Chapter 4: Poles Apart
Grayson hurried into the room, a business-like smile already on his face and hands raised as if surrendering.
"Whatever he did this time, I'll pay the damages."
Damian glared moodily, but refrained from saying anything as Grayson shook Headmaster Carson's hand and sat down next to his protégé. Carson leaned back in his chair and cast an unamused glare across the broad desk.
"That's a relief, Mr Grayson, -"
"-Richard."
"... Richard. Though I fear we've reached a point where even your wallet will not be enough."
Damian could feel Grayson's gaze shifting to him, for the first time since he came into the headmaster's office. "What happened?"
"He picked a fight, again. He broke the other boy's nose and damaged school property."
"Damian..." Grayson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"He deserved it! He said that..." Damian trailed off when he saw that both adults were glaring at him. Damnit.
"Richard, I have to inform you that Ms Hughes threatened with legal consequences."
"Loreena Hughes?" Grayson's eyes narrowed when he turned to Damian. "You beat up James Bolton?"
"He deserved it," Damian repeated, gritting his teeth.
"What the hell where you thinking?!" Damian winced at Grayson's hiss, but luckily for him Mr Carson came to his rescue.
"I'd like to speak with you alone this time, Richard."
The two on the other side of the desk both flinched – this was new. Calls to Mr Carson's office had been plentiful, but this was a new turn of events. After a few seconds, Grayson turned to Damian and handed him the keys to the Lexus.
"Wait in the car."
Damian snatched the keys and turned away abruptly, marching out of the office without any good-byes to the headmaster. He heard Grayson sigh at that again and stormed out of the school, running through the gates and flipping into the bushes that lead to the Carson's office.
It was a warm day and the window was open; noiselessly Damian sneaked right under it, anxious to hear what they were talking about.
"- know how to deal with the loss of his father," he heard Grayson's voice and resisted the urge to growl. What sappy bullshit was he telling Carson?.
"Yes, I thought about that too, but... Richard, how are you dealing with the loss of your father?"
Grayson didn't answer, and Damian didn't dare to sneak a look through the window. Carson was sitting with his back to it, but Grayson would definitely see him. Damian didn't know how he'd react and wouldn't risk it.
He strained to hear Grayson's answer, but couldn't make anything out. Instead, Carson's voice piped up again.
"How old were you when you started to attend this school, Richard? Nine? I remember that you also mourned your parents' deaths, but you never reacted as violently as Damian does... How old are you now, Mr Grayson?"
The question irritated Damian as well as Grayson, apparently, who needed a few seconds to answer with an uncertain voice.
"25. What does that have to do with anything?"
"That's awful young for mourning the death of two fathers." Grayson remained quiet. "Or for running a company like Wayne Enterprises and raising a child like Damian."
Damian felt his hands ball into fists. 'A child like Damian'? What did he mean by that?
"Are you trying to say that I'm unfit for parenting my brother, Mr Carson?" There was an edge of annoyance in Grayson's voice, but it was almost completely drowned in tiredness.
"Honestly? I think you are in a very exhausting situation and Damian's problem with authority doesn't exactly help."
Grayson chuckled humorlessly, a sound that cut Damian to the core. He didn't have a problem with authority, he had been listening to authority all his life. He had a problem with idiots that thought themselves superior but weren't. Like Grayson, or Carson, or that little shit James Bolton.. Grayson knew that, and Damian was angry when he realized that he wasn't defending him.
"I thought about giving you these earlier, but I never liked to interfere with my student's private life too much. Maybe it's due now."
There was a rustling sound – paper. Damian was dying to know what it was.
"That's your solution?" Bewilderment? Amusement? Shock? Damian tried in vain to identify that tone in Grayson's voice. Whatever it was, it didn't sit well with him, a small, dizzy feeling of fear knotted into his stomach.
"It's up to you, Richard. We will have to record this incidence in Damian's file, I fear. I trust you will discuss the matter with Ms Hughes?"
Damian didn't await Grayson's answer but darted back through the bushes. By the time he had reached the parking lot, his mentor was already leaning against the Lexus and awaiting him. And he looked pissed.
The boy handed him the keys wordlessly, and they climbed into the car. Only after the school vanished behind a hill and the car took a swing off the main street did Damian try to break the silence.
"Bolton deserved it."
"...You already said that."
Grayson's tone was detached and cold, and he wouldn't even shift one glance at Damian like he usually did. Very effective driving, Damian thought with spite and felt a thorough hate for the word 'efficiency' and all its derivations growing.
"He told the younger kids that all countries in the Middle East breed terrorists."
"Oh yes, Loreena and Francis weren't very subtle with their xenophobia. I'm sure kids pick up those vibes pretty quickly."
