I am so happy you guys loved their date! They did indeed see Star Wars! Thanks again to Ellis Tobias for the idea lol
And just in case it wasn't clear, Anya sent a message to Loid and Yor telepathically to tell them the location of the reporter. I wanted to imply that Anya and her parents are working together to keep Damian safe and not stressed out.
PS for this chapter, the extensive fluff did not originally exist in my plan, but it is there because of your feedback to include more fluff so make sure you savour it...
And sorry in advance for the cringe comedy - friendly reminder that they are not going to take their physical relationship further in this fic, but that doesn't mean we can't laugh about it!
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Golden ribbons of sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting the room in the gentle glow of a sleepy Saturday morning. Damian blinked against it, and groggily wondered why he didn't think to close the curtains over the blinds the night before.
The whole night was something that he wanted to remember forever. He wanted to keep it like a treasure tucked away in his pocket, or a photograph in a locket. Yes, the reporter incident was a bit of a surprise, but it was only five minutes of stress in an otherwise wonderful evening, and the ice cream really did help to calm his nerves afterwards.
As they had promised to Anya's parents, it wasn't too late by the time that they had returned, and the Forgers were ready with tea and biscuits to provide a warm welcome. They even wanted to know all about the film that they had gone to see, and Damian stayed tactically quiet while Anya launched into a passionate retelling of the story they had seen on the big screen, complete with sound effects and character impressions that had him laughing behind his hands.
Anya did sneak into his room that night, because of course she did, but Damian knew to expect it at this point. She hadn't exactly been subtle during the Christmas holidays about wanting to sleep together, and it had become so habitual for them that Anya hadn't even thought to be subtle about it at school.
The memory of it made him cringe.
"So, a whole month living together, huh?" Becky had asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Did anything, you know, happen between you two?"
"What do you mean?" said Anya innocently, at the same time that Damian shot Becky a warning look that clearly said: Don't you dare!
"Oh, you know," Becky continued, waggling her eyebrows. "Anything in a bed…"
"Buzz off, Becky," said Damian through gritted teeth. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Even though he knew that Becky was just prodding for a reaction, he couldn't help the heat building up in his face. Honestly. The nerve of that girl.
"A bed?" Anya blinked. "What, like sleeping with someone?"
All eyes turned to Anya simultaneously, surprised that she was able to piece it together so quickly. Even Ewen and Emile, who were enjoying Damian's apparent mortification, hadn't expected Anya to actually clock on to Becky's obvious teasing.
And then she had to go and ruin it all.
"Well, yeah, we've slept together," said Anya matter-of-fact.
Damian choked on his drink, while Ewen and Emile's jaws dropped, and Becky's eyes twinkled with glee.
"Really?! Already?!"
"Uh huh," Anya affirmed, and speared a chunk of her food with her fork. "Every night." And then she ate the damn thing, like she hadn't just caused everyone's minds to explode at the same time.
All eyes swivelled to Damian, whose face had turned entirely red, and for the life of him, he could not summon a single word of rebuttal. It's not like that! He wanted to say, and yet his mouth only opened and closed helplessly.
"Er -"
It was Ewen that regained himself first, directing his question at Anya. "And your parents don't object?!"
"Why would they?" she responded, genuinely confused. "There's nothing wrong with it."
Damian tried, and failed, to think of something, anything to say to Anya in her mind, but he still couldn't summon the ability to use any kind of language she would recognise. He didn't even know what to say, but he was sure that his mind was just a sea full of exclamation marks.
"Wow," Emile whistled under his breath. "That's very progressive of them."
Becky looked between the two boys with disbelief, before she threw her hands in the hair. "Well if neither of you are going to ask, then I will!" she exclaimed and then leaned forward over the table with unguarded interest. "We need details! Is Damian treating you well?"
"Of course." Now Anya's brows furrowed in real puzzlement. "He's nothing but kind and gentle -"
"Oh my god," Damian wheezed, finally seizing air back in his lungs, and leapt forward to cover Anya's mouth. "Anya, stop, stop, just stop, they're talking about s-"
Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?
"-something else…" he finished lamely, and then realised that there was no way in hell he could say it out loud, not in front of everyone, but if he didn't say something then Anya might not get it, and he couldn't stand the mortification a minute longer.
