Happy 2025 my friends. Welcome back I missed you.
Wow, we've been on such a journey, haven't we? The "Shatter" arc, shortly followed by the third devastation (Anya getting shot was a devastation for those wondering!), was SUCH a tough journey to write. Can you belief that I published 'Shatter (Part One)' on 16th March 2024, and now its January 2025? I tortured you all for almost an entire year.
I can't say that I regret it - it was, unfortunately, the way that the story demanded to be told, with no shortcuts. Damian's anger deserved the spotlight for once, and he deserved to be given the space to process all of his thoughts and emotions. All I can hope is that the process and the investment is worth it, and that it makes the final result believable, and brings you the ultimate payoff.
I believe I've also been very clear to a lot of you that I want to make it a priority to navigate recovery and reconciliation as well. There will be challenges, trauma, and adversity, but there will also be recovery. In many ways a full, believable recovery is MUCH harder to write, but I want to empower both the characters AND you the readers to believe that it is possible, and see the hard work pay off.
Thank you all for trusting me as a writer. Thank you for making it this far. Thank you for coming along on the journey, and letting me guide you to this point in the story. thank you to everyone who leaves comments and reviews - I may not reply every time, but I read them all, and they motivate me more than you can imagine.
I hope that you enjoy it.
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Yor heard Loid's footsteps coming up the stairs long before he made his way through the front door of the apartment. Judging from Anya's tense posture, she probably noticed Loid at the same time that Yor did.
She tried not to glance behind her too much as she wiped the sponge over the dinner plates, slowly cleaning the remnants of sauce from them. It was so difficult to resist hovering over Anya, making sure she was okay, if she was comfortable, did she need any more painkillers, was she hungry, was there anything else that she could do? As a mother, she wanted to do everything she could to help, but Loid had already warned her about Anya's presentation before he brought her home:
"She's not well," he had sighed over the phone. "Dr Hahn thinks that Anya will feel better if she takes rest of her recovery at home. She has signed off on an early discharge as long as we keep an eye on her, but I'm worried."
Yor's grip tightened on the handle of the phone.
"I'll get her a cake to cheer her up," Yor decided, and from the pause over the phone, she could imagine Loid smiling on the other end of the line.
"I think she would like that," he said gently.
When Loid did eventually bring Anya home, Yor had to school her expression from revealing too much of her own shock.
It wasn't that Anya looked particularly ill that shocked her. The only physical difference was that her arm had been placed in a sling, likely to minimise the movement of the shoulder joint. No, what worried Yor were the dark circles under her eyes, the gaunt expression that Yor recognised all too well.
"I'll be in my room," Anya mumbled, and true to her word, she didn't come out, until Loid practically forced her to join them for dinner.
Having been wounded by a gunshot several times before, Yor knew that Anya's recovery wouldn't be easy, but back then, Yor had recovered in silence, swallowing her discomfort and her pain in an effort to pretend that everything was normal. Suddenly the thought that Anya would be suffering through the same pain was more unbearable than when she went through it herself.
Not just because it was her daughter that was going through it, and Yor wanted to protect her no matter what… but because for the first time in a long time, Yor felt out of her depth.
Because really, what did she know? Anya was suffering through so much at the same time, and Yor had no idea how to help Anya with any of it.
A sound caught Yor's attention, and she cued into it, turning her head just slightly to try to hear better, pausing her motion of washing the dishes so that even the slighted slosh of water wouldn't interfere.
Her heart warmed. She recognised those footprints, racing up the stairs.
"Darling," she caught Loid's eye on the sofa, and beckoned to the door. "You'll want to get that."
Mere seconds later, there was a knock on the door, and Loid was already there to open it.
Yor dried her hands and made her way to the corridor, to see Damian at the front door, doubled over and panting from having run all the way up the stairs.
"Can I - " he heaved for breath. "Can I see her?"
As an answer, Loid stepped aside, allowing Damian to pass. As he did, Loid made brief eye contact with Yor, his brow raised ever so slightly. A signal to her. A question.
