Bruce was sitting, as usual, in the Cave before the computer, scanning through files, drawing lines on maps, preparing himself for patrol tonight. He heard the quick, measured footsteps coming down the stairs, and heading towards his chair, and recognized Damian's pace, the familiar sound of his son's feet on the flat, stark ground. It only took a moment longer to note the strangeness of the sound; Damian usually moved silently. Tonight, he wanted to be heard.

He came to stand behind Bruce's seat, peering up at the screen. Bruce didn't turn around to look at him, but he could sense him there.

Damian asked, "Are you working on the Donovan case?"

"No," replied Bruce. "I let the Commissioner know about that one this morning. He took care of it."

"Then the Marigold murder."

"Took care of that last night, while you were with the Titans."

Damian didn't respond to this. Then, "What are you working on?"

"I'm not sure yet," replied Bruce. "New criminal, new gimmick. Still entirely unoriginal."

There was a silence. And then Damian pulled away, heading over to the display cases, peering in at each of them. "I hear we're hosting a social event," he called back to his father.

Bruce still didn't glance around. "Tim is holding a charity ball for his Neon Knights Foundation, yes," he replied, eyes still on the information on the screen. "On the sixteenth. Depending on how late it goes, you may be on patrol by yourself that night."

"Aren't I invited?"

Bruce paused, then finally turned around. Damian was standing in front of the case displaying the original Batgirl's costume. He glanced back at his father, his expression vague and nonthreatening.

"It's Tim's event," he said. "I assumed you wouldn't be interested. But you're welcome to attend, if you wish."

Damian nodded, turning back to look at the memorialized costume again. He was silent for so long that Bruce turned back to the computer. And then, suddenly, he asked, "Would I be allowed to…bring a guest?"

Bruce stopped looking at the screen at this, but didn't turn around to face Damian. "Who?" he asked. "Do you want Dick to come?"

"No," said Damian. "No, I…" He paused, a new tension entering his voice. Bruce found himself slightly confused. "It's just that," and suddenly the words began to pour out of Damian's mouth, as if he couldn't contain then any longer. "It's that Impulse went to a social gathering a few weeks ago which I was unable to attend because we were in Hong Kong with Black Bat, and I by no means regret that mission because it was an indisputable success, but this…social gathering meant very much to Iris and I would like to make it up to her, if at all possible."

Bruce paused, then asked, "What kind of social gathering was this?"

A moment's hesitation, and then he said: "It was a birthday party. A large one, in fact. From what I understand, sixteenth birthdays are considerably significant in American culture."

The older man considered this for a moment, then said, "You understand that this is a charity ball, and as such verymuch unlike a teenager's birthday party?"

"I don't think it's the dancing and the partying and whatnot that she's really interested in," said Damian, almost apologetically. "It's more of…being with her. Out of uniform."

There was an odd sort of silence in the Cave. It wasn't quiet awkward, but Bruce could tell that this conversation made Damian uncomfortable, and that he wanted it to be over as soon as possible. "Impulse," echoed Bruce. "Iris West?"

"Yes."

A pause. "The Waynes aren't supposed to know the Wests," Bruce reminded his son.

"Yes," repeated Damian, bowing his head in a slightly nod, "but her family is relatively unknown. None of Gotham's elite will recognize her." He hesitated, then added, "If you're really concerned, we can easily arrange a cover story. And an alias, if you feel it necessary."

Bruce said nothing for another moment, then replied, "It should be fine, as long as nobody presses the either of you." Then he added, "But you do have to remember that this is Tim's event. He will be there as well, and he will probably speak. I expect you to show him your utmost respect, and I will not tolerate either you or Miss West drawing any extra attention to yourselves. The evening is his, not yours."

"I understand," said Damian. "Of course. It's a charity event, of course. I'll behave." He paused, then added, "And so will Iris."

Bruce nodded and then, "And you must have her parent's permission, as well."

"Naturally."

