THE RIDE BACK to their penthouses was quiet. Bruce frowned, glancing at them from time to time, but seemed to decide against voicing his concerns. Damian's eyes were shut, but she knew he wasn't asleep. She, on the other hand, leaned back and enjoyed the view.

She'd gotten a lot done that night. She was happy about it.

She'd deal with Damian eventually. Tonight, she just wanted to celebrate. She just wanted to relax, take a nice long bath, put on a face mask, put on a movie and then head to bed.

And then tomorrow she'd wake up and reach out to the people she'd met tonight. Strengthen those connections, those newfound friendships. Made sure people were aware she hadn't just taken their promises of assistance as common courtesy.

She intended to make sure they delivered. And she'd make sure they saw the advantages of it—for both this city, and also for themselves.

What else was on the to-do list? Cassandra was leaving in a couple days. She'd have to hang out with her at least once before that. The flight was quite late at night, so she probably wasn't going to send off Cass at the airport. When was her next scheduled patrol night? Bruce had placed her onto the schedule, finally. Two days. In two nights. That was fine.

Enough time for her to recharge, get ready. It was probably with Jason again.

She kept getting paired up with the Red Hood. She wasn't sure if it was a purposeful choice or not. Perhaps they thought her a calming influence on him? But he seemed fairly... in control these days. He wasn't doing anything out of line, really.

It might also be because Damian was injured, so they couldn't put her with him. With Cassandra heading off soon, it didn't make sense to keep sending her out on patrol either. Jason was an odd one out. As was Odile, currently. An excellent match, in the minds of some.

Alfred cleared his throat as he stopped the car before the building's grand doors. "Master Wayne, Miss Odile, we have arrived."

"Thank you, Alfred." She was helped out of the car, casting a quick glance at Damian to make sure he was managing. He was. With another nod of gratitude and a wave at Bruce, she headed in.

She didn't turn to make sure Damian followed. He would, anyway.

The elevator ride was just as silent.

But finally, as they stepped out, he spoke. "Can we talk?"

Odile turned to him. "Are we not talking now, Damian?"

He flexed his jaw. "I'd like to apologise. I didn't mean to come off as overbearing."

"Apology accepted." She gave the slightest of nods. "Don't worry about it."

Really, he hadn't even done anything wrong. He'd just spoken the truth.

Not even family.

It stung, though. But she couldn't tell him that.

"It doesn't look like it," he replied, raising a brow. "You're angry at me. Why? Was it something I said? Because I don't think what I said warranted that big of a response, which means it's something else. What I said earlier tonight was just what broke the camel's back."

Sometimes, she wished he wasn't so perceptive. It made it very difficult to lie to him, though if she thought about it, she'd been doing it for years.

"Damian, I'm not angry. I'm just tired." That seemed to be the best way forward. She let out a soft sigh. "I've been in heels for hours, dancing in them, and my feet hurt. And I'm thirsty."

He stared at her for a moment and she thought he'd finally let it be. But instead, he said, "Let's go into your penthouse, then. We can talk there."

Inside, she sat down on a stool she had near the door, reaching down to take off her heels. But Damian moved over then, carefully lowering himself into a half-kneel. "I'll help you with that."

Odile froze, and then, as his hands reached the heels, she snapped, "Damian, your leg."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

So she sat there, unable to move herself, staring wide-eyed, as he helped remove her heels.

"Damian," she hissed, "what are you doing? Go sit down. You've been standing all night, you're going to worsen your leg."

He gave her a knowing look. "I've been through far worse."

"Damian. Go back to your penthouse and go to bed. I'm not mad at you, though I will be if you keep staying here. Go rest."

"Not before you explain why you're angry." He raised a brow. "You know, back when I was with the League, any time there were disagreements, we wouldn't keep it in. We'd settle it on the battlefield."

"You're not in the League anymore, Damian. And at any rate, I'm not fighting you. You're injured."

He cocked a brow. "I've fought with two broken arms before."

"That is not something to be proud of, Damian."

He shrugged. "I know." Then he paused. "Help me back up?"

Odile practically hopped onto her feet. "I told you—"

"Have I ever told you that you have a tendency to mother me? You accuse me of being overprotective, but really, you do it more often than me."

She flushed. "I'm not mothering you, I'm just—"

"Taking care of me. Being kind. I know. You realise I am older than you?"

"That doesn't mean anything when you clearly don't know how to take care of yourself." She knelt down so he could loop his arm around her shoulders, using her a crutch to get back up. "Go to bed, Damian. We can have this discussion any time."

