Vows: Part One

This takes place after "Homecoming". Part one of three.

"I'm not getting married when I'm this close to popping," Stephanie groused from her paperwork-and-Oreos nest on the bed. Alfred was gleefully shredding one of the reports that Damian was supposed to read and sign. She looked forward to watching him explain to Lucius that he didn't have it because the cat ate his expense reports. That would go over well. God willing, Tim would be there to witness this conversation. It would do his heart good.

"I don't see why it'd be a problem," Damian said from the computer desk, shrugging. "It's not like we have to preserve the illusion of your chastity. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that neither of us are going into this marriage as virgins."

Steph frowned, setting the papers aside and skating her fingers over her belly. She'd gotten bigger with this baby than with her first pregnancy. She couldn't tell if that was thanks in part to superior Wayne genetics, or just due to carrying this one to term. Her first daughter had been an emergency c-section, weeks before she was due. The fact that she'd gotten this far without any complications was a massive relief, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable with finding out what size of dress she'd have to squeeze into.

"Ugh. I don't expect you to get it. It's not the whole virginity thing that I'm trying to avoid-it's waddling my way to the altar. We don't have any reason to rush, so do my pride a solid favor and let me drop my baby pudge before we tie the knot."

"A sick old saying, that," Damian said distractedly, not looking up from the information databanks he was sifting through. "Reminds me of dogs copulating."

Steph threw an Oreo at the back of his head. Nailed him, too.

"You are the single unsexiest person I have ever met," she said, taking a large bite out of an Oreo. "And I dated Tim 'My Chastity is in Peril' Drake."

"Regardless," he said, chasing cookie crumbs out of his hair and the collar of his shirt. "I'm on no timetable. If you want to wait until after the baby is born, we will wait."

"I just don't want to, I don't know," Steph groped for an explanation, mouth puckered into a tiny frown. "A Wayne marriage is a big deal. I don't want it to look like a shotgun wedding because I'm pregnant and you decided to pity the poor fake-former-employee."

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop that. Immediately."

"Stop what?"

"Talking about yourself that way. I am sick of it!" His voice took on a brassy ring, loud and annoyed. She couldn't tell if he was annoyed at her, or a the world at large. "What they think about you is irrelevant. I don't know how to make my view any clearer, and I'd like to believe that my opinion of you carries more weight than theirs."

"You don't care what anyone thinks of me?" Steph asked, before she could stop herself. "Not even Talia?"

She'd heard the phone call he'd gotten in the middle of the night not two weeks before. He'd tried to sneak out of bed and keep his voice down, but Steph was barely sleeping anymore and Damian had no concept of inside voices when he was angry. She'd pretended to be asleep, listening to his side of the conversation. He'd been speaking rapid Arabic, so the discussion hadn't been meant for her ears. She knew more than enough about inflection and what emotion did to Damian's tone to know exactly what was being talked about.

Of course Talia wouldn't like her. She was the polar opposite of what the al Ghul name stood for: she was classless, she was American, she was-gasp!-actually carrying her baby instead of depositing the fetus in a test tube with a thumbs up and a wink, and she was keeping the heir of the House of al Ghul from making an appropriate political match. Their relationship was organic, it was messy, and it was natural. They'd fallen into it, and nothing had been set up beforehand.

Talia was probably