Chapter Text
Gotham academy was an imposing, everlasting institution that had seen and nursed generation after generation of Gotham’s elite, its history filled only with the most renowned names and a few hand picked, exceptionally capable scholarship students.
Gotham academy was an incredibly boring place for Damian Wayne-Al Ghul.
He had long ago resigned to the idiosyncrasy of it all, the routine of getting up and sitting for hours in a classroom pretending not to know almost everything the teachers had to offer; to be a child like everyone else. His only comfort through every week were Tuesdays and Fridays, in the last period when he could relax and enjoy the one class he didn't despise. That Friday wasn’t an exception; Damian was bidding his time, chewing purposefully on a sandwich while waiting for the bell to go to his AP art class when the soft whimpers of a girl on his back picked his attention and he strained his ear to listen as the girl sat down and placed both hands on her face while her two friends sat on her flanks, consoling her with soothing tones.
— It's just so unfair! — cried the girl, and Damian vaguely recognized the voice as one of his classmates.
— I know, but it's the rules — one of her friends (another classmate) replied.
— The rules are unfair! It's just pants — the girl (Clara Durell, Damian remembered after a moment), complained — so what if I don't like the ugly skirt? I can't run or play or- Anything! And now I got detention? My mom's gonna be furious! — she despaired, leaning on the table.
— Just tell her you didn't remember, it was an honest mistake — the other friend piped in, shrugging as she rubbed Clara's back — your mom's nice, she'll believe you.
— Maybe… — Clara sobbed, more appeased — but it's not fair, I wanna wear pants, it's getting cold!
— Me too — said the other friend (Giselle Bertrand, Damian remembered too) — but it's in the rules, and it's not like boys can wear skirts either, right?
— Yeah — the last one shrugged again. Damian couldn't remember her name (it was Fiorella Lombardi) — the dress code is super strict, but you only got a one day detention, it'll be fine.
Damian’s eyebrows shot up when he realized a mistake in their conversation (he had read and studied the rulebook and knew the dress code —among other rules— by heart). There was indeed a prohibition for females about wearing the male uniform, specifically pants, but there was no such measure for males wearing the female uniform. Damian turned around on simple impulse, ready to correct the girls’ statements, but when he locked eyes with Clara's amber ones, he shut his mouth.
Her eyes were red, just like her nose and cheeks, and the sadness and frustration seeping from them made him uncomfortable, gaping unelegantly at her a couple times before turning back as she watched in confusion. Damian huffed to himself as he hastily got up, eating the last bit of his sandwich to grab his juice and leave in a hurry.
Damian Wayne was well known in the academy for a variety of reasons, one of which was his lack of interest in interacting with the rest of them (not because of lack of trying in their parts). Clara's father had been clear in his intent for them to become friends, and Clara had been genuinely curious, but after a few failed attempts, she had easily given up. Her father had been disappointed, but he got over it when he learnt that everyone else got the same answer. Clara and the rest of the class had lost interest fast when he refused to talk with them; it didn’t help that on the few occasions he did speak, he was always overly formal and a little strange in behavior.
All that is to say, it had now been around three months into the new school year, and it was the first time they even crossed eyes since last year. Clara wondered if it was the crying and felt suddenly embarrassed, so she took a few deep breaths and let her friends soothe her and take her to the bathroom to wash up.
Damian walked to his locker and grabbed the necessities for his art class, shrugging off the small occurrence to focus on the class he’d been waiting for, but Clara’s eyes nagged him through it all, even as he refused to acknowledge it.
Two days later Damian still refused to acknowledge the nagging feeling, and was still unable to take the sad eyes out of his mind as he worked through his Sunday morning training. He didn’t understand it, nor was he sure he wanted to, trying to dismiss it for the small thing it was (or he thought it was) but unable to forget (It was his kind nature, hidden under layers of distrust and anger, and the Robin training taking roots in his heart; but he wasn’t quite prepared to recognize that), so he finished his training a bit earlier, frustrated, and was saving away the training dummies he had used when Stephanie showed up, smiling brightly at him.
— Hi Dami! — she said enthusiastically.
— Brown — he replied drily.
This earned him a hair ruffling that he swatted away, scoffing half heatedly.
— How's my little demon doing today? — she cooed.
— I am not a dog, do not talk to me as one — Damian scoffed again and raised his chin — I am finishing my training, you can utilize the mat in a moment.
