"Alfred."
"Yes, Master Bruce?"
"Tell me..." Bruce's voice was quiet, ridden with emotions to the point that his butler couldn't discern what was going to follow. The soft noises of a rag against glass and the cups lightly clinking against each other filled the silence as he chose his words. "Have I put too much trust into Damian, or his comrades?"
Alfred paused in his position behind the bar. He put down the glass he was cleaning, eyes glued to the wall of computers Bruce was currently sitting at. It was plastered with Skype logs and text messages; he absentmindedly picked up another glass, the old man made his way closer to the screens.
"I do not believe it to be anything of your doing," he said, rubbing at the glass, the light reflected in it's surface. Bruce sighed, fingers tapping away, pulling up more logs and various pictures that Damian had been sent. "He is a teenage boy... Boundaries rarely seem important at his age."
Bruce clicked on a file, opening up the picture like he had done with countless others. The glass Alfred was holding fell from his grip and shattered on contact with the floor, and all was silent in the cave as they both stared at the very much nude redheaded girl in the photo.
"I... I do not think it is Damian you have to worry about, sir."
The man growled, keys smashing under his fingertips as he pulled up Damian's Skype interface. It didn't take more than a minute for the girl to notice he was online and pull him into a video chat, and with one click the smiling West was displayed on the screen.
"B...Bruce?" She said, her expression faltering at the sight of him and his frown. She was propped up on her elbows, the only light in her room being the laptop she had on her bed. She reached up, adjusting the neck of her shirt. "Are... you okay?"
"I would be much better, Iris, if I hadn't just come across your picture in Damian's files."
There was nothing but background noises from inside the West household as Irey sat there, her eyes wide, and it took her several long moments before she could will herself to speak.
"Oh."
"You don't want me to forward that onto your father, do you?"
"N—No, sir."
"I don't want to see another picture of you - dressed or otherwise - on my monitor."
"Yes, sir."
She abruptly cut her feed, and a new text message popped up onto the log he had been monitoring.
Batman knows.
