That same night

Sasha's P.O.V:

I stood in the dojo, a pair of throwing knives in hand and a dummy sitting on the far side of the room.

I'd drawn two little targets on his forehead and chest. One was directly between his eyes and the other situated right on his heart.

Breathe. Concentrate.

The amount of times I'd been forced to do this at Midnight was excrutiating. I should be able to hit the targets with ease.

But for some reason my hands began to shake when I moved into a throwing stance. I held the dagger by my side and lifted it into the air, counting down from three.

3, 2, 1...

Thwack.

The knife had lodged itself into the wall instead. It hadn't even grazed the dummy at all.

My heart sunk at the sight, but I shook my head and picked up a second dagger. It was fine, just a bad throw, right? I could still do it. I still had the same skill set.

But then the second knife wouldn't hit the target either, instead clipping the dummy's left shoulder. A shiver crept down my spine and I swallowed thickly.

What's wrong with me?

I spent the following fifteen minutes trying and failing to hit the stupid painted-on targets. Rage was boiling under my skin and I was seconds away from sending my fist through the nearby wall.

I didn't understand what I had done to lose my abilities. I'd been away from Midnight for less then a year, but I'd still kept up a portion of my training. And besides, ten years of training shouldn't have vanished this quickly from my brain.

The more I failed, the more panicked I became. My breathing suddenly grew sharp and tight and I realized that my throat was constricting. I was having a panic attack, but I couldn't do anything to stop it. Every part of me was freaking out about the fact that I couldn't throw a fucking knife at a fucking target anymore.

Okay, calm down, calm down, I tried telling myself, but it wasn't working.

I can't do it anymore. Why can't I do it anymore?

I looked down at my hands and saw that they were shaking. Violently. My anger was slowly beginning to be replaced by downright fear and anxiety. My face was flushed and I felt hot all over.

Knowing I needed to get out of there before i started hyperventilating, I made my way down the hall and up the stairs to my bedroom. I ran to my bathroom and turned the tap on, leaning my face into the sink and splashing it with cold water.

Thankfully, that seemed to help a little. But I was still so hot and flustered that I had to rip off my pyjama shirt so that I was now standing in front of the mirror in my bra, looking like an absolute madwoman.

Oh fuck, what have I become?

But the sound of footsteps on the roof broke me from my thoughts and I moved back into my bedroom, confused.

It was Damian returning from patrol, I quickly realized, and before I knew it, he had landed in a crouch on my balcony, dressed head-to-toe in his Robin getup.

Suddenly, relief flooded through my body. I didn't feel so scared anymore knowing he was here.

--------------------

Damian's P.O.V

Father had sworn me to secrecy. I was forbidden to tell Sasha exactly what had happened on patrol that night, specifically who we'd found.

I was always a good liar. When you were trained to kill since birth, you get good at deceiving people. But i'll admit, this time was hard. This time I could barely restrain myself from telling the truth.

"Why are you so... twitchy, Damian?" Sasha asked me, cocking her head to the side and reaching for my wrist.

I visibly flinched at her gesture, which didn't help my case and only caused her eyebrows to raise even higher.

"I'm fine. Rough night," I answered blankly.

Sasha nodded sympathetically, but truthfully it wasn't sympathetic, because she had no clue what I'd just witnessed and who it had involved.

I had just jumped through her window only moments earlier, and i'd been quite noticeably concerned, expecting to find Sasha missing and signs of a break in. But of course she was safe, as she was simply standing beside her bed in a calvin klein sports bra and pyjama pants.

Realization washed over me and I squinted my eyes at her in confusion. "Why are you still awake? It's 3 in the morning."

Sasha's face turned from worried to ashamed in mere seconds.

"Uh, I wasn't tired," she clearly lied.

I stepped closer to her, noticing how she wouldn't look at me.

"What happened?"

When she wouldn't answer, I guessed, "Nightmares again?"

She shook her head and laughed nervously, which was one of her most common telling signs for when she was upset about something and trying not to make a big deal out of it.

"No, Damian, it's nothing, don't worry," she said.

"Saying that just makes me more concerned," I replied, which earned a half-hearted smile from Sasha.

She sat down on her bed and sunk into the pillows. I climbed on after her and sat beside her. She pulled her knees to her chest, attempting to hide into herself. She still wouldn't look at me, instead resting her chin on her knees and staring at her feet.

I wasn't the best at comforting people, that was obvious. But something about Sasha always made it easier. She made it seem like I hadn't been raised as a killing machine my entire life. She made it seem like I could be soft and gentle.

