1:28, 4 September
Wayne Manor, Gotham, South Dakota, United States of America
The Batcave
As soon as the Batmobile skidded to a halt, Damian had disappeared out the door. They hadn't said much on the drive, but Bruce could sense the boy's excitement. If he had been given the choice, he would have preferred to take Damian to the Manor the civilian way, let him see the iron gates and the house slightly elevated on the hill. But he had been on patrol when Alfred had called him, claiming he had a message from Talia al Ghul of all people. And patrol meant being Batman, and that meant the Batmobile. And Batman couldn't be seen visiting the Wayne Manor on a whim. Bruce sighed. His life was never easy.
Damian was scanning the Batcave, likely memorizing each and every crevice. His hands were clasped behind his back in a gesture that seemed too old for him.
"Adequate security, Father, although the place is a bit… macabre."
Bruce quirked an eyebrow. That was a new one.
"Master Bruce, how was your reunion with-"
There were not a lot of things that could leave Alfred Pennyworth speechless, but the little boy standing next to the Batmobile did it. It was not the fact there was a boy in the Batcave, no, Alfred had lived long enough to recognize Bruce's penchant for adopting orphans. It was this boy himself that had made him stop short. The boy had heard his question, noticed him staring, and crossed his arms and aimed a glare at Alfred that would have levelled a lesser man. Alfred would have sworn a young Master Bruce stood in front of him, if it weren't for the caped figure watching the exchange in quiet observance.
It wasn't Bruce, so it could only mean one thing.
Oh, dear.
"Alfred, this is Damian." Alfred was watching Bruce carefully, but he had schooled his face into a deliberately blank expression.
"Pleased to meet you, Master Damian," Alfred said politely. He shot Bruce a look. They would be having words, and soon.
Damian surveyed the man in front of him, clearly not impressed. "Is this your head servant, Father?"
It was just as difficult to surprise Alfred as it was to render him speechless, and he had his suspicions as soon as he saw the boy but hearing the words… he was almost surprised enough to ignore the 'servant' comment. Almost.
"Damian, Alfred is not a servant," Bruce sounded exasperated.
"-tt-" Damian returned his skeptical gaze to the old man. "Then what is his purpose?"
Alfred prepared to list his full qualifications to the young master, taken aback. He was quite useful thank you very much. Bruce beat him to it.
"Alfred is a friend." Bruce slid off his cowl and made his way to the Batcomputer, selecting his files on the League of Assassins.
"Friend," the child muttered, like he didn't believe it. Alfred supposed if one didn't know Bruce personally the idea could seem a little absurd.
"Hm," Bruce responded, adding to the file on the screen. Alfred saw him add 'DECEASED' to Ra's al Ghul's file. They had much to discuss.
"Why don't I take Master Damian upstairs and make him comfortable, hm? You can join us when you are finished here, Master Bruce."
"Hm."
"Follow me, Mast-" Alfred cut himself off. Damian was already making his way up the stairs. His sigh was deep and tired, but he quickened his pace to follow.
1:34, 4 September
Wayne Manor, Gotham, South Dakota, United States of America
Bruce's Office
Damian Wayne was not sure what to make of his Father's 'friend,' but after observing him for a few minutes, he had determined that the old man, like Grandfather, was deceptively strong and well-trained. His mother had never mentioned a 'friend,' probably thought it irrelevant information. But if he would be interacting with this man, who knew his Father so well, he would have to start gathering intel immediately. Glancing behind him, Damian noticed the ease with which the old man climbed the stairs, exhibiting none of the stiffness he saw in all old people, save his Grandfather, and knew this man was more than he seemed.
He made it to the top of the stairs and waited for the old man to join him in the hall. He guided Damian down a long hallway.
"I do not understand your purpose here," Damian told him. "My father is not the type to keep 'friends.'"
Alfred gave him a thin-lipped smile. "I am the butler and housekeeper, and I tend the house and any cooking or cleaning Master Bruce may require."