Damian had the decency to flinch at the jab. He had hoped Carson might not tell Grayson the name of the boy whose nose he had broken, but of course Grayson had made the connection between James Bolton, his mother Loreena Hughes and her ex-husband Francis Bolton immediately. Damian didn't know how he would get out of this one – Bolton had made more than one racist comment in school, but today it had hit his origins, and he had snapped.
A sigh pulled him out of his musing. Grayson had slumped in his seat, stopping the car at a red light.
"What technique did you use? Anything suspicious?"
"No. I just punched him on the nose."
"And broke it. What the hell, Damian, it wasn't even fair and you know it. That kid didn't stand a chance against you..."
"Really?" Damian heard himself asking, a strange, warm feeling floating through his belly. It felt like ages since Grayson had said anything positive to him, and he found it oddly comforting. "He's a head bigger than I am."
"Is this still about Hanna?"Grayson asked out of the blue.
Immediately, Damian snorted. Hanna. The woman Grayson had spent the night with. The harlot that had indeed sat down at the breakfast table and had had the indecency to chit-chat with Pennyworth as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
"What about her?"
"You tell me. You've been sulking all morning, while she was nothing but nice and polite towards you."
Nice and polite – Damian felt like retching. The way she had dared to talk down to him like to a child, to lay a hand on Grayson's arm when Pennyworth told her about the history of the Manor. Of course Grayson wouldn't see her insolence, the way he had smiled at her and kissed her goodbye had obviously proven that she must have somehow bewitched him.
"-tt- your carnal desires obviously blind you if you think that harlot was anything else than dull and stupid. Did you ever think that she could have been a spy?"
Grayson, the stupid, dimwitted, idiotic imbecile started laughing. Damian's cheeks turned hot. "Ha, Damian, I can assure you that I check all the women I have 'carnal desires' for about possible spying activities."
"All the women?!"
He must have turned a worrisome shade of red, for Grayson's laughter turned into a soft smile after he glanced at him. Damian was gritting his teeth by now – angry at that insinuation Grayson had just made, angry at himself for parroting him with all the incredulity he just felt. 'All the women', Jesus Christ..
"Hanna wasn't the first woman I met since you came to live with us."
"You're lying. I never saw another woman before."
"That's because I didn't spend those nights at the manor... Or days. Whatever."
Damian looked at Grayson out of the corner of his eye. He was still looking bemused, a small smile on his lips, closer to the Grayson he was used to.
"Why?" he demanded thus.
A sigh, and the amused expression turned into tiredness again. "Because you don't mix well with strangers. Especially not with women. I didn't want to put you into an awkward position."
"-tt-, how considerate of you. I can assure you that I'll inform you as soon as any position seems 'awkward' to me." This one now was. Why the hell were they talking about women, anyway?!
"Hmm, it was awkward for me when Bruce showed up with his flings."
"My father did not –!" Damian couldn't finish the sentence. Grayson's words were becoming more and more ridiculous and insolent, and Damian wouldn't take any false accusations against his father. "You're lying."
"I'm not. There's a lot you don't know about Bruce. You should begin to face that."
"Don't tell me what I should do!" Spite was dripping from his voice as he fell back into his usual modus operandi
"Jeez, calm down. Stay in pre-puberty for all I care." He couldn't see it, but Damian just knew that Grayson was rolling his eyes. "Just tell me if the situation is too awkward for you, okay?"
"I've adjusted to far worse since I came to live with you. Your inconsistent policy regarding women is not a surprise." That damn paternalistic tone in Grayson's voice was reason enough to slip back into his usual insults, but he tried to keep them at bay. He had promised to be not as childish as earlier, after all.
"Yeah, right." Grayson sounded pissed. "Remember that you asked me for that 'inconsistency'."
"What are you talking about, Grayson?"
"You wanted me to stop acting as if we're related."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Oh, Damian...Did you ever consider that my life changed too after you came to Gotham? You're not the only one who had to adjust his lifestyle."
He wouldn't explain it further, but Damian had gotten the message anyway and turned towards the window, trying to understand. Grayson's life had been a lot different when he had been Nightwing. He had 'adjusted his lifestyle' to Damian's presence – to what the idiot had believed was a little brother he needed to play mother hen to.
Damian had asked him for two things: a more serious Batman and to stop with the big brother act. Grayson had heeded both wishes, and had stopped playing the big brother... and therefore had gone back to being the Dick Grayson Damian had actually never known. The one who hit the party scene with Brown and picked up women.
'My life changed too after you came to Gotham.' Damian stared at the passing scenery and tried to fight the bile that rose in his throat. There was a lot more subtext he didn't understand because he didn't know much about Dick Grayson's life. Never cared much to know.
