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June 3rd
The stars overhead spread in clear constellations too bright to ignore. There was no city skyline in the distance. No noise from traffic or mission chatter. Just the wind stirring through dunes and the occasional pop from the dying embers. The others had long since drifted off. Lian curled up beneath her blanket, limbs sprawled in all directions; Connor lay perfectly still, eyes closed, face peaceful as always; Rose had passed out on her side, one boot still on and a knife gripped loosely in her hand.
Damian was supposed to be on first watch, but when he emerged from his tent, he found her already there – sitting cross-legged near the edge of the camp, face tilted toward the stars like she’d been waiting for them. Or maybe waiting for him.
Nika didn’t speak when he approached. He sat down without a word, the fabric of his costume whispering against hers, and offered her the metal canteen from his belt. She took it, sipped, handed it back. That was all.
For a while, they just listened to the breeze. Or to the weight of everything that hadn’t been said.
Damian didn’t know how to explain what was wrong. Or if anything was wrong. Technically, the mission had been successful. No casualties. No injuries beyond bruises and exhaustion. But something inside him felt hollow, like he’d passed too close to something he didn’t want to name.
He hadn’t been sleeping. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gotham. Not its skyline or its alleys, but the manor. The emptiness of it, the stillness of rooms that used to echo with footsteps that weren’t coming back. Every mission, every city they moved through, kept him busy. Kept his mind from spiraling. But when the silence came, when the stars were too bright, Alfred’s absence hit like a fresh wound. And beneath it, the knowledge that he’d failed. He couldn’t bring him back. All his training, all his strategy, all the resources of the League and the Bat… and he still couldn’t fix the one thing that mattered.
And yet… these people. These absurd, reckless, maddening people… Connor’s quiet steadiness. Rose’s sharp edges that somehow softened around them. Lian’s laughter. Nika’s… everything. They weren’t the family he’d lost. But they were something. A distraction, maybe. A buffer against the bad memories. But sometimes, like now, under the stars, he wondered if they were more than that. If maybe this strange little team was the only reason he hadn’t drowned beneath the weight of his own blame.
Next to him, Nika leaned back on her elbows, gaze still fixed on the stars. She didn’t ask questions and didn’t press him to speak. She never did. Nika seemed to know when he needed space and when he needed presence, and she never asked for more than he could give. He appreciated that in ways he didn’t know how to articulate. Her silence didn’t demand anything from him. It offered peace.
Damian passed her the canteen again. She took it, smiling faintly without looking at him.
Eventually, her shoulder brushed his. Not intentionally, probably. Just the natural closeness of two people sitting side by side in the dark.
He didn’t move away.
They stayed like that for a long time, watching the stars fade slowly into the hint of morning. And though he couldn’t name it, wouldn’t dare to, something shifted in the quiet. Not fixed him. Not healed him. Damian still didn’t sleep that night, but he felt less alone.