The next week seems surprisingly normal.
Not being able to go out on patrol with Grayson is disappointing, of course. But he insists on accompanying Damian to training a lot, and despite the fact that it can be annoying, it's also... profitable. Damian's recognized that Grayson has some expertise. He even gives advice on maths that isn't completely unnecessary. And besides, when he's training he's less... he acts more appropriately. More like Batman should.
Whatever happened – whatever was going on that made Damian mess up in the holo-room doesn't come up again. Probably Grayson not giving him more pointless exercises trying to set him up for failure. And he doesn't try to replace Mother again. Or... whatever he was doing earlier. It was uncomfortable. But it's past.
On Saturday, most of Damian's courses aren't happening, because schools in America operate on five-day weeks. Damian's been taking advantage of the free time to work on his art project. It's coming along... frustratingly slowly.
The object was to familiarize himself with Father's terrain. And he has a lot of sketches as Robin sees them – from the rooftop, looking down at the city. But there are much fewer as how a common criminal – or a civilian, he supposes – would see the city. On the ground. The ones he has at ground level are of places he assumed would be important – the library, the entrance to the city on the bridges, city hall – but he's aware that battle rarely takes him there. Though he assumes scoping out the entrances and exits of city hall will come in handy when it invariably gets held hostage by some maniac.
The pictures are too clinical, Damian thinks, looking over them, for them to be real art. They just look like diagrams. There's no feeling whatsoever in them, which he blames on the cityscape. There are so many damned straight lines. You can't change it how you can with nature – if you're drawing nature, you can add wind or bad weather, and it will affect the whole thing. The grass will be blown to the side, the branches of trees will be bent or broken by gale force wind, and the lack of skyscrapers means you can really focus on the sky.
"How is your art project coming along, Master Damian?" Pennyworth asks, as he notices Damian pouring over his sketches on the couch.
Damian scowls. He's not about to admit being frustrated with it, so he says, "Exactly as it should be."
"I'm glad to hear that," Pennyworth says. "May I see any of them?"
Damian shifts back a bit to allow the man to see. There's nothing controversial in the pictures, nothing that would make Pennyworth say he's not acting as he should, so the activity is safe. It's not like what he sometimes draws after patrol.
"They are coming along beautifully," Pennyworth says.
"Of course they are," Damian says, even though he doesn't believe it.
"Which one will you turn into a painting?"
Damian shrugs. He doesn't want to admit that he hasn't found one he wants to paint, so he just starts collecting up his sketches again. "I'll get some more today. Then I'll decide."
Pennyworth nods. "And with the ones you don't paint?"
"I guess I'll 'hang them on the fridge'," Damian says, while rolling his eyes – because he's heard such a phrase used for unfinished civilian art. Grayson suggested he do it with his lion sketch, and – ugh – Drake wanted to put his picture up there when Damian was staying with Father the first time.
Pennyworth smiles slightly for some reason Damian can't fathom. "We would certainly need a larger refrigerator."
"What does that stupid fridge ritual even mean?" Damian asks.
"Well, typically children draw on printer paper with pencils or crayons," Pennyworth explains. "Rather than in a notebook, like you do."
"Because I'm better than a typical child," Damian says. He doesn't even know why he says it; he knows Pennyworth will most likely ignore it –
And Pennyworth does ignore it; he just keeps explaining: "These pages don't last very long, at least in a chaotic environment, so their parents will put the picture on the refrigerator with a magnet to show they are proud of it and then replace it with a new one once a new picture is drawn."
Damian glances at the stainless steel refrigerator in the kitchen. He can't really imagine putting his sketches up there – especially the ones that aren't just of cityscapes – so he says, "That's dumb."
"You don't have to participate in the ritual," Pennyworth says. "It's typically for children younger than you."
"My mother used to display my finished paintings around our bases," Damian says. "She hung them up on the walls."
"Is that what you wish to do with your finished paintings here?" Pennyworth asks.
Damian shrugs. He doesn't really care right now. And it's still uncomfortable to talk about home when he doesn't know how to feel about it.
The front door unlocks and Damian hops to his feet, but of course it's just Grayson. He was out again last night. Damian doesn't know where he's even going if he's not spending his nights on patrol.
"Master Richard," Pennyworth says, "Would you care to join us for breakfast?"