"I will be speaking to her father about this."

"Yes."

There was a silence.

Then Damian said, carefully, "Thank you. She will appreciate this very much."

"Of course."

And then Damian slipped back up the stairs, disappearing into the Manor, walking entirely too quickly, and, from what Bruce could see, glancing at him – the hint of a blush in his cheeks.

The event began late in the evening, but it was early afternoon when the bell of the great front doors of the Manor rang. Damian, who had been anxiously sitting in the kitchen, picking at a plate of vegetables, alternately highlighting passages in a book and picking up his smartphone, tapping something on the keys, looked up and said breathlessly, "That's probably her."

"Indeed," said Alfred, heading to the door. "Would you like to greet her?"

"In – in a second," said Damian, suddenly glancing at the shining metal of the refrigerator, brushing his fingers through his hair. "You answer it."

Alfred nodded and went to the front hall, and opened the tall doors; Iris, tall and thin and red-haired, stood there grinning, a small bag in her hands, and behind her stood a man with an equally red shock of hair, carrying a long dress cover over his shoulder. "Good afternoon, Master West," said Alfred, nodding to Iris's father, then Iris herself, "Miss West. Welcome to the Wayne household. Please, come in."

"Good to see you again, Alfred," said Wally, but the smile on his face seemed oddly forced. "Been a while, huh?"

"Yes, sir," said Alfred. "Several years, I believe."

"Is Damian here?" asked Iris.

"Yes," came a voice from the stairs. Damian was hurrying down the steps, a small smirk on his face as he saw Iris. Alfred noticed he had changed his shirt, once again. He skipped the last few steps and strode to Iris, reaching out to take her hand and put it to his lips, bowing gently. "I'm glad you could come, Iris," he said, a sparkle of charm that reminded Alfred of the boy's father in his voice. "Welcome."

Iris giggled. "Why, thank you, Damian," she replied, a grin on her face. "I'm honored to be here."

Damian held out his hand to Wally. "Mister West," he said respectfully. "Thank you, again, for allowing Iris and I to attend this event together."

An almost-annoyed look lingered on Wally's face, and he said, "You're welcome, kiddo. Anything for young love." Iris blushed a little, giggling again. Wally glanced up at Alfred and asked, "Is Bruce here?"

"Of course," said Alfred. "If you'll excuse me, I shall fetch him."

Alfred left, and Damian said, "Dick should be here soon, if you'd like to wait."

"No, it's okay," replied Wally. "I don't mean to hover for too long. Just wanted to check in with your dad, make sure everything's still A-OK."

"Don't you have people to save, or something?" Iris said to her father, taking hold of his arm affectionately. "Surely the fate of the world is more important than talking to your daughter's boyfriend's father."

"Oh, Irey honey, when your daughter's boyfriend's father is the Batman, I think an exception can be made."

Damian smiled, a little sheepishly, a little uncertainly. Iris glanced at him, then her father, then took the dress, covered and hanging from a wire hanger, from his hands. "Damian and I'll just take this, then," she said, slightly awkwardly. "And, we'll, um, just-"

"Hold on," came a familiar voice; deep and authoritative, his voice alone still managed to send a chill down Wally's spine, despite having worked with the man for years on the JLA. Bruce appeared, glancing at the two teenagers, and said, "I'm sure the two of you can wait a few moments."

Damian didn't argue. Iris glanced at him, then stayed silent as well.

"Wally," said Bruce, nodding slightly, taking the other man's hand. "How is…work?"

"The League misses you, Bruce," replied Wally. "But we do okay." He paused, then asked, "So, this thing tonight…"

"A charity ball," answered Bruce, and as the two men began to talk, Damian reached out to take the dress from Iris.

"I can take that," he murmured.

She tugged it out of his reach. "No," she said, a little smile on her face. "You'll peek."

"Of course I won't."

"I don't want you to see it until tonight."

"Please. Just let me take it off your hands."

