"You're infuriating to work with," Damian muttered sharply, the words practically dripping with restrained irritation as he stormed into the Batcave, boots echoing against the polished floor.

The lights above flickered faintly as the large monitor screens lit up one by one, illuminating his scowl as he passed beneath them. The stakeout had lasted nearly twelve hours; twelve long, painfully quiet, tense hours. And despite all that tension, the mission had technically gone well. The target was apprehended. Intel was gathered. No one died.

Technically, a success. But Damian didn’t see it that way. Not at all. He dropped into the chair with a huff, fingers already flying over the keys as he began typing out the post-mission report with mechanical precision.

"I plan to never work with you again," he said coldly, not bothering to look back. "You nearly risked the entire operation with your impulsive move on the balcony. Father will not be pleased, and frankly, neither am I."

The bitterness stayed in his tone, but it was not quite rage, not quite disappointment, but something in between. Something personal. Damian prided himself on being efficient, focused, unshakable. He followed plans to the letter, trusted his own instincts above all. You're still unpredictable in his eyes. Reckless.

"Do you even think before you act?" he asked, finally turning toward you, eyes narrowing. His tone wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to cut through the cave’s usual quiet hum. "If you had slipped up even a little, that entire mission would've gone up in flames. You can't just do whatever you want out there."