He gestures at the counter. Pennyworth has already laid out a full English breakfast – bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, beans... Damian's already familiar with the concept from when he and Mother spent time in her house in England. Damian hops up on a stool and starts nibbling on the tomato first.
"How's classes going?" Grayson asks as he starts eating from the plate Pennyworth prepared for him.
"I'm excelling in all of them, as I always do," Damian says, tilting his head slightly up. Then he groans. Because if Grayson usually has somewhat respectable advice –
Ugh.
He might know where to go for Damian's art project.
"Kiddo?" Grayson asks. "Something wrong?"
Damian has never understood the function of that insulting nickname. Grayson needs to get in work mode soon. After all, Batman never calls Robin 'kiddo'.
"Nothing's wrong," Damian says, aware that his voice is coming out angrier than he intended. "You just aggravate me."
"He hasn't done anything today, Master Damian," Pennyworth interjects.
That man is always putting his nose where it doesn't belong.
Damian heavily sets his fork down on the plate. "I know."
"Are you okay?" Grayson asks. "You've been... a little touchier than usual lately."
"I am not touchy!" Damian snaps. He cringes the instant the words come out of his mouth, because he knows Grayson will just take it as Damian proving his point. "Why do you call me 'kiddo', anyway? Would you appreciate it if I called you 'adult-o'?"
Grayson frowns slightly. "I didn't know it was bothering you, ki – Damian."
Damian scowls, because he has no clue how Grayson could have not known it would bother him – he threatened physical violence on the man the first time he used the term.
"Would 'Dami' be better?" Grayson suggests.
Damian makes a noise of visceral disgust, so Grayson knows it would not.
"You know, you don't have to call me 'Grayson'," Grayson says. "You can call me 'Dick'."
"I will die before I call you 'Dick'."
"Don't be so rigid," Pennyworth says with a slight smile, so Damian assumes he's making an ill-timed joke. "You could always use his first name as an expletive instead of affectionately."
"Ha ha," Grayson says dryly. "Haven't heard that one before."
"English swearing. Witty," Damian says, keeping his voice flat so that everyone knows he does not mean it genuinely.
"I'm actually kind of surprised you swear," Grayson says. "I mean, normally you sound so... classy."
Damian rolls his eyes. He only swears when it's appropriate. "Just because they were forbidden from speaking to me in such a manner doesn't mean I never overheard other assassins talking," Damian says. "I can swear in any language I can speak."
"I can only swear accidentally in French," Dick says. "Evidently 'cool' and the F-word are one phoneme apart. As I found out on a mission in France."
"Frais does not sound like niquer."
"No, but nickel kind of does."
Of course. And Grayson said he didn't know how to speak in a casual register in French.
At least the inane conversation about French swearing has made Damian almost forget whatever he was mad about. Or it seems... less serious, at least.
"You consider yourself familiar with Gotham, do you not?" Damian asks.
Grayson looks between Damian and Pennyworth, as if he can't tell who's asking the question. "Uh, we both are, technically," Grayson says. "I spent a large portion of my childhood – and adulthood – here, but Alfred's been here for..."
"A little over thirty years, Master Richard," Alfred says.
"Yeah. Longer than I've been alive."
Hm. Damian hadn't considered asking Pennyworth. Even though the man was nominally his art teacher – he mostly made sure Damian was actually doing his pictures.
Damian looks at Pennyworth. At least the man has already seen what he's working on, so he doesn't have to re-explain. "Where would you recommend getting a different view? To complete my initial sketches." He makes sure to add the second part, so it doesn't sound as if he thought anything was wrong with what he's done so far – it's merely not all the way finished.
"Well, a common theme seemed to be the actual architecture of the city," Pennyworth says, "Which is obviously beautiful. But there were very few people."
Damian knows he's right. It's just that most of the people he's drawn lately have been... dead or dying.
Maybe it would be good to try something slightly less macabre.
"And where would you find interesting people?" Damian asks.
"Define interesting," Grayson says quickly. Quickly enough Damian is guessing the man already has a suggestion.
"Not boring." Damian intentionally doesn't give him much information to go on – he just wants Grayson to spit it out.
"Like adults, children, professionals, people just hanging out, superh – " Grayson starts suggesting.
"Professionals," Damian says before Grayson can finish whatever he was saying. He knows he might have jumped the gun – no, he knows he's avoiding one of the topics there.