— Boo! Stay with me for a little, will you? — she smiled as she walked away to the training console to set it up while Damian dragged the last dummy.
— Tt — Damian rolled his eyes — you are too codependent for your own good — he reprimanded.
Steph giggled as Damian turned around and grabbed the necessary items to polish his sword, silently taking a seat by the side of the mat. It had taken a lot of adjusting and more than one conversation about it since Damian had first shown up, but she had endeared herself to the youngest Wayne after learning to ignore the harsh words and pay more attention to his actions. Damian was a contradictory kid, one who had an extremely hard time voicing his wants and needs, despite appearing to be so vocal about it at first glance. One thing she had learned after she started paying attention —admittedly influenced by Cass—, was how much the child actually craved for company and affection, even when he would never admit it or seek it out. From that point on, it became easier to navigate their newfound friendship, in which Steph had taken a role of a teacher for Damian’s lack of socialization, helping him correct many bad behaviors and becoming one of his favorite people in the process.
She set up the console for hologram training, humming to a catchy pop song as she adjusted the details. Once she was done, she left it on stand-by to walk to the center of the mat and start warming up. Silence settled in the cave, broken only by the distant chatter of bats and the waterfall as Steph stopped herself from talking, running more impatient by the minute as she pointedly ignored the small glances from the child that clearly had something to say. Damian was debating what and how to ask, slowly falling in a spiral of thoughts as he polished. Steph wanted to give him space, let him speak on his own time, but sometimes he needed encouragement, and apparently this was one of those times.
— What's on your mind, Dames? — she finally asked.
Damian remained silent for a few more seconds, caught a bit off guard, but ultimately decided to speak.
— You are a girl — he said bluntly.
— Last I checked — she stopped moving for a moment to raise an eyebrow at him. Damian's cheeks blushed as he looked down.
— I mean, you are a feminine girl — he clarified absolutely nothing, but Steph didn't interrupt again — you wear make up and feminine clothing, you would not consider yourself a “tomboy", would you?
Stephanie raised an eyebrow, wondering where did the nine years old even learn the word, but she just shrugged.
— I mean, not really, not if you don't take my fighting style into account — she mentioned.
— What do you mean? — Damian looked up curiously, cocking his head. Steph pointedly didn’t coo.
— Well, I'm a brawler; unlike most girls, I rely on brute strength and endurance. Many people would count that as masculine, something a tomboy would choose, but yeah, I don't think I am, why you asking? — she cocked her head in imitation, genuinely curious.
— You are very feminine — he repeated thoughtfully — but you never wear skirts.
Steph snorted.
— Yeah, ‘cause I hate them — she shrugged easily, wondering where all this came from.
— Why? Are they not what women normally wear? — Damian was looking at her intensely.
— You tell me. I don't wear them, Cass is way more feminine than me but she doesn't either, except when she dances, what about your mom? — she asked before she could stop herself and then winced slightly.
Talia’s topic was usually a no-go for the family, since they never knew how Damian would react to it, but he just frowned thoughtfully, trying to recall with one hand on his chin as he inspected his katana, ignorant to Steph’s wincing and subsequent sigh of relief.
— Mother wore another type of attire, always with pants — he finally stated — and she has always been very feminine, I would say.
Steph nodded.
— Some women like them, others don't. Skirts and dresses are just clothes, they can say something about you, but not define who you are.
— And why do you hate them?
— Uncomfortable as heck — she shrugged — if you don't believe me, try one — she smiled mischievously — I bet you wouldn't last 5 minutes.
— Do not be ridiculous, skirts are for women — Damian scoffed.
Steph turned around to the console, looking over her shoulder.
— Oh? And pants are for men? — she asked offhandedly and clicked the start button.
— Well, no, but- — Damian frowned as he thought about it.
Holograms appeared around Stephanie.
— Remember that time when we trained on heels? — she mentioned as she hit the first approaching hologram — if skirts are for girls, heels are too. You wore them, are you a girl?
— No — Damian scoffed again, and then“but that was training" he thought, frowning slightly.
— Exactly, see? It's just clothes — she smirked as she kicked a hologram hard enough to make it disappear.
Damian nodded slowly and kept quiet after. Stephanie focused on her training as he resumed the polishing, and once he was done he left it aside and simply observed, sometimes making a comment about Steph’s posture or a small correction, but mostly just thinking about their conversation, letting it sink.