Yor's gaze darted between them. She sensed the anxiety rolling off of Damian in waves: between his flushed face (possibly from exertion), his hand stuffed deep in his pockets, and his weight shifting between each foot, it was obvious to Yor that he was a bundle of nerves. She imagined that their presence only made it worse, knowing that he only felt even more scrutinised than he already did.
Bond trotted up to Yor and nudged the back of her knee with his nose, pushing her towards the door.
An idea came to her, then.
"Loid and I are taking Bond for a walk!" she announced, making sure that her voice was loud enough to pass through Anya's closed door. "Also, Damian's here to see you!"
Damian jolted. "I - er - was just hoping that we could talk -"
"Great idea!" she beamed at him, and grabbed Loid by the shoulder, who grimaced from her grip.
Luckily, Yor did not have to do much this time to drag Loid away from the flat. He followed her with very little protesting, and very soon they found themselves walking side-by-side on the streets of Berlint, while Loid led Bond on his leash.
Yor tried not to shiver in the evening air, and pulled her coat tighter around her. She would have thought that the spring sun would have at least warmed up the evening, but in the suns' absence, the night air just served as a reminder of the marginal difference between late winter and early spring.
It was Loid that broke the silence between them first.
"Do you think they'll be alright?" he wondered.
He kept his face calm and impassive, but Yor could hear the worry in his voice. It was barely a wobble, but it was there all the same.
"Those two…" she began. "They really have been through so much together."
Loid nodded in agreement. "More than most kids their age."
They continued on in silence in the direction of the park, letting Bond lead them. He seemed relaxed, ambling his way on the familiar path, knowing that they would be spending some time at the dog park together, and Yor let herself smile.
"I know you're worried about Anya, but I think we can put our faith in them. In both of them."
After all, she liked to think that she knew both Damian and Anya very well. Getting to spend time with each of them on their own was a joy, especially seeing their strength, their growth, and their resilience firsthand. Yor knew better than anybody that Damian was just a boy with a big heart, while Anya would always hold on to what was important to her with both hands, and never let them go.
Plus, if Bond was confident in them both, then she had no reason not to be either.
"How much time should we give them?" she wondered aloud, knowing that while she and Loid had agreed to trust the two together, they knew that it was only a matter of time before their kids would be all grown up.
Loid sighed. "I'd be tempted to come back in an hour, but…"
"I agree," said Yor. "They probably have a lot to catch up on. So let's let them take their time, after all…"
And she reached for Loid's hand, intertwining their fingers together.
"It's been a while since we could spend time together like this."
"That's true," Loid chuckled, and tugged her closer, so that she was nestled into his side as they walked.
And despite the evening chill, Loid's hand on hers filled her with a solar warmth that radiated all the way to her heart. There the warmth stayed, undisturbed, with the hope that when they returned back to their home, that Anya and Damian would be smiling, waiting for them.
As Damian watched the Forger's hurry out of their own apartment, he couldn't help but feel a gnawing sense of déjà vu (along with vague amusement). But he didn't linger on it, far too aware of the last wall between him and Anya: only a door separated them, something so flimsy that he was torn between breathing a sigh of relief that they were so close, and wanting to rip it from its hinges in frustration.
"Anya?" he called out to her, only slightly relieved that his voice came out without breaking. "Can I come in? I just want to talk."
He forced himself to bring his hand up to knock - like a normal person - and suddenly Damian found himself wondering if this was really a good idea.
Should he have waited to see her? What if she didn't want to speak to him? What if the distance between them was too great to overcome? What if -
The door opened inwards, and suddenly there was Anya, dressed only in her pyjamas; a Princess Honey t-shirt and trousers combo. She fingered the hem of her shirt and kept her eyes on the floor, but she stood to the side, a subtle invitation.
Damian's heart jumped in his throat at the sight of her, and suddenly it was as if the entire world had compressed so that it was just around him, around them both. Just him and Anya, as it was always meant to be.