He's never really drawn children before. When he watched the other assassins training, when he trained with them himself, it was mostly adults. Except for Mara.
He doesn't know why the topic even makes him so uncomfortable. But he guesses.
Ugh.
This is painful to admit.
If it makes him uncomfortable, he should probably deal with it.
"I change my mind," he says. "Children."
Grayson's eyes widen slightly in surprise. Damn. The man must have picked up that it was a topic Damian didn't want to broach.
Damian has got to get better at not being read.
"So, uh, what kind of kids?" Grayson asks.
"We may be perceived as slightly threatening if we are simply staring at other people's children," Pennyworth says.
"No, because Damian will be with us," Grayson says, and raises his hand out, immediately defensive. "Not like I'm saying you're a regular kid. But to an outside observer – "
"I appear meek and helpless," Damian finishes.
"Uh, that's not how most people perceive kids," Grayson says.
"Most civilians don't perceive themselves as meek or helpless either, but they are."
Pennyworth frowns slightly. Damian doesn't even know why. He didn't even shove Pennyworth in the 'civilian' category, so it's not like he's being insulted.
This entire topic is just so awkward and uncomfortable that Damian's debating calling the whole thing off. But then he'd have to admit it's awkward and uncomfortable and –
He doesn't even know why it is.
"Just tell me your idea," Damian says to Grayson. "I know you had one."
"Uh, I don't know if you'd like it."
Now he's wavering? When has whether Damian liked a training exercise ever mattered before?
"Just spit it out," Damian says.
"Well, it's Saturday, so most kids aren't in school," Dick says. "But lots of people have fun on Saturday. And that'd be like... a 'natural kid environment', right?"
Damian almost smirks at the comparison. "Like drawing lions in the savanna instead of in the zoo?"
"Lions, Master Damian?" Pennyworth asks gently. "Does that strike you as the most apt comparison?"
Damian wishes he weren't saying it gently – since it's obviously a reproach. "Of course it is," he says loudly. Any time Father's people try to make him ashamed, they're going to regret it. He's going to double down.
"Anyway, when I was a kid," Grayson continues, "I used to like spending time at the arcade. More before Bruce started fostering me. Since I was a lot busier after that."
"There aren't any arcades in Gotham," Damian says. He hasn't seen much architecture like that. It's all later than when they were popular.
"Uh, I meant a video game arcade," Grayson continues. "Not like a group of arches."
"Of course you did. And you're suggesting this is the 'savanna' for the 'lions'?"
"I got lost a metaphor ago, but I guess," Grayson says.
Tt. If he got lost, he wouldn't have known what Damian was talking about.
Damian sighs. He needs to approach this professionally. He's aware that otherwise Grayson might try to turn it into something it's not supposed to be. Like the warning on the 'Halloween' patrol. He might try to insinuate Damian should behave differently.
… He should have approached the uncomfortable topic alone. But backing out would make him look scared and weak, so he can't.
"We don't have to go there," Grayson says. "I was just suggesting something. But there are lots of places you can go to get drawings of people – what about the plaza or the park? Or maybe the mall, since no one will be outside when it's this cold. But that way you can have a lot of different people to draw. Not just kids, but everyone."
Damian knows he must have been insufficiently disguising his discomfort and Grayson must be reacting to it. He can't tell why else the man would change his mind. Especially if he actually liked such meaningless activities as a child.
"I think that would be a splendid idea," Pennyworth says. "I could get some shopping done if we were in the mall."
"Okay we can go there for Pennyworth," Damian says quickly. Before he can back out. And besides, Pennyworth is always doing some dumb shopping thing; it's probable that the man actually does have to be in the area.
Grayson nods and smiles slightly. "Okay, it's settled then. I guess you'll get your first 'mall' experience."
Damian rolls his eyes. He's sure it isn't that meaningful. "And is that a stereotypical childish endeavor?"
Grayson shrugs. Since the three of them are pretty much finished with their breakfasts, he starts walking over to the closet where he hung up his coat. "I guess it's more associated with teenagers and pre-teens. And more girls than guys, even though guys buy stuff, too. But if you say someone's going to the mall to hang out, most people imagine girls."
"Fascinating insight into your culture," Damian says, while meaning the opposite.
"Do you want to know why?" Grayson asks.
"No."
Grayson just shrugs, says, "Okay," and finishes zipping up his coat.