She held it tightly. "I'm not letting you have it," she said, with finality, but then she held out her small bag. "But you can hold this."

He took the simple green bag, and couldn't keep a smile off his face.

"It should be over by midnight," Bruce was saying. "But admittedly, guests were still leaving at two, last year."

Wally paused, looking at Iris and Damian, worry in his eyes. "And Dick's going to be here all night?"

"Yes. He and Tim will be arriving very soon, and are staying the night."

"And you're completely okay with this?"

Bruce paused, then answered, "I trust them. I'll let you know when it's done, if you would prefer to collect her afterwards."

"No," said Wally. "They've been planning this for a while. I won't go back on my word." There was a moment's hesitation, and then Wally sighed and said, "Okay, Irey, I'm gonna go now." Iris flitted to his side, hugging him tightly.

"'Bye, Daddy."

"Behave. Be nice. I'm trusting you to make good decisions tonight, okay?"

"Yes, I know. We already had this conversation."

"Just wanted to make sure you remember." He glanced up. "Thanks, Bruce," he said. "Make sure these kids don't get too crazy." He turned and said, "Have a good time, Damian."

"Thank you," replied Damian, nodding.

Wally leaned over and kissed his daughter on the top of the head. "See you tomorrow, hon. Remember to call home after your little dance thingy."

"It's a charity ball, not a dance."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Wally nodded a quick, respectful farewell to Bruce and Damian, and then he was gone, no doubt speeding back home to Keystone.

Damian hesitated for a moment, then said, "Come, Iris. I'll show you my room, then." She nodded and began to follow him, but Bruce's voice stopped them.

"Damian."

Damian paused, looking back at his father. "Yes?"

Father and son met one another's gaze, their dark eyes boring into each other. After a moment's hesitation, wherein Iris thought one of the two might drop an awful bomb of a comment at any second, Bruce said simply, "Keep your door open, please."

Rolling his eyes already, Damian replied, "Of course," and headed up the stairs, Iris trailing behind him. There was an empty room down the hall from his own to which he led her. "This will be your room tonight," he said, opening the door, revealing a small bed, desk, windows, big closet, fireplace, and a vase of – no – she couldn't hold back a giggle. Irises.

"You're cute, Damian," she said, going over to the vase of flowers. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"We have a flower garden out back," he said, hovering by the door. "I thought you might appreciate those. I could show you, if you'd like, before it gets dark. There are roses too."

"Thank you," she said, and she went to the closet, hanging up her dress, and then went back to Damian, took her green bag from him and laid it on the bed. She turned around and looked at Damian.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, then, gently, Damian told her, "You look very beautiful tonight."

"Thanks," she said, grinning sheepishly at him. "Lian came over and she and my mom helped with the hair and most of the make-up. My eyes, anyway. I don't know anything about that stuff, so we thought we'd do it way ahead of time. Do you like it?"

"Yes," he said, striding towards her, putting his up to touch her elbows, guiding her own arms around him. "Very alluring."

"Aw, gee," she said. "You sure do know how to charm a girl, you know that?"

He stared at her eyes. "Can I kiss you?" he asked.

She giggled. "As long as you don't smear my mascara."

Gently, he leaned forward and kissed her lips chastely. Just as she began to lean in, pressing for more, he broke apart, a little smile dancing devilishly about his lips.

"We have a few hours until it starts," he said. "What would you like to do?"

"I'm still not completely done getting ready, silly," she replied. She raised a finger and tapped her lips. "Look, I didn't even try to put on lipstick yet, because I knew you'd do this."

"Do what?"

"Want to make out first."

He grinned. "You know me only too well."

"And I have to get into my dress, for one," she said, "which is a challenge in and of itself. And the shoes. Ugh. Did I tell you I'm wearing heels? Look at this." She turned, pulling away from him, and opened her bag, pulling out a pair of sleek black heels. "I'll be taller than you."