Thank the gods, Anya seemed to finally understand the situation, and her eyes darted between the wide-eyed surprise of Ewen and Emile, the sparkling joy from Becky, and Damian's red-faced embarrassment.
"Oh, you mean sex!" said Anya seriously, and if anything, seemed relieved to understand the cause of everyone's reactions. "No, Damian and I have not yet had sex."
Damian covered his face with both hands, half-wishing he could just disappear into a hole and never return. "Kill me now," he muttered weakly, but his words were lost under the laughter of his friends. And, if he was being honest, it was hard to hold back his own laughter, too.
So, yes, it just became so normal for them that Damian knew to expect Anya to sneak into his room. The fact that he even thought of it as 'his room' in his head and not 'the guest room' really just spoke to how often he had stayed over there - even though he could have easily called it 'their room' with how often she stayed the night with him.
He knew, consciously, that on some level it wasn't entirely appropriate, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Sleeping with and waking up to Anya was something that he could never get tired of. He loved their whispered conversations as they wound down to sleep. He loved when she would snuggle up to him, tucking her head in the space under his chin, and all he could smell were strawberries and mint. He loved the small whining noise she made when she wanted him to hold her, telling him in her own way that she felt safer and more complete when he had his arms around her. It didn't matter that in reality she was the one who outmatched him in strength and speed, because in that moment, he loved feeling needed by her, and he was happy to hold her for as long as she wanted.
Damian's eyes finally adjusted to the golden light that filled the room, and marvelled at the way that the sunlight settled over everything in the room like a gossamer veil. Even the pink of Anya's hair shone, glimmering like a sunrise, and he unthinkingly brought his face closer to the back of her head, while tightening his hold on her…
On her…
Damian stopped breathing as he realised that he had his hand on Anya's midsection, just above her belly, and even worse, her pyjama shirt had ridden up enough during that night that he was touching her bare skin.
What do I do? Damian panicked. He held deathly still, too afraid to release his hold on her in case the movement woke her up and he disturbed her sleep.
Though, he could try to move his hand away slowly, but what if she woke up and then thought he was doing something inappropriate? He couldn't bear the thought of causing a misunderstanding like that, not when he had already tried so hard to build trust with her parents, and what if -
It had been a while since he had taken a breath. Damian slowly inhaled, again trying to control it so that he didn't make any noise or unnecessary movement, and all the while, he hadn't let go of her. Hadn't even moved. Damian was completely paralysed with the anxiety of wondering what the hell to do next and all he could think besides that was how soft she was, and how warm and wonderful and how much he loved her and his hand was still on her skin and what if her parents walked in and split them up and decided that Damian was never allowed to see her ever again because he couldn't even keep his hands to himself and Anya would definitely notice when she woke up -
A hand patted his, right over her middle, and Damian nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Don't worry," Anya said sleepily, before emitting the cutest yawn he had ever heard. "S'okay. I like this."
Damian sighed, both guilty and resigned. "I'm sorry I woke you." He thought he was being quiet, but clearly his thoughts were so loud and so anxious and so clearly directed at her that it had woken her from her sleep.
Anya shook her head lightly, and the movement of her hair tickled against his neck and chin.
"I'm happy waking up to you."
Damian was glad that she couldn't see his face at that moment, because he couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling.
"Me too," he said quietly, his throat tight with a sudden wave of emotion.
They spent the next few minutes wrapped up in the silence of the moment, encased in a bubble that existed only for them. Only the sounds of their breathing could be heard, along with the gentle rustling of the duvet as it moved with each inbreath, and if Damian listened closely, he could hear the sounds of life moving by outside. The thick windows muffled most of the sound, but he was fairly sure he could hear the conversational intonations of some of the neighbours chatting together, and a few barks of dogs being walked outside.
Inside the apartment, floorboards creaked as Loid navigated the open plan space to the kitchen, and the sounds of opening cupboards and moving plates reached into Damian and Anya's bubble.
"Maybe we should get up," Damian half-heartedly suggested. "Pops is probably already suspicious of us."
Anya tried to crane her neck to look at Damian properly, but it was a stretch too far, and soon she had turned to face Damian, with his shoulder supporting her head, and his other hand now on the small of her back, keeping her tight to him.
"Why do you care so much about what he thinks we're doing?"
Damian reeled back. How could Anya not care was what he wanted to ask, but he kept that instinctive reaction to himself.