He ached to be near her. They were so close, closer than they had been for such a long time, and Damian's fingers twitched automatically, like they were trying to reach for Anya's hand without Damian's permission.
He curled and uncurled hs fist, trying to work the urge from his own hands, and he followed her inside.
Anya seated herself on her bed, keeping her back to the wall, while Damian sat next to her on the bed. It didn't even occur to him to question it - it just seemed to be the right thing to do.
Damian worked his jaw, trying to make something come out of his mouth, thinking of something, anything to say, to break the silence between them.
"Pops said you would be out of hospital in a few more days."
"I didn't like being in there," she replied by way of explanation, but she didn't look at Damian as she said it, and it twisted his heart. Of course he knew her well enough to know the signs of when she was hiding something.
His mouth felt completely dry. Did he even have any right to ask any more?
"Right. Of course."
His stomach churned with the same anxiety that had been plaguing him all the way back from the Desmond estate, because with the breakdown, and the attack at the press conference, and so many other things that Damian didn't even know where to start listing them all, it really felt as though it had been a lifetime since they last spoke.
She probably didn't even remember when they last talked, when she was high on painkillers and he climbed into the hospital bed with her, just wishing for that warmth again. The thought of it made his face feel hot, and he quickly tried to put the thought aside before she could sense it.
Even though Damian had seen Anya in the hospital, he still felt like he hadn't seen her in so long. He tried to work it out in his head - how long had it been since his breakdown? Was it a month, or longer? Or had it only been a few weeks? It felt as though time had both compressed and expanded when it came to Anya, especially since he had been completely out of it for so much of the time.
The wounds on Damian's arm were still healing, having turned to scabs a week ago, but every day the marks faded more from his skin. He could barely remember how they happened, apart from the feeling of his heart shattering to pieces inside him.
It had been so long, and at the same time, barely any time at all. He had barely survived his heart freezing over, but Damian wondered if it was finally time for the ice around it to melt.
Between them was a chasm so deep that Damian had wondered if they would ever be able to cross it. Time and time again, he tried to look beyond its depths, but it had seemed like reconciliation was only ever just a mirage, or a dream.
With Anya right in front of him, he could finally see it. She was on the other side of the chasm, reaching for him. And he was finally ready to cross it.
If only he knew what to say.
Anya seemed to sense that words were once again failing him, and it startled Damian when she was the one to break the silence first.
"Papa said that you came to see me," she said quietly, and it pained him to see her eyes so downcast, as if she was afraid of looking at him.
It wasn't a question, but Damian nodded all the same.
"I did," he cleared his throat, and his heart sank at the realisation that she didn't remember when he visited her. "Of course I did."
"I thought you were angry with me."
"I was," Damian admitted.
"And now?" she pulled her knees in closer, making herself smaller. "Have you changed your mind? Do you…" she stared at the floor. "Do you not want to be with me any more?"
"I…" He swallowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I've thought a lot about everything. About what you did, about what to do next… and what choices we have together."
Damian was almost too afraid to look at her as he spoke. Just sitting next to her, he could sense her trembling, hear her sniffling, and even the wobble in her voice set him on edge, because that all meant that she was crying. And he hated seeing her cry.
It was always a weakness of his, he knew. Seeing Anya cry always turned his heart inside out, always pushed him to try to make her feel better, even at the cost of ignoring his own feelings. Always, he would contort himself into whatever position was necessary to fit around Anya, just to make her more comfortable, to stop her tears at any cost, because how could he look at the love of his life, knowing she was in pain, and do nothing? How could he let her cry, if his other choice would be to give her the world?
But, Damian had prepared himself this time. He would leave whether or not they were able to fix everything up to Anya, and in the meantime, all he had to do was to get them there.
All he wanted to do was collapse into her, and wipe all of her tears away, but he gathered his resolve to meet her gaze, and steeled himself against the flow of tears gathering in her eyes.
