Chapter Text
Slade takes a careful sip of his coffee. He lets the snippets of quiet conversations flow right over him without picking on anything in particular. If he wants, he can concentrate on any one of them, but even for him, hearing the words would require some effort. The scattering of tables as well as the fact that it’s nowhere near full provides the perfect amount of privacy. He has to admit that this place is perfect for a daytime meeting. Upscale without being pompous, discrete without being secret, public without being crowded. No wonder Jason likes it.
The door — which Slade can not-coincidentally see perfectly from his spot on the table — opens and an elegantly-clad old man steps in. Slade lowers the cup back on the table and just manages to still his fingers before they tap against the table. The man’s gaze sweeps over the sparse crowd scattered at different tables before stopping at Slade. He nods politely in acknowledgment before turning to the waiter who zoomed on him immediately after entering, as could be expected for a place like this. A moment later he turns back around and makes his way to Slade.
Slade stands up.
“Mr. Wilson,” the man greets.
“Mr. Pennyworth,” Slade says back. Neither of them moves for a handshake. Instead, Slade makes a sweeping gesture to indicate the chair and says, “Please.”
Pennyworth nods and they both sit down.
Slade regards the man in front of him. He made no move to reposition his chair even though it leaves him with his back to the rest of the room and more importantly, the exits. His face is perfectly calm, vaguely polite. But his eyes are piercing and bright as he looks back at Slade. He makes no mention of the fact that there’s still more than a quarter of an hour to go before their agreed-upon meeting time and that Slade’s cup of coffee is more than halfway empty. The way he does it feels very pointed.
The waiter showing up ends the silent not-quite staring, or its more polite cousin since staring would be rude. She smiles politely and settles a tea kettle on the table as well as an elegant cup, saucer, and plate holding a small, equally elegant pastry. Then she smoothly refills Slade’s coffee, and after a polite ‘thank you’ from Pennyworth, she bustles off, leaving them alone again.
Pennyworth stirs his tea — no sugar, a splash of milk; just like Jason drinks his. A whiff of bergamot drifts up to Slade’s nose. Slade is sure the tea selection is not a message. Reasonably sure. He wouldn’t put it past Batman’s butler. The man who raised all of their formidable lot.
Pennyworth lifts the cup and takes a sip. Perfectly poised, perfectly calm as if he regularly drinks tea with international mercenaries. Perfectly content to wait Slade out.
All right then. This time, Slade did plan what to say.
“Thank you for coming,” he starts. It never hurts to be polite. Pennyworth inclines his head lightly but otherwise doesn’t respond.
“I wanted to personally let you know that I am courting Jason Todd with the intention of mating him.” Whenever Jason is ready. Slade is in no hurry. He will do it right, this time.
Pennyworth sets the cup on the saucer. His back stays ramrod straight as he steeples his fingers together. “Are you asking for my blessing?” he asks, voice perfectly calm.
“No. Jay has accepted my courting. He is the only one who can make it stop.” Any and all the ways you let me, Slade said. And he meant it then, means it now. That’s one of the reasons he’s here. “But it’s tradition to announce one’s intention to the intended’s family member.”
Pennyworth’s eyebrow rises elegantly. Ah. Slade sees where the kid got his eyebrow game.
“And yet,” Pennyworth says silkily, ”you have been seeing him at least four months before coming to me.”
Slade considers disagreeing. The first months after their reconciliation were rough, Jason being wary of Slade’s intentions still, and then practically running away to a space adventure with goddamn Roy Harper of all people. Slade kept sending flowers and keeping the lines of communication open, but they are busy people, both of them. Right up until the cusp of Jason’s heat, Slade wasn’t sure if the kid was coming or not.
“We haven’t been courting that long,” he hedges.
“Is that so? It is my understanding that you were together for quite some time before Jason returned to Gotham.”
Ah. There it is. The knife hiding under the mellow and polite exterior. If this is what Jason got used to from a parental figure, no wonder he took to Talia. Slade resists the urge to lick his lips. He has to proceed carefully here to not end up with a knife in his gut. Though that might be too uncouth for Mr. Pennyworth’s standards.