"Is your dress black as well?" he asked, feigning disinterest, watching the heels. "Will we look like we're coming from a funeral?"

"My dress is classic," replied Iris smartly, putting the shoes away. "We will look elegant and rich. Your two favorite things."

"May I see it?"

"Not yet," said Iris. "I want you to have one of those TV movie moments where I come walking down the stairs and your eyes go all starry."

He watched her, an odd little smile on his face. "I look forward to it."

She met his smile, and then she said, "So! How about that rose garden?"

They headed outside behind the house in the evening light. As soon as he closed the French doors leading out to the portico, he whistled; a dog came bounding up, big and slobbery. "This is Titus," said Damian, reaching down to scratch behind the dog's ears affectionately. "He's getting old, but he is a good dog."

Iris let out a cooing sound and knelt down, petting Titus, rubbing his ears. "Hello Titus," she said. "Oh, look at you! What a good doggy!" She laughed. "I want a big dog," she said, glancing up at Damian, "but my mom's allergic to fur, so if we do get a dog it'd have to be one of those little tiny shorthair things. Or a poodle. So no dog for the Wests."

"Titus can be a handful at times," said Damian, patting the Great Dane's thick body. "But now he mostly sleeps in the sun all day."

"Is he vegetarian like you?"

"God, no. He's a hunting dog."

Iris straightened up. "Do you hunt with him?"

"No," answered Damian. "I don't have much time for him anymore. I take him for runs in the morning, but other than that he's generally on his own. In the winter he sleeps inside, by the fireplace."

"That's cute," said Iris, looking at the dog. "I wish more people knew how cute you were, Damian."

He didn't answer that. "The flowers are just down there," he said, pointing down some stone steps. He began to head that way, but then Iris reached out and took his hand. He looked back at her, then returned the pressure and led her down the steps to the flower garden. "This whole area was originally a traditional English landscape garden, but it's changed much. My father created a Japanese-style zen garden over there when he was young, after he traveled the world, although it's crude and westernized. I've been working on it, and I like to think some progress has been made. Alfred cultivates a Shakespeare garden there. Sometimes he delivers impromptu soliloquys amidst the flowers. Our rose garden is in between, right here, and there are some irises down here."

He led her to a row of flowers, pointing them out. "This is incredible," she said. "I mean, I knew the Manor had its grounds and stuff but…I didn't know you liked gardening."

"It's a calming exercise," said Damian, with something like a shrug. "We had trouble when Titus was smaller because he would always tear up the flowers, but now he likes them." Damian tore a few petals off one of the roses and crouched, holding them out to the dog. Titus sniffed them for a few moments, wetting Damian's hand with his nose, then lapped them up into his mouth happily. Damian straightened up, patting Titus on the head, pleased. "He has refined tastes."

"Do you spend a lot of time out here?" asked Iris.

"I used to," said Damian. "After…" he paused.

At his hesitation, Iris said, "You don't have to say anything you don't want to."

"No," he said, but there was a hint of distress in his voice, in the way he moved. He held her hand again. "This is something I can share with you."

He didn't speak immediately. Iris waited.

"I was shot," he said; he put his free hand up to his forehead, "right here. It killed me."

Iris stared at him.

"My body was lowered into a Lazarus Pit," he told her, "which revived me. My…mother was involved, to say the least."

"She brought you back?" asked Iris.

"No," said Damian. "Someone else did."

"Your dad?"

"No," said Damian.

"Dick?"

"I'm not going to tell you," he said. Iris almost protested, but then said nothing. "Needless to say, I made decisions that I, in retrospect, regret. When I came home, there was something…different. The Pit changes you, so they say. I felt changed."

A short silence. Iris asked, "So you took up gardening?"

Damian bowed his head slightly. "Yes. It is calm, repetitive, physical, and constructive. It creates, instead of destroying."

"Just flowers?"

"We have a vegetable garden much further out," said Damian, nodding towards the vast expanse of land before them. "Mixing it with the flowers was much too…"

Iris laughed. "Common," she said.