"I don't want to be angry anymore," he said quietly. "It hurts too much. All I want… all I've ever wanted… is to just be with you. I've loved you all my life, and I'm not about to stop now."
She made an effort to wipe her eyes - though it didn't make any difference to stop the flow of tears - and looked at him intently. "I feel like there's a 'but' in there."
Damian swallowed dryly. "But…" he agreed. "I can't do this again. I can't go through this again. Every time I learn another one of your secrets, I feel like I barely survive."
"You and me, both," she scoffed, looking briefly away, but Damian continued, not breaking momentum:
"It took me a while, but I realised it's not because of the secrets themselves. They're heavy, and I can see why it's hard for you to share them with me, believe me, I understand. I thought a lot about it and I get it, but the thing that really hurts," his voice broke, "is that you didn't trust me enough to tell me yourself."
Anya stilled.
"Damian…"
Damian held his hand up to her, briefly, a signal let him finish. He had his speech prepared, and he was finally ready to deliver it.
"Almost every single time, I've had to learn it from someone else. You were so scared of what I would do that you barely told me anything! Do you think it's easy for me? To keep coming back to you, knowing that you don't trust me enough to tell me what's really important?"
Her eyes widened, and Damian hoped beyond hope that she was hearing him, finally.
"I want to keep my promises to you," said Damian, though his throat kept tightening from the emotions threatening to overwhelm him entirely. "But…"
Deep breath. He could do this. He had gone over his choices so many times. Would he break up with her over this, hurting them both? Would he choose to return to her without consequence, betraying his own feelings? He could even have chosen to hurt her, to take revenge - but how could he ever choose that?
None of those choices felt right, and after all this time, after thinking about it for so long, Damian finally knew what to do.
All he had to do was tell her.
"Look at me, Anya," he sighed, and reached for both of her hands, which she gave him so easily, holding them so gently, like she was afraid that he would pull away at any second.
With her eyes on his, it felt as though the entire world had stopped, only for them.
Damian hoped that it wouldn't be for the last time.
He drew another breath, gathering the last vestiges of his strength, and what little courage he had left in him.
"I want to be with you. I want to love you, and cherish you, and be with you for my whole life. So, this is the last time, okay? I mean it," he blinked, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks. "Even though I will always love you, even though I will only want to be with you, if I learn that you're keeping something else from me, that you're keeping even more secrets like that, then, however much it hurts…"
He gulped, and his voice scratched raw at his throat.
"Then I will say goodbye to you."
Despite his shaking voice, he knew that Anya heard him, that she understood him, because the words wrenched at his own heart. It must have been doing the same to hers.
"So, please," he rasped. "If there's anything else… if there are any more secrets… for our sake… I need to know. I need you to trust me."
Damian's words echoed in the space between them. Anya replayed them in her mind, feeling over and over just how much they hurt - and how much strength it must have taken Damian to say them to her.
I need you to trust me.
Because that was always the problem, wasn't it?
Please don't shut me out any more!
Anya always thought that she was protecting herself, her family, everyone around her, but she never could have imagined how the weight of it all would crush her over time. For her whole life, fear had ruled over her, over every one of their choices. How was it that every time she thought she was breaking free from it, it always managed to claw its way back into her?
No more, she promised herself. No more fear, no more hesitation, and no more secrets.
Anya nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact with him.
"I understand," she rasped. "I know that… what I did was wrong, and believe me, if I could do it all differently, I…"
She shrunk into herself. "I'm so sorry. I'll never stop being sorry for how I hurt you."
Anya couldn't breathe as hot tears streamed down her face. She could barely speak, and she watched as fat teardrops fell onto her pyjamas, her arms, even the duvet that she and Damian sat on together.
In some ways, Anya had expected this. Of course she knew that she and Damian wouldn't be able to go back to normal, though not like they used to be, not unless there was a drastic change in their relationship - she just never expected it to take the form of an ultimatum.
