Oscar, though he hated that name, stood tall as he was addressed by his commanding officer. He was being sent on a special assignment, a joint task force with the CIA. Biting back a smile that threated to bring out his dimples he nodded, his head down in humility or so it would seem. Truthfully, he was excited, the CIA operated on a different set of guidelines and he was being given permission to work outside the box as it were. Bull, his preferred name, was going to be part of special force that guarded the daughter of Mexican cartel leader Carlos Reyes. Right now, Reyes thought his daughter dead and they wanted to keep it that way. The worry was that any enemy cartel could find out that she was indeed not dead and then sadly the girl would wish for it. The first time he met Isabella he knew why she was so special. She was full of life and an attitude to match and yet she was innocent. It was easy for him to want to protect her, and soon those feelings turned into more. He knew she didn’t feel the same, could see the way she looked at Matt, though why he didn’t get. Bull would keep his feelings to himself, besides it would be inappropriate anyway. The more time he spent with her the harder it became to think clearly around her. It didn’t help that randomly she would strip down and jump in the pool. On the other hand, that was a relief because the water was cold and that was helpful.
Recently Gemma had taken to teaching Isabella sparring, and he knew the girl was looking to spar with more than just her instructor. While he didn’t want to hurt her, he wasn’t so sure he would after watching her a few times. She was a natural at it, and when she caught him watching she smiled, almost as if saying I dare you. That’s all it took for him though, without a word he tapped Gemma’s shoulder. “Tag me in, let’s see what she’s got.” Gemma arched a brow, glancing at Isabella who seemed excited as well. Shrugging up a shoulder she let out a soft chuckle. “Not sure who I should be worried for, her or you for taking her on?” Stepping away she sat down to watch, curious about this battle of wills.
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"Say, Caster..." It's as rare as a blue moon to find the other outside the office. It was refreshing to see him walking side to side by the training grounds, observing the remaining Servants who needed more improvements. As for Rider, he was just there to pass the time. Now that he thinks more of the situation, he couldn't help but nag. "You are a Mage but if I am correct, you are able to wield a rapier. I'd like to see you use it."
It was a quiet Saturday, the first in a while where Dick found himself with free time away from the office or manor. It was a godsend and couldn’t have happened at a better time. That morning he had found himself staring at an empty fridge with only one set of clean socks and an old college hoodie to his name. He stared down at the text message, the corners of his mouth curling up into a proud smile. He knew he’d wear the kid down eventually.
*758-9384: arent they always ^_^’
He’d barely set the phone down to pull his laundry out of the dryer before it was vibrating again. A young college student cleared his throat impatiently behind him, waiting on his machine.
“Sorry man, two seconds and I’ll be out, okay?”
*649-9211: What are you doing?
Dick raised a brow. Damian was being especially forward today. Bumping the dryer door shut with his hip, Dick grabbed his hamper and made his way to the table in the corner of the laundromat he’d claimed as his own. He still had another load yet to start but it was pretty busy. Might as well kill some time texting until a machine opened up.
*758-9384: laundry + errands y
*649-9211: You should come here and stop Todd and Drake from being belligerent in my general vicinity.
A gaggle of elderly ladies glared at him when he snorted. He threw them an apologetic smile and waited for them to go back to their aggressive knitting before kicking back in the chair and replying.
*758-9384: I would but ive got a load yet to do b4 i can leave + all the machines r full rn :(
*758-9384: gotta wait here unless u want to do my laundry 4 me lol
The reply was almost instantaneous.
*649-9211: Done. I’m sending out a driver to get you now. ETA 7 minutes.
He gaped, furiously texting back before staring, horrified at the binders, papers, and laptop all displaying his case progress spread out on the table.
*758-9384: wat how do u even know were i am????
*649-9211: You are a creature of habit, Grayson. It is not difficult to guess.
As if that explained it. Dick jolted upright and started stacking things as quickly as he could. He jammed all of his belongings and case folders into his backpack, propped his hamper of half-clean laundry on his hip, and darted out of the laundromat. He heaved a prayer of thanks to the heavens as he ran. Wally’s place was across the street. He could ditch the incriminating stuff there.
Sprinting up the three flights of stairs, he skidded to a stop in front of Wally’s apartment and pounded on the door. He glanced at the clock on his cellphone.
He had four minutes.
He banged harder.
The door opened between heavy knocks, almost resulting in Wally being punched in the face.