They turned into the manor's driveway. Without another word, Grayson left the car and Damian followed him, a few steps behind. He was still deep in thoughts as they entered the Manor, confused and angry about everything and nothing, and didn't notice when Grayson started to talk to him again.
"What is it?"
"I just wanted to give you these," Grayson rummaged in his pocket, and the familiar rustling of paper was heard as he drew his hand back full of a bunch of brochures. "Your headmaster gave them to me. I'm not a big fan of those, but maybe you like it better than staying with me. Your call."
Grayson turned away and left Damian alone with the brochures. The first one was about a military boarding school, the second one a boarding school for 'children with behavioural problems'. There was a whole bunch of those, all promoting the idea of sending him away.
Damian's throat felt dry. This was Carson's advice to Grayson? To send him away?
"I think you are in a very exhausting situation and Damian's problem with authority doesn't exactly help." – Carson's words came to his mind. He tried to get angry, but couldn't. Why was he referring to an 'exhausting situation'? Grayson was the goddamn Batman, the heir to billions of dollars and wouldn't have to work a day in his life if he ever decided to sell the company he only held on to for some sentimental reason.
Damian skimmed through the package absentmindedly. A small sheet of paper slipped out from between the pages and floated to the ground. He caught it instinctively, turning it around to find Carson's handwriting and a few telephone numbers. 'Specialist contact persons for overexerted parents in Gotham', the writing said.
Damian felt sick. At least, now he knew what kind of 'exhausting situation' the headmaster had meant.
"Higher."
A kick, a curse, and then he hit the mat.
"I said higher. Again."
Damian growled, got up and kicked... only to land on the ground again.
"Again."
He was panting by now, even though Grayson hadn't even broken into sweat yet. Frustrated, Damian lunged for the escrima stick in his mentor's hand, only to land on his back a second later. When he didn't get up immediately, he could hear Grayson shifting out of his defensive stance.
"You need a break."
"I don't," Damian gritted through his teeth and hefted himself up again. His opponent looked down at him unimpressed, and Damian charged again, jumped, and kicked. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the mat, blinking at the ceiling of the cave.
God damnit!
"You need to twist your hip while ju-"
This time, Damian was already flying through the air while Grayson was still in mid-sentence, twisting and kicking and hit the escrima stick exactly where he was supposed to. He used the momentum, twisted again and flipped backwards, landing on his feet again.
Hell yes, he did it! Not able to contain the grin, he turned towards Grayson, self-sufficient and proud.
"Again."
What the –? Damian's face fell. Grayson wasn't so much as smiling. They had been training this damn technique for over an hour now, and Damian had just gotten it right. He had worked hard to accomplish it, and the bruises and cuts from hitting the mat and the ecrima stick again and again hurt pretty bad.
All the while, Grayson hadn't so much as smiled at him, or encouraged him. Nothing but 'again', 'higher' and 'you need to twist'. It was beyond frustrating, and Damian grew angrier with every failed attempt.
Through the anger and frustration, another feeling shone through, one which Damian couldn't yet identify. Every time he landed on that mat, hurting and awaiting an emotionless 'again', he remembered another sentence:"That kid didn't stand a chance against you..."
Damian remembered with disgust how his heart had soared. "Really? He's a head bigger than I am" – God, as if Grayson cared about some trivial fact like that. Why had he said that? It had taken him two long training sessions to understand... and he didn't like the conclusion at all: he had been fishing for compliments.
It had been the last time Grayson had come remotely close to giving him praise, approval. The first time in a while, since Damian asked him to stop being a sappy nuisance. Before, Grayson had always told him how well he had done on patrol, or during training, and even when he came home with a good grade out of that ridiculous school. Apparently, he had gotten too used to that.
"You need to focus, Robin."
Grayson's voice pulled him out of his musing. The older man was looking down at him from the other side of the mat, expression blank, almost bored. Damian hated it. He had just gotten a new technique; why the hell couldn't Grayson so much as smile at him? And apart from that –Robin? His name was Damian, for heaven's sake.
"I don't need to do it again," Damian spat out defiantly. "I want to have a real training session. Direct combat."
Grayson looked unimpressed. "I don't think that's a good idea..."
But Damian was already sprinting towards him. In the course of only a few seconds, kicks and punches were raining down on his mentor, though none of them actually hit. Grayson was sliding out of reach of his punches, flipped away from his kicks.
"Robin."
Damian jumped, aimed, and kicked with full force at Grayson's stomach. Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed his ankle and hauled him into the mat, with only a slight twist of the wrist, using Damian's own momentum.