"What if-" Damian paused as he tried to think of the best way to say it. "What if your father thinks I'm trying to take advantage of you?"
Anya snorted. "There's no way he thinks that!"
"How can you be so sure?" he panicked.
"Damian." She rolled her eyes at him. "Come on."
"I'm serious!"
"Me too! And I swear that he doesn't think that," Anya sighed. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, Mama and Papa already know that we sleep together-"
Damian's stomach dropped. "They do?!"
"Of course they do! Did you really think an assassin and a retired spy wouldn't be able to piece together that their own daughter leaves her bedroom every night to go and cuddle her boyfriend?"
Damian stilled. Huh. It was interesting how many times Damian actually forgot that Anya's parents were anything other than the warm, welcoming Forgers that he so often saw.
"If anything, they think it's a good thing!" Anya continued, trying to keep her voice low. "They know that things are tough for us right now, and they know more than anyone how important it is to feel safe with another person when you're in a dangerous situation, and they already trust you because they know for a fact that you would never do anything to hurt me or make me feel uncomfortable, and they trust us to be responsible and take things at our own pace and take our next steps when we're both ready!"
By the time she had finished, Anya was heaving for breath, and a little flushed.
"I'm sorry, I -" Anya paused as she tried to balance her breathing. "I thought you knew."
Damian blinked at her, hating that his eyes had suddenly become very misty, and he couldn't even explain to himself why.
Anya had managed to communicate the crux of the matter, which was that for whatever reason, Anya's parents trusted him. Trusted them. Even more than that, they actually liked him, and treated him with warmth and respect, he had no idea what to do with that.
How was he supposed to earn their trust if he already had it? How was he supposed to work to make them like him, when they already did? What was he supposed to do to prove his worth to them? It was only a matter of time before the Forgers realised what a fraud he was, and regretted ever putting their trust in him.
Damian breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. He had to get a hold of himself.
It was as Loid had told him months ago. Don't think you need to prove yourself to us or earn our approval. You already have it.
Damian had a hard time believing it, but… hadn't they done enough to earn his trust, too?
"Do you still want to get up?" Anya whispered, watching him carefully, and Damian did not need to think.
He shook his head. "If it's really fine, then… maybe five more minutes won't hurt."
"Okay," she smiled, and wiggled closer to him. "Five more minutes."
Damian loosened his arms while Anya made herself more comfortable, and when she was ready she made a small humming sound, her way of encouraging Damian to relax and to hold her again, which he did gladly.
She fit so perfectly against him, as though they were made for each other, and Damian found himself wondering how it could possibly be that he could love someone so wonderful and be loved in return. If he had a choice, he would never let her go, and he would hold her like this always. He wanted to wake up to her every day. He wanted to see her beautiful smile greet him with the sun. He wanted to stop time and take sanctuary in her strawberry glow.
He did not want to think about what he had decided to do that day. In fact, he was sure that he was going to regret it, but Damian honestly didn't know what other choice he had.
Anya sensed his anxiety, and her body tensed up.
"So, you're really going to go today?"
Damian's throat tightened, and he nodded silently.
Anya watched the movement of his jaw tightening, the way that he couldn't seem to maintain eye contact with her. "Do you want me to come with you?"
There was a moment of hesitation as he briefly considered it, but Damian firmly shook his head.
"I don't want to put you through that. And I don't think it will help," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "I don't want to go. I'd rather stay here with you."
"You won't know unless you try."
"It's a bad idea," he muttered, but deep down, Damian knew that she was right. If even Anya herself couldn't think of any other alternatives, then he had to try. They had to try to find another way to move forward, but what he did not say out loud was that he also wanted to be the one to protect her, and if he could spare her from the inevitable confrontation, then Damian was willing to make that sacrifice.
Still. It was not going to be pleasant.
Damian didn't even know that Hugh's eyebrows could go that high.
"Are you sure about this, sir?" he said, being very careful not to let his voice sound too strangled.
Damian didn't trust himself to speak, and instead hitched his bag over his shoulder, and made towards the back seats of the car.
"We'd better hurry, the visiting hours are very limited," he said gruffly.
The journey didn't last long, possibly only thirty minutes, but to Damian it simultaneously felt like hours had gone by, and at the same time, like he had only blinked, and suddenly the building loomed in front of him.
