Pain, Loss, and Recovery; Part 9
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Marinette, after spending several minutes cooing over the motorcycle and the helmet he had presented her (it was pink with a cherry tree design on the sides, and custom made) she leapt into his arms again.
“Thank you, Dami. I needed this. Not the motorcycle, obviously, but the distraction.”
“Of course, malaki. I’m always here for you. We all are, from Alfred to Cass, we’re here for- oh no.” Damian blanched.
“Dami?” Marinette asked from his arms, craning her neck to look at him.
“We forgot to tell Cass.” He whipped out his phone, and groaned when he saw the screen. There was over a dozen missed calls from his youngest sister, and almost twenty texts.
“What? Oh, she’s probably so worried!” Marinette gasped. Damian frantically dialed, calling Jason to assess the damage.
“Demon Spawn, where the hell are you? You, Bruce, and Dick just up and disappeared, and took Alfred with you! No one has called us or even texted! Cas is flipping out!”
“Todd, shut up. We left for Paris. Tom and Sabine have…” He glanced at Marinette whose joy was gone, replaced with concern and sadness. “passed away. I’m just calling to tell you that we won’t be home for some time. Tell Cassandra, one of us will call with more information soon.”
“Demon Spawn, wait! You can’t ju –” Damian hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket, sighing. “Those back home have been informed of the basics. Now, I had Chloe bring a pair of your leggings, your sneakers, a leather jacket for each of us, and I brought my helmet. Want to take it out for a spin?” He gestured at the bike, and Marinette bounced in place.
“Yes!” She squealed, running back into the building.
X0X0X
They zoomed down the streets, bobbing and weaving through traffic. Marinette was pure grace on her bike, dancing between cars and trucks, guiding the motorcycle like it was second nature. He was sitting behind her, arms around her waist as she leaned into a turn. He leaned with her, taking the turn so sharp that they were almost parallel to the asphalt. They came to a stop in front of the bakery, and Marinette dropped the kick stand with an easy flick of her ankle. She reached back and tapped his knee, and he dismounted the bike, pulling off his helmet with the ease of practice. Marinette slid off the bike and removed her helmet, shaking out her hair, which was partially matted to her head with sweat. With the way the sun touched the horizon behind her, and how her hair shined in the light, she looked just like an angel. He felt his ears burn a bit, and he cleared his throat to grab her attention.
“Dami?” She asked, staring up at him. He coughed a bit, emotions clogging his throat. She looked at him who was so damaged and broken, with such trust, so much love, and all he could do was try to give her the world in exchange.
“You mentioned when we talked last week that a new fabric shop opened and you hadn’t had a chance to go yet. Would you want to go now? The SUV is parked in the garage, and I can park your bike while you change.”
“Really? That sounds fantastic, my knight. Let me run up to my room and change, I’ll be quick, promise!” She ran past him, froze, ran back, pecked him on the cheek, and ran off again. He chuckled, grabbing the handlebars of the motorcycle and carefully walking it back to the small garage behind the bakery.
After waiting almost twenty minutes, he began to worry. Marinette was picky with her outfits, but she never took more than fifteen minutes to get changed. Killing the engine, he stepped out of the car and made his way in through the back door. He was in the living room when he heard it. Muffled sobs, echoing from the ajar trap door to Marinette’s room. He bolted up the stairs, before freezing. His angel was sitting on the floor, still in her dress from the funeral. She was sobbing, no, bawling her heart out, clutching something to her chest.
“Malaki, mahbub, nur hayati, I’m here. Please, what has you so upset? All I want is to fix this, to see you whole once more. What’s wrong?” He dropped to his knees behind her, setting a hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t even seem to hear him, so lost in her pain. Damian gently scooped her into his arms, cradling her to his chest as he stood, walking over to her chaise. He may not be able to calm her down, but one of the many things Dick had taught him in the last seven years was that sometimes, crying was a good thing.
After far too long, her sobs abated. He stopped rocking back and forth (It had been an attempt to soothe her, okay? He wasn’t the best at emotions!) when he heard a few sniffles, and looked down to see his angel staring blankly at her knees, still curled into a tiny ball.
“Hey, malaki.” He murmured, hoping to catch her attention. Luckily, he succeeded. She blinked a few times, before looking up at him.
“I…I don’t know if I can do this.” She whispered after a few seconds of staring at him.
“Do what, my luck?” Finally caving to the urge, he shuffled his legs a little under her. She shifted herself to the side, curling up beside him so that she was in the fetal position with her head against his chest.
“I can’t be strong anymore. I’ve….” Taking a shuddering breath, she pressed on. “I’ve tried so hard to be strong, first against Chloe, then for all of Paris, then Lila and Paris at the same time, and I’ve been doing it for years. I’m tired, Damian. I’m so tired, and I can’t even rest yet.” She sounded so shattered, and something in his chest raged, raged at the fact that Marinette, his perfect, amazing, wonderful angel, had been made to face this alone, that she’d not been willing to turn to him for this. He swore, then and there, to make everyone who ever hurt her pay.