"Robin."
Robin. Why wasn't he using his name, all of sudden?! He was at it again, determined, angry. The coward was slipping away from his punches, blocked, but never fought back.
"Fight me!" Damian panted, stepping away swiftly to gain distance. "You're not taking me seriously."
Grayson looked annoyed, even sad. "I'm taking you very ser-"
"Take up your second escrima stick, then!"
He was determined, and Grayson acknowledged it, finally. He shifted into a fighting stance, but made no move to get his second stick.
"Take up the second escrima stick."
"Make me."
With a frustrated battle cry, Damian launched. He half-expected Grayson to flip out of his reach, but the man stood firm, waiting for Damian to land the first punch. It got blocked directly, and Damian barreled with all the energy he put into the punch into Grayson's body... if it weren't for a firm hand that grabbed his shoulder and held him back.
"You're dead."
"I'm not," Damian hissed, but saw the escrima stick, pointed at his throat, which he would have run straight into if Grayson hadn't stopped him.
"Get your second stick."
"I won't need it."
A second charge, Damian flipped over Grayson's extended arm and tried to get at his back. He kicked into thin air, only seeing a blur of colour in the corner of his eye, before a light push at his back send him stumbling onto the mat. Before he could get up again, a boot pressed onto his neck and kept him firmly in place.
"Dead. You're not paying attention to the muscle twitches that announce my movements."
He charged again.
"Dead."
Again.
"Dead. That's enough, Damian."
Again.
"Damian, what is this about?"
He blocked another punch, and Damian twisted to hit his solar plexus... but kicked into nothing. Grayson had somersaulted behind him, crossing his arms.
"You're angry."
"World's greatest detective, huh?" Damian grunted and attacked again.
"You need to contain your emotions."
Damian's knee almost hit Grayson's chest, but his leg was twisted and pushed aside. "Why?" He panted.
"It makes you predictable."
"You think?" Damian had foreseen the turn of Grayson's torso, aimed a kick and... was suddenly flipped into the air, twisted around, and tried unsuccessfully to grunt in pain when an elbow slammed into his stomach and expelled all air from his lungs.
"Yes."
He hit the ground hard, without any opportunity of breaking his fall. The pain in his stomach made him sick, the bile in his mouth was too much to swallow, and then he was retching and vomiting Pennyworth's dinner over the floor of the cave.
Ugh.
A warm hand was placed on his back, rubbing soothing circles. Grayson was sitting on the floor next to him, looking into the opposite directions to give Damian at least some degree of distance.
"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Grayson asked quietly.
"No," Damian panted, drawing a shaky arm over his lips and staring at the disgusting puddle he just produced.
"You're mad at me, and I don't know why." Grayson made no motion of leaving him, and when he turned his head to look at his protégé, Damian jerked his gaze away. He could feel his cheeks turning red; God, this was embarrassing.
"It's not about you," he mumbled.
With a lot of willpower, he managed to lean back on his knees, and then tried to stand up on shaky legs. His stomach, still hurting from Grayson's punch, lurched immediately.
"Don't get up already -" Grayson hurried to intervene, grabbing Damian's shoulder and trying to push him down. Out of instinctive, Damian batted the hand away, none-too-gently. The slap echoed through the cave.
Grayson stared at him in shock, drawing his hand back as if bitten by a snake. "... no touching, right.." he mumbled, distraught, rubbing his wrist.
Damian turned away, tired of everything. His head was spinning, his stomach still hurting. He needed to get away from Grayson, from the cave. He hadn't meant to swat the hand away like that; it had been an unconscious reaction.
"My life changed too after you came to Gotham."
'Specialist contact persons for overexerted parents in Gotham'
"I've adjusted to far worse since I came to live with you."
… maybe he did need a break.
-tbc-
A/N: I didn't plan this chapter at all, I just wrote it when I realized that I still needed time to figure out the 'actual' chapter 4, in which things will get serious. I didn't want to let you wait, so this 'intermission' chapter is the result.. and hey, I like it. We're about half way through the story, and I want to thank you again for your nice feedback. If we ever reach 100 reviews, I might think of a thank you- treat :).
Someone asked if this story takes place in the same 'verse as Lifelines. No, I didn't intend it to, though I guess it doesn't really makes any differences.. btw, I updated my profile and added a section about my stories, their progress, etc. If you are interested in knowing what's going on with Lifelines or Interferences or whatever, please have a look at it.
Also: Poles Apart is my absolutely favourite Pink Floyd song, and every Dick Grayson fan should know it. I mean, come on: "Why did we tell you that you were always the Goldon Boy? And I never thought that you'd lose that light in your eyes." - sigh.