From the outside, it looked like a nondescript block of flats, but Damian knew better. It was even situated just on the edge of the city centre, seamlessly blending into the civilian area, although Damian had noticed the police station nearby. Not to mention the unmarked cars that practically choked the surrounding streets. How convenient.
He swallowed, and stepped towards the front desk, where an unassuming clerk typed lazily on a computer. If it weren't for the security guards at the door, and the bulletproof glass separating Damian from the clerk, he could have thought it was just a regular building entrance.
Well, a regular entrance with marble flooring, delicate cornicing, and high-end art displayed on the walls. Which, honestly, just made it all the more confusing.
Thankfully, Damian didn't have to do much to get the clerk's attention, because they had clearly heard his footsteps echoing over the floors, but they still didn't look up from whatever had their concentration.
"State your name and business."
Damian swallowed dryly. "Damian…"
Well, there was no avoiding it. He braced himself.
"...Desmond."
The clerk stopped typing. Looked up.
Damian worried at the inside of his cheek. Such was the power of his last name, that he didn't even have to say another word for the clerk to know exactly what he was there for.
"Right this way please, Lord Desmond."
Damian cringed inwardly, but he did everything possible not to let the anxiety and discomfort show on his face, and even resisted trying to smooth down his suit. Instead, he gripped the strap of his satchel, far too conscious about how out of place it looked with his ensemble. Maybe he should have asked to borrow one of Dr Forger's briefcases. Maybe then he would have looked the part.
His chest tightened with unease as he followed two security personnel through a metal detector frame, and he allowed them to search through his bag, and pass it through a scanning machine. Possibly because of who he was, they also scanned him with a handheld detector, and seemed disappointed when there was nothing out of the ordinary.
He did not speak a single word as he followed a different pair of guards in the lift, noticing that they had to use a key to open the panel that contained the buttons to every floor, and he watched with distant interest as they pressed the top one.
It was strange. Everything was gleaming. The mirror-glass of the lift was absolutely spotless, and the mahogany handrail shone as though it had recently been polished. On some level, Damian wondered if he should have brought cleaner shoes, and he found himself feeling guilty for even daring to walk on the floor.
An unnervingly long, marble corridor greeted him at the top floor, with four more security guards standing to attention at either side of the door at the end. Every step towards it was torture. All the air seemed to have been sucked on the corridor, and Damian's breath became trapped in his chest, enough that by the time he made it to the wide metallic door, he was lightheaded enough to wonder if he was going to be sick.
The guards used several sequential keys to unlock the door, and one followed him inside, posting themselves close to the door. The only exit in the room, Damian noted darkly.
It was brighter than he thought it would be. The gleaming white walls reflected the sunshine streaming in from wide windows, and the transition from expensive, echoing marble to plush cream carpets was disquieting. It felt like it had absorbed the sound of his own footstep, creating the unfortunate result of muffling his own presence. It was suffocating. Even the furniture looked expensive and well-matched, with spotless white sofas, and pale oakwood countertops.
The white was unnerving. Damian blinked and blinked again, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness of the room, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing.
White flashes, white lights, white everywhere -
"Hello, Damian," said a familiar voice, paralysing him all over again.
Shame burned through him, and Damian clenched his reddening hands. To think that he was forced to come here of all places…
That he had no choice but to go to him…
Donovan had not stood for his son's entrance, and remained languid on the sofa, book in hand. If Damian thought that the sudden absorption of sound was unnerving, it was nothing compared to seeing how different his father looked.
Growing up, Damian couldn't remember a single time where he saw his father wearing anything other than a sharp suit, so it was a shock to the system to see his own father - a man who loomed so large in his life - lounging on a sofa in casual wear, consisting of loose grey trousers and a cream cashmere jumper. He wasn't even wearing shoes over his thick woollen socks, for crying out loud, and rather than make Damian feel at ease, he found himself more tense than ever.
Damian turned stiffly towards Donovan, doing everything he could to keep his face neutral, even though his stomach roiled with the same fear that had immobilised him only two months before. Just like before, his throat had closed up, making it so hard just to breathe, and he wiped his shaking hands on his suit trousers. How embarrassing, that he hadn't even said a single word yet, and already his father had reduced him to a quivering wreck.
It didn't even matter that this time, Damian was the one who sought him out. No amount of rehearsing and research had prepared him to face his father again so soon.
