A/N: For one of the first times ever, I don't have much to say for my author's note.

Well... enjoy.

Damian's POV

"I'm not sure what's come over me," I tell Colin, taking another stab at my too-dry salad. "Every time I pick up my pencil and attempt to draw, it comes out just… wrong. I'm blocked and I don't know why."

Colin shrugs, taking a sip from his large strawberry smoothie. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, wondering how he drinks those syrup-drenched concoctions with such ease. The smoothies here are subpar at best. Hell, even the salads are dry and tasteless, no matter how much dressing they attempt to drown it in. But Colin seems to like this café's atmosphere, so I tolerate it when he asks to meet up here.

"Maybe you need to get inspired," Colin suggests. "Try something new, make some new friends, explore. Maybe you'll get some sketch ideas."

I scoff at the idea. Explore? I had already traveled to every corner of the earth by the time I was 6 years old. As Robin, I've seen things that the average mind couldn't even begin to fathom. I doubt 'exploring' or 'trying something new' will ease my artist's block.

As for making new friends, I do not feel the need. I already have Colin and Grayson. I have my animals. Todd isn't the worst company in the world, either. Even Drake and I have come to a somewhat… understanding of each other, though I would not consider us to be 'friends'. My point is, I have no desire to seek out extra companionship.

"It's just something I must work through," I reply dismissively. "All artists experience it at one point or another. It can't last forever, now can it?"

Once again, he shrugs in response, taking another long sip from his smoothie.

"So what else has been happening in Damian's world?" he asks, skillfully changing the subject. I shove the salad aside, finally giving up on the ranch-drenched health hazard.

"My life has been unusually boring these past few days," I answer honestly. "The only thing worth mentioning is the… case."

Cryptic, but I can't talk openly in a café surrounded by civilians.

"You mean the East End one?" he asks, glancing around briefly to see if anyone is listening in. "I thought your dad told you to stay out of it?"

"He came around," I reply with a smirk. Yes, he came around, after I hacked into any online file I could find that contained information about the case. I must have worn him down, because he eventually stopped refusing my help when I offered it to him. He's still not too entirely thrilled with the idea of me working with him on this, but he has learned to choose his battles. And this is not one he will win.

"Why would you even want to get involved in that?" Colin asks incredulously. "That doesn't exactly sound like a fun case."

I want to tell Colin that I'm already invested in this case. I want to tell him about the girl I keep encountering who can't seem to keep herself out of trouble, the girl who has jumpstarted my keen interest in this case. But for some reason, I know that this is something I should keep to myself.

"It's something to pass the time," I answer dismissively, taking a sip of my water. Colin seems to accept my response for once in his life, not pushing the issue any further. For that, I am thankful. I enjoy his company, I really do, but he doesn't usually know when to leave well enough alone.

A comfortable silence envelops us, only broken by the occasional sounds of Colin slurping on his smoothie and my fork weakly poking around in the pathetic excuse for a salad sitting in front of me. After a few more stabs at my so-called food, Colin gives me a strange, almost concerned look.

"If you don't like the salad, I can always order you something else," he offers. I take a look at the empty tray next to him that once held a cheeseburger and a side of fries. It took him what seemed like less than a minute to devour the entire meal whole. According to him, not all their food is complete garbage. I wouldn't know. I've only made it half-way through their meager salad menu.

"The salad is the only semblance to a healthy and well-balanced meal that they sell here. I am not going to poison my body with some fattening, artery-clogging, greasy excuse for a lunch."

Colin rolls his eyes, pulling the salad bowl to his side of the table and stabbing the fork into the soggy lettuce. This isn't the first time Colin has finished my food for me. The stomach on that boy is seemingly bottomless.

"You don't always have to be a stick in the mud," he fires back, his mouth half-full with lettuce.

"I'm not being a 'stick in the mud'," I grumble. "With the work I have, I must keep my body in perfect condition. Excuse me for not eating food that would just make me sluggish."

Colin lets out a soft chuckle. He must think I'm being dramatic, as he always says.

"Whatever you say, Damian," he dismisses, finishing off the last of my salad. I roll my eyes at him, leaning back in my chair. Another silence falls over us, just as natural as the last one. Silence has always been commonplace in our friendship. With Colin, words are optional. Just being in each other's company is enough for us.

A vibration coming from the front right pocket of my jeans tells me that I have a text. Pulling out my phone, I turn it on and see a message firmly displayed across the front of the screen.

'Come home. Now.'

Father certainly does not mince words.

I sigh, shoving my phone back into my pocket and standing up.

"I'm sorry to say I have to leave now," I tell Colin apologetically. "Father's orders."

Colin gives me a knowing smile, and not for the first time I'm glad I befriended someone so understanding of my situation.

"Go ahead, I'll pay for the food," he insists. I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing him. I know he has a part-time job at one of the grocery stores in town and therefore has money to pick up the tab, but I still feel guilt whenever he refuses my offer to pay for whatever bill we just racked up. After all, I'm the one with money to burn, while he's the orphan with bills to pay.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get a word out, Colin pulls his wallet out and slaps a $20 down onto the table, staring at me as if goading me to argue with him so he can shoot my arguments down.

Damn his pride.

"Fine," I grumble, grabbing my backpack hanging off my seat. "I'll see you back here next week. That is, if I have the time."