The ride over to the mall is quiet, which suits Damian just fine. He knows that backing out of what was making him uncomfortable was probably a mistake, tactically, but he figures he can always deal with it alone. When Grayson and Pennyworth aren't there to witness it. The way he always deals with weaknesses.
They've been so evident ever since he left the League, ever since Grandfather betrayed him, and it only makes him more angry at Mother. If she were here, he could demand an answer – or something. But she's not.
Pennyworth parks at an entrance to the mall right in front of some large clothing store. Damian knows it will be loud and annoying like the sporting goods store was – with the exceedingly bright fluorescent lighting and horrible acoustics. He doesn't know why civilians like buildings such as these. There were large rooms with high ceilings, of course, in Ra's' bases, but at least they were almost always functional, rather than meaningless. And they almost never had fluorescent lighting. Most of the architecture was old, or designed in a style to evoke a similar feeling – with the pointed arches, ribbed vaults, graceful columns, occasional ornaments, and natural lighting. It was far more pleasing to the eye than the soulless mega-store that resembles a graceless brick.
Pennyworth and Grayson exit the car and Damian follows, sketchbook in tow. They enter the mall through automatic double doors –
(Damian would never put automatic doors in one of his bases)
– and continue through the store.
The lighting is aggressively bright, and not in the way the sun can be bright. Sunlight is normal. This is weird. It's the flickering, Damian thinks. It almost seems to have a noise.
There is a lot of clothing on display. Much of it is on man-sized white dolls that look like drawing mannequins, but much larger and without movable joints.
There are people in here, too. Some families, with children that are whining embarrassingly. A group of girls a couple years older than Damian is. A woman sitting on a chair, with a bunch of bags surrounding her, as a man next to her browses through some watches.
And then they're out into... what Damian supposes is the 'mall'.
Immediately, Damian is struck by more of a cacophony as a hundred obnoxious voices bounce off the high ceiling. The walkway between stores on each side is at least twice as wide as his bedroom is long, probably more, and in the middle are various kiosks, trash cans, or benches. Grayson seems to stand up slightly straighter as he sees one and says "Uncle Ulysses!"
If Damian were ruder, he could point out that he thought Grayson's biological family was dead. But instead, he looks for whatever man made Grayson react in such a manner –
It's a dumb kiosk. Of course. In some blue lettering are the words "Uncle Ulysses" and above that is a cartoon image of a pretzel. There are two people waiting outside the place, talking to a vendor who appears to be a teenager.
"Man, I used to love those places when I was younger," Grayson continues. "The pretzels are to die for. We have to get you one."
"We just ate breakfast," Pennyworth protests.
"And there's someone in line," Damian adds.
"If we come back around lunch time, there will be way more people in line," Grayson says. "But we can wait."
Damian would rather not be behind a bunch of civilians, so he groans and walks up to the place now, while the line is short. Grayson falls in step beside him and eventually, so does Pennyworth.
"So these pretzels," Damian says. "They're supposed to be life-changing?"
"Uh, don't hype them up that much," Grayson says, even though he just said they were to die for. "But yeah, they're pretty good."
"And civ – people just come here to... consume things?" Damian asks as he keeps looking around the mall. It certainly seems that way. The entire place seems to be designed with stores in mind; he can't see anything that isn't for sale.
"... I guess," Grayson says, and rubs the back of his neck. "But there are a lot of people here, and that was one of your requirements, right?"
"Tt. It was your suggestion."
"Do you see anything you want to draw yet?" Pennyworth asks.
Damian shrugs. You could draw almost anything. At least for practice. He guesses he could do a sketch of Grayson's comical worship of the pretzel, but that wouldn't really be Gotham. It'd just be Grayson.
When they get to the counter, after the previous civilians receive their order, Damian sees a big menu written in English, but Grayson doesn't even glance at it. He just asks Damian what he wants – to which Damian responds he'll just see what the 'big deal' is – and then orders three original pretzels and three lemonades.
Damian will admit that the pretzel is actually good. But he doesn't eat more than a few bites, because eating past when you're full just feels weird, and they did have a big breakfast. So for a bit the three of them are just sitting on a bench in a sort of miniature square set up in the mall. It's right in front of a shoe store and yet another store dedicated to clothing. There's an artificial plant next to the bench they're sitting on, and even though Damian knows they came here for civilians, he starts drawing the plant. It just captures his attention for some reason he can't explain. It seems strange to have an artificial plant when you could have a real one. It'd be more relaxing to have a real one. It might even serve a purpose. A single houseplant can't really produce a significant amount of oxygen or absorb a significant amount of carbon dioxide, to his understanding. But it'd feel a lot more meaningful.