Damian let a small smile touch his face. "Perhaps," he replied. "Look." He turned towards the Manor, pointed up at one of the windows. "That's my father's study. He can see all of these flowers from his window. Alfred thinks it brings some color and vibrancy into his life, or something. But the vegetable garden is much more labor-intensive, which means I spent more time out there, and-"

"It isn't visible from your dad's window," said Iris, nodding. "I get it. Smart move."

Damian nodded. "I would take you out there," he said. "But we don't have enough time to appreciate it fully tonight. Some other time."

They stood there for a moment, then Iris drew him towards her, so they were holding each other. "Thank you for showing me this," she said. "I'm glad we finally get to spend some time here together. You have a beautiful home."

"I can take you on a short tour of the house, if you'd like," he said.

"If," she said, "we can neck in the Batcave."

He smiled and almost rolled his eyes. "My father's probably down there."

"Your father's probably at his study window right now," she said, nodding up at the house, "with binoculars. Making sure we stay appropriate."

Damian kissed her. "If only he knew," he said smugly, "that you're faster than his security alarms."

She giggled, but before she could speak, Titus let out a half-hearted bark and went padding away excitedly; they pulled apart and looked towards where the dog was headed.

"Hey, you!" said Dick, addressing the dog. At the top of the stairs leading down to where they stood, Dick knelt to rub Titus's head; Titus licked his face, and Dick laughed. He straightened up at waved at Damian and Iris. "Hi!" he called. "Having fun?"

"We were," called Damian in reply, as Dick hurried down the steps, Titus at his heel. "Until this moment."

"Hi, Iris," said Dick, grinning. "Sorry I missed your dad, Alfred said he was just here."

"He had some stuff to do at home, anyway," said Iris. "And I also told him I'd never speak to him again if he hovered, so."

Dick laughed. "How's your mom?"

"Good. She wants pictures of tonight."

"No problem. I'm in charge of the camera. And Jai?"

"Super genius, as usual. It still makes me angry how my brain works like ten times faster than his, and yet he's still smarter than me."

"I know how that is," said Dick, putting an affectionate hand on Damian's shoulder. "I'm twice this kid's age and he's still light-years above me."

Damian shrugged Dick off. "I was just showing Iris the gardens."

"Get to the Shakespeare garden yet?" asked Dick. "Can we get some Romeo and Juliet up in here?"

"I get to be Romeo," said Iris with a smile, glancing at Damian.

"Deal," said Dick seriously. "But I'm Mercutio."

"Oh," said Iris, grinning broadly now, "you are fortune's fool."

Damian rolled his eyes. "I am not performing a tragedy with you, Iris," he said pointedly. "Especially not one wherein the lovers die."

"OK," said Dick. "Midsummer Night's Dream? I'll be Puck! No! I'll be Hermia, Damian, you're Helena, and Iris, Demetrius. Titus can be Lysander. Bruce gets to be Puck."

Damian sighed loudly and obnoxiously.

Dick snickered. "OK, sorry, I get the picture," he said. "I'll leave you to it. Tim's waiting for me anyway, gotta pick out his clothes for him, as always. Think about getting ready soon, we're leaving in a few hours."

He headed back into the house, away from the two of them. Iris turned back to Damian, holding his forearms. "I thought that was cute," she said. "You can be the Helena to my Demetrius any day."

"Have you even read that play?" he asked, but his annoyance was mostly feigned. "Demetrius doesn't love Helena."

"He does, in the end. Besides, the important part is the Helena is totally, totally head-over-heels for him."

Damian eyed her suspiciously. "Is that how you see our relationship?"

"I'm kidding," said Iris lowly, leaning in. "I don't know enough Shakespeare to find the accurate comparison to you and me."

"Theseus and Hippolyta," said Damian. "In the same play." He paused, searching for something deep in her eyes. He murmured, "I conquered you."

