Cats Eat Birds - Damian Wayne/OC

64 | FATHERS AND SONS, MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

GOTHAM CITY; YOUNG RESIDENCE | 6:46 PM | CRISTEN

     THE PUDDLES IN Cristen's driveway were a perfect sky blue, like mirrors embedded in gravel. From the garage, she could hear birds twitter and faraway tires whisk. In the early evening sunlight the grass was a shade of green so saturated it could only be found in nature. Under the swing in her yard there was a circle of mud like a bowl, and the longer she stood there the more the little ant-flies and sand-sized bugs fascinated themselves with her ankles and calves. The dry breeze smelled like the cocoa mulch Reese used in his garden. Not even that made Cristen feel better. If anything, it made her angrier.

Lucy loved sunsets like that. That was always the playful argument the two of them reverted to. The sun is the most beautiful thing in the whole world! Lucy would defend. No, Cristen would say. Night is so much prettier. So much safer.

And Lucy would ask, How can night-time be safer than day? Anybody can be hiding in the dark.

Yes, anyone, Cristen would reply. Including you.

She realized now that Lucy had been right. Cristen's skin shone like she was layered in gold powder, drawing drooling lines of sunlight down her shin-bones and hands. Daylight was beautiful. Lately, Cristen hadn't gotten nearly enough of it. Half of the time she was holed up in the cave, or living off of reflected sunlight from the moon on patrol. Nothing as pure and fine as this. The peaceful scene should have made Cristen feel better, but all she felt was bitterness.

Even with the sun exposure, the seam of Cristen's ribcage felt too easily pried apart. She hated to hate the sunset; she hated to miss Krypton and Palaci and the sunsets there that she'd never see; she hated that she was already talking about Lucy in the past tense, like that last frightened look at her in the corner of her living room was the last. Cristen hated being angry all the time. Maybe if she hadn't been then, Lucy would be home safe.

Cristen hadn't realized she'd been crying until the motor oil on her hands was interrupted by clean teardrops. If she let it continue she wouldn't stop, and then she'd only feel worse about being unable to help, so Cristen rolled back onto her hands and breathed hard through her nose. The tears didn't go away.

Of course Cristen had the luxury of sitting around and crying. Of course she was the one who got to be upset and nothing else, while Lucy was probably terrified out of her mind or getting beaten to death. Tortured. Cristen's useless vigilante brain had come up with a million horrible scenarios, but in none of them had she found a way to help Batman and Nightwing pursue her friend.

Then, a jacket dropped down next to her, and Cristen jumped like a bullet had missed her by an inch.

(Well, like something had scared her, because even bullets didn't scare Cristen anymore).

It was Damian. He'd snuck up on her. He probably didn't mean to, but suddenly his car was in her driveway and he was marching into her garage to see her. Silently, Damian fell down on one knee, rolled up his sleeves, and resumed the task Cristen had abandoned with her bike. He might have muttered an ungenuine, you're doing that wrong, but Cristen didn't have the strength to talk.

He didn't look at her as he worked. She was surprised that he didn't boast about finally being able to sneak up on her, but the two of them had a funny system now. Damian would go out of his way to cheer Cristen up, Cristen wouldn't be able to comprehend it, and they would both try and distract themselves with the idea instead of Lucy.

Hesitating, Cristen wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her too-warm face into the shape of his back. Breathing was hard, but getting that pencil-like smell off his sweater made for good incentive. The last couple of months his closet had changed up a lot. He still mimicked Bruce with turtlenecks and slacks, but there was a gold necklace pressed against her cheek that Cristen didn't recognise and his sweater was two greens lighter than she'd ever seen him wear. Regardless of how new his clothes were, they already smelled like Damian. She distracted herself with that and tried to stop crying.