Thank you so much to SatisfiedImmoralist for beta reading this chapter, and the last one!
I am so beyond honoured at how many of you enjoyed the last chapter. Damian and Anya's journey has been so tough, but to me their reconciliation was so worth, and I'm so happy and relieved that so many of you felt the same. Being able to provide you with this story is my greatest joy, and I just want you to know how grateful I am that you have stuck with me on this journey for so long, and so patiently. I will appreciate it always
I am not yet finished replying to all of the comments from last chapter, so thank you in the meantime for your patience! It is Friday at midnight for me, and well, that's close enough to a Saturday for me
Enjoy x
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Damian couldn't remember the last time that his mind was so… quiet.
And yet, he was not quite at peace, because there was still so much that he wanted to tell her, so much that he wanted to ask her, and so much that they still needed to talk about.
Damian wasn't at peace - but there was no possibility that he could actually be at peace around her, not until they got everything out between them.
They lay facing each other, both heads sharing the same pillow, just quietly experiencing the moment together. He wanted it to last forever, but at the same time, one question burned at him in particular. One that he had been too scared to ask, and it wasn't until Anya's searing pain broke their kiss that he realised he had put it from his mind entirely.
"Anya…"
Damian reached up and pushed her hair from her eyes, sweeping it to behind her neck. He wanted to see her better, wanted to focus on her entirely, but it would be a lie to say that he also wasn't looking for any excuse just to keep touching her. To keep seeing that she was real, and that what they shared wasn't just a figment of his imagination, after so much time apart.
He met her eyes then, and he could already see her fragility in them. The way that she kept looking away, that they shimmered with something vulnerable and unspoken.
"Are you really okay?"
Now with her neck exposed, he could see the subtle movement as she gulped, see the erratic thrum of her heartbeat.
"What do you mean?"
His hand moved from her hair to her face, trailing his fingertips over her bandage as he went, until he cupped her cheek, stroking gently with his thumb.
"You're supposed to still be in hospital," he reminded her, not teasingly, or harshly. Just a whisper between them. "What did the doctors really say?"
Her breath hitched, and she blinked hard. "I just… didn't want to be in there…"
His eyes searched hers, taking her in.
It was a look he had seen before: that fragile, vacant look of a person too scared to say any more. A look that betrayed the fact that she was made of splinters, and that she could fall apart at any time. Damian knew that look, and he certainly knew not to push her too hard to tell him about it. He hadn't forgotten her panic attack in his shower, the day that she climbed through his window. The day she found out about his father.
Resolving to ask her again later, Damian decided to ask a different question, and this time he moved his hand to just above her ear, stroking her hair gently in repeating motions.
"So…" he started, and quirked an eyebrow at her. "What's this about you being a spy?"
"Damian!" she blushed instantly. "It's a secret. You're not supposed to say it out loud!"
"Do your parents know?"
"Yes, but-"
"So it's not really a secret then, is it?"
"You never know! There could be tapped lines, or bugs…"
"Bugs?" Damian made a disgusted face and Anya snorted.
"Listening bugs."
"Oh." He stared at her. "They're not really real, are they?"
She gave him a look, and Damian frowned.
"No. Really?"
"Honestly, Damian. All this time you were watching Spy Wars with me, and you weren't even paying attention!" She chuckled. "Papa has hundreds of them. Sometimes just lying around."
Damian watched her carefully. Even though she smiled and joked freely, her smile still didn't quite reach her eyes. Her voice was still strained, her face tense.
Under his curious gaze, Anya stilled, and after a moment, sighed, resigned that he wouldn't let her off that easily.
"I… didn't really have a choice," Anya whispered, unable to look him in the eyes. "With everything happening right now, it's all too much. If I'm not allowed back at school… I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. I don't know how else I'm supposed to protect myself, and my family."
At that, Damian's brow furrowed in real confusion, and he stopped stroking Anya's hair. Instead he sat up, leaning his elbow on the mattress.
"What do you mean, 'not allowed back at school'? Isn't it closed for everyone?"
Anya slowly sat up, pushing herself with her good arm. Wordlessly, she made her way off the bed, and Damian moved himself to get out of her way, but his mind spun as he watched Anya reach for the stack of papers on her desk.