Slade opts for his standard operation procedure with Talia; polite and direct, without too many details. “Mr. Pennyworth, in the past, I made… Mistakes regarding Jason. I don’t plan on repeating them.”
Pennyworth eyes him over his fingers, judgment clear in his gaze even though he remains perfectly polite. It’s been a while (long, long while) since Slade felt like a little kid in a principal’s office. And it’s getting to him.
“Mmm. As always, Jason will make his own decisions,” Pennyworth says, again likening himself to Talia, likely without knowing it. Pennyworth folds his hands back to his lap, out of sight. Slade doesn’t relax. The next step is…
Somehow the look Pennyworth is giving him grows more intense without a muscle moving in his face. “I trust you know that there are quite a number of people who will take dire umbrage should you ever go back on that plan and bring him harm. While I cannot personally claim to be the swiftest or most resourceful of those, rest assured, Mr. Wilson, that I am well accustomed to hunting. And my ward is not the only one known for relentlessness.”
Slade nods sharply.
“Then we understand each other.” Pennyworth takes a dainty sip of his tea. “Now, back to tradition that you claim to follow.” Before Slade can protest, the butler continues, “Traditionally, upon mating, an omega would move to their alpha’s territory, leaving their family and lands behind. So you see why following tradition makes me worry.”
Slade thinks back to Jason standing in his kitchen, the last waves of heat vanishing from his scent, asking, with not just a small amount of apprehension, ‘So how is this going to work, us seeing each other outside of my heats?’
“I’d never ask that of him,” Slade says.
An eyebrow moves again, conveying deep skepticism with enviable elegance.
“I have not, and I will not,” Slade says.
“And does he know that?”
(’I won’t leave Gotham, so if you are entertaining some little fantasy of me settling in Kentucky, you can forget it.’
“Kid, do you really think I expect you to be some barefoot pregnant house omega?”
“Well, if you want something like that--”
“That wouldn’t be you, now, would it?”)
Slade allows a small smile. “He does,” he says with absolute certainty. The cozy little townhouse Slade purchased is undeniable proof of that. Slade considers himself the winner in that exchange: He gets a home that will smell like a proper den. Or will, once Jason moves in when he’s had time to get his stuff in order. Mostly his books. And it’s not like he’ll let go of his many and varied safehouses. Or that Slade plans to leave Kentucky altogether. Having multiple homes suits him just fine. It’s about compromise, he supposes, compromise that works for them.
“So you do not, in fact, plan to follow tradition,” Pennyworth draws his thoughts back to the present moment. Funny how Jason has the ability to wreck his focus without even being present.
“Only as it suits me. Suits Jay.”
Pennyworth hums. Is that a slightest bit of approval Slade hears?
“Jason is not much for tradition,” Slade continues, “But family is important to him.” It took Slade a moment to realize it, but the secrecy wore on Jason, the constant low pressure of it. Jason may be a deeply private person, but withholding something as important as a relationship… Besides, it made everything feel temporary. Slade might’ve not planned on the pup blathering the news for everyone to hear, but now he sees it as an opportunity more than anything. An opportunity to prove what he means to do.
“I see,” says Pennyworth, neutral again, but maybe with a tiny bit less coldness than before. “But I have to ask: why come to me with this discussion? As mentioned, there are several who have claims on him.”
“Because you’re the only one whose claim he has never disputed.”
The old man's facade cracks, with just a tiny, momentary waver that smooths out in a heartbeat, but it’s enough for Slade to see. A bit of worry in his mind evaporates. The deep caring is mutual. He was right to come to Pennyworth.
Pennyworth takes another sip of tea, maybe to cover up that blatant display of emotion. “Very well,” he then says, now again calm and placid. “Now you have presented your intentions. Did you have something else you wished to discuss with me?”
Slade carefully lets a breath out. He has no idea if Pennyworth approves or not, but at least he seems willing to let it be. Maybe that is all he could ask for. Might be that the butler is like Jay: pretty words won’t matter as much as actions.