Damian nodded, contemplating. So the old man did function as a servant, but Father regarded him in a higher position. An advisor, maybe? It was a complicated relationship, but he was certain he would understand it through observation.
"This will be your room for the duration of your stay with us. I do hope it is to your liking."
Damian could detect the sarcasm in the butler's voice; the room they entered was far more lavish than the one he kept at the Prēta Hēḍa. It was large and impersonal, and it was clear no one had ever lived there before. The bed was ridiculously large for one person and far too plush. Damian approved of the mahogany desk pushed up against a large window overlooking a garden. It would provide good natural light for his studies and his projects. The bookshelf in the corner was filled with books and he walked over, pulling one from the shelf. Sovran Maxims. Damian scoffed. Epicurean philosophy was far too optimistic and naïve for his tastes, even if it had been a foundation for Plutarch. He would need to go through the shelves and restock them with useful books. And if he was going to read philosophy then he was going to read Abu Nasr Muhammad al-Farabi.
"It will do," Damian said, lacing his voice with the practiced disdain that the butler was expecting. He imagined the old man thought he had grown up a prince. In a sense, that was true: Mother had provided him with only the best instructors and anything he needed to further his training. However, material possessions could be coveted. Why should he covet a house when he could always get another? Why should he grow attached to comfort if it served him no purpose? It was a weakness that Talia had not tolerated.
The strap of his bag was digging into his shoulder, and he flopped in on the bed reaching to unclip it and begin unpacking. His hand stopped short of the leather clasps, and he turned sharply to the butler. "Is there anything else?"
Knowing when he was being dismissed, Alfred raised an eyebrow at the boy. "The bathroom is down the hall, third door on the right. Fresh linens are in the cupboard should you require them. I will be tending to your father. Should you need any assistance do not hesitate to ask."
And with that, the butler retreated, closing the door behind him.
Damian immediately inspected his room for surveillance, and finding none, began to unpack. He hadn't brought much with him, just an extra stealth uniform, his Kevlar armor, and his nicest linen thobe and cotton pants, and his leather shoes, storing them all on a single shelf in the massive closet. That was all he had with him when it came to clothing, and he supposed he'd have to ask his father for more appropriate Western clothing. He'd deal with that later.
He reached for his leather satchel, and unfolded it, revealing his cache of weapons. A few small steel daggers that he stashed in strategic locations: one on the night stand near the bed, one under the desk, and one hidden on the shelf. He hid his throwing stars in the dreaded and ugly curtains. He unsheathed his pesh-kabz, checking to make sure it was sharpened, even though he knew it was. The curved blade glinted wickedly in the low light, and Damian sheathed it and slid it into the bindings on his calf. Lastly he pulled his twin Khopesh blades from his pack. These he displayed proudly on his desk. Father likely already knew he had them, so there was no point in trying to hide. He hid various other swords and daggers throughout his room, with varying degrees of deception.
Satisfied with the fact he'd 'settled in,' Damian made his way to the washroom, and scrubbed his face with cold water. It had been a long day, but there was much he still needed to do.
Feeling refreshed he retraced their steps and descended down into his father's cave, slowing as he heard his Father and the butler talking in low voices.
"…test to make sure. Until then, I need to continue my patrol for tonight. Cobblepot's up to something, and I can't afford to take a night off, Alfred."
"Very well, sir. I can keep an eye on Master Damian while you're away."
"I do not need anyone to keep an eye on me, Father," he said loudly, continuing down the stairs. It was clear he had not startled either of them.
"I'm sure you don't. But Alfred will keep you company anyway."
"-tt-" Damian scoffed, but accepted his Father's decision. It would give him time to learn more about the butler and explore without Batman's watchful gaze.
Bruce stood from his chair at the Batcomputer and the look he shared with Alfred did not go unnoticed by Damian. His Father pulled his cowl over his head and strode to the Batmobile, sliding in.
"I'll be back late. Take your time and look around… we'll talk tomorrow."