He draws the artificial plant more than once. First just to get its shape from a couple angles. Then next to how a real plant might look. The real plant has more asymmetry, it might have one or two slightly wilted leaves or a scar. It certainly wouldn't have the faint layer of dust. It'd look less perfect, but alive.
As he draws, he of course checks the scenery. They're out in the open. It makes it hard to focus, even if it did mean they were well positioned to see a lot of the chaotic civilian behavior Grayson suggested watching. And most of the chaos comes from people coming in from the large clothing store, though there still are a few trips to the shoe store. A child swinging around a toy he brought. All of it's distracting from what Damian really wants, which is the plant.
At some point, Pennyworth stands up to do his 'errands', and it's just Grayson and Damian. Damian tries to ignore Grayson for the most part. They're in civilian-mode right now, and civilian-mode Grayson is harder to deal with.
"You really like that plant," Grayson says, after Damian's been drawing for about thirty minutes. The man didn't try to look over Damian's shoulder to see his sketches, but it must have been obvious he was drawing it, as he was staring at it the whole time.
"I don't like it," Damian says. "It's observational drawing. I'm observing it."
"Alfred said you liked to draw more nature-y stuff," Grayson continues.
Damian scowls. Pennyworth shouldn't have been sharing any of the things Damian told him in private with Grayson.
"It's more visually interesting," Damian says.
"When I was a kid, I liked drawing animals," Grayson says. "Because we had a bunch of cool animals all around us."
Damian can't tell what Grayson's trying to say. "'When you were a kid'?" he asks. "Why did you quit art?"
"Well, I didn't do much fun 'kid' stuff after my parents died," Grayson says. "And outside of people who are serious artists like you, drawing as a hobby is kind of viewed as kid-stuff."
"That's dumb."
"I'm not saying you shouldn't draw," Grayson says quickly. Almost defensively, like he was worried he would offend Damian.
"I didn't think you were, but art being considered 'kid stuff' is dumb," Damian says. "Anyone can do art."
When Damian takes a quick look away form his picture and at Grayson, the man has an eyebrow raised inquisitively.
Why?
"I'm surprised to hear you say that anyone can do what you do," Grayson says slowly.
Ugh, that's so not the point.
Damian knows why Ra's wanted him to learn how to draw and paint and play the violin. The same reason he had all of the rest of his training. Because it was supposed to give him a truly balanced and developed mind so that he could rule the world – or at least believe that was his destiny.
But truthfully, it's always been like what Ravi said. It's restful for the soul. And... sometimes if you can't say something –
If you don't know how to feel –
You can draw it. If you don't want to deal with it or if you want to know how it would have happened or if something's just wrong and you need to get it out.
And it's dumb that civilian adults would say that is just for children.
Damian doesn't say any of that to Grayson, of course. That'd be too... personal. So he just says, "You should draw something."
Grayson smiles. "Okay, I'll need some paper, though. And a pencil."
Damian rips out a blank sheet from his notebook and hands it to Grayson, along with one of his pencils.
Grayson sits down on the floor and starts using the bench as an improvised table and sketching. Damian intentionally doesn't look – he knows he doesn't like it when people are looking over his shoulder while he's drawing.
"You know," Grayson says after about five minutes. "This is actually pretty relaxing."
"Tt. I know it is."
The two of them draw for a bit. Damian eventually leaves the plant aside and focuses on the crowd, as it gets later and more people come in and set themselves in front of the pretzel shop Grayson liked so much. It's hard to draw a crowd scene with any detail; for the most part he keeps an oval for a head and a simple line of motion through the body, then articulates only the limbs. He can go back and add detail if he wants.
"Do you want to show me what you've been drawing?" Grayson asks, standing up off the floor and sitting back on the bench, next to Damian.
Damian shrugs and flips back to the page where he drew the fake plant right next to a real plant. It was the picture he detailed the most. It looks the most finished.
Grayson smiles slightly. "It looks really nice."
"I know."