“Yes,” he says, “I would welcome your help. I am looking for a gift.”
“One would think such individual as yourself would be able to think of one themselves.”
Apparently, the hope that they got over the judgment phase of the discussion was too rash.
“I could and I do,” Slade says, stubbornly resisting the deep urge to over-explain or get defensive, “But, as I’m sure you know, Jason doesn’t care much for gifts.” Jay when presented with a gift is just as likely to get angry as wholly blasé. His attitude to material goods is a puzzle Slade hasn’t figured out. Yet.
Pennyworth smiles suddenly. It is not a wide smile, a mere upward flick in the corners of his mouth, yet it transforms his face from something stern and vaguely disapproving to gentle and loving.
“No. The first time we tried to celebrate his birthday, he nearly fainted and then run away, poor pup. Afterward, he insisted than the gifts were donated to a charity as he had no need for such things. He put strict restrictions on allowed gifts, especially on the number of them. He much preferred smaller, intimate gatherings with a few close guests, if any celebration had to had at all.
“I believe that most meaningful for him was the time we spent together, teaching him to cook. Though books were always conspicuously exempt from any exclusion rules.”
Slade smiles. That validates what he thought.
“And now?”
Pennyworth sighs. A deep sadness flicks in his eyes before the emotion smooths back over. “And now, for him, actions speak even louder. The world made that sweet pup grow sharp and armored. But underneath, his heart is still as soft and caring as ever. It is just much more difficult to get to see it. To be allowed to protect it with him.”
Slade thinks of the myriad of new scars that adorn Jason’s skin. He survived his own destructive plans and built something in their smoking ruin, carving out a territory for himself. He is steadier, more sure of himself, more in balance than the angry young man he first met. But in all the ways that really matter, he is still the same.
Slade nods. Everything the butler is saying is growing his resolve to continue on this path.
“I would like to run something by you,” he says, “But it is not something a… Well, a majority of your pack would, let’s say, approve of.”
Pennyworth eyes him. “But Jason would?”
“Jason would.”
Pennyworth is quiet for a moment.
“Let’s hear it then. Perhaps I can be of service.”
***
“What are those?”
Slade looks down at the box full of books. “I’d think that is pretty obvious.”
“Slade,” Jason says, exasperated.
Slade calmly places another book on the shelf. He’s glad he bought the wider version. The number of books shouldn’t surprise him. And yet.
“Those are first editions.“ Jason springs next to him and picks up a book too. “And these are not just any books.” He opens the book from the very beginning and stares at the dedication page. Slade can’t read the spiky handwriting upside down, but he can make a guess.
“Your butler sent them,” he says, nonchalant.
Jason looks up. “You told him where the house is?”
Slade gives Jason a shrewd look. “You told him where your old apartment was. It seemed only right to give him the address of this one. Especially for sending the books.”
“You… Don’t mind him knowing?”
Suddenly Slade gets what this is about. “Not in the slightest,” he says gruffly, “I’m here to stay, Jason.”
Jason swallows. He severs eye contact by looking at the shelf. Then his gaze sharpens and quick as a snake, he snaps the book from Slade’s hand.
“Hey,” Slade says mildly.
Jason glowers at him. “You’re putting them in the wrong order,” he says before pushing the book on the shelf, to a very different place than Slade would have. But then, to be fair, Slade was pretty much just stacking them wherever.
Slade lifts an eyebrow. “There’s a correct order?”
Jason glowers some more. When Slade tries to reach for another book, his hand is swiftly swatted, and not particularly gently.
“Move,” Jason says and emphasizes the order with a shove, again not a gentle one, “You’re doing it wrong.”
Slade considers for a moment if he should just lift Jason up and fuck him against the brand-new shelf, but steps back instead. That activity can wait. Especially when Jason’s hands are already running over the back of the books, with a considerate amount of reverence, and his eyes are sparkling when he alternatively looks at the books (with love) and Slade (with glower).
Slade takes another step back and for a good measure, lifts his hands. All to indicate Jason’s precious books are safe.
“By all means,” he says, “make yourself at home.”