Her grip tightened on the small stack, and she held them out to him, her face drawn tight with tension.
"You'd better read these."
As soon as the papers were within his sight, Damian's stomach dropped, because there on the first page of the pile of letters she had given him in bold were the words:
Expulsion Order
Damian couldn't physically stop himself from reading even further down, and his stomach twisted in a thousand knots to see the words that every parent at Eden dreaded to read.
Dear Dr and Mrs Forger,
We regret to inform you that your child Miss Anya Forger has received a punishment of…
"Three Tonitrus Bolts," Damian read from the letter, his voice suddenly hoarse. He whipped his head up to Anya, standing with her hands behind her back and staring at the floor.
The anxiety and the shame radiated in waves off of her. Standing before him, with her expulsion letter in his hands, Anya could barely look at him. She gripped her own shoulder with her other hand, the bandage peeking through the edge of her collar. Damian wondered if it was to stop the pain, or the shaking that had suddenly come over her.
"It was on the day of the press conference," she bravely began, "I just remember that I had to get to you, but I barely remember how I got them…"
The letter crinkled in his grip.
"Running on the grass; bringing a dog onto school grounds; breaking a window," Damian read in quick succession from the letter. "They've got to be joking."
And for the second time that day, Anya burst into tears.
"I really messed up!" She cried. "And now I'm going to be expelled!"
"Hey, hey-"
In seconds Damian was on his feet, one arm on each shoulder, and he lowered his face towards hers, steadying her with his hands and his eyes.
"You are not going to be expelled."
"That's easy for you to say," she sniffed, and wiped at her eyes. "You don't have ten Tonitrus Bolts on your record!"
Damian almost blanched. The perfect student in him considered getting a Tonitrus Bolt one of his own worst nightmares - but ten! How the hell did she manage that?
(He almost forgot about the one Bolt now on his own record, for destruction of school property.)
He shook the thoughts off of him, and tried to steady himself, so that he could be the anchor for them both in that moment.
"No, you won't be expelled, because you saved my life." He looked her in the eyes, trying to convey the seriousness of what he was saying. "You must have gotten a Stella for that, right?"
"Well…"
Mutely, Anya took the papers from his hands, and shuffled them to a different page, before showing it to him again.
Dear Dr and Mrs Forger,
We are pleased to inform you that your child Miss Anya Forger has received an esteemed award of…
"But what does it matter now?" Anya continued, interrupting Damian's reading of it. "If I'm expelled, I can't be protected by the school, and there's no way that I'll be protected by staying here, I might even have to leave the country…"
"It matters," said Damian, holding up the letter, "because you have eight Stellas. And that means you're going to be an Imperial Scholar."
"So? I have ten Bolts! How am I going to be an Imperial Scholar if I'm going to be expelled first?"
"Anya, listen to me," he implored her, speaking soft and slow. "The next step after being put on Expulsion Order is that you will have a Disciplinary Hearing, and then the decision gets made. If you have enough Stella Stars on your record, you can appeal. This isn't the end of the road, okay? There's still time."
He squeezed her arms, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and watery.
"Okay," Anya whispered with a trembling voice, and she wiped her eyes again, taking his words in. "Yeah. Okay."
"Okay, good," Damian breathed, not realising just how much tension he held. "So no leaving the country, alright? I forbid it."
He meant it as a joke, to try and dissipate the building tension, but at the taut look on Anya's face, he stumbled on his breath.
"You were joking when you said that, right? "
Anya's bottom lip trembled, and she shook her head. "If I'm going to be torn to shreds on national news, it'll put my whole family in danger, and I can't…"
At that, Damian reeled back, the confusion evident on his face.
"What are you talking about?"
Anya stared at him for a moment, equally confused.
"You didn't hear?"
Something cold trickled on Damian's skin. "Hear what?"
Anya's eyes widened, alarmed.
"I'm so sorry, Damian - I thought you knew! Wait, hold on -"
She rummaged through her desk, finding more papers, and shoved them unceremoniously into his hands.
This time, at the sight of the headlines that blazed out at him, Damian's entire body went cold and it was all he could do just to stay standing.