And with that, he was gone.
2:03, 4 September
Wayne Manor, Gotham, South Dakota, United States of America
The Kitchen
Exhaustion weighed down his bones, but Damian allowed Alfred to give him a full tour of the Manor. Much of it was clearly unused, but was immaculately tidy. If he was at all impressed, he hid it, approving at least, of the Manor's impeccable cleanliness. He wasn't much interested in the house, besides knowing the best vantage points and potential escape routes. He did see a Bösendorfer grand in a formal sitting room and made note, hoping to please his mother by mastering Balakriev before they next met.
He was most interested in Father's combat training area, equipped with most every type of sparring and training equipment to maintain any regimen he had ever learned. Eager as Damian was to use it, the butler was insistent they continue their tour.
At last, they were in the kitchen, and Damian popped up on a leather barstool overlooking a granite island. The kitchen was so very… American, it would take some getting used to.
"Could I interest you in a cup of tea?"
"Chai."
Damian watched with hawk-like interest as the butler prepared a pot of tea correctly, even adding a pinch of rose petals to the leaves to steep. He begrudgingly was impressed, and when the butler placed a steaming cup in front of him, and he cautiously took a sip. The tea leaves themselves were not the quality he was used to, but it had brewed excellently and the rose petals added a refreshing flavor. Damian closed his eyes, enjoying the familiarity of the tea.
"Is the tea to your liking?"
Damian gave the butler a hard look. "It is acceptable. In the future I would recommend a higher quality brew, but it will do for now."
They finished their cups in silence.
"I'm sure you are quite exhausted do to your travels. I would be happy to turn down the bedsheets for you."
"Nonsense. I will await my Father's return. We have much to discuss."
The butler raised a gray eyebrow at him. "He will not return for some time."
"I do not see why I cannot go with him. I am trained for such missions. Even with targets as… interesting as those in Gotham."
"You know the type?"
"Of course. I've kept tabs on Gotham's key players for years now. It is certainly an… interesting place, albeit a little chaotic."
"Indeed."
"I will train until my Father's arrival."
"Master Damian, I am quite sure Master Bruce does not want you engaged in any strenuous activity until he returns."
Damian glared. "And who are you to decide things for me?"
"Formerly Captain Alfred T. C. Pennyworth of the SAS, G Squadron 24th Troop if you must know. I worked directly under the Queen herself, and I was close friends with the Waynes and raised your father myself. I fancy I have many sk-"
"Linguist?" Damian interrupted. He hadn't meant to insult the old butler; he had been raised to see the world as it was and his own place in it. He hadn't been questioning Pennyworth's authority, just asking where he fit into the structure. Father's chosen companions should have their uses, he didn't doubt that.
Besides, if he had been trying to insult the old man, Pennyworth would know it.
If Alfred was startled by his knowledge of the workings of the SAS, he quickly recovered. "Medic."
"Hm. Makes sense. Did you take part in Black September?"
"How-that information is still classified."
Damian arched an eyebrow. "My Grandfather is Ra's al Ghul."
"Hm. Fair enough."
"Will you tell me about it?"
Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He seemed to make up his mind. "I'll put on another pot of tea."
4:21 4 September
Wayne Manor, Gotham, South Dakota, United States of America
The Batcave
Bruce returned to the cave, frustrated and slightly bruised but otherwise uninjured from patrol tonight. He had tracked down a few of the Penguin's henchmen trying to discern his final game plan and stopped an attempted robbery and a mugging. It had been a slow night.
The Batmobile skidded to a halt, and he hopped out, heading for the Batcomputer. First he checked on the DNA sequencing, though he knew it should take a few more hours. It was still synthesizing, but it should tell him whether or not Talia was lying about Damian's lineage.
He spent a few more minutes updating his files with the new intel he'd gained from that evening, and then took off his uniform, exchanging it for a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweater Tim had given him for this last Father's Day. Bruce made his way to the Manor quietly, not wanting to disturb Alfred if he had finally decided to get some rest.