So I wrapped my arms around her slim frame, gently pulling her into my chest. She didn't fight me and seemed to sink into the hug so easily, like she'd been needing it for a while.

I understood that a lot.

"I think I got in my own head again," she whispered, sliding her arms around me.

I stroked her hair, combing my fingers through the ends.

"How so?"

But then Sasha started to cry, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged me tighter.

"I don't know why I did it, but you were on patrol, and everyone was out and I couldn't sleep, so I went down to the dojo to test something. Slade used to force me to throw these knives at targets for hours on end. If I missed, he punished me. Badly. So, I never missed..."

She wiped at her eyes hurriedly, trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible, pretending they weren't even there.

"But I... I can't do it anymore, Damian. I missed. I missed every single time. How? What did I do to lose this? It hasn't even been a year yet," she said.

I realised then how distressed Sasha was. Her breathing was fast and she was talking at a frantic pace, like she thought I might leave and she had to get every word in.

It was too fast — she was clearly having a panic attack.

"I just don't understand. I don't understand, Damian. Every day, for ten years, I could do it. But it's gone. I keep fucking missing," she panted.

"Sasha, calm down," I spoke evenly, but it did not work. Sasha was gasping at air, her chest rising and falling sharply.

Worry set in and I sat her up, grabbing either side of her shoulders and looking her dead in the eyes, forcing her to focus on me.

"Breathe."

She was stammering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." but I reached for her shaking hands and held them tightly.

"You're confused, and you're in a manic state again," I explained slowly, enunciating every word.

"When you get like this, your brain wants to complete multiple tasks at once so it can be satisfied. But your body can't keep up. You overwork yourself to the point where you collapse from exhaustion. You cannot process this many things at once."

Sasha nodded, continuing to suck in air as her breathing slowly grew calmer.

I continued, "It doesn't help that you are up this late. You need to rest. Trust me, I've been like this before. So has Bruce. It's not... healthy."

You can say that again, I thought internally.

Sasha eventually began to calm, though it took a few minutes. Finally, she inhaled a long, deep breath, and leaned forward, resting her head in her hands as her shoulders slumped downwards.

"I think... I think I'm really traumatised, Damian," she whispered.

I already knew this, obviously, but hearing her say it aloud like that made me twice as concerned.

"I know, Sasha," I replied quietly. "I know."

But she shook her head even more, sniffling faintly.

"No, I'm serious Damian, I'm worse than I thought. I'm so, so, so much worse than I thought..."

This type of attitude was not good coming from Sasha. She was usually so positive, so annoyingly bright and friendly. I wasn't used to her speaking like this: depressed and afraid.

The only thing I could think to do was wrap my arms around her again and hold her until she was better. Sasha seemed to agree with this strategy, too, because she ended up letting me curl her into my lap, and buried her head into my body.

It was in that moment that I realised she was safe with me. No one could hurt her like this. Not physically, anyway. Not while I was here to protect her.

Who would've thought, I couldn't help but tell myself, the reality of the situation unfolding before me.

Who would've thought Damian Wayne, a former Al Ghul and the son of the batman, could fall in love like this?

———————-

A few days later,

The day of the party

Sasha's P.O.V

"Remind me again where we're going dressed in impractical clothing like this," Damian muttered, leaning back in the limo's car seat with his hands folded across his chest.

Alfred was in the front behind the wheel, leading us down the many streets of Gotham toward the function Dick was hosting. I was so tempted to spill this birthday secret to Damian, but luckily my assassin training had taught me to mask my emotions well enough.

"We're going out for dinner and then to the movies," I replied simply, though my mouth stretched into the tiniest smile.

"I wanted to go out for once, seeing as we're always stuck in the Manor."

Damian looked uninterested, leaning against the window with a hand propped up beneath his chin.

I couldn't stop myself from staring at how hot he looked, dressed in a casual charcoal suit with a white shirt and no tie. I'd had to pretend that we were going somewhere pretty fancy in order for him to wear something other than a plain black sweater.

But seeing Damian in a suit, even if it was a more casual one due to the fact that we were secretly going to a party, made my stomach somersault. His smooth, tan skin contrasted perfectly against the clothes and his dark hair was gelled in the most attractive way possible.

Damian's gaze flickered to mine, those beautiful emerald eyes taking in my appearance too. I was wearing a short pale-pink dress made of a silky satin material. It was a really pretty color, although I never wore pink much so I was kinda still deciding whether I liked it or not.

"I thought you hated dressing up," Damian said, eyeing me half-suspiciously.

