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Damian sighs, making Bruce look up from his news reading on his tablet.
“Everything okay, Damian?“
“Everything is fine father,” the boy answers but his father is still looking at him, waiting.
Damian looks down at his food. It’s good, delicious, just as every other thing Alfred cooks but… It’s not the same. He swallows down his pride and heeds Richards's tried and true advice. If he feels something, he should express it. He takes a breath.
“I miss…” Damian stops.
He can’t say he misses Nanda Parbat. Because he doesn’t, he really doesn't. It was awful and even he can see that now after so long of thinking it wasn't. But that does not erase the ache in his heart.
“Yes?” Bruce prompts.
“I’m not sure,” he snaps peeved, “I miss something.” Damian shoves his food away from him, no longer hungry.
The boy looks into a corner of the dining room. Today, it’s just Bruce and him for lunch; it’s usually quiet between them, but nice. Staring at the cream colored patterns of a far wall, Damien thinks about biryani. the taste of cumin, coriander, turmeric, and ginger on his tongue. His mouth waters. Damian does not look at his father.
“It’s okay, you know?” Bruce has turned off the screen of his tablet, giving his son his full attention. Damian looks at him, he can see his father is trying to hide the kindness behind his eyes. Bruce knows how often his son mistakes it for pity. “If you miss Nanda Parvat.”
Damian’s eyes widened, surprised to be so easily caught. Sometimes, it’s as if Bruce can reach into his brain and just tell, which contrasts horribly with the other half of the time where the man can’t seem to understand his son at all.
“I do not ,” Damien bites, resentful. Because he really doesn't. Except for maybe mother and the animals in the stable.
And the cold mountains in winter and the heat of the nights in summer.
“It’s just-” Damian looks down to his lap and thinks this whole conversation is a waste of time. “Foods and tastes…” he mutters under his breath. The smell of hot air in his nose, silks in his hands. A whole other symphony of sounds. “ Things .”
The boy balls up the fabric of his pants, reminding himself he will not be reprimanded for mumbling instead of speaking clearly and correctly as he should.
Bruce nods, as if that small morsel of information was enough to make everything clear.
“Do you want to go out for dinner,” Bruce asks, making a small pause. Before Damian can answer though, he adds tentatively, “Habibi?”
Damien does his hardest not to show how startled he is on his face, he’s better than that. He licks his lips and pretends not to look at Bruce.
“Yes,” he pauses as well, “Baba,” he adds quietly.
Bruce smiles at him, grabs his tablet and stands up.
“Come on, I heard there’s a great place a few blocks from Wayne Enterprises. You might like it.”
“Alright.” And Damian too, smiles a small smile.
Damian dreams of his grandfather.
Everything around them is faded into a blur of warm tones and staples things until only Ra’s Al-Ghul remains in focus. He is the center of the boy’s universe, it has been decreeded.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah, azizi, do not talk." Ra’s holds the child’s small, fragile jaw between his fingers. They are firm in their hold but Ra’s Al-Ghul looks at the child with a sweet, loving face.
"Grandfa-"
The hold of his jaw tightness. It is now painful. Damian knows he should not shake, that would be an unequivocal display of weakness, but he does. Just a small tremble is enough. He can’t help it. He’s full of love, full of fear, it is the same thing.
"I do not like repeating myself Habibi." He says, again, deceptively kind in his words. "Show me you understand."
Damian nods curtly and with a measured look Ra's lets go of him.
"Out of my sight now. I expect you to do better tomorrow."
Damian bows and scurries away. He will be better tomorrow. He must.
"Habibi," his father calls and it runs a trip of delight as well as dread down his spine.
Fear, love, it is all the same.
There is something about Bruce that distantly reminds Damian of his grandfather. It may be the way he carries himself. Back straight and with seemingly effortless grace. It may be the steady strength in their voice, no matter who they're talking to.
Damian knows they are nothing alike but a barrier he didn't know existed is now being crossed and he's not sure he likes it.
He loves it, he loves it, he loves it. Why is he afraid?
Father and son have begun talking more in Arabic, for everyday things, for nothing at all, for privacy. Bruce has a near perfect Arabic pronunciation and with it Damian can almost picture the mountains of his birth and the murmur of the servants and peasants in Nanda Parbat. In the words and the sounds Damian can almost taste spices.
It's like he hadn't known he'd been starved for food until he'd tasted it. Hear this .
But… there is something of Ra's in Bruce, and it's no wonder, Damian’s grandfather holds him in great regard. The language of his birth makes the separating lines of his memories blur.
But Damian cannot ask his father to stop, this is not something he's willing to let go off.
It doesn't matter if he tenses up when Bruce speaks or if the hand on his shoulder has never struck him. The language brings remembrance to Damian, and it's not always nice. But he doesn't mind the hurt for it is sweet, sweet, sweet.
Damian walks a few steps behind and to the side of his grandfather as it is proper. He is talking about something, nothing, nothing important. He’s being a bother, he should know better than to be a nuisance to the most important man in the world, no matter if that man is his grandfather.
Ra's Al-Ghul turns and strikes Damian in the face. It is so fast the boy doesn’t know the moment he ends up on the floor, restraining himself and the urge to touch is throbbing cheek.
"If you don't behave I'm going to gag you next time, Habibi."
The child stands up strengthening his legs so they do not wobble from the thundering in his heart. He nods quickly in understanding and doesn't speak one more word.
"Come then," Ra's says, opening his arm in invitation, “Walk with me, azizi.” Though, of course, still a few places behind. This is still Ra’s Al-Ghul after all, and due respect must be shown to him.
His grandfather’s smile is sweet as honey. Damian smiles back, content to bask in the love of the demon. His heart is still thundering, he does not shake only because he’s so strong willed.
Damian doesn't make another mistake for the rest of the day.
"I need to talk to you about something," Damian confesses after much deliberation and a few days of swallowing his pride.
"Of course habibi, what is it?" Bruce switches to Arabic at the foreshadowing of an important conversation and Damian shudders internally.
"Could we-" the boy is quick to interject. "Would it be all the same to you if we discussed this in English?"
Bruce looks at him with intensity, that's also something he shares with Ra's. But this intensity carries a softness with it, whenever it is directed at his children.
"It’s no problem at all," Bruce answers with a slight smile.
Bruce sits on the sofa and waits patiently for Damian to gather his thoughts. The boy joins him after a while, they are sitting very close to one another but not yet touching.
And so, Damian tells him everything. About association both for good and bad. It's a hard conversation, it’s hard for Damian to say these things, but he has too. What he has with his father is too precious, and he wants to keep it, but he doesn’t know how.
Once Damian is done, he takes a centering breath. He looks at Bruce.
Instead of displeasure or annoyance there is only understanding on his father’s face.
"It's okay if you're conflicted, it's normal," Bruce says as he drapes an arm over the boy’s shoulders and pulls him close to his side.
And Damian exhales and melts little by little into the hold of Bruce.
"We'll find a solution, don't worry," he sets a tentative kiss at the crown of the boy’s head.
But Damian already knows a solution won't be necessary. His father is nothing like Ra's Al-Ghul.