His old friend's deep voice came from the kitchen, and Bruce entered to a surprising sight. Alfred and Damian were sitting on barstools, empty teacups forgotten, and Alfred was animatedly talking about his time in the SAS. Bruce was surprised. He didn't usually share that information with the boys. Damian's head rested on his hand, looking aloof but he listened with an interest that belied his curiosity.
"And then, the old bugger, he actually tried to shoot-"
Bruce cleared his throat, not wanting to interrupt.
Damian glanced his way lazily, as if trying to convey the fact he had noticed Bruce's presence ages ago. "Father."
Bruce nodded in greeting.
"How were your exploits tonight Master Bruce? Any leads pan out?"
"Didn't get much. Cobblepot's up to something, and no one is willing to share."
"Did you get the results of the DNA sequencing?" Damian asked.
Bruce looked at him for awhile before answering slowly. "Not yet."
"Let me know when you do. I'm curious to see the results myself. This could very well be another test of hers."
Bruce raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm surprised you're still awake."
"There were a few things I wanted to discuss with you."
"Okay." Damian looked sharply at Alfred, who sniffed but rose elegantly from his seat. "I suggest you both get some rest when you are finished with your discussion. I, myself, am in need of an overdue sleep. Goodnight."
After Alfred had left the room, Damian turned to his Father, and watched him closely. He hadn't had time before to really look at Bruce without the cowl. He could see their similarities, the thick dark hair with a cowlick, broad face, and blue eyes. But he was also acutely aware of their differences. He was much more brown than his father, had higher and more prominent cheekbones, and he had his mother's nose.
"What did you want to discuss, Damian?"
"Well, Father. Mother has instructed me to learn from you. She says you are very wise. That you can teach me things my other tutors cannot. Even Grandfather has a deep respect for you. I need to observe your activities, both civilian and otherwise, to fulfill my mission."
Bruce was silent for a long while. "I'll think about it."
"You'll think about it?" Damian was indignant. "What does that even mean?"
"It means that you should go and get some sleep, and we will talk about this tomorrow."
Damian narrowed his eyes, knowing his Father was diverting him. "I would prefer to talk about it now."
Bruce's brow furrowed and he frowned, staring at his son. "Well, there is nothing to discuss because I haven't decided yet."
"Haven't decided? What is there to decide? I am a trained assassin, an al Ghul, and heir to the Demon's Head. I am as prepared as I could ever be, there is not a single aspect of my training that is remiss! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"If you didn't need anymore training, then why would your mother send you to me?" Bruce said quietly.
"Because she thought I could learn something from you apparently." Damian was getting angry now. He was exhausted-he'd been awake for more than 48 hours, he did not like his Father's giant house that was so empty, he was worried for his Mother, and now this!"
"We'll talk about this in the morning."
"Fine," Damian spat and stalked to his room, seething.
6:22, 4 September
Wayne Manor, Gotham, South Dakota, United States of America
Damian's Room
His initial assessment of the ridiculous bed had been correct. It was uselessly large and far too soft: Damian felt like it was going to swallow him whole. After an hour of shifting around uncomfortably, he had dragged the duvet off the bed and curled up on the floor. It was then, finally, that he had been able to sleep.
But not for long.
Damian's eyes had sprung open in a couple hours; he was never one to be unconscious for long in unfamiliar places. So he rose, stretched, and slipped on his League blacks, grabbed his bagua dao, and found his way to the garden before the sun had even risen.
It was about half an hour later when the sky had turned a warm pink with the morning sun, that Pennyworth found him, as indicated by the opening of the kitchen windows. Damian paid him no mind, instead focusing on the bagua. If he lost focus, he would contaminate the eight trigrams and have to start over. Sweat dripped down his nose as he fluidly moved from one pose to another, spinning and using centripetal force in a spiraling motions to quickly change direction and lunge his sword. Mother had recently insisted he start using the full-sized bagua dao, or broadsword, and its heavy weight was straining his arms. But the extra range it gave him was an advantage, so he grit his teeth and carried on.