I felt a surge of panic coursing through me at that. He was probably onto me. Shit.

I managed to remain calm and reply with, "And I thought you hated carnivals."

He turned away at that, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

Phew.

I glanced down at the little side bag I had slung over my shoulder. I checked my phone and saw that Dick had texted me.

D: are u on ur way yet?

I quickly typed back:

Me: yep nearly there

As I put my phone away, I saw the little package sitting in my bag, gift wrapped in red tissue. It was Damian's birthday present, and smiled internally at myself.

God I hope he likes it.

Alfred turned down a street and I spotted the huge penthouse Bruce had rented out for the party. Well, technically, he hadn't rented it out. He owned it, and it was the other millionaires who rented it out instead, hoping to get some publicity for their companies, names or brands.

The penthouse was located in Manhattan and overlooked central park. It was huge, with a 360 degree view of the entire city sparkling with dazzling lights against the dark sky.

Alfred came to a stop outside the entrance of the building, where a huge crowd of paparazzi stood beside a red carpet that led inside. There were so many people everywhere, including reporters and journalists and guests walking up to the front doors where security guards let them in.

Damian practically froze at the sight of it all, rearing away from the window.

"Oh, no, no, this is not happening," he said.

I laughed, grabbing his hand and stepping over him so that I could pull open his car door and drag us both outside.

"Yes, this is happening."

He shielded his eyes as the paparazzi turned away from the guests and pointed their cameras at us instead. Their voices grew louder and everyone began to cheer at the sight of the Bruce Wayne's son, the birthday boy.

"Mr Wayne! Mr Wayne!" They were shouting as I pulled him across the red carpet.

Damian had practically caved in on himself, glaring at me from under the sleeve of his jacket in an attempt to hide his face.

"Sasha, what the hell did Grayson put you up to?"

Clever boy.

"Nothing, Damian, I'm doing all this for you," I told him, smiling at all the flashing cameras and shouting faces. There were so many of them, it was insane.

Damian refused to give in to the fun that I was trying to immerse him in, so I decided that I had to pull out the big guns.

The big guns meaning an attack on his big, beautiful ego.

"What, is the Damian Wayne scared of the paparazzi, now?"

That seemed to catch his attention. He stood up dead straight, dropping his arm from his face. The crowd went even wilder now that he'd shown them his amazing features.

"I'm not scared of anything," he said defensively, glaring around at the paparazzi.

"I just don't appreciate being exploited like this for the sake of meaningless celebrity propaganda."

I could only roll my eyes at his words. Sure, he had a point, but it was his birthday, for crying out loud. He deserved to enjoy this rich, luxurious lifestyle every once in a while. He deserved to have fun.

"Hey, look at me," I ordered, linking my arms in his and motioning toward the paparazzi and press surrounding us.

"These people are all here for you. Tonight is your night. You're fifteen, Damian, and you're going to celebrate it."

Damian looked reluctant to agree with me, but before he could respond negatively, a female reporter dressed in a fancy dress came running up to us, camera crew in tow.

"Tell me, Mr Wayne, just how excited are you to be celebrating you're fifteenth birthday with the beloved Wayne family and all their associates tonight?" The woman beamed at us, shoving her microphone into Damian's face.

I knew that he was moments away from either yelling something extremely offensive at her or punching her in the face. So, like the recklessly impulsive person that I am, I grabbed the microphone from her hand and yanked it toward my mouth instead.

"Well, Gotham City, this is how excited he is!"

I threw my arms around Damian's neck and pulling the startled boy into a huge kiss.

The crowd went absolutely crazy, cameras flashing at twice the speed and screams echoing all around us. The reporter lady gasped in delight as her camera crew focused entirely on us.

I eventually broke off the kiss and yelled into the camera, "Who's ready to partyyy!"

Damian looked momentarily shocked, staring at me in a mixture of awe and confusion.

But then he snapped out of it, and to my ultimate surprise, pulled the microphone away from my hands and up towards his lips.

He leaned into the camera and like a flip of a switch, he turned on that billionaire-playboy-charm that he'd inherited from his father, the crowd screaming as he flicked his hair and displayed the most attractive smirk I'd ever seen.

"No one parties like the Wayne's do," Damian said, and I could only gape at him in amazement as he tossed the microphone back into the reporter's arms and turned, pulling me along with him toward the front doors of the penthouse.

Holy shit, I'm in love.

i'm back babies, sorry again for the infrequent updates but i'm rly trying! love everyone so much and thanks for 88k reads. the party scene is coming up soon which ik y'all will love so stay tuned xx