Chapter Text
Twenty year old Damian Wayne removed his bat-eared cowl in the sanctity of the Batcave. He felt the annoying urge in the back of his jaw to yawn. Irked, he gritted his teeth together to resist it.
“Nice job tonight.”
Damian turned to his adoptive older brother. “I know.” He removed the cape and utility belt, reaching for the pair of comfortable pajamas Alfred left for him.
“You’re so comfortable in the cowl. Going back to the Robin gig after this must seem… childish.” Nightwing tossed his domino mask unceremoniously on the ground, yawning.
The young Wayne scowled at the offending cloth and folded his cape meticulously. “It doesn’t matter to me which persona I improve.”
Nightwing shrugged and turned to his own pile of clothing. “I’m just saying.” He lifted his shirt at the hem and Damian kicked off his boots. “Filling in while your dad goes to his fancy parties must kinda suck.”
“It’s for the good of the entire operation. It has little to do with my feelings on the matter.” Spandex bottoms off, sweatpants on. Resist the urge to yawn.
“Don’t you want to move up in the ranks, though? Going from Robin to Batman back to Robin… seems like a downgrade.”
“There can be only one Batman at a time. I have no desire to usurp my father’s mantle.” Damian hooked his fingers under the black Kevlar-Nomex blend and pulled it over his head. He stretched his back, testing the soreness of a muscle he pulled from getting jerked around on the jump line. It would hurt tomorrow, but for now it hardly ached.
“Hey! Are those scratch marks?”
Damian glared at Dick, now dressed in flannel pants similar to his own and a thin t-shirt, over his shoulder. “What?”
“Down your back,” Dick elaborated, stepping closer to his brother.
“I don’t know. Possibly,” the twenty-year-old mumbled, grabbing his shirt and tugging it on, covering the offending marks defensively.
“Wait, wait.” Dick lifted Damian’s shirt over his shoulder blades. “Those aren’t from a fight.”
“Stop that, Grayson.” Damian swatted his brother’s hand away and pulled his shirt down, fixing him with a glare as he turned to keep his back sheltered. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing, huh?” A knowing grin flashed across Dick’s face. “Looks to me like Little D’s got himself a girlfriend.”
Covering his fierce blush with a scowl, Damian grumbled, “Don’t call me that.”
“You do!”
“Don’t… be so excited about it. It’s annoying.”
“Who is it? How did you meet her? How do you meet anybody, actually? All you ever do is skulk around the Manor. Does Bruce know?”
“Grayson,” Damian snapped. “No one knows. I’m not even sure that she—”
“Are you kidding me?” Dick spluttered incredulously. “Girl marks you up like that and it’s not even official?”
An icy glare swept over Damian’s features before he returned to a largely indifferent, if slightly annoyed, look. “I am not going to discuss this with you any further.” He began walking toward the elevator that brought him up to the living quarters of the manor.
…
The next morning—morning in the relative terms of night-prowling vigilantes—Damian was hoping that his boisterous older brother would have forgotten about their previous night’s exchange.
No such luck.
Dick, Damian, and Dick’s daughter Mar'i were seated at the first three seats of the long table that sat in the Persian-rugged, French-windowed dining room.
“Another serving of eggs, Master Dick?” Alfred asked as he put another plate in front of Damian.
“No, thanks,” Dick answered around his newspaper.
“And for you, Miss Mar'i?”
“No thanks, Alf. I already had breakfast since I got up at an actual human hour. I’m just keeping these two some company. I’ll take some tea, though,” the green-eyed, dark-haired girl chirped.
“At a human hour,” Damian echoed, assuming a bored monotone. “Interesting remark, for someone who is only half so.”
Narrowing her eyes at him, Mar'i shot back, “And yet I’m better at being a functioning human being than you are. How ‘bout that.”
“Ah. It is lovely to see the two of you getting along so well,” Alfred quipped, shaking his head.
“Oh, Alfred, by the way,” Dick began, “did you know about the latest development in our budding Dark Knight’s social life?”
“Is the latest development an emergence of a social life to begin with?” Alfred asked, straight faced.
“Hey,” Damian interrupted, startled. “There’s no development. There’s nothing—”
“He got a girlfriend!” Dick announced gleefully in spite of his little brother’s protestations.
“It’s not anything that—”
“My word, Master Damian. That is impressive. Shall you bring the young lady for dinner?”
“No, Pennyworth, stop that. There won’t be any—”
“Girlfriend?” Mar'i echoed, tilting her head. “Really?”
“I never said—I mean—”
“Is she pretty?” Mar'i questioned, smirking.
“I—of course she—” Damian spluttered, his face flaming. Going silent, he snapped his mouth shut and stood so quickly his chair tipped over behind him. Without another word he exited the dining room, fists balled at his sides.
Behind him, he could hear Dick sigh and say, “Guess that’s my fault. I’ll go talk to him.”
“No, Daddy, that’s okay. I’ll talk to him,” Mar'i offered.
Damian ducked into the sun room, not that it was very sunny thanks to the habit Gotham’s skies kept of being filled with thick, heavy clouds. He was hoping that she’d think he went to his room, but she apparently knew him better than he thought.
“Damian,” she called soothingly as he flopped onto the couch.
“That… Your father is… I didn’t…”
“Would you calm down?” She swatted at his feet and he bent his knees obediently, giving her room to sit at the edge of the couch. “Come on. Don’t be all pouty.”
He responded by crossing his arms over his chest and pointedly looking away from her.
Mar'i sighed and leaned her elbows on his knees. “How’d he find out anyway?”
Propping himself up on his elbows so that Mar'i received the full force of his glare, he told her, “He saw the scratches you left on my back, woman.”
Mar'i’s mouth dropped open and, aghast, she covered it with both hands. “Oh my god,” she squeaked, “no he didn’t.”
“Are you implying that I made that up?”
“Oh god. How are we going to tell him now? He’ll know that we’ve been… you know… sleeping together.”
“I did tell you that you should have told him before that,” Damian pointed out crossly.
“I know, I know. It’s all my fault,” Mar'i lamented. “Oh, Damian, I’m sorry.”
He sat up and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I thought you’d be mad about the girlfriend part,” he admitted.
“Really? Why?”
Dropping his hand, he looked away from her. “We never really talked about it.”
To his surprise, she giggled at that. “You silly boy. When were we going to talk about it? Just because you never said, 'I want you to be my girlfriend’ or 'Do you wanna go out with me?’ doesn’t mean we don’t have a real relationship or that I don’t know that you like me.”
“I never said that,” he said quickly.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Then say you don’t.”
Instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers softly.
“Easy there, Wonder Boy,” Mar'i giggled. “Don’t forget what started this.” She curled her hand and raked her fingers through the air like claws.
“Cut your nails, woman.”
She grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at Damian’s face. “I have another solution that involves quite a bit more space between us at all times.”
Damian smirked and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he whispered into her hair.
Mar'i threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Good heavens.”
They flinched apart, startled, to find Alfred standing in the doorway. “My mildest of apologies for interrupting the both of you, but Master Bruce has returned from spending the night with Miss Selina. He’s requesting your presence in the dining room, Master Damian, and I expect he’d like to see Miss Mar'i as well. Although not engaged in this particular activity.”
“Pennyworth,” Damian called, standing, “please don't—”
“Sir. If there is one field where I have more than proven my adequacy, it is in keeping secrets.”