She didn't need to read his mind to know that Damian was serious. Which meant that if Anya wanted to keep her relationship with Damian, without feeling guilty, then she would have to put it all on the line. Even if it meant that he might not like what she had to say, that he might walk away from her, breaking his own heart in the process.
Then I will say goodbye to you.
At the thought of his words to her, Anya's hold tightened on Damian's hands, and without quite meaning to, she rubbed her thumb along the edge of his knuckles. Such a simple motion, and yet it was like she was seeing them for the first time.
These were Damian's hands. The hands that wrote pages upon pages of essays, stained with ink and calloused with the evidence of his hard work. The hands that steadied her when she was scared, that held her when she succumbed to her panic. These were the hands that caressed her so gently, that wiped away her tears and stroked her hair in comfort. The hands of someone who twirled her in a ballroom, leading her in a dance from the heart, that held her close and lovingly traced the scars of her past.
These were the hands that pulled her out of a tank of water, when she was sedated and restrained. The hands that carried her out of hell, secure as an anchor, and warm as the sun. The hands that learned to fight for himself and for her, that carried the scars of his emotions and his pain.
Ten years from now… they would be the hands of a father, who would cradle and comfort their children. They would be the strong and gentle hands of a husband.
Anya couldn't help but imagine his hands as they would look like fifty, sixty, seventy years into the future. The existing scars would fade amongst sunspots, the skin would wrinkle and tan. They would be weathered, calloused, blemished in ways that told the story of his life.
And they would still be his hands.
Soulmate. Lover. Husband. Father. Partner.
It would always be his hands that Anya would reach for, no matter how many decades would pass. No matter what they had to overcome. It would always be him. Never anyone else.
Anya swallowed dryly, and tried to gather what little courage there was inside her.
"There is… something else."
She was almost too afraid to look at him, to see the confusion and hurt that was no doubt on his face, but that wasn't fair on Damian. She had to face him, to show him that she was serious, and that she meant no disrespect.
And when she raised her gaze to his, she wanted to cry all over again, because of course his eyes were steady and unwavering, waiting for her. Of course there was no malice in them, just a flame waiting to be reignited by her.
"Whenever you're ready," he said, his voice low and quiet, just for her, and he squeezed her hands, to show that he meant it.
She opened her mouth, and closed it again, suddenly fearful of what she had to say. Didn't her father always teach her to be careful of what she said out loud?
"Can I… tell you through your mind?"
At that, Damian did look genuinely surprised. "My mind?"
"Well, I, um," she stammered, a blush rising in her cheeks. "You told me to get out of your head. So I did."
Damian blinked and leaned back, but he did not let go of her hands. She kept her eyes on him as he clearly tried to think back, searching for when he might have told her that, and after a long moment, his eyes widened.
He must have remembered when they fought. When Anya tried to reach out, and made the terrible mistake of speaking into his mind at his most vulnerable moment.
"You really haven't read my mind since then?"
Anya shook her head slightly, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. It throbbed beneath the surface of her fading medication.
It was true. Anya had held herself back from Damian ever since then, knowing that disrespecting his privacy would be the ultimate betrayal after what she had done.
"It's all right," said Damian, breaking her out of her thoughts, and he squeezed her hand again for good measure and encouragement. "You can tell me."
Right. This was it. Anya tried to steady herself, remembering the horrible feeling of every other time that came before when she had her secrets exposed; that she was adopted, that she was younger than her real age, that she was a telepath and a former experiment, that her mother was an assassin, and that her father was a spy, and that she had to get close to Damian for her father's mission, and that she was secretly in love with Damian - a secret so buried, she didn't even know it herself for years.
All seven were secrets that she had carried for her whole life. They branded her, they burned her, they weighed down her heart and her soul until she could no longer feel them anymore.
For as long as she lived, Anya didn't want to have any more secrets, certainly not ones so huge that they restrained every aspect of her life.
Deep breath.
