Work Text:
March 23rd
The safehouse had two bedrooms, four heroes, and a kettle that barely worked.
Nika stood at the counter wearing someone else's hoodie (probably Lian's), watching a sad swirl of instant hot chocolate spin in her mug. Across the room, Connor and Rose were deep in a debate about whether Belgian waffles counted as post-mission nutrition.
Damian said nothing. Of course he didn’t.
He sat in the farthest corner of the room, feet planted on the floor, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the wall like the wallpaper had personally offended him.
Nika sipped her drink, watching him over the rim.
He hadn’t said a word since they got back. No snide comment, no half-smile, not even one of his annoyed grunts. Nothing.
She crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside him. He tensed the second she sat down, but didn’t move away.
"You're brooding," she said casually.
He didn’t look at her.
"I don’t brood," he muttered. "I scowl. Totally different.”
That earned a slow blink. And maybe (maybe) the ghost of a smile, though she wasn’t sure.
She nudged his leg with hers. "You're quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"Okay, but now you're super quiet. Is this like a new setting, uh? Level Three Becoming Your Father mode?"
He finally turned his head slightly, expression unreadable. "You talk too much."
"Thank you," she said smoothly. "It's called charisma."
They fell into a brief silence. Not awkward. Just... comfortable. Nika took another sip of her drink and then, very casually, held the mug out to him. Damian stared at it.
She wiggled it slightly. "Try it."
"I don’t drink sugar."
"It’s not sugar, it’s sadness in a cup. Come on, you’ll love it. It tastes like mediocrity and coping mechanisms."
Damian hesitated.
After a beat, he took the mug from her hand, brought it to his lips, and took the tiniest sip imaginable. His expression didn’t change.
She stared. "Well?"
He handed it back. "Disgusting."
"God, you're dramatic."
"I’m not the one drinking syrup before nine a.m."
She smothered a laugh in her sleeve. "And to think I missed your grumpy aura!”
That stopped him.
She didn’t say anything else, just leaned back into the couch like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade into the conversation.
Damian stared at the floor. He wanted to say he missed her too…
He wanted to say a lot of things. Like how he noticed when she started wearing a new perfume. Or how he watched her fight during the mission and thought she was the most dangerous, brilliant, infuriating person he'd ever seen.
Instead, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. Wordlessly, he held it out to her.
Nika blinked. "What’s this?"
"Just take it."
She opened it. Inside was a handwritten list. Songs. Artists. Most in English. One or two in Arabic. There was one in Japanese that looked suspiciously like a band she’d recommended to him six months ago.
"You made me a playlist?" she asked.
He blushed. "You kept sending me stuff. I figured I’d return the favor.”
Nika looked at Damian like he had grown a second head.
"Wait, you actually listened to mine?"
He shrugged. "Some."
"All of them?"
"Some."
A pause.
"…Even Mitski?"
He didn’t answer.
"Oh my god," she gasped, clutching the paper. "You listened to First Love / Late Spring. Did it emotionally destroy you? Be honest."
He said nothing. Which was basically a yes.
She leaned into his space, grinning. "Did you cry?"
"No."
"Did your soul cry?"
He shot her a sideways look that would have discouraged a lesser person. Nika just laughed.
"Seriously," she said, a little softer, fingertips brushing the paper, "thank you. This is actually really…"
"Don’t say it."
"...sweet."
He exhaled through his nose and looked away.
"You’re ridiculous," he muttered.
"You like it."
"I tolerate it."
She smiled.
They were quiet again, but something had shifted.
"You should smile more."
Damian gave her a sharp look. "Why?"
"I don’t know. You’ve got one of those evil prince faces. Smiling might make you less terrifying."
"I’m not interested in being less terrifying," Damian shot back.
"Yeah. Figured.”
Nika tapped the playlist against her knee. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but her voice came out quieter.
"I think about you, you know? When I’m not with you."
Damian's pulse stuttered. She didn’t wait for him to respond. Just kept looking ahead. He wanted to say something. Anything. But it all felt too big. Too messy. Too honest. So instead, he nudged her hand with his. Not taking it. Not pulling away. Just... touching.
She looked down at the contact. Then smiled. Not the usual smirk. Something smaller.
Softer.
Real.
He didn’t say anything. Damian didn’t have to.
Just sat there, hand brushing hers, heart pounding, listening to Connor burn waffles in the kitchen and pretending this wasn’t the best moment he’d had in months. For once, that felt like enough.