging at his mouth as he spoke up, "Give me a bit more credit than that, Jessica."

She jumped a little, turning with Alfred to look at him. Her hazel eyes widened at his presence, then a sheepish smile crossed her face as she glanced at the pancakes and back at him. "Well, damn, birthday boy, how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to consider it impressive you did all of this yourself."

For me.

Jess had wiped her hands on her apron as she crossed the kitchen and made her way towards him; her arms found their way under his to embrace him. The hug was too short—she was already pulling away just as the mixed scents of musky lavender and sweet pancakes drifted into his space.

"Hey, I know this shirt," his friend was saying as she stepped back and gave him a once-over. "I told you it would look nice. I mean, I'm sure you'd look good in anything anyway. But I still told you."

Before he could respond, she made her way back to Alfred's side and added, "And to be clear, Alfred did most of the work. I just did the super easy stuff, like turning on the oven and spraying the dish."

A grin spread across her face while the butler shook his head and looked at Damian. "I simply prepped everything and walked her through it. Miss Fairchild did everything else on her own."

"If Alfred was the one to help you, then I have no doubt it turned out more than satisfactory," Damian mused as he approached them, curious to see the results of Jess's work up close.

"Okay, if you're going to critique what I made, please don't use weird vocabulary like 'satisfactory.'"

"How else would you expect me to describe the food?"

"Oh, I don't know, you could say 'This is gross' or 'This is amazing, and it tastes great.' Using 'satisfactory' makes me feel like I'm getting a grade."

"So I am not rating how your cooking turned out."

"You are," Jess responded in a matter-of-fact tone. "Just don't be so… Damian about it."

He'd stopped next to her at the counter, watching as she made small, last-minute adjustments to the groups of fruit on each plate. Her eyes turned up towards him, shining with humor at their banter, and Damian found himself almost smiling in response… but instead, he resorted to one of his characteristic eye-rolls, earning a head-shake from her while she looked back down at the food before her.

Alfred had pulled orange juice and milk from the fridge and was setting them on the counter. "I'll get your father," he said, reaching to give the young man a hug. "Happy birthday, Master Damian."

Damian returned the gesture, embracing the older man gently before watching him walk out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone. Before he could reach for the bowl of fruit in front of Jess, she was swatting his hand away with a mock glare.

"What are you doing? Just go sit down. I'll take these out to the table myself," she ordered him.

In a flash, his fingers were wrapped around hers and lifting the smaller hand away from the plate she'd been trying to guard. "Actually, I was reaching for a blueberry, mind you." He was unable to help himself from adopting that same witty attitude she always gave him, adding with a raised brow, "I don't have a problem with you handling the servings for me."

A scowl crossed her face before she rolled her bright, hazel eyes, pulling her hand away and plopping the desired bowl of fruit next to him. "Spoiled, aren't you?" Jess took up two of the plates, looking him up and down with feigned pride before brushing past him.

Not enough.

The buttermilk pancakes turned out exactly the way Alfred had always prepared them (albeit with a single candle on his that Jess had snuck in). Both he and Bruce offered their commendations to Jess at the dining table, earning a joke from her about giving the butler a run for his money. Though Dick, Kori, and Mar'i had been unable to find the time to visit for the weekend, Damian found just during that morning's breakfast that his company was still more than what he had expected—not necessarily more than what he'd hoped or wanted (because he certainly did have every intention to spend time with his friend and family), but the surprise visit on Jess's part had already started off his day with unexpected delight. Damian had never been the kind of person who cared for surprises, and the fact that he was hard to catch off-guard was part of that. Even growing up, he'd usually been good at guessing the gifts he was receiving for his birthday or Christmas… and he didn't always have to do any sort of detective work to find out. The people around him were simply that predictable and, in Dick's case, sometimes unoriginal.

Yet it seemed Jess had more up her sleeve as the day progressed. Last time they'd spoken, she'd asked him what he had planned for his birthday, to which he'd responded that he had nothing in mind.