Grayson keeps looking at the picture. Damian's fine with that. At least he asked to see it. And art is meant to be appreciated. "Is it supposed to be a commentary, like 'what's the point of the fake one if the real one's right there?'" Grayson asks.
Damian shrugs again. "It's just what I felt like drawing. Give me my notebook back. Please."
Grayson hands his notebook back. "Do you want to see what I drew?"
"I guess."
Grayson hands him his torn out notebook sheet. There's a little tear in the middle, probably from having drawn on the bench with wooden slats, rather than on a solid surface. The picture appears to be of Damian, as Grayson would have seen him when he was on the floor. The perspective is flattened out around Damian's face, so it looks more like it normally would if you were just looking straight at him, rather than what Grayson likely saw in his position. Damian's expression appears to be one of cartoony concentration – large eyes, eyebrows tilted down so far they affect his eye shape, tongue sticking out slightly even though Damian knows he didn't do that.
"Why draw me?" Damian asks, handing Grayson back his picture.
"You were right there," Grayson says. "And more visually interesting than the backrest of the bench, which was also right there."
Damian has no clue how to react to that, so he doesn't react at all.
The rest of the trip is fairly unremarkable. They have to leave before lunchtime because Pennyworth has finished what he needed and Damian's fine with that. The noise and bright lights and public place with so many damned people was beginning to get to him. Pennyworth asks Damian if he's obtained his necessary drawings, and Damian says he's obtained enough. So they drive straight back to the penthouse.
Pennyworth starts up towards the penthouse with the bags he retrieved, and Damian's about to follow him when Grayson gestures back, indicating he should wait.
Damian casts a quick glance around the garage. It appears to be empty of people. And when he briefly shuts his eyes to block out visual stimuli, he can't hear any other tell-tale signs of eavesdroppers.
"What?" Damian asks.
"There's just a quick thing I want to say, then we can go up," Grayson says. "First, thanks for suggesting drawing. I actually enjoyed myself."
"Don't make a big deal of it." Damian is skeptical, though. He knows this isn't all Grayson wants to talk about.
"Secondly, ki – Damian," Grayson says. "You don't have to say anything. It might be easier if you don't. But... I can tell you've been... uncomfortable lately."
Damian scowls. "I'm not uncomfortable," he says, even though he knows there's no way Grayson will believe it. It feels like something he has to say.
"Damian, that's not an inherently bad thing," Grayson says. "I'm not saying it in judgment of you."
Liar.
"I know you're in a pretty new situation, and you're dealing with it better than most people would."
Damian bunches his hands in fists. He can't wait until Grayson is healed enough to be Batman again. Then he won't have time for such sentimental nonsense.
"I don't deal with things; I win," Damian says. He can feel the tightness of his throat as he says it, he knows Grayson will use it as evidence that... that he's uncomfortable.
Grayson raises his hands up, slightly defensively. "I'm not saying you're not, uh, winning. Winning can be a form of dealing with things. I'm just saying that I'm noticing you're doing work, and it's good work. And I'm not going to press my luck or anything, like I said earlier, you don't have to say anything. But I'm not going to think any less of you if you ever decide you can't deal with it alone or want help."
"I'll think less of me," Damian says, and cringes the instant the words are out of his mouth. Grayson's trying to trick him and –
And he's just standing there, not being overbearing or even pantomiming the concern he sometimes does, and it would be so so damned easy to –
if Mother or Father were here –
But they're not.
Grayson's just ruining what was an acceptable day with his emotions. Leaving himself vulnerable. Acting like what the old Mother would call a 'fool'. He's always so damned concerned and even if he's annoying, he's never ruthless and it just...
He'll never understand how badly it reflects on him.
"Okay, I can see I made you uncomfortable," Grayson says, and Damian hates it, because Grayson shouldn't be able to tell. He shouldn't have that power over him, either. The power to make him... 'uncomfortable'. "I'm going to give you some space," Grayson continues. "And see you at nine for more of your training, okay?"
"Okay," Damian says through clenched teeth.
And Grayson exits the garage, presumably going up to the penthouse.
Someday, Damian is going to figure out why that feels so bad. Why it felt bad when Grayson said he should care about Damian, why it felt bad when he said Damian could 'talk to him'. It shouldn't feel bad – it shouldn't have the power to make him feel anything. It should just be meaningless words from a man who already speaks a lot of meaningless words. But it's not. It's... it means something, and that makes it worse than if it meant nothing.