He had to resist looking into the torrent of thoughts leaking from his human companion in the passenger seat while he drove a bit faster than the speed limit - his own anxieties were keeping him plenty busy. Pierre, newly healed, heading straight into a similar situation that had almost killed him before. Rachel, trapped in the White Rabbit while Damien willingly left her there to potentially fall into some trap. Laurent surfacing again after how many years (he knew, of course, that such a thing would happen eventually. He had planned for it and even expected it, but now he couldn't imagine the torment, rage, and helplessness it now filled him with to know that he was still there with physical proof). Rachel's palpable fright and disquieting (though understandable) display of anger... Damien couldn't help but listen to the pounding heart and nervous movements that Rachel was inadvertently directing his attention to, trying not to monitor or hover, or make it in anyway known that he was also worried about her in the overbearing way that he worried about, well, everything.
There was nothing good about any of this, and Damien regretted agreeing to let Jake take Rachel out of his sight for the evening. What had happened was almost the worst case scenario. And now, his very last instinct was to abandon Rachel somewhere while Laurent prowled the city. For the thousandth time he couldn't help but remember Zeus's words in his ears, suggesting to him that he - essentially - use Rachel as bait to catch the shadow demon. Damien's lips were closed and his teeth were clamped tightly together as he drove. He didn't notice the ache in his jaw until Rachel's words drew his attention away from the internal conflict.
Damien tried to smile at her as her words registered, hoping it had come off at least somewhat hopeful and without concern. He had his doubts. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel and slipped his fingers between hers, lifting Rachel's hand up to his lips for a quick kiss, an ache for her safety flaring up again in his chest.
"Yes, I'm fine," he lied smoothly, naturally. He had hundreds of years of experience resisting the urge to act upon his emotions, the trainings first of a soldier, then as a fledge. It was an act he perfected in the years after Lucretia had died, shutting everything away in order to survive until it had become dull and hard inside of him. He had had an untouchable air to him, one that nothing could puncture.
Yet for some reason that he himself didn't understand, the young woman seated next to him was responsible for dissolving that wall between himself and his emotions. She could see through much of his anguish now, that stoney-faced mask with which he ran his business and his empire. With Rachel, he could allow himself to feel things again, to begin the process of moving past his grief and frustration, to open up and feel comfort, warmth, and lov--
"Are you okay?" He rubbed his fingers over the half circles she had pressed into the palms of her hand and said nothing else about them. It wasn't their presence that bothered him, but the fact that she had felt something strong enough to allow them to occur. "Don't worry, Rache. It will only be for a few hours. You will have Pierre and Lisa-Joe and the magic in the White Rabbit to keep you and everyone in there safe while Jake and I go find Sam." He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze and kiss, admiring the difference in temperature between their skins. He didn't want to let it go, but allowed her the space to choose if she wanted such a thing.