Her brows had gone up in disbelief. "You don't want to do anything at all? Not even a dinner or something?"

He'd shrugged, replying indifferently, "Alfred will probably do something special for dinner, but outside of that, there's nothing specific that interests me."

"Hmm," was all she'd said before concluding, "Well, I'm just glad my flight is the next day, and we can still hang out for your birthday before I leave. If you want to, of course. Whatever you wanna do, I'm down for it."

'If he wanted to.' Why wouldn't he want to spend time with her?

She'd also asked if any of his siblings were planning to visit, and he'd told her that none of them had been able to find the time. Predictably, she'd expressed disappointment at not being able to see Dick again or meeting the others, but Damian had waved it off as just another instance of the family being busy in their own respective lives.

Besides, he had no complaints about the way his day was going this year. Even as his friend ordered him to close his eyes in the living room, Alfred sitting nearby, Damian couldn't bring himself to actually complain—he was doing it in a good-natured manner, of course.

"If it's wrapped, why do I need to close my eyes?"

"It's not wrapped, actually," Jess's voice came from somewhere beside him. "And stop asking questions, it won't help you."

"I just feel ridiculous sitting here like a child with my eyes—"

"Hey, you did the same thing with me when you took me to the rink, remember? And you scolded me about so many questions."

"That's because I couldn't wrap the rink in a gift and hand it to you. This is clearly not the same thing."

"Oh, whatever, just wait for your dad to get back. Don't be a—what's that word for when someone says you can't do something but they do it, too?"

Alfred's voice came from where Damian knew he was seated in one of the recliners nearby. "'Hypocrite.'"

"Yeah, that. Don't be a hypocrite," Jess finished haughtily, and if it weren't for having his eyes closed, Damian would have rolled them so far up his head.

Moments later, Bruce returned, prompting the brunette to start speaking again.

"Okay, so... This is technically from both me and your dad—"

"You came up with the idea though," Bruce cut in.

"I mean," she let out a soft laugh, "it was an idea you had that I jumped on and made you go through with. But anyway, this is from the both of us."

Damian had been aware of her moving closer to him, judging by the sound of her voice as it went from one end of the living room to right next to him. She told him to open his eyes then, and what he saw next had his heart skipping a beat and shock flooding his limbs.

A fully-grown cat—an American shorthair, he instantly recognized—was sitting in Jess's arms as she sat beside him on the couch, mint green irises roaming its surroundings. The cat's coat was mostly snow white with a pattern of dark brown stripes, pinkish-brown nose twitching as it sniffed the teen's bare forearms, a gesture that had her scrunching her own nose in delight.

"His name's Neo," she told him with a faint grin. Her eyes turned upward to look at Damian, the slightest hint of wariness in them.

"He's from the same shelter you volunteered at earlier this summer," Bruce spoke up from his cross-legged position on the floor. A plain, large cardboard box sat unopened next to him as well as a pet kennel that the cat must have been traveling in.

Damian could hardly meet any of the three pairs of eyes watching his reaction. His own was trained on the adorable animal, heart swelling in his younger Wayne was actually speechless; he was processing the situation as Neo left Jess's lap and made his way to Damian's outstretched, steady hand. The delicate, slightly-wet touch of the cat's curious nose against his skin made the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile, which only grew as the animal seemed to deem him harmless and approachable, climbing into his lap and proceeding to sniff his clothing.

Neo let out a meow as both the young man's hands carefully greeted the animal. Moments later, he was able to bring himself to meet his friend's apprehensive eyes—she seemed to be trying to read him and understand what was going through his head. For a brief second, Damian noticed how the color of her shirt brought out the light green in her hazel irises as he attempted to comprehend what she and his father had done for him.