Anya opened her mind, tentatively reaching out towards his. She could feel the moment when she made the connection, when his pleasant warmth filled her mind, and it was a relief to feel his acceptance.
The connection held for a moment longer, and then Anya made her last confession:
I'm a spy in training.
He stared at her, unblinking.
"I'm sorry, I… didn't quite catch that."
Anya didn't hesitate to repeat herself: I'm training to be a spy.
After a few moments of silence, in which Damian did not move a single muscle, the anxiety returned to Anya in full force.
"Damian, say something," she pleaded, embarrassed at how desperate she must have sounded.
Damian extricated his hands from hers, and covered his face with both of them.
"You're training to be a…"
"It's true, but it's the last one, I swear! Obviously I'm not supposed to tell you, or anyone -"
Damian's shoulders shook, and after a moment, Anya heard a muffled, unnatural sound, before he threw his head back in unrestrained laughter.
The fit overtook him, and Anya could only watch, stupefied, as Damian shook with mirth, tears still in his eyes, but this time streaming uncontrollably in response to his surprise and sudden euphoria.
"Is that it?" he wheezed, and Anya reeled back.
"It's true!"
"I know! I believe you!" Damian laughed, and he kept laughing, only barely managing to gasp for breath between speaking. "You know I thought of this months ago?"
Her mouth fell open. "You did?!"
"Anya, really…" he chuckled. "Is that all?"
Anya couldn't help it. She panicked.
"No! That's not all!"
"Really?" Damian gave her an amused look, and covered his mouth with his hand again, trying to stifle his continuous laughter.
"No!" she cried out in indignation. "I've never told anyone a bunch of stuff! Like - like that I didn't actually mind the sixth season of Berlint in Love , because actually they got a new director and he did this whole confession scene hanging from a helicopter and it was better than Bondman's train fight scene - stop laughing! - and - and when we were eight years old I thought I had a tiny crush on Emile -"
"What!"
"But only because he gave me my first peanut butter cup! But like I said! It was tiny! Only for a week! And I'm really sorry but I also don't like football-"
"I knew that -"
"-but that's because it's stupid and boring and rugby is way cooler!"
"Are you sure that crush on Emile went away?" Damian teased.
"Damian! Don't you dare tell him!"
"I won't," Damian openly grinned at her. "But you can't have hated football that much, since you came to every one of my games."
"Of course I did!" Anya blushed fiercely. "Because you were playing! And the uniform looked really good on you but I didn't want to admit it at the time!"
He raised an arrogant eyebrow at her. "You thought I looked good?"
"That is not what I said!" Anya hid her red face behind her hands, but it was hopeless. He had already found her out, and he knew it.
Damian flashed her a cocky grin. "You got anything else?"
Anya's mind raced through everything she knew about herself.
"I used to keep a log of all the brands of Bond's dog kibble…"
"How on earth is that a secret?"
"Well you see, they have different flavours and textures and-"
"Hold on - did you eat the dog food?!"
"It's a tasting record! That's what the logbook is for!"
"Anya," he shook his head in disbelief. "You're going to have to show me this now, you know."
"Maybe later, it's embarrassing…" Anya pouted, but she gasped when Damian turned towards her again, and caressed the side of her face, his thumb brushing the salt tracks under her eye.
The heat of his hand scorched her skin, and she caught her breath, as her mind spun and spun, and it was an effort to remember what she wanted to tell him next.
"I, uh, may have also cheated to get into Eden…"
"I knew it," he laughed wearily, and suddenly his face was so much closer to hers, his hands searing the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. "Anything else?"
Her heart thundered in her chest, her mind spinning with the scent of cinnamon and library books, and reeling from the sensation of his breath on her lips.
"Uh, n-no…"
Damian's face was so close, and his golden eyes searched hers, tender, curious, and warm, all at once.
He dropped his voice to a low whisper.
"So, no more secrets?"
She swallowed, and her voice became very quiet.