It didn't even matter that, in theory, Damian was safe. Donovan was in detainment, even if detainment came wrapped in luxury cream carpets and high-end artwork, and yet Damian's heart thundered in his ears, flooding him with warning.
"I expected my successor to speak with me much earlier than this," Donovan said carefully, and though his voice was measured and even, his words oozed with disappointment. Viscous and black, the disappointment leaked out of him like tar, glueing Damian's feet firmly to the ground.
"I was foolish to think that you could be ready for the responsibility."
I was never ready, Damian knew, but he bit back the retort. This really was a bad idea. He never should have come here. How would he be able to speak to his father after everything that had happened?
You won't know unless you try.
Anya's voice flashed through his mind, and Damian took a deep, restorative breath.
"I… I came here to talk." He cleared his throat, and cast a wary glance at Donovan.
But Donovan sat in silence, and appeared to be waiting for Damian to speak.
"I spoke with your Advisor. Arnold Handel."
Donovan raised an eyebrow and said nothing, and somehow, it managed to set Damian on edge even more.
He gritted his teeth. Damian had never in his life felt so much like a child pretending to be an adult. In front of his father, the child inside him always came to the surface, and he hated it. The child that wanted his father's approval, his father's attention, desperate to be seen as good enough. Worthy of the Desmond name.
That name had been dragged through the mud, and somehow Donovan had put Damian solely in charge of reviving it, and the weight of the task crushed him. Failure was not an option, and at the same time, the task was so monumental that failure was almost inevitable.
Why me? Damian wanted to ask, but he knew how childlike the words sounded. Why won't you help me? Why won't you teach me? Why won't you say anything?
"Handel is a principled man. He will be able to teach you what you need."
Damian would have preferred to not be in the position to need to learn all of it in the first place, but that was not the reason he decided to visit his father.
"He gave me… paperwork," Damian said stupidly, appalled that his brain had chosen now of all times to stop working properly.
Well. If he couldn't speak, he could still move.
The sofa that Donovan refused to get up from looked large and comfortable, but most importantly, it was angled, with a coffee table tucked into the corner of the space contained within. Damian shuffled himself to the other side of the corner, and sat without asking for permission. He noted distantly that the security didn't take their eyes off him, and he felt the weight of their stares as he withdrew a thin stack of papers from his bag, and put them on the coffee table, facing Donovan.
"I found this," he said carefully, avoiding eye contact with his father.
The document was barely legible, with line after line of type being completely obscured by the black ink, to the extent that almost the only part that was visible was the date at the top, dated thirty-four years earlier. If it was important, he needed to know.
Damian risked a glance at his father. Was it Damian's imagination, or did Donovan look especially still?
"The Agreement," said Donovan thoughtfully, as though only speaking to himself, and Damian froze.
Though his body stilled, Damian's mind spun and spun, and it was an effort to catch sight of his thoughts before they disappeared, but his first thought was: so it existed, after all. Demetrius did not just give him empty words. And somehow, the very document Damian had been looking for had found its way across his desk, and he still couldn't decipher it at all.
"You know what it is?" Damian blurted. "Can you tell me what it contains? What is the Agreement? Why is it so important?"
Too late, Damian realised that he had broken the mask he had been so carefully maintaining in front of his father, and Donovan's eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.
"It is not something that concerns you."
Shit, Damian cursed inwardly. Damian had found the one person who was guaranteed to know about the document's contents - and he had just ruined all chance of gleaning any information on it.
Damian swallowed, and tried to think of a way to get back on the track he had so carefully rehearsed, but very quickly all of his pre-prepared questions and statements were slipping away from him like eels through a torn net.
Slow down. Revise. Think. What did he know about his father already? He was the Investor, directly financially responsible for Project Apple, a fact which, when confronted by Damian, led him to respond 'Is that all?'. Out of everything that Donovan could have replied, he said 'Is that all?', because it was far from the entire truth, and was perhaps the least of all the secrets that Donovan was hiding. There were more pieces of a puzzle larger than Damian had ever known, and his father held all the cards.
Damian wished that he could remember more of that confrontation, but truthfully, he was in far too much of a panicked state to truly pay attention, and he cursed himself for it.
There was something about… being a Desmond. Something about Anya.