Indeed, how did he not know? Had the attack at the school really shaken him up so much, that he had blocked out the rest of the world? That he had managed to ignore it so efficiently, that he had somehow entirely missed what Anya was so worried about?
HERO SCHOOLGIRL TAKES BULLET FOR DAMIAN DESMOND - THE FACTS SO FAR
DESMOND PRESS ATTACK INVESTIGATION ONGOING
DESMOND ATTACKER ROAMS FREE
DAMIAN DESMOND VISITS GIRL WHO SAVED HIS LIFE IN HOSPITAL
WHO IS THE HERO SCHOOLGIRL FROM THE DESMOND ATTACK? ANONYMOUS SOURCES REVEAL ALL
His eyes skimmed over the articles, taking in everything that he could see.
All the articles presented the attack as an attempted assassination - not surprising, given what Loid had told Damian earlier - but there was also an overwhelming and ever-present curiosity about the girl who saved the famous Damian Desmond, son of a yet-to-be-convicted humanitarian criminal and surprise heir to an enormous business conglomerate.
Yet, as the articles unfolded, a story emerged, one that was eerily similar to the truth. Because, the papers stated, the rumours of the girl who saved him were surprising to those not already in the know: that she had famously punched a boy (unnamed) on the first day of school, landing herself as a 'troublemaker', that she was a commoner, and that she was internally famous for 'collecting enough demerits to make any headmaster wince'.
Despite her humble origins and rebellious streak, the peers of this heroic 17-year-old describe her as a magnetic presence, broadly admired by students across the campus…
Even worse, there were pictures, all taken at various angles, but all showing the same thing: various angles of Damian's own back as he leaned over an unconscious body, trying to stop her bleeding.
The sight of it punched him in the gut, and Damian wanted to be sick. Suddenly it all came back to him; the screams of sirens and students, the metallic iron smell that lingered at the back of his mouth, the endless flashing cameras that pulled him into a nightmarish flashback.
Anger and disgust rose within him at the immorality of it all.
It was obvious that the journalists were hungry for any information that they could find, and Damian wouldn't have been surprised if they went to any lengths to get it - including asking unsuspecting students of the school. Not every student had had media training yet, which meant that the papers potentially had access to everything that they knew. Anyone who knew Anya would be able to recognise her, easily. The only thing that they hadn't mentioned yet was…
"The, um, Handler said that they already have my name, but they were waiting until I was a legal adult to publish it," Anya mumbled, her hands scrunched by her sides. "That's why I had to join them. Because they said that if I'm one of them, they can try to hold this back…"
Damian lowered the newspaper, appraising her carefully.
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
It was the wrong question, and the tension building in Anya finally snapped.
"When?" she cried out. "I wasn't trying to hide this from you - but when could I have told you? When I was in hospital? When I was unconscious? When I was having blood transfusion after blood transfusion, when I was in surgery, when I still thought you hated me and that you were ignoring me?"
Damian closed his mouth. If he ignored the defensiveness building up in him, she did have a point. After all, it hadn't been that much time since the incident…
"And what good would it have done?" Anya continued, trembling. "I don't have any power here! I can't do anything about this! I've already told the Handler that I'll join them because at this rate everyone is going to find out everything about me!"
At that, Anya's eyes widened even more, and she took a step back from him, holding herself like she would crumble at any minute.
"They'll all find out… what I am…"
And there it was, the core fear of hers that would never fade, because no matter how many times Anya tried to distance herself from her past, it would never truly leave her. It would always be a sword hanging over her head, ready to drop at any moment of suspicion.
It occurred to Damian, a little too late, that Anya was much more fragile than he'd initially thought. She was already fragile when he arrived, and fragile when he begged her to trust him, fragile when he gave her an ultimatum, fragile when they kissed and when they cried, fragile when they talked, and fragile when she exposed and explained her new fears of being expelled and being scrutinised under the relentless eyes of the media.
But somehow, that wasn't even the worst of it, because underneath it all, she was fragile at the thought that her deepest secret would be known to everyone. It was the worst nightmare in her mind, and the only part that she had zero control over.
Anya covered her mouth with a sob.