Perhaps a full minute or two passed, but the only thing he could manage to do was hug them both, all his unspoken words and emotions given through the embraces. Jess then went on to show him the cat toys and items she'd gotten—"Although, I know sometimes they don't even care about actual pet things and just sit in boxes and stuff," she'd added—with a new excitement in her voice that had seemed to arise after realizing Damian had responded positively to the unexpected gift. He couldn't help watching with faint admiration as his friend and family shared enthusiasm and laughter over Neo as he boldly familiarized himself with everyone in the room and its furniture. It wasn't until Jess and Alfred were elsewhere in the manor later on that the twenty-year-old had the chance to speak to Bruce alone, aware of the cloud of contentment following him and growing throughout the day.

He was in the foyer, waiting for Jess so they could go into the city and visit the museum—her suggestion, not his, to which he'd agreed only because she hadn't gone and he wasn't going to be particular about what they did together for the day—when Bruce passed through from one of the hallways.

As Damian sat on the bottom step of the stairs, he found himself saying, "Father, I… wanted to thank you."

Blue eyes appraised him carefully as the older Wayne stopped in his tracks. "I wasn't sure if you were ready for another companion, but...she convinced me it was a good idea."

Hmm. What had made her so confident about that?

"I meant thank you for… not telling her the truth," Damian tried again, gaze averted. "About the scholarship. Though I do appreciate you getting Neo as well."

Understanding fell across Bruce's face before he joined his son on the stairs.

"Truthfully, I don't always quite understand the things you do, son," he responded with a note of hesitation. "But this time around, I know you've had nothing but good intentions. And I can't say I disagree with your choice on this one."

"It's unfortunate that it will be for nothing."

He looked over and saw the questioning look his father gave him and continued, "She's going to refuse it and insist she stays in Central City."

"How do you know that?"

At first, Damian wasn't sure how to respond, but as he remained there at the bottom of the stairs, eyes trained on the polished, hardwood floor, he found his answer.

"Because she's not very good at choosing let alone seeing what is good for her."

And as much as he wanted her to make what he believed was the right choice, Damian was not naive. He could only nudge her in the right direction for so long and in so many ways, yet the ultimate reality was that Jess's life was up to her and her own decisions. She was uniquely awful at doing what was best for herself, still tripping over her own feet after losing her family, so perhaps the only thing he could do was be around for her. (That didn't mean he wouldn't be biting his tongue on the sidelines, wishing she would do things differently.)

Damian Wayne went to lengths to get what he wanted… but, in the same way it had happened two years ago, he was going to accept that he wouldn't get what his heart desired this time.

He would let her go.

The two of them stood at the edge of Burnley, overlooking Sprang River as its dark waters rushed under the bridge connecting two of the city's islands. The day was nearing its end, washing the sky in a blend of deep purple and blue and enveloping the atmosphere with a chill. Twinkling city lights shone both in front of and behind them as the darkness continued to fall. Jess shivered a bit in her jacket, unconsciously stepping closer to the black-haired young man beside her whose unreadable, green eyes glanced down at her movement.

The light breeze blew through their hair as Gotham's evening traffic roared faintly behind them. Where they stood, Jess could smell the water and crisp, nighttime air that was usually rare, considering she spent most of her time walking the streets among scents of street food, car exhaust, or rain. Something about standing there in silence with just a handrail between them and the waters, the city transitioning into its nightlife around them, was enthralling, an experience the teen wouldn't have guessed coming.

But then again, she hadn't foreseen the reason why they were there either.

Sticking her hand in her pocket, Jess retrieved the small, clear baggie that still had several uses of the cursed drug left and stared at it for several moments. The sparkling, crystallized powder seemed to wink at her in the fading daylight, like it was taunting her… or telling her the opposite of what she knew had to be done.

She didn't waste any more time. The stash was soaring through the air now, arcing in the evening sky until it fell with an inaudible, barely-visible splash into the waves and was swallowed into its depths. The gesture, the entire idea of coming out here to do this, might have been melodramatic and the kind of thing that happened in movies, but Jess didn't really care; her chest was filling with a bittersweet feeling, one that had her reflecting upon the last few months and the decisions she'd made. If this was her first step in the right direction—more like back in the right direction since she had honestly just gone off the path—then so be it. It had to count for something, right?