He needed to think. His father wasn't expecting a visit, and yet he wasn't as guarded as Damian predicted. In fact, he had let something slip. He recognised the document, named it, and his eyes had such a faraway look, as though he were re-experiencing a memory. Would Damian be able to bring him back into that state again? Or had he ruined his chance forever?
"That girl," Donovan began, and Damian startled. He hadn't realised that he had accidentally drifted away into his own head, thinking too much about how to lower his father's guard again.
A muscle flickered at the edge of Donovan's jaw, and Damian steeled himself without even thinking.
"Are you still blinded by your infatuation with her?"
"Her name is Anya," Damian spat, his anger rising by the second. He had never expected his father's approval on their relationship, but to dismiss her so blatantly set his entire being on edge.
Calm down. Think think think think think.
Of course. Because Donovan had known about Anya - he had known about her this whole time. He knew her moniker as Test Subject 007, and her involvement with Project Apple. He knew that she was a telepath. He knew that she was Damian's girlfriend.
And… he had done nothing. For some reason, Donovan had gone so far as to let Damian maintain a relationship with Anya all this time, despite his previous claim that she wanted something from him.
Why?
"What do you want with her? What are you planning?" Damian couldn't help it. The words tumbled out of his mouth, spurred on by his growing fear and anxiety.
"It's not what I want with her that you should find concerning," said Donovan calmly. "And as long as she fulfils her purpose, then there is no need to involve her unnecessarily."
Damian's mouth went entirely dry, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.
"What are you talking about? What purpose?"
"I thought a smart boy like you would have figured that out by now."
But Donovan's calm retort only incensed Damian further, and anger simmered in his veins. It was an effort to keep his voice level and low, the way he was trained to so that he could remain in control of any situation - like a real Desmond - but sparks singed behind his eyes and the back of his throat prickled in a low growl.
"What. Purpose?"
Donovan regards him silently.
"Always asking the wrong questions," he sighed, and dragged his hand over his face, and once again Damian couldn't help but notice how tired his father looked.
"It's not like you would answer them, anyway," Damian said through gritted teeth. It occurred to him that in any other situation, he would be terrified of the consequences of speaking back to his father out loud, but a red fog had settled over him, clouding his vision and his senses, numbing him to his ever-present fear.
Donovan stared at his son, cold and even, and the intensity of it would have normally forced Damian into silence.
Not anymore.
Not when Anya's safety was on the line.
Damian had no idea when he had got to his feet, but suddenly he towered above his father and glared down at him, while Donovan had the nerve to look unbothered and unconcerned.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he seethed. The red fog that had settled over him like a cloak sunk into his skin, and the anger fused into his veins, filling him with fire.
Damian hadn't wanted to visit his father in detainment. He wanted to stay with Anya, and the Forgers, in a world where they could enjoy themselves and love each other freely without worry for what was brewing in their future. He never wanted to waste an hour of his Saturday while his own father played mind games with him, even though Damian was supposed to be his successor. Did it not matter to him anymore?
His anger boiled up inside him, spilling over the edges, and Damian couldn't hold it back any more.
"If you're so set on putting the family name on my shoulders - a name that you ruined - then why won't you help me? You could have given this responsibility to anyone else! You could have given it to someone who was actually competent and knew what they were doing - but you didn't! You gave it to me and now I'm stuck with your mess and you have the fucking nerve to sit there and patronise me and continue to be no fucking help whatsoever!"
Somewhere deep inside Damian's bones he could feel the vibrations of alarm bells ringing, telling him to stop, to calm down, to back away from his father right the fuck now, but if the alarm bells were loud, his anger was louder, and the fury roared through his ears and through his bloodstream like wildfire.
Because the second that Donovan had mentioned Anya, it was like a switch had gone in Damian's body, that smothered his alarm and his fear and heightened his rage, because -
"I would be able to handle it if it was just me that you were messing with, but then you had to bring Anya into it, and that is unforgivable!"
A dark shadow - a memory? - flashed over Donovan's eyes, and he leaned back on the sofa with his arms crossed.
"Unforgivable, huh."
"That's right," said Damian. The alarms in his system had not stopped, but the momentum of Damian's anger carried him through. "I told you already. I will never forgive you for what you've done to her. You hurt her. You're the one who - who started all this!"
Damian honestly had not planned to say any of that, it was not what he and Anya had rehearsed, and he had no thought as to how his father would react, but nothing could have prepared him for the look on that bastard's face.