Colin just smirks, knowing as well as I do that I'll find time for our weekly ritual even if it means dragging myself here while I'm in the process of bleeding to death. No matter how long he's had to wait for me to finally show up, Colin knows that I always will.

He knows me too well.

I park my motorcycle in the lower level garage of the Manor, tossing my helmet onto one of the few hooks available on the wall. I run a hand through my coal black hair. Helmet hair is a pain in my ass.

One of the cats of the house creeps up on me during this, rubbing its tiny body against my legs and purring contently. I bend down and see that it's one of the younger cats, Snowball.

I regret giving in to Grayson's pleading and letting him give one of my animals such an idiotic name.

Straightening myself out, I amble inside, heading for the living room where I can only guess Father is waiting for me. It's always the living room.

I walk into the room with my eyes directed downwards, glued to my phone as I answer a text from Grayson. The incompetent moron can't figure out how to work his new phone.

"What is it that you needed from me, Father?" I ask, slowly raising my head up from my cell phone. "I thought I told you that I would text you when…"

My words die on my lips when I see what it is that Father called me away from my outing for.

Or should I say, who it is that he called me here for.

A teenaged girl stands next to Father, clutching at a worn purse like it's her lifeline, glancing around wide-eyed at the opulence of the Manor as if it's an alien planet. But it's none of these things that shocks me about her.

It's the familiarity.

It's Dee.

I do my best to keep a straight face as to not give myself away. Robin and Dee may have met, but Damian Wayne and Dee have not. I never expected us to cross paths when I'm out of uniform. We travel in two different worlds that should not intersect, but here she is, standing in my living room.

Why the hell is she here?

Father seems to take my stunned silence as an invitation to explain.

"Damian, I'd like you to meet Di-,"

"Dee," she cuts him off. "My name is Dee. It's nice to meet you, Damian."

Father glances down at her, arching a brow in surprise.

He is not used to being interrupted, especially not in his own home.

"It's a pleasure," I mumble in response.

"Dee will be staying with us indefinitely," Father interjects, almost as if he can sense the tension. "And while she's staying with us, I expect you to treat her with the same level of respect you would give me or Alfred. Are we clear?"

I can tell by the look on his face that this is something we will discuss later, when she is not in the room with us.

I nod quickly, risking a quick glance at Dee. To my surprise, she's looking back at me, completely unabashed. She doesn't even look away when our eyes accidentally lock. She just continues to stare at me, scrutinizing me, sizing me up. I don't know why, but it's incredibly disconcerting. When my face forms into a scowl, she finally tears her intense gaze away with cheeks tinted pink. A ripple of satisfaction runs down my spine.

I win.

"She'll be staying in the bedroom across from yours," Father reveals. "Would you care to show her where that is?"

I force a smile, beckoning Dee over to the staircase. With a worried glance cast in the direction of my father, she follows me upstairs in complete silence. Unlike with Colin, this silence is awkward. Suffocating. And though the distance between the stairs and the hallway is not far at all, it feels like it takes a lifetime to make the journey. I'm not sure why her presence here makes me so distinctly uncomfortable, but it does. I don't want her here.

"Nice house you have here," she pipes up as we walk, her voice softer than it was the last time we ran into each other. I can tell, though she's trying to maintain her outward confidence, she's overwhelmed. Maybe even a tad bit scared.

Good. That means she's smart.

"Why are you here?" I blurt out. In theory, I know why she's here. She a witness to a violent crime committed by a high-risk criminal. Father must feel she needs our protection, and what better way to protect her than to bring her to the Manor? But that doesn't explain how he got ahold of her.

Dee blinks at me, seemingly put off by my blunt attitude. Well, if she's going to live in this house, she'll just have to get used to it.

"I don't know," she admits. "Your dad sprung me from a youth facility and told me I was coming home with him. I'm under his care for the time being and I have absolutely no idea why. I don't know why he chose me specifically or what interest I hold for him, but I hear he has a reputation for this kind of thing…"

I snort at that, thinking of all my so called 'brothers' that he's fostered. Father is a hoarder when it comes to fostering children. If only she knew the truth about her presence here.

I stop at the door across from mine, opening it up and giving a somehow sarcastic sweeping motion to the inside of the room.

"This is where you'll be staying," I state flatly, not sure what else to say. Dee walks right past me, examining her new bedroom with a keen interest. She glances around at the bare walls, opens up the doors to the spacious walk-in closet, and finally plops down on the plush queen sized bed.

"This is nice," she decides after a few moments of silence. I raise my eyebrows at her, still standing in the doorway. Nice? Just 'nice'? For a girl who lived in the East End, I would expect this room to transcend just 'nice'.

But when it comes to her, I should learn to stop having any expectations.

"I'll leave you to unpack…" I murmur, scratching uncomfortably at the base of my neck. She takes her ratty looking purse off her shoulder and throws it down onto the bed, looking up at me to flash a small, shy smile. I look away instinctively, inexplicably uncomfortable. Mumbling a goodbye, I sweep out of the room and close the door behind me.

This new living arrangement is going to take some getting used to.

A/N: I always feel like a I lose momentum towards the end of the chapter! Dangit!

Anyways, as always, feel free to tell me what you think of this chapter. I welcome reviews, follows, and favorites.