Little Miss Mischief- A Damian Wayne x OC Fanfic- DISCONTINUED

16

Hazel POV:

He hands me an orange silk dress, smiling as I stared wide-eyed at the intricate Brazilian designs. 

"You can stitch?"  I raise an eyebrow, my fingers tracing over the embroidery. "What are you, a grandmother?"

"Actually, it was your grandmother that stitched this. Lana's mother. She was... a very interesting person." Father mused, patting the chair next to him. 

I raise an eyebrow at the strange expression on his face. It was a mix of wistfulness and...regret?

Maybe Father had a falling out with his in-law. I never knew my mother's family. 

His eyes shine as he tilts his head, staring at me, taking in my face, my expressions, everything. If he was some other guy, I'd have bashed his head into the wall for looking too long.

But he was my father, and he hadn't seen me in years, in practically all of my life. It made sense he was looking, especially since I looked a lot like the woman he fell in love with. I'd give him a pass on the staring.

I plop down next to him, rubbing the silk against my cheek. 

 It's so soft, and it somehow smells like home. 

"Why did you give me this dress?" 

"It's the only bit of your mother I had left. I didn't know what to do with it."  He looks away, sadness seeping into his voice. Guilt unfurls in my stomach, and I hurry to fix the awkward atmosphere.

"I mean, ya could've worn it. It mighta been a little tight round the shoulders though..." 

At that, Father laughs, his salt and pepper curls shaking. "Oh? Perhaps, perhaps. You think I'd look good in that?"

"One way to find out." 

 I raise an eyebrow, thrusting the dress into his hands. He laughs even harder, pushing it back into my arms.

"No, you wear it. You need to change your clothes anyways, that gala dress of yours is really starting to stink." 

Gee, thanks Dad.

He leads me to a bathroom, flicking on the lights to reveal a marble room with gold trimming and shining chandeliers. I bite my tongue as he sends me a sideways look, waiting for my reaction. Strangely, I am unfazed, sending him a grateful smile instead of the awed expression he was fishing for.

His look falters, and he leaves me to it, gently pushing me into the bathroom and shutting the door.

I start peeling the green dress off my shoulders, hissing slightly as the fabric chafed against my grazes, which were bandaged but still pretty susceptible to pain from movement. Pulling the pins out of my hair, and scrubbing the makeup off my face,  I finally morph back into my old self, at least, for the time being.

There's everything I could need in this bathroom, and I decide to take a towel to wash up, wiping off the grime and dried blood and everything else that's just plain eugh.

Meanwhile, I let my four braincells start thinking.

Why does he want to talk to me after so many years? Well, I guess Ma played a big role in it. She did tell him to stay away. But, why?

And when she spoke of him, she looked pretty scared herself, yet Dad seems pretty nice. Something's not adding up...

 Oh shit, I completely forgot about Damian! Fuck, is he okay?  I bet that fucker's worried sick for me. Ma's probably had a heart attack by now. I gotta get home.