"No more secrets…"
"Good," Damian breathed, and closed the gap between them.
Kissing a soulmate was like floating in space.
Freeing. Terrifying. Dazzling. Vulnerable. Thrilling. It was everything they remembered; from floating in a shining void, to walking on air; from thawing into spring, to being drenched in the rainfall of a thunderstorm.
Anya closed her eyes, welcoming Damian's lips on hers, unable to deny more than ever that being with Damian felt like being home. After each being starved of the other, the relief washed over them both, flooding their senses with torrential longing and aching adoration. Finally, the reservoir of affection that they had each been saving came pouring out, the dam burst open.
Where once there was a desolate landscape of ice and tundra, glacial meltwater trickled away to reveal lush greenery, as verdant and hopeful as it had ever been, before everything became frozen over with heartache and grief. suddenly the clarity of it shimmered before them. As clear as a crystal lake, was the realisation that they belonged together, and that there was nothing more wondrous and beautiful than loving, and being loved in return.
Hands and lips caressed each other, leaving behind tingling trails of stardust on solar skin, while breath and lungs burned and burned. And somewhere, in and amongst all of it, was a feeling of true weightlessness that they had never felt before , of a buoyancy so wonderful and new, as though the heavy chains that kept them down had been severed, and dissolved like gold dust into the air around them.
It was hard to tell if Anya was in Damian's mind, or if he was in hers. All they knew was that love blazed like the sun through him, through her, and for that moment where they shared their hearts and their minds, they barely knew where one person ended, and the other began.
I love you I love you I love you I love you. Particles radiating outwards, collapsing and forming constellations, over and over again.
Galaxies of every colour orbited them both, spiralling into their shared vision, pulled in by a gravity so strong that it could have shaken the earth and the moon at once. They were so immersed in each other, that a thousand stars could have fallen from the sky and rained down around them, and they wouldn't have noticed.
Visions flashed by like comets, shooting stars in the night sky; memories of each other, and their shared pasts, their shared dreams and hopes for the future, their shared burdens and promises, all imbued with the knowledge that there were truly no more secrets between them.
And then -
White light, blinding like a supernova, pulled both Damian and Anya out of the moment, at the same time that a stinging pain seared them both.
Anya broke away from the kiss, fighting for breath, and her hand flew to her other shoulder.
"Owww…"
Damian blinked, completely dazed, and wondered what the hell just happened.
For a moment they stayed like that, both trying to get their breath back, while Anya held the bandage on her shoulder in place, and Damian tried to assess the situation. He wasn't in any pain. Which meant that it must have been Anya's pain that startled them both, breaking their connection.
Had that happened before? Had their minds ever merged to such an extent that Damian lost all sense of himself, that he felt like he was on an entirely different plane of existence, that he could feel her sensations? That they shared memories, and feelings, and sensations, and thoughts? That they were so connected, they felt like one and the same?
It was more than what happened back when they kissed in the gym storage cupboard, or when she fell at the Winter Warrior tournament. It was so much more than he had ever thought was possible.
It was intense.
It was amazing.
And another thing: he honestly couldn't remember how they had ended up like this. Somehow, Damian was on his back, with Anya on top of him, straddling his hips.
An intense flush started to creep up his neck as memories started to come back to him - of where his hands had been, and hers, and how her soft skin burned just as much as his -
One breath, then another, as Damian tried to slow his thundering heartbeat. All the while, Anya appeared to be massaging her shoulder, and his heart twisted at the brief grimace that crossed her face.
"Are you okay?"
"I think so…"
If Anya realised what kind of position they were in, she didn't seem to care. Instead, Anya rolled her shoulder, trying to ease the pain from it, and as she did so, her weight shifted on him, and he yelped.
"Anya," Damian wheezed through a strangled breath, his eyes fixed onto the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. "Don't do that. Please."
"Hm?" her attention darted to him. "What was that?"
"Do. Not. Move," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I am. So serious."