“What the fuck, Dick. You aren’t suppose—”
Dick shoved his way inside enough to throw his bag onto the couch before darting back out into the hallway.
“I’ll call you later!” he shouted over his shoulder, already halfway down the flight of stairs. He almost lost his hamper as the front door snagged him on the way out but he managed to keep his grip.
A dark, obviously Wayne-affiliated car was just turning the corner when he collapsed onto the curb, gasping for breath and heart pounding. The cell clenched in his hand vibrated and he relaxed slowly, pulling himself upright and towards his ride. Crisis averted.
*649-9211: I trust you are on your way?
*758-9384: yah b there in a few
The car ride was uneventful, and besides the driver looking at him a bit oddly when he got in still red faced and panting, he had nothing on him to indicate he was anything but who he said he was. The hamper of laundry on the seat beside him didn’t have any of his police uniform inside. That had been stored away at the station after the first close call with Damian.
The cold window felt nice against his forehead. This wasn’t the first time Damian had asked him to come over, but right now it definitely felt like it. It was usually under the excuse of Bruce needing something done that couldn’t wait until the next day, or even that Jason had stolen his phone but hey he was here anyway, might as well have him stay awhile right? It was cute when it didn’t result in kidnapping, like it had today. Damian didn’t usually go to such lengths just to get him to come over.
He wondered what Wally would say when he told him he ran out like that just to get a free load of laundry. Probably just lob another salt shaker at his head.
Eventually the manor came into sight and Dick gathered up his laundry basket, feeling incredibly stupid carrying it while wearing the dregs of his wardrobe. He’d never seen Damian in anything less than his formal suit attire, and while Jason was a bit rough he always looked semi-professional. Alfred was going to think he was homeless, coming to their manor just to do laundry. Dick sighed and resolved himself to looking like an idiot. He entered the access code for the side door and let himself inside.
He made his way through the halls and towards the left wing with a familiarity born of the many impromptu meeting call-outs Bruce was growing fond of. It wasn’t something Dick was insanely comfortable with, but the opportunity to get information outside of the normal humdrum of the office was more than he could justify passing up. At least it gave him access to the manor’s laundry room, he figured. He shifted the hamper higher up on his hip and cocked his head, listening for the telltale sounds of squabbling. If Jason and Tim were indeed being a nuisance, they were more than likely occupying one of the entertainment or common rooms where Damian was known to haunt. The kid could be so persnickety about his personal space, even if he chose to frequent public areas of the manor. Sometimes Dick figured he did it on purpose, just as an excuse to socialize.
Halfway down the hall and he was already picking up sounds of a heated argument. Sighing, Dick pushed ahead and into the room dominated by a large entertainment system, leather sofas, and three idiots far too old to be arguing over a remote control. Suddenly, his fears of being perceived an idiot vanished. Just like that.
Tim was pressed face first into the seat of the couch, legs flailing wildly in hopes of clipping something soft. The poor kid had somehow gotten himself pinned beneath Jason’s ass and Dick had a fleeting note of concern over his ability to breathe. Damian, usually so calm and calculating, was tangled around Jason in some sort of attempt to bind his limbs with his own body. The remote was being held high above him in Jason’s free hand and it was all he could do to keep it out of reach as Damian tried to choke him out with one hand. Damian’s face was red, his expression vicious, mouth spewing what had to be some colorful curses in what he now knew to be Arabic. It was almost comical, watching the notorious Demon practically climb the Red Hood like a jungle gym while they wrestled on top of Timmy. Well, it would have been if it weren’t so pathetic. They were acting more like sugared up preschoolers than known criminals. It was times like these that he really felt old. Might as well act like it then.
His entrance had been ignored amidst the chaos and Dick took the opportunity to snatch the remote right out of Jason’s outstretched hand. Their shrieks of rage were abruptly cut off as Jason and Damian finally looked in his direction, expressions of guilt and embarrassment evident. Poor Tim struggled to turn his neck too, but couldn’t quite manage. From what Dick could tell of the back of his head, he looked just as sheepish as the other two.
Dick raised an eyebrow.
“I’m here to see a man about a free load of laundry, not babysit three six year olds. Get off Tim before you kill him Jason.” God, he felt like such an old person.
Jason grimaced and shoved Damian off his chest before rolling off Tim’s still form. “I swear to fuckin’ God, they started it,” he started, rubbing at the ring of bruises already forming around his collar.
The sigh Dick made could have been heard from space. He looked to Damian instead of dignifying Jason with a response.
“You were literally texting me fifteen minutes ago. How did this even happen.”
Damian crossed his arms and tsked, avoiding eye contact. His face was still flushed from the fight, perfect hair in disarray. Dick couldn’t stop focusing on his jeans and t-shirt. “I told you. They were being belligerent. I retaliated as was required.”
Dick didn’t even know what to say to that. He shook his head and dropped the laundry basket into Damian’s denim-clad lap with a disbelieving chuckle. “Man, you guys are so weird. Either way, I was promised a machine that wouldn’t steal my quarters. If Tim’s not suffocated from Jason’s ass, I figure now would be a good time to do this. You know, before another fight breaks out over who gets the last pudding cup.”
“I’m good, just leave me here with my broken ribs,” Tim mumbled with his face still pressed into the sofa. His leg twitched abortively but he made no move to get up.
“Aw, I’m sorry pretty bird,” Jason apologized, stroking Tim’s hair. “Need me to kiss anything better?”
At that, Tim’s head perked up.
“You offering?”
Jason’s smirk was answer enough.
Dick took that as their cue to leave. He pulled at Damian’s shirt, jostling the sulking teenager in a way he wouldn’t have risked had he been wearing his usual suit. He really wasn’t in the mood to see that. “Come on Damian, show me where your laundry room is. I don’t want to get lost.”
Damian scoffed and stood, basket in hand and everything. He probably wasn’t keen on seeing his brother romance Timmy any more than he already had.
“You’re hopeless Grayson. Come.”
“Play nice!” Jason called to them as they left. Damian sneered over his shoulder and then they were off down the hall.
“He is an imbecile,” Damian muttered, shouldering his way through a swinging door off the center hall. He was kind enough to prop the door open with his foot, holding it for Dick to pass through instead of letting it smack him in the face. The hamper was tossed unceremoniously on a folding table next to the modern washer. “There. Let me call for Pennyworth and he shall see to your laundry.”
“Hey whoa, no, don’t do that,” Dick said, the embarrassment returning with a vengeance. “I don’t want to bother him with this, here, just show me where stuff is and I’ll put in a load myself.”
Damian rolled his eyes but seemed to acquiesce, pointing up at a shelf to Dick’s left. “It is his job, Grayson.” He watched as Dick pulled down the bottles of detergent and softener and began sorting the colors into piles.
Dick snorted. “You mean it’s his job to do your laundry. I don’t live here and I don’t think it’s fair to make him do my chores for me. Besides,” he reasoned, measuring out a capful and pouring it into the state-of-the-art washer, “it’s not like this is particularly challenging.”
He was answered by a noncommittal hum. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Damian pointedly looking down at the piles of clothes, a furrowed look on his brow.
“You do know how to do your own laundry though, right?” Dick asked, already knowing the answer.
The teenager scoffed and Dick could see how hard he was trying to not look embarrassed.
“As you have said. Pennyworth’s job is to see to such matters.”
Spoken like a true momma’s boy. Or in this case, Dick thought, a privileged kid with a butler. He tsked and closed the washer lid, turning to look at Damian still studiously focused on his sorted piles.
“It’s pretty easy. I can show you if you want, you know, in case Alfred isn’t around,” he offered. It wouldn’t do for the kid to go through life without knowing some of the basic rules to independent living. That is, his mind supplied suddenly, if he doesn’t end up in prison once this is all said and done.
Damian’s expression told him that something had shone on his face from that line of thinking. A sudden wave of guilt began to fester hotly in his stomach and he quickly tore his train of thought away from his true reason for being there.
“No,” Damian declined after a moment of silent consideration, of his offer or expression Dick couldn’t tell. “If such a time ever comes I can merely call upon you to do such tasks for me.”
Dick managed a smile and a weak laugh. It was so easy to forget that this was all a job sometimes. “Yeah, I guess you do have my number.” He looked back at the washer’s timer, regretting the direction his day had taken. He could probably do with some distance right now. “So, what do you want to do for the next few hours? Jason and Tim are probably settled, maybe,” he suggested, hoping to just sit down and watch a movie and avoid growing any more attached to the people he was supposed to be infiltrating.
“I would not presume to know when their dalliances conclude, but I doubt they have finished yet.” His expression was one of bitter distaste, and Dick couldn’t help but smile at that. “We could always spar though. That is,” he began with a smirk, “if you feel you can keep up.”
The grin that spread across his face this time was genuine. He was always a sucker for a good challenge, especially if it meant putting cocky brats in their place. “Seemed to keep up just fine last time we got physical. I think Jason even still has pictures,” Dick retorted, leaning his hip against the machine chugging along behind him. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn there was a slight blush on Damian’s cheeks.
“You have yet to see me engage you fully,” Damian boasted, turning to lead them out of the laundry room. “I would refrain from celebrating prematurely. Now, come,” he ordered as he marched them down the hall.
Dick followed, looking down at his baggy shorts and ratty hoodie. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Say, you think you can spare me a different shirt? This thing isn’t really good for close combat,” he asked, tugging at the tight collar.
Damian spared him a quick once over and nodded. “Be it far from me to give you a reason to blame your inevitable loss on anything other than your own inadequacy.” There was a quirk to his lips that softened the insult. It was something Dick had begun to pick up over the course of their interactions.
“Big talk coming from the guy who got hogtied to a desk by a secretary,” Dick laughed, following Damian downstairs and to one of the larger exercise rooms. One of many, Dick had been told, completely astonished by the idea of a household needing one - let alone multiple - fitness centers. He tugged off his shirt and tossed it into a corner as Damian wandered over to a locker against a side wall where he pulled out some shorts for himself and a spare shirt. Judging from the size, it was probably one of Damian’s own.
He tossed it at Dick, purposefully aiming for his face. “I am going to savor your defeat,” Damian remarked, pausing in swapping his pants to watch Dick slip on the tight shirt for a moment. He waited as Dick toed off his shoes and joined him on one of the large mats spread on the floor before readying his stance.
There was little warning beyond a slight shift in Damian’s posture before Dick found himself blocking a vicious kick aimed at his throat. The ferocity was dizzying, and Dick suddenly remembered the specialized training Damian had spoken of before. The combat training in boot camp seemed woefully unprepared for Damian’s level of physical melee. Within minutes he was forced back and into a defensive position. A few minutes later, Dick found himself flat on his back with Damian straddling his chest, his forearm nearly crushing his throat.
Damian flashed a victorious smile. “Pity there is no desk to tie you to, Grayson,” he remarked nonchalantly, not even slightly out of breath. “I would have enjoyed seeing you bound and forced to accept my superiority, but I suppose I can still enjoy the latter like this.”
Dick sputtered, his mind going straight into the gutter as if a little Jason were on his shoulder providing commentary. He tugged at the arm cutting off his oxygen and Damian relaxed the pressure, easing off of Dick entirely, completely unaware of the innuendo contributing to at least a third of the redness on his cheeks. Dick coughed and rubbed at his sore neck, suppressing that train of thought entirely. There would probably be bruises on his bruises after today. Damian’s effortless display had him realizing just why Jason had been so shocked when he told everyone that he had won that night.
“Okay, okay, I’ll admit it,” Dick wheezed, taking the proffered hand and pulling himself upright. “You’re good. Man, I can’t imagine how strong your mom must be to teach you to fight like that.”
Damian smirked and readied his stance again. “My mother is in a class all her own. You would do well to remember this lesson, Grayson. I would hate for you to underestimate your opponent.” He was kind enough to wait for Dick to stop coughing before striking out once again.
They carried on in a similar vein for what felt like hours. Damian took the majority of the wins for himself, but over time Dick began to find a rhythm to his attacks. By the end, Dick had managed to win a few and he was mostly positive that they weren’t from Damian taking pity on him. Like the night they met, Damian took defeat surprisingly well, always smiling up at him with an almost proud expression on his face. He even went so far as to pause their matches to demonstrate a hold or move that might serve Dick well, his tone more kind than patronizing for once. It was fun, diverting, and exactly the sort of mind-numbing physical activity that Dick had been desperately needing. He was sure he’d be able to fall asleep easy that night.
It was after a particularly grueling bout that they found themselves lying on the floor, chests heaving and shirts damp with sweat. Dick, sometime between matches, had fetched some water bottles for them and was seriously considering pouring his over his head. Damian wasn’t faring much better and had ditched his shirt shortly after collapsing.
“That,” Dick heaved, “was intense.”
“It was definitely engaging,” Damian replied, pressing the cold bottle to his forehead. “Frankly I’m surprised a man of your age could keep up.”
Dick laughed and heaved himself up to rest on his elbows so he could look at Damian’s crooked smirk. “Whatever, I had you on the ropes for a bit there. It’s not my fault you’re young and spry and trained by ninja assassins.”
“It does come in handy when assassinating people,” he said, stretching his legs out. “That is partly why I wished to spar with you today. Father has me on assignment tonight and it is always preferable to limber up with a partner.” Damian lifted himself up and reached for his shirt so he could start his cool down stretches.
It was difficult to hide the ice forming in his gut. “Mr. Wayne seriously has you do assassinations?” Dick asked with a voice that fought to remain level. “You’re just a kid though.”
Damian shot him a glare. “I believe we have already discussed how I feel about being called a kid, Grayson.” He pulled the shirt over his head and started his stretching with an aggressive air. “This is simply one of my many duties in service to the Family and I conduct myself in my work to the best of my abilities.”
Dick bit his lip and watched the fluid movements, taking them in a whole new way now that he knew they were honed to be deadly. It was hard to see him as a kid with that in mind. “And you’re…happy…doing that sort of thing?” he asked carefully, hands fiddling with his water.
“It is work, I am good at it, and it aides the Family. Without my efforts we would be far less informed and at a serious disadvantage.” He bent down to place his hands flat against the floor, his flexibility flawless. “Are you happy in your job?” Damian asked suddenly, breaking Dick from his mulling.
“Uh, yeah. I think. I mean, I feel like I’m actually working now that your dad brought me into the loop so I feel useful,” Dick floundered.
Damian hummed and moved to stretch his biceps. “Then it is not a question of if I am happy in my work, but if I find it fulfilling. I help protect what my father has built, and that brings me a sense of contentment. That is all I need to make my work worth it.”
There really wasn’t anything Dick could say to that. It was so mature, but it was hard to forget that he was talking about killing people. He ran a hand through his sweat matted hair and forced his sore legs to stand. “I guess on some level I knew you guys did that sort of thing. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around it I guess.” It was a bit late, but he jumped into the stretches alongside Damian.
“If it is any consolation, it is not a regular thing. With the state of things as they are, Father has found it necessary to make certain decisions to safeguard the Family.” Damian took a moment to correct Dick’s posture before moving onto his next set.
Finally, safer conversation. “Yeah, about that. How’s the search going? You any closer to finding out who’s messing with everything?” Maybe he’d be able to get some kind of information to tell the Commish that wouldn’t make him sick to his stomach.
Damian grunted a bit as he worked a sore muscle. “Todd and the interloper have a name and a new avenue to explore, or so I’m told. I believe there was talk of a location that needed searched and, as Todd so eloquently put it, a few kneecaps to break. It is slow but it is progress,” he explained, standing upright. The bottle was emptied in a few deep pulls and Damian watched Dick finish up his cool down. “With any luck my job tonight will yield another cache of information.”
Dick whistled. “You all lead such exciting lives,” he remarked, finishing up the last stretch with a sigh. “My laundry’s probably ready for the dryer. You wanna clean up and go do that? Maybe watch a movie if you’ve got the time?”
Glancing quickly at the clock on the wall, Damian smiled. “I believe I can spare the time, if only to humor an old man.”
Dick couldn’t resist the urge to laugh. As he followed Damian down to the showers, he let the good mood fuel him. It had been a great day and he wasn’t ready to ruin it by ruminating on how much more complicated his life had gotten from learning Damian’s role in the family. He shot back a quick retort, content to leave reality for tomorrow.
He was going to pretend for as long as possible.
Malek raised an elegant eyebrow and looked between the sparring stick that Skylar held out to him, and back to the Eyrien himself. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, shifting his weight back onto one foot, settling his hand on his hip. It’d been over a week since the Purge, since they’d returned to the Land, camping in the wilderness. In that time, Skylar had been teaching Malek how to live off the land, how to survive in the woods - to the point where Malek thought he’d be able to do pretty well on his own, if he had to... although he planned on making sure that he never would. The woods and wilderness might be in his heritage from his mother’s side, but he much preferred exploring them together with Skylar.
He met his mate’s patient golden gaze; his arm hadn’t wavered, still holding out the sparring stick. He reached out and took it, weighing it in his hand; it was the first time he’d picked up a weapon outside of a dagger, pleasure slaves hadn’t been allowed weapons or training with them. “Why are we doing this again? I can kill a man at ten paces without lifting a finger, I don’t quite get why I should learn the Eyrien sticks?” His voice was genuinely curious.
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