She met his eyes for a long moment, then her face broke out into a smile. "You wish," she said, and she tore away from him, instantly all the way away at the entrance of the house. "Are you coming?" she shouted, and he rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Titus," he muttered to the dog, and he followed her in.

A few hours later, Damian was standing in the study adjacent to the front hall, straightening his bow tie in front of a mirror.

"There's no chance of a disaster tonight, is there?" he asked.

Alfred, standing behind him, answered, "As much of a chance as any other night, Master Damian. This is Gotham, after all."

"But it's a charity ball," said Damian, turning around. "There's a significantly lesser chance because of this, yes? As opposed to any kind of extravagant, wasteful party?"

"Perhaps," said Alfred. "Your father is bringing supplies in the car, however. In case of an emergency."

"Iris would be prepared," said Damian. "Her uniform is in her ring. Except I can imagine that might be problematic. A strange redhead arrives at the ball with the young son of Bruce Wayne, and then Impulse shows up not long after. Too obvious."

Damian didn't say anything for another moment, but his hands smoothed his jacket once again, eyes darting across the room. He opened his mouth to say something more, but at that moment, the door swung open and Dick appeared.

"Hey," he said excitedly. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," said Damian instantly. "Is Iris-"

"Yup," said Dick, grinning. "Alfie, go get Bruce and Tim." He reached out and took Damian's arm, dragging him out of the room. "Come here."

"What are you-"

"I have very specific instructions," said Dick, positioning Damian before the grand front door in the entrance hall. "You get to stay right here. OK!" He held up a camera. "Iris!" he called. "You can come down now!"

Damian stared at the stairs, something turning jittery in his stomach. He adjusted his bowtie one more time, and then he stopped moving completely, and his mouth all but fell open.

Her dress was long, black and simple, with two streaks of crystals across the bodice. Her hair was done exactly as it had been when she came, elegantly curled and twisted into a bun high on her head. Her eyes were ringed in black and gold, and her lips were a quiet red.

She descended the steps slowly, a smile on her painted lips. She reached the bottom of the stairs, and Damian strode up to her. He held out a hand; she offered hers, and he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

"My queen," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't get pretentious."

"You look stunning."

"I know. Thank my mom and Lian. This is their doing."

"Thank you for doing this for me."

"Doing what for you? This is a treat for me. I get to dress up all nice and fancy and have you look at me with big pretty goo-goo eyes for a whole night. This is my favorite thing."

"Oh my God," said Dick, holding up the camera. "OK, OK, awkward prom photo. Damian, get behind her. Lean over a little. Iris, are you taller than him? Hah, yeah, that's great. OK. Smile."

Without glancing at each other, they somehow seemed to be in sync, because while they didn't quite smile, there was something more like an elegant smirk on their faces.

"Wow," said Dick. "Bravo. You are going to be the hottest kids at this party."

"Not like there's much competition, anyway," muttered Damian. "This is a charity ball for rich old white men."

"Be nice, Damian," replied Iris, poking him in the cummerbund. "Your dad's a rich old white man."

They lasted exactly forty-five minutes and sixteen seconds at the charity ball. As they slipped out together, Iris giggling and clutching on to Damian's hand, Bruce and Dick both sidled up beside Tim and slipped him ten dollars. "Told you," said Tim, shaking his head. "I can't believe you honestly thought she's here so they can do anything but make out in his room."

"Ah, I can't blame 'em," said Dick, beaming after the kids. Bruce didn't exactly say anything, but there was a slight crease in his brow, betraying his concern.

A while later, Bruce slipped into one of the halls ancillary to the ballroom, cell phone at his ear. "I assure you, everything is fine," answered Alfred, sprinkling salt over a huge bowl of popcorn. "They are, at the current moment, watching movies in the sitting room."

Bruce wasn't used to being so concerned about something so trivial as his son's knowledge of safe sex, but he found himself worried anyway. "Keep an eye on them."