She stared at him for what felt like an eternity, before her eyes narrowed on him, and the edges of the most mischievous smirk he had ever seen pulled at her lips.
"Or what?"
"Don't!"
"Relax. I'm only teasing you," she grinned, and then let her features soften. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he forced out a sigh. "I will be."
And for the first time in a long time, Damian could finally believe that to be true. Even if they argued, disagreed, or needed space, at least they would always come back to each other, and come back stronger every time.
Damian traced the shape of the stars on the ceiling with his gaze, letting his eyes roam over Anya's room. The bookshelves stuffed with workbooks and comics, the desk covered in paper and pens, the clothes strewn over the floor and over the back of her desk chair. It was as though it hadn't changed since he had last seen it.
He missed it. He missed her. He missed being able to do homework with her, drink hot chocolate with her, even watch Spy Wars together on the sofa. He missed dinner with her family, and playing board games, and helping to walk Bond, and practicing karate in the living room, and getting to cuddle together at night, and waking up to her in the morning. He had missed all of it so much, that the ache of his longing coalesced in his heart, pulsing as something much stronger than he had ever known before. It was more than an ache; it was a burning hunger, an all-consuming need to be closer to her.
They still had so much to catch up on, but it was okay. They had time now. And Damian wasn't about to waste a second of it.
Eventually, he let his gaze fall back to her, looking at him with so much worry in her eyes. Forest-green eyes pulled him in, wrapping him in evergreen love.
Slowly, he used his elbows to prop himself up to sitting. Anya must have taken that as a cue to move off of him, because she started to shift backwards, but Damian surprised them both by wrapping his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.
"Damian?"
"Don't move," he choked out. "Please."
She leaned her cheek against the top of his head, melting into him, her hair falling as she did so, and it rustled like cherry blossoms in a spring breeze. Her own arms gathered him in, her fingers locked in his hair, needing him just as much as he needed her.
They held each other tightly, desperately. A lover's embrace. One that they knew sealed their hearts to each other, stronger than ever before.
"I really missed you," Damian whispered, just barely holding back the scratch in his voice.
In his arms, Anya began to tremble, and Damian's own breath hitched when she broke into a quiet sob, unable to hold any of it back any more.
Winter gives way to spring, just as the storm always gives way to the sun, spearing beams of light through charcoal grey clouds. Together they let go of the agonising heartbreak, overcome with so many emotions that they didn't know what to do with them. Joy, gratitude, remorse, and relief all swirled around them - a breath of fresh air, compared to what they had faced until then.
He closed his eyes, overcome with the new wave of tears, and all he could do was hold her as they cried together, grieving for their lost time, for all of the pain that they had no choice but to endure, all the weight that they had to carry.
At least, for now, there could be sunlight again. With each other, they could know a taste of freedom, unburdened by the weight of secrets.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Then I will say goodbye to you."
- Inspired by the lyric "Goodbye, my love" from this song: 'The Last Bit of Us' by Dean Lewis (which, honestly, could have been their breakup song if this conversation went differently 😭)
Many of you will have noticed that in this chapter, the reference to the "Blessing of the Hands" returned.
This is an even more meaningful passage to me now, not just because it is a tradition still practiced in Scotland, but because I had a handfasting ceremony at my own wedding.
The first time we saw this, it represented Damian's renewed commitment to Anya. This time, it was Anya's turn to return the sentiment, and in many ways it was long overdue. The echoing of the hands passage is a symbolic moment to show that from this moment on, Damian's devotion is returned wholeheartedly by Anya.
I also want to thank thatdustybunny and SatisfiedImmoralist for helping me come up with some more stupid secrets for Anya (way back in June! you can finally be credited hahah). It was great fun 😂
Next chapter: Saturday 8th February
- More Damianya! I've starved you for too long. Have some more 💖
Again, if I am late, please do not panic I'm still trying to get back into my normal writing routine, but in the meantime I am choosing to be gentle to myself and ease myself back in, putting the pressure aside.