"More time for you to come up with excuses and not tell me the truth, I suppose? Why are you angry at me? You can tell me, I'll do better."

She didn't answer as she led him towards the sofa, placing him down. "You don't have to change anything, Damian. You're fine the way you are. I'm just tired."

"You're not the type of person who gets cranky just because you're tired."

She raised a brow. "Then maybe you don't know me at all."

"There we go. Is that it? You're angry about me because you don't think I know you?"

Maybe. But to him, she said, "Stop making assumptions and go."

"Can't, leg hurts. Might just camp here tonight, actually. Will you entertain me as I make some guesses? You don't have to tell me if I'm right or wrong—I'll be able to tell, of course. From your body language."

"You are insufferable."

"I can be. But you don't think I am. If I was insufferable to you, you'd have stopped caring about me a long time ago."

"Right."

"And you were right, by the way."

She turned from where she stood at the kitchen counter, confused. "About what?"

"About me being jealous."

"What?"

His jaw flexed. "I was jealous. Don't make me repeat it again."

Silence descended upon them. In the awkwardness that ensued, Odile turned to the kitchen counter, where her hand shakily poured water from a pitcher into her mug. That felt like a confession. But she wasn't sure what she was meant to take away from it. Perhaps another night, she'd have felt the bravery to ask. This was not the night.

She didn't utter a single word as she drank from the mug. Finished every last bit of water. Placed it in the sink.

Were there other ways to interpret it?

Maybe there were.

Was she supposed to say something now? She hadn't a clue what to reply with, though. And he didn't look like he wanted to say anything either. Were they just supposed to stew here in silence?

Finally, after much thinking, she asked, softly, "Why?"

His eyes flickered to meet hers. He looked pensive as he studied her expression. She kept it as blank as possible.

"Because I don't want you to be angry at me. I want to explain." He placed his hands on his knees. "Will you let me explain?"

"You're sitting in my living room and refusing to live. I don't think I have a choice in the matter."

A little smile set on his face. "So, with that settled, can we talk now? Will you walk over from that kitchen counter and sit down on the comfortable sofa?"

"Damian, you're being weird now."

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Most people consider me weird."

"Talk, then." She sighed. He wasn't going to go anywhere, so she might as well just... deal with it. And if he was the one who'd brought it up, surely he knew where he was going with this? Surely he had already figured out the best way to do this so they could stay friends. Or at least live civilly next to each other.

"I've been analysing my feelings."

"That doesn't sound like something you do often," she mumbled, taking slow steps towards the sofa where he sat. With some reluctance, she placed herself to his right, pretending to be busy with some dust on the sofa's cover.

"It's not," he confirmed. "It was a very strange and eye-opening experience for me."

Odile stared at him with a blank look. "Damian, can you make this quick? I am in desperate need of a shower."

"Well, I suppose you ought to wash off the touch of all the men you've danced with tonight," he replied nonchalantly. "I'll hurry, then. I realised that I often felt a strange sensation around you when you were around other men."

She just stared at him.

"Tonight isn't the first time I've felt that feeling. The same happens with Jon. I get that same sense of antagonism whenever I see you with Jon. I can't remember when it first started, really. A stab of envy. I didn't quite understand it."

"I still don't."

"Well, I do now," he sounded satisfied with himself. "It's jealousy."

"We've established that at the start of the conversation. Why are you jealous, Damian?"

"That is what I'm trying to figure out." He fixed his eyes on her face, looking deadly serious. "Why am I feeling jealous, Odile?"

There was a paper window between them, one that could be broken with a simple jab of a finger. She could do that. Or she could try to maintain it, keep it in place. Play dumb. She usually reacted to situations fairly quickly—she'd always prided herself on fast reactions, the right decisions, but right now she was simply dumbstruck. She said, "I don't know the answer to that, Damian. That's a question for you to find out."

"Hmm. I thought you might say something like that." He leant back. "Of course, jealousy is usually linked to possessiveness. Do I feel like I have some kind of... claim over you? But that would make it seem like you're an object, and I'm not quite a fan of that. I'm already good friends with you, so it's not as if I'm envious that other people are managing to get along with you. Perhaps I am just territorial. But I've never felt this sensation around other people before."

They were both beating around the bush. And they both knew it.

"Damian," she replied softly, placing both hands on her laps, "get to the point."

"I don't know where the point is," he admitted with a shrug. "But I think I can tell what's bugging you now, so I'll just tell you this. When I said you weren't like my family earlier, it didn't mean I didn't think we were close."