"Of course. Enjoy the party."

"Don't let them do anything stupid."

"Why, your sensibilities are positively vintage, Master Bruce"

"They're just kids."

"And as such, have many feelings and urges which they should explore. He is responsible enough to exercise caution and good choices." He paused, then added, "I sense you think he's never had a conversation about sexual health, and I can assure you-"

Shaking his head, although he knew Alfred could not see him, Bruce repeated, "Just keep an eye on them, Alfred."

Relenting, Alfred said, "Of course, Master Bruce."

He hung up, then took the bowl of popcorn out of the kitchen and into the empty sitting room, where he sunk into the sofa, turning on a Chaplin film.

The door opened, and Damian, in a t-shirt and sweatpants, leaned in. "Where are the extra blankets? They're not in Dick's room, I just checked."

"In the laundry room," Alfred replied. "I took the liberty of preparing them for you tonight."

There might have been a slight blush on Damian's face when he said, "Thanks, Alfred." Before he could close the door, there was a flash of movement, and suddenly the bowl of popcorn disappeared from Alfred's hands.

"Popcorn!" said Iris gleefully. "Yes! I'm starving!"

Damian glanced back at his girlfriend, then at Alfred sympathetically, but the old man held up his hands to silence him. "Take it," he said. "And please, if you're hungry, Miss West, allow me to prepare you both some dinner-"

"That's all right," said Damian hurriedly.

Behind Damian, Iris leaned in, holding the popcorn, and called, "Thanks, Mister Pennyworth!" then she giggled and was gone, flickering away.

Damian began to close the door again, but Alfred said, "Just a moment, Damian."

Wearily, Damian did not protest this. He had been expecting it. Closing the door behind him as Alfred paused the movie, Damian asked, "Yes?"

"Where will you two be?" asked Alfred, matter-of-factly.

"My studio."

"No trips into the city?"

"No. No reason to go, Iris isn't allowed to be in uniform in Gotham anyway."

This wasn't what Alfred meant, but he was glad that it was what Damian had thought he did. "I will be monitoring your motorbike, as well as all the cars," he said. "I expect your father will be back in a few hours. Will you have your commlink?"

This was a redundant question, because Damian always had his commlink. "Yes," he said, almost rolling his eyes.

"Excellent," answered Alfred. "I will try to alert you with time to spare if he comes home early."

Damian appreciated this, but felt a little too awkward to say so.

"Also," Alfred began, "I suspect he told you this already, but you should know that there are condoms and other supplies available for your use in Dick's bathroom. Please use them if you need them."

"All right," said Damian, too loudly. "Okay. Thank you."

"Let me know if I can get anything."

"We're fine. Thank you."

A moment of silence.

"Can I go now?" Damian asked.

"Oh, yes," answered Alfred mildly. "Of course. Shoo! Go and entertain the lady."

With a sigh of relief, Damian left the room, shaking his head as he did so.

"I can't believe this," muttered Bruce, making his way through the dewy grass of the Manor's back garden in the early morning sun. "Alfred, I asked you to do one thing-"

"Oh, Master Bruce," sighed Alfred. "Allow him the slightest slack on the lead, will you? He's a growing boy and he's perfectly entitled to-"

He broke off as Bruce stopped abruptly, the panels of glass on the greenhouse before them shining in the morning sun, beams of light illuminating dust floating through Damian's art studio. Before a canvas half-covered with some blurry charcoal, a project Damian had abandoned a few days ago, two young bodies reclined beside each other in the clear early light of dawn. Iris slept on the old couch they'd moved into the greenhouse for Damian, and Damian himself lay on the floor, layers of comforters and blankets piled beneath him. They both slept soundly. Iris's hand hung off the bed, her fingers just touching Damian's on the floor. No doubt they had fallen asleep holding hands.

Smugly, Alfred turned to look at Bruce, who rolled his eyes and turned and headed back to the house without a word.