Qián. Duì. Lí. Zhèn. Xùn. Kǎn. Gèn. Kūn
Heaven. Lake. Fire. Thunder. Wind. Water. Mountain. Earth.
Force. Opening. Radiance. Shake. Ground. Gorge. Still. Field.
Damian completed his Form of the Swimming Dragon and opened his eyes, panting. He could sense his Father watching him from the window with Pennyworth. He ignored them, and sand into the grass, sharpening his sword. The lack of incense bothered him, but he would make do. It was necessary to give one's weapon proper care after exercise.
When he was satisfied with the wicked edge of his sword, he rose and made his way back to the Manor. What he really wanted was a shower, but he could see his Father's silhouette in the window of the kitchen, and decided a morning cup of tea might do him good.
Alfred was making breakfast when he walked in, and Bruce was drinking a cup of coffee while reading the morning paper. He glanced at Damian.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Father. And it is Father for sure now. I checked the DNA sequencing this morning."
Bruce nodded, unsurprised. He must have checked the data himself.
Damian pouted a little as he brewed his tea, adding an extra few rose petals to the leaves. If Pennyworth couldn't choose anything better than substandard Chai brew, he made up for it with a spectacular selection of rose petals.
It was a heavy silence, that settled upon them, until Alfred filled it with polite conversation. "Master Damian, I was expecting you to sleep in this morning. You can't have gotten much rest."
Damian poured himself a cup of tea and huffed. "When travelling to different hemispheres, it's necessary to acclimate to the time change as soon as possible," he said, partly because it was true, and partly because he would never admit to anyone that he had trouble sleeping.
"Indeed," Alfred sighed. "I see you were enjoying some morning exercises."
"Baguazhang?" Bruce asked.
Damian nodded.
Bruce looked thoughtful. "It would be beneficial for someone your size. It does utilize the extra range of the sword to your advantage."
Damian's ears turned pink. He resented being called small. "It doesn't matter what size you are, Baguazhang is useless to anyone if they're not fast. And I am extremely fast," Damian said, somewhat more sharply than he meant to.
"I can see that," Bruce grunted as he stood, tucking the paper under his arm. "Well, I'm heading to the office, Alfred. I'll be home in time for dinner."
Damian rose, too. "Allow me five minutes to bathe and change, Father, and I will accompany you."
"No," Bruce said, and it shocked him. "You'll stay here today, with Alfred."
"What am I supposed to do? I should be observing you!"
Bruce rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Damian, I can't just bring you to work, people will want to know who you are. And Bruce Wayne doesn't have a way to explain a ten year-old son that he has never met before."
"That won't be an issue, then. I'll remain unseen."
"No. You will stay here with Alfred for today. It will take some time to introduce you to Gotham properly."
"-tt-" Damian was definitely annoyed. "What do you expect me to do all day, then? Run around playing servant with Pennyworth?"
Bruce's tone took on a sharp edge. "Alfred is a friend, Damian, not a servant. You will stay at the Manor until I clear you to leave. End of discussion."
Damian opened his mouth to argue, but Father had already turned away, and was gone. The edges of his vision tinged with red, and Damian bit his lip to keep from fuming. He took deep, careful breaths and slowed his heartrate, controlling his anger.
"Perhaps you should wash up and when you return, breakfast will be served," Pennyworth's eyes watched him with an intelligence that was too sharp.
Damian nodded, and spun away, already devising his own plan. A wicked grin spread across his face.
9:35, 4 September
Wayne Enterprises, Downtown Gotham, South Dakota, United States of America
Bruce's Office
Bruce's phone rang, and he looked down on the screen to see Alfred calling. He had asked the butler to check in with him every few hours, but it had only been at the office for 95 minutes. He frowned, but answered on the first ring. "What is it, Alfred?"
"It's Master Damian, sir. He's gone."