Jess let out a deep breath and turned to Damian, about to mention leaving when she caught the look on his face that almost had her floored.

For what felt like the first time (though this was easily the third), her friend was regarding her with an expression that seemed to pierce right through her. The emerald greens were strangely bright with fondness and admiration, as if what she had done had meant as much to him as it did to her.

Because it does, she heard in the back of her mind.

In spite of how his intense, candid gaze made Jess feel like she wanted to tear her eyes away, it also made her feel... seen. Like she was important, like she mattered.

And his mouth. The corners were lifting a little, creating the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen on Damian in the entire time she'd known him. But it wasn't the kind that he hinted at when he was (sort of) laughing at her jokes or something dumb Dick had said; this was one that had warmth and pleasant surprise rising in Jess's chest. It had her smiling, too, though with an inkling of embarrassment since the entire exchange was just so unexpected.

Damian Wayne was actually smiling at her.

The realization nearly had her laughing at how ridiculous it sounded, but before she could even try to make a joke about it, he then told her something she hadn't heard from anyone in a long time. The words—once spoken by the two people no longer in her life, who had always been her cheerleaders on and off the bleachers—rendered Jess voiceless and dumbfounded. The smile on her face faltered a little as she absorbed what he'd said, aware of the sudden tightening in her heart and chest. A part of her wanted to break the wave of emotions threatening to envelop her with a witty comment or laugh, but she couldn't. So Jess let it come, fighting against the urge to cry for what was probably the fourth time that week.

"I'm proud of you."

And then the words she'd held onto the last few days were rising in her throat, begging to be said no matter how much time she had spent trying to figure out how to say them. All she knew was that she didn't want to see the disappointment and potential hurt cross his face, knowing she would be the reason he felt them.

Especially after him saying something like that.

Because what she wanted to tell him could make or break what they had, right? No, a voice told her, he would understand. He would still be proud of you.

"Damian..." Jess could barely say, throat too tight to speak clearly. "I-I've thought about it, and… I… I'm not going—I can't..."

She couldn't look at him anymore. Her eyes ripped from his intense gaze as she choked on her own voice, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her for the third time that day. Despite not being able to finish what she'd tried to say, she'd seen the look on his face before her vision blurred: he knew. Jess could tell, as they held one another among the soft, crashing waves and a blanket of Gotham's darkness, that her friend already understood... that Damian knew her decision had been made.

I can't stay.

Note: hey guys, thanks for your patience and all the love for the last update! i know this chapter was kinda fluffy and very DamiJess-heavy, and i'll admit some of this was rushed but hopefully ya enjoyed it xD I have lots planned anyway for the next couple updates hehe.

thank you all so much for the reviews, i'll address the common remarks!

- i'm obviously biased and on team Damian, too lol but I promise i have some intense (but good) stuff lined up for the Kade side story line. we just have more, uh, road bumps to get there (so sorry, curlystruggle, HANG IN THERE). it'll be worth it ;)

- idk if any of you are surprised Jess decided not to stay in Gotham, but i actually had a hard time going back and forth and trying to figure out what decision she'd make and how it'd play out. and as we all know, our girl Jess isn't very good at doing things that are good for her as Damian so smartly put it lol. (plus, her going back to Central City will just lead to things I have in mind later down the road). human beings are so fickle and react in such different ways to life, so i definitely want Jess to go through some character building and more hiccups alongside her growing relationship with Damian, which obviously just makes things more complicated for the both of them haha

- i also have some plans for incorporating more of the bat fam, including Selina, so that'll be coming as well! however, it made sense for me this time around to have Damian's birthday celebration be small and emphasize how separated and distant everyone else is :( but in the meantime, i WILL say that more Jason is coming very, very soon :D

i do have at least half of the next chapter written, so if things go as planned, the next update won't be too far. THANK YOU again, you're all amazing *insert heart emojis*