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Talia slipped over the ridge of the roof, her hands sliding over the damped bricks. She decided to blame the recent heavy bursts for her sloppiness. She’s Talia Al Ghul. She doesn’t get nervous. She doesn’t let her nerves or feelings cause her problems. She doesn’t have feelings.
The assassin huffed, her boots catching on the gutters as she hung over the top of the east wing. The sky painted the cream-colored manor in blue-ish gray. The moon outlined the distant trees and the wall that surrounded the home. It felt so oddly safe here. She couldn’t find the words to even describe the feeling. Talia stiffened; she must keep her guard up. Being caught would get her into trouble. With who she’d be in deeper with was still up in the air.
She raked the rooftop observantly. Damian wasn’t in sight. Setting her jaw, Talia let herself slink down onto the flatter center of the manor’s roof, stopping to glance at the moon overhead. It was a small sliver of white. The shape reminded her of her own personal blade, cutting through the darkness. It was mesmerizing.
“Mother.”
She twisted her head at the soft voice, her eyes locking with her son. Damian’s frame was bulkier than the last time she had seen him. His face had taken a slightly more refined shape, though not fully free of the child-like roundness. She realized with a pang that his lips were reddened with a new cut. It looked like a knife with a jagged end had nicked him. He was dressed in his Robin persona, brave domino eyes staring into her own emeralds.
“You’ve gotten bigger.” She commented dryly, glancing the boy up and down, circling him slowly. This was something she remembered personally. Standing still, trying to maintain perfection as her father circled her shape, mentioning her flaws like she were some kind of art project.
But Damian wasn’t flawed.
He stood taller, raising his chin and setting his jaw. Folding his arms, he crossed them over his front, looking at her bravely. He still maintained his veil of silence. Talia bit her tongue. He was like his father. She could almost sense the thoughts ticking in his head, tearing each of her steps to pieces, bit by bit. She paused in her circling, stopping in front of him.
“I’m ready.” Damian remarked, his breath wisping in the chilling air. “I’m stronger than you know, Mother. You will not be disappointed.”
She turned her head away. His birthday tests. It made her throat want to close up. Year after year. The tradition made her dread this time of year. Talia didn’t enjoy this. But that was a traitorous thought. The assassin deserved to be beaten for that kind of treachery.
“There’s no test.” The mother said softly, keeping her back to the boy. Even without looking, she could sense him stiffening up. He didn’t believe her. He shouldn’t.
“I don’t understand. Why are you here?” Robin hissed softly, jerking his head towards the ground below, like he was awaiting something. She assumed he was worried for anyone deciding to come outside, or their talking making too much sound and alerting someone inside.
“I wanted to..” She trailed off. The Al Ghul turned, glancing down at the smaller boy. He took a step back at her sudden movement. Damian had his whitened eyes fixated on her, but his stance was defensive, reminding her of some kind of scared animal. He.
Was he afraid?
Weakness such as that should be beaten out. Her mind dug up all the memories of treatment for cowardice, the league’s way to get one step closer to perfection. She distinctly remembered the shape of a broken and bleeding child after having been forced through such things. She’d been blank then, watching his life quite literally gush out of him, soundless and afraid. Forcing the venom in her heart to silence, she forced her expression to soften. The idea of having to carry that out upon her own child. Talia could. She knew she could. And that made her feel sick in her soul.
It was right, really. For Robin to hate her. To fear her. But she didn’t want it. She didn’t want his fear. Her chest ached, feeling heavy under the weight of her mind. She didn’t have a word for how she felt at that moment, really.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered quietly, blinking at him for a moment as the familiar pang hit her in the gut.
Damian was taken aback, brows arching in surprise? Shock? At her weakness, or her words? Both answers would easily be correct. She was admitting to her fault. Was she getting soft? Such softness to a child showed favoritism. That’s how cowards are born and raised. The kind that bleeds out in front of everyone. The kind that get slaughtered for their idiocy and incompetence.
Damian had pressed himself against her side with a small huff. Not blatant affection, he was too poised to make it seem as if he cared for her. The way he’d inched over made it easy for one to excuse the contact as he nudged her. She looked down at the boy, who’d focused his eyes on the stars.
Running her fingers through his soft locks, she felt herself relax slightly.
“I forgive you.”