a/n: So this is a short chapter, but I'm gonna get things moving on after this for a while. I think because i realized that i basically wrote fifteen chapters all surrounded on one night? But hey, that's me for you. I swear this story does end up having time pass by eventually, but this updates kinda short. Sorry about that, I just wanted to get something out of the way. Such as the things that the (Reader) had to go through during her year with Talia, though I haven't fully said what Talia's intentions were with (reader) yet, enjoy reading about something that happened to (reader) during that year. (Or don't enjoy, it's kinda dark)

"You're a maximum security Arkham Asylum security Guard, and you're new to Gotham as of how many months ago?" The Warden speaks to him, not exactly smiling in terms with happiness. But he's smiling in amusement as if he's about to award one of his employee's with some type of certificate.

"Three, sir." Your step father answers, short brown hair and greyish blue eyes looking dimly around the room. Paintings, documents hung on walls, official status things. He can't help but let his eyes wander over to the man's desk and seemingly lock eye contact with the bobbling head of the small Batman statue on his desk. What a strange little thing to have, but he thinks that some people must have their own hobbies just as he has his. Well, his hobbies include painting model airplanes with his step-daughter. The man before him? Apparently that's collecting bobbleheads, and putting them on his desk.

"New enough to know you can call me Warden instead of Sir. You're very good at your job Mr..?" He trailed off, it said here that the man had two last names, but during marriage? He ended up taking his wife's last name as his official one. Warden Sharp's never really seen that before, and he wasn't poking fun or anything while asking.

"My wife had some family tradition, so I ended up taking her last name. It's Rodger (L/n), Warden." As stiff as a board, back about as upright as he could get it. He'd never seen the Warden in person, really. As mentioned, he'd only been working here for three months. Almost four. But he works his night shifts here, and sometimes he has to do overtime which ends up running into day time hours.

It was so strange, sitting here. Probably the only room in Arkham that didn't reek of the medicated cafeteria food

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about. I got a call from Gotham Central Hospital about a Mrs. (L/n)-"
"Oh my god. My wife, is she-"
"Is being stabilized. I assume this goes into line of it being a family emergency, so you have the rest of the night off. All I can say is.." Your step father listened to the words being spoken to, but was shocked stiff with the news of his wife being put in the hospital. What did the Warden mean by stabilized?

"Will you be taking sick days off to spend time with your family? I see that as of recently, you spend more time at work than you do with said family." Warden says this as if taking any more leave than just the night is out of the question. And more than just the reason being that your step-father is probably one of the best guards that he can have under his employment payroll.

"If I have to, then I will." He says it determined, but deep down? It pains him knowing that he may have to work longer shifts just because he had to leave the night early.

But one thing he's not going to miss is the sound of maniacal laughter day in and day out of the one cell he and two other men keep guarded.

***

Damian slowly let his eyes open, dim rays of moonlight from outside the window right above his head decided to shine right down in his eyes, past the white lenses of his green domino mask. As if the lenses only amplified the moons rays on his eyes, with no settings on. When the mask by itself was just a mask, it seemed to intensify certain things. Like a pair of glasses, almost. But with it's multiple settings? Detective vision, infrared, night vision, things of the sort.

He covered his eyes with his hands, finding no gloves on them. But instantly made his eyes widen to a shock. He started placing his fingers under his eyes, feeling the hard padding of the mask right on under the bare pads of his fingers. A sigh of nothing but pure relief escaping his lips.

He smelled soap.

His nose nearly twitched at the warm smell of what he could make out as apples. His eyes trailing to do bathroom door where he heard the sound of water running from a showerhead. Without moving in the bed aside from turning his head.

He looked through the crack of the door, right on at the mirror. All of the steam in the bathroom clouded the air in there, making it's way on out of the bathroom. Probably would have, too. If it weren't for you only leave the door a crack open instead of all the way. Damian knows you'd have more common decency than that, and he figures you have a reason for wanting to keep the door a crack open. Maybe it's to let the steam out if it all gets too much in there. Maybe it's just to keep an ear out on him. Most likely, a mix of both.