"I—"

"I understand why you're angry, if that's the case. But please understand, you are very dear to me. But considering you family... If I considered you family, that would mean I saw you as a sister." He paused, tilting his head. "I don't see you as a sister. Never have, never will."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Odile asked, bewildered.

You know what it means.

This is a confession.

You're just both pretending to be oblivious to it.

Isn't this what you wanted? Why are you so scared now?

Odile wasn't just scared, she was terrified. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, because she knew if she said a single wrong word, this would all be over. This conversation could end disastrously. She didn't want that. She couldn't risk that.

"I don't know yet," he sounded pensive. And serious. He wasn't teasing her. She wished he was teasing her. "I'll figure it out soon, I think. Have you ever felt the same thing around me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Interesting." He began to stand up, and Odile rushed forward to steady him. He looked like he was about to brush her away for a moment, but then he paused, turning to glance at her. And then he allowed her to place his weight on her shoulder. "Off to my own place, then."

"Take good care of yourself tonight," Odile scolded. "Don't move around too much unless necessary. Go to bed early."

"The same advice goes for you." His voice was soft. "Good night, Odile."

—

SHE HADN'T SPOKEN to Damian for the last two days.

She'd done it on purpose, of course. It was impossible to avoid him for that long unless she was doing it on purpose. But he hadn't sought her out either, so he probably didn't want to talk to her. Perhaps he was thinking. Or perhaps he'd already come to a conclusion and decided this was the best course of action.

So instead, she went on patrol with Jason two nights after the ball at the Foxes'. The criminals seemed to stay in tonight—perhaps deterred by the rain and the cold? Not that it was a rare thing in Gotham, really. A quiet evening, a rare one in Gotham.

They stood on the roof of an old church, glancing down at the city beneath them. She'd quite like to paint this scene, really. But she didn't think she had the time. She was very busy these days.

"Doesn't feel like there's anything tonight," Jason muttered, turning to her. "How's Robin's leg?"

"Getting better. He can move around without much issue now. He's getting restless. Will be back on the field soon, I think."

"Sounds about right," he said with a nod. "Wondering if we should just call this a night? Or head back and wait until there's an emergency. I don't see the point of going across the city in the rain like this."

She raised a brow in response. "You're in a rush tonight. Got something to do? I mean, I have nothing to do. You can go if you want."

She knew he was grinning behind that mask as he raised his arms in mock surrender. "Fine, you got me. My girlfriend's waiting for me in my apartment. Tonight was meant to be date night, so she's not exactly happy with me right now. Have to go back and convince her I won't have patrol nights and date nights clash again. She's very prickly about wasting time."

"When the hell did you get a girlfriend?" Odile asked with a startled laugh. She hadn't heard about this before. "Is she a civilian? Another hero?"

"Civilian. Metahuman, though." He tilted his head. "Oh, I forgot. We got together after the last time you came to Gotham. I'll introduce you to her some day. She doesn't... get along the best with the rest of the family."

Odile raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"Not like there's bad blood or anything. She's just not a fan of the hero thing in general. Barely tolerates it even with me."

"She sounds interesting." That was all she could muster. A girl who didn't mesh well with the rest of the family? Did Remiel know about this girl? And a civilian metahuman?

"Her name is Callie. I think the two of you would get along quite well." He tilted his head. "I'll organise a meeting someday."

"Go back to her, then," Odile offered. "I'll be fine with this myself. It doesn't look like anything's going to happen, and if something does, I can grab someone else."

"You sure?"

Odile gave a nod. "Don't worry about it."

When he was gone, she sat down and let her eyes flutter shut. Damn, she was jealous. Not because she liked him or anything, but just...

He sounded so happy, talking about his girlfriend.

She wanted that.

She wanted that so badly.

But the only person she could see herself with was Damian, and she had no idea where that was even going right now. It was all so confusing, too confusing. Her thoughts were all a jumble and she had no idea how to sort it all out.

She needed a break, really.

But she'd only been in Gotham for a little while, so it seemed strange to go anywhere else. And people would notice. Perhaps she ought to head to Bludhaven for a weekend, camp with Remiel and Dick? They wouldn't mind that. She could just say she missed Remiel. But that would worry the older woman.

No, she was going to stay put.

Odile shook her head silently. This entire situation was just a mess. A ticking time bomb, ready to be set off at any minute.

Eventually, she and Damian would have to talk.

She dreaded when that day would come.

UPDATES??? OMG???????? y'all not ready for this smh
i'm still deciding if we actually meet callie in this book or if jason will just mention her. keep in mind this entire book happens after jason and callie's story, so...
and just like last time, the third book will be named after a le sserafim song :) guess guess guess what the title is