He smirked. And then, even worse, Donovan laughed.
A horrible, mirthless laugh, that made ice trickle down Damian's spine, and instantly his anger cooled to something a lot more chilling.
"You have not learned at all. You barely understand the power of the Desmond name. Tell me," he flicked his gaze upwards, precise and exacting. "Has she told you the truth yet?"
"Anya and I don't have any secrets from each other." Not anymore, Damian added in his head, but he pressed on. He couldn't afford to linger, now that the anger was quickly dissipating, and the fear bubbled back up. "I know she survived Project Apple, I know about her powers, and I know that you know, so stop -"
"And you think that it was chance that she is here now?" Donovan interrupted, and Damian faltered, because he was so used to his father's expressionless facade, the coldness that he projected, but he wasn't used to this - this sensation of absolute discernment that made Damian feel as though he were on the other end of a microscope.
Small, and… unimportant. Inferior. Worthless.
Donovan slowly got to his feet, and Damian remembered why he feared his father so much.
Damian had spent so many years with one goal in mind: to finally be enough. But it was all wasted. All that effort, all those years, and none of it mattered. It didn't matter how tall he had grown since childhood, that he was fast closing the height gap on his own father, and it certainly didn't matter that he had tried to make himself look more presentable for the visit, more like someone to take seriously. It didn't matter how many Stellas he achieved, or how good his grades were. None of it mattered in the face of his father, because the truth was that he had never cared about Damian at all - and he never would.
And no matter how far Damian had thought he had come, that thought still terrified him, because how could Damian exist if his own father thought so little of him? How could he ever earn his place in the world if he was doomed from the start?
Anger blazed behind Donovan's eyes, no longer cold and calculated but furious, the kind of fury that intensified the atmosphere and pressed on Damian's lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe.
"How many times will you succumb to your own naïveté before you realise that everyone wants something from us. No. Exceptions."
"That's not-"
"I have to say, Damian, that the depths of your stupidity are as disappointing as you are juvenile. You may be my son by blood, but your actions set you apart as the least of us."
"I…"
"You are weak, and therefore easy to exploit. You are too trusting of those around you when you must learn caution, and restraint. If you want to survive, you must be pragmatic. You must learn to wake up and see the information in front of you. You must analyse every situation as if your life depends on it."
Donovan paused, his eyes narrowed on Damian, burning into him with such laser focus that Damian's skin prickled all over.
Nausea rose within him, and Damian had the visceral sense of feeling sick just from being in the same room as his father. His entire body shook, partly from the fear that he had so firmly pushed back rising up again like a tidal wave, partly because of the anger that fuelled him, and partly from the sheer overwhelming sensation of just wanting to get the hell out of there.
"This was a mistake," Damian forced out, trying everything possible not to gasp from the sudden lack of air. "I knew I shouldn't have come here."
"And yet you did," Donovan pressed on, and the force of his gaze was relentless.
"Yeah, because Anya convinced me it was a good idea. But she was wrong."
It was true. Damian would have never thought to try to talk to his father if it wasn't for Anya, and her wonderful optimism, but Damian knew from the start that it would be futile, and he hated that he was right.
He paused at the doorway, a step away from leaving and never looking back.
"Don't count on another visit. I won't make this mistake again," Damian said coldly, and then left without a glance, unable to hide his trembling hands, and unable to tolerate the fear any longer.
Donovan did not move as he watched his son walk away with the guard in tow, listened as the guards locked the door behind him once again, and soon enough he was left to his own thoughts in the pale, muffling prison that masqueraded as an elegant apartment.
He resumed his position on the sofa, and picked up his book from where he left off, ignoring the unblinking red light in the corner of the room.
"It appears that you are running out of time," he said quietly, but made sure to pitch his voice exactly so that his words would carry through. "He is a Desmond, after all."
Donovan turned the page, and silence resumed once again.
.
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.
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My rules for writing Donovan are as follows:
- he believes that asking questions is a sign of weakness, and doesn't ask genuine questions if he can help it, although he does if he already knows the answer
- he prefers to listen rather than speak (gain more information, give little information away)
- he doesn't lie, but that doesn't mean he speaks the truth either
- he strongly believes in his own judgement
Savour that fluff while you can, folks! It may or may not be your last chance...
Next chapter: "Shatter"
Wednesday 13th March 2024
Buckle those seatbelts. It's time.