His eyes scan over to the mirror again, the drops of water sliding down the mirror as more formed. Just as quickly as the last one, slipping on down the reflective glass right as more decided to stay in place.

In the clear streak left behind by a bead of water, he saw you. Saw apart of you. Instantly, he went to go look away out of embarrassment for himself. Face turning red, ears heating up. He could feel it too. It was different whenever he had to stand above your body and hold one hand on your waist and another in the small of your back to dip you downwards when practising for the school's way of punishing both of you. Where he'd sometimes catch a glimpse of a bead of sweat rolling past your chest. He'd always easily ignored that, it's not like he was obsessed with you. Not like he was willing to admit there was something for you that he held. About a week ago? If someone asked him if he had romantic feelings towards you? He'd have cut off all contact with you just to spite them.

Twenty four hours ago? If someone asked him if he had any romantic feelings towards you? He'd have told them to shut up, leave him alone, and word for word, go make use of your ability to speak elsewhere.

But he didn't look away when his eyes caught onto something that pushed all those thoughts straight on out of his teenage head.

You had several deep scars all over your back. All he could see was your back, but some started to crawl off onto his field of vision from what he could see. And he took notice of every one he could get his eyes on, parting his lips in maybe shock.

These weren't scars that a child would get after receiving chick pox, doing nothing but scratch at them for the entirety of them having it. These weren't scars of someone who had been push in blackberry bramble and then stumbled their footsteps while standing back up. They looked worse than somebody being shoved through a window, back first.

These were done with three things that he could easily make out just by the shapes of the scars.

A blade. Either a sword or a dagger, both could work. A whip or some type of rope or wire, and something of hot metal being pressed to your skin. Because some of those scars? Were obviously burn marks at one point. Seeing as they scarred differently than all the others.

Jason has them, too. It's how Damian was so easy to spot out the different kinds of scars on your back. Those scars were from torture, and he knows what torture looks like. The aftermath and the act of doing it. There is another reason why Damian can easily point out what's what in terms of scarring.

Talia taught him.

Taught him just as much as how to pick up those instruments and inflict them, just as much to identify them. It was in his days during the year of the blood. He remembers Talia teaching him two lessons at the same time while giving him a try of tools to use. He only used three.

The first lessons, was obviously torture. The second lesson, along with half of the things he was told and taught during the year of blood, he can't remember. He's not sure if he wants to remember. But he can't remember half of his days during the year of blood. He remembers nearly every lessons. But it feels as though someone went through his head and picked out certain memories for him to forget.

As he's staring at your scarred back, his eyelids grow heavy and all he can hear are screams. Someone begging to be let go, someone asking for answers. SCreaming at him, 'Why are you doing this to me?!'. Someone right before him, and suddenly?

He can't smell the soap anymore, only the blood. The metallic warm scent that carried in the air wherever he walked when he was at his mother's side. The smell that would constantly be with him, hence it being on his hands nearly all the time. And with his head held up high, that victorious smirk that he always wore. Damian Al Ghul, yeah, he tries to force that boy down out of his head. Tries to forget about all the things that Damian Al Ghul did. He tells himself, that He's Damian Wayne. Like somehow, that'll make it better.

The water stops running, and he regains focus to see another scar. One that makes his eyes widen and makes him hold in his breath. Part his lips in what he's willing to actually call shock right now.

A scar on your back in a crevice you'd never probably see unless someone took a picture of it, was a different scar. IT didn't stand out as much as the other, but it was burned int your body. No doubt about that at all. He can easily tell that was what happened and how you got said scar that he's looking at right now.

It was small, but big enough for him to make out. And while your hand wiped over the bathroom mirror as you started to wrap the towel around your body, he let the word seep into his mind.

Leviathan.

He never saw any part of you that you wouldn't want him to see, aside from the thick scars all over your back.

But the scar that he was focusing on, was the shape of a spider web with an eye in the center of it. Something somebody had put on you as a way to identify you.

And he knows right away, that it was his mother, Talia. The late head of Leviathan.

Either you lied to him about not knowing what Levithan was, or you just flat out don't know.

Or don't remember.