It was instinctive for Damian to drop the newspapers onto the floor, and instead he pulled Anya close to him, wrapping his arms around her.
"It's going to be okay," he murmured into her hair, stroking it softly. "I'll make sure of it."
"How?" She whimpered into his chest. "It's a complete mess!"
"Because-" he started, and then stopped abruptly, a realisation blooming in his mind.
He leaned back, just enough for her to see the confusion on his face.
"Anya," Damian stared at her, somewhat disbelieving, and shook his head. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way or anything but - do you have any idea who I am?"
Anya paused, her brow furrowed in more confusion. "How is… that related?"
He almost could have laughed. Almost.
"I… oh my god. Are you telling me that you've been trying to get close to me for your entire life, and you didn't think to find out what the Desmond Group does?"
"I don't care about any of that! I never did!" Anya exclaimed, and she buried her face in his jumper once again. "I just cared about you!"
Her words were a thunderclap. They struck him in the chest and rang in his ears, bringing tears to his eyes all over again.
Because, in a way, that was his deepest fear, too. For his entire life, he had worried about people's true motivations, that they were using him to get close to his father - and when Anya proved those fears right, it destroyed him.
Yet, at the same time, Damian knew in his heart that Anya did care about him. Hadn't she shown him so many times before? Hadn't she proven it in her actions, over and over?
It was those thoughts that had given him the courage to gather together the building blocks of forgiveness, slowly building the bridge that could reunite them again.
And now here she was again, reminding him that even after everything they had been through together, she still saw him for him. In her presence, he could leave the Desmond name at the door - but now the irony was that he had been doing that for so long, that Anya no longer saw the power that his name carried.
He sighed, wondering why or when it all got so complicated.
"I, well," he stammered, feeling the blush rising inexplicably in his cheeks. "Now that I'm taking up the reins of my own family… I can do a lot more things now. I can protect you. I can help."
He didn't wait for her to speak before he continued: "Look, if there's anything that I've learned from doing media training, it's that if you stay silent, then that's the same as giving permission for them to say whatever they want. But you can change that."
"I can?" she blinked.
"You can," he reiterated, and then, after a thought, added: "We can."
Though it felt like parting with his own soul, Damian let go of Anya, and pulled out the seat at her desk for himself. He rummaged for a pen and turned the letters over to their blank side, sketching out a list of bullet points as he thought out loud:
"Right now, they want information about you, and they're getting it from somewhere, so if you agree to it, I can get my legal team to draft up non-disclosure agreements. We can't retract what's been said already, but at least this could dissuade people from talking any more to reporters… We might also need agreement from the staff to distribute them to students at the school, but I'm sure this sort of thing has been done before, so they shouldn't object."
Damian scribbled his thoughts under a headline reading 'NDA', and circled it roughly, before moving onto the next bullet point.
"Given the media's hunger for anything related to you, it could be an idea to get a legal team to also send cease-and-desist letters to any publication or independent journalist that is publishing your information. It would probably be better to send the request through Eden College, since you're under their guardianship, rather than mine."
Under 'Cease-and-desist', Damian added some more rough scribbles, before circling that one, too.
"I could probably distract the press with another story, maybe a major announcement about the Group, or I could do one of those philanthropic appearances to get them talking about something else."
Alongside 'Media distraction?', he wrote 'make a public statement/appearance'.
"And finally," he huffed. "I recently added more staff to the Public Relations team within the Desmond Group. I don't know how Cindy was ever expected to deal with all of it by herself… maintaining the contacts, writing the press releases, liaising with venues to get it all organised… No wonder the press management around my father's arrest was abysmal… but they're a five-person department now, so they'll be able to handle a lot more, including crisis management around the attack, and we can think about being more proactive in terms of what we want the press to know."
Damian hesitated a moment, before writing 'PR Team - Crisis Management', and then under that he drew two lines diverging from it, creating a small flowchart of options. With the first arrow he wrote 'release statement', and under the second he scribbled 'exclusive interview'.
"These last two would be your choice, obviously," he mumbled, already feeling his ears turning red. He sensed that he had overstepped, somehow. "But it could be something to think about. Especially if you wanted to take control of the narrative that the papers are spinning."
He tapped the pen some more, seeing if there was anything else he could think of, before he put it back where he found it, and scooped up the papers - now bullet-pointed and scrawled over with ink.
"Here," he said, handing it to Anya, "you can see what you think of these."
But when he turned to look at Anya, he paused.
She had been standing behind him for the entire time that he spoke and scribbled his thoughts onto the paper, but it took Damian by surprise to see her eyes wide and her mouth agape.
"Uh," Damian cleared his throat, the redness only spreading even more over his skin. "But, you know, only if you thought it was a good idea…"
He trailed off, expecting Anya to pick up the threads of the ideas he had laid out for her, but she seemed mute. Even worse, a strange redness had appeared and spread over her entire face and neck, and the longer that she remained silent, the more anxious he felt, until eventually, Damian had no choice but to break the silence himself.
"W-what is it?"
Anya shook her head, half-smiling, and half-near tears once again. "Just admiring my boyfriend. He's suddenly very cool."
"Just 'suddenly'?" Damian protested weakly, though a smile teased at the corners of his lips. He didn't say anything else as he observed Anya reading over the list that he had written, stunned beyond what words could describe.
"I… you…" She looked back at him, the paper now trembling in her hands. "You would really do all this… for me?"
"Of course." He said it without hesitation. "I would do anything for you."
Anya immediately hid her face behind the papers, but the blush was evident even on her hands. Just seeing it made Damian chuckle, glad that he wasn't the only one of them that could get embarrassed so easily.
"It's a lot though, isn't it?" Anya said quietly. Even though her voice floated out towards him, she still refused to lower the papers, and instead her posture shrank towards it, almost like she was trying to hide her whole self behind it.
Damian softened on her. "After you saved my life, it's the least I can do."
"I can't…" Her voice trembled. "I can't ask you to do all this… for me…"
"So, you'd rather sell yourself to become a spy?"
Anya lowered the paper, if just to show her surprised eyes to Damian.
He hadn't quite meant to be so abrupt. It just came out, surprising even him, but he bit back an apology, and kept his gaze steady.
"You said that you didn't have a choice," he challenged her. "You said that if you were looking for protection for yourself and your family, then it was your only option."
"I…" She gripped the paper harder, making creased indentations with her fingers.
Damian sensed that there was something she was afraid to tell him, but this time, he didn't pull back. He couldn't afford to. He couldn't let Anya think that he would ever leave her in a situation like this, where she had no choice, where she was forced to do something that she clearly didn't want to do. He couldn't let Anya think that she had to do it all alone.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and the chair legs barely scraped on the ground before he directed his next questions at her, honing his attention with single-minded focus.
"What would be the price of that? What were they asking you to do?"
Anya's voice became quieter and quieter: "I'd have to… leave my life here…"
"And do you want that?" he pressed her, before taking a deep breath. He needed to hold back his own impatience and frustration, and try to replace it with something else.
In a much softer voice, he added: "What do you want, Anya?"
Slowly, Anya shook her head, and her shoulders shook from the sobs she held back. Behind the sheet of paper, she whimpered something else that he couldn't hear.
Damian reached out to her shaking hands, holding one ever so gently, and swept his thumb over her warm skin, hoping that just that small touch was enough to convey his feelings to her.
It seemed to be enough, because Anya shuddered again through her tears, and though her voice was so small, and so fragile, he heard her words clearly, this time.
"I want… to stay."
She hiccupped, and gasped, and clutched the paper even tighter, almost collapsing into herself. "I want to stay!"
Damian heard all he needed to hear, and he slipped his thumb under her fingers, a signal for her to let go of the papers she so desperately held, and they tumbled downwards onto the floor, joining the rest of the newspapers.
And finally, he could see the shine of her emerald eyes, wide and watering and staring at him like he was the fuel to her fire, the stars in her sky. He wanted to be all that for her and more, to seize a future where they could light up the world - together.
Damian folded his fingers between hers, and tugged her gently forwards, bringing her towards him.
"Then stay," he murmured, not looking away from her, even when her legs bumped against his.
He guided Anya's hands to his shoulders, and she followed, placing them flat against him for support, while his hands found her waist, and his palms tingled from the warmth of her skin.
"Stay," he whispered, and kept his hold on her secure while she lifted herself onto him, keeping his golden gaze in hers all the while.
The chair creaked as she settled herself on his lap, her hair tumbling to one side as she did so, and she lowered her eyes, her gaze sliding down to his lips.
The way that she was pulled down to him was magnetic, and Damian had almost forgotten to breathe before she brushed her lips against his. Tentative, at first, her breath fragile and her touch unsure, until she seemed to relax against him, and she slipped her hand around to the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. Spots of his neck tingled where she touched it; if his skin was a puddle, her fingers were raindrops, and the pleasure of it rippled outwards across his body.
Stay, he couldn't help but call out to her even while his lips pressed against hers, tasting saltwater and sunlight.
Soft. So soft. Butterfly wings fluttering by his skin. Delicate kisses and soft sighs passed between them both, and though Damian wanted nothing more than to bring her closer, to utterly crush her into him, he held himself back, sensing that her fragility hadn't quite disappeared.
Anya must have known that he sensed it, but even so, she didn't pull away, didn't stop, drawing as much comfort from his kisses and his embrace as he would let her.
It'll be alright, he wanted to tell her, and even more than that, he wanted her to believe him. To believe in him. To have faith in what they could do together as a team, because...
You're not alone anymore.
At that, her hold on him tightened, and she inhaled a sharp gasp, and Damian's eyes flashed open, suddenly worried that she was hurt, or in pain, or that something bad had happened.
But as soon as he opened his eyes, he was paralysed.
Her face was so close to his, and he couldn't look away from the familiar shade of emerald green, their shine immobilising him completely. Deep wells of emotion pooled in her eyes, simultaneously as clear as a freshwater lake, and as deep as the ocean. Within them, her thoughts swam and floated, so close to the surface that just a ripple would dislodge them, easily.
"You've carried this alone for so long," he murmured, barely raising his voice in their shared breath. "Let me help."
Again, Anya seemed to shrink in towards herself.
"I'm sorry," her lip trembled, "I forgot that…"
"It's okay," he breathed, smoothing her hair. "It's okay…"
After having cried so much that day already, Damian wasn't surprised that Anya had finally run out of tears. Exhausted, she lay her head on Damian's shoulder, while he held her securely and softly, keeping her body on his while he stroked her arm, her hair, her back, any part of her that he could reach without losing his hold on her.
"What happens now?" she whispered, her voice both exhausted and weak.
"Whatever you choose," he replied, leaning his cheek on her forehead.
"What if I choose the wrong thing?"
"You won't."
Her head turned on his shoulder, looking up at him with unease. "How can you say that so confidently?"
"Because," Damian smiled, and he couldn't help but echo the words that Yor had told him only a few weeks earlier. "It will have been your choice, and no-one else's."
Anya didn't reply, and instead nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell nice…"
Damian sighed into her, resting his cheek on her forehead once again.
And they stayed like that, for as long as they could.
Sylvia glanced up from her file, just as Nightfall strode through the door, severe and waiflike, clutching a small piece of paper.
Nightfall never smiled, but Sylvia could at least pride herself on reading the movements of her most hard-working employee, and she frowned at Nightfall's erratic pace. Almost like she had some urgent news, but she was afraid of how Sylvia would take it.
She resisted a sigh and wordlessly held her hand out to Nightfall, letting the piece of paper drop into her open palm.
"A message from Starlight," Nightfall relayed, her voice betraying no emotion, and then quickly bowed, making a strategic exit.
That was enough to pique Sylvia's interest, and she quickly decoded the note. It was easy enough, given the simple message:
I'll take my chances.
Something tightened in her chest. It wasn't often that she got to say goodbye to her agents, she realised.
"Brave girl," decided Sylvia, and smiled faintly when she saw the second message just underneath:
Thank you for everything.
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Get you a man that laughs in your face when you tell him you're a spy and then devises a bulletpointed point plan to protect your public image.
They're not quite done talking and catching up, but there was so much *information* to pack into this chapter, so I hope you liked it!
Next chapter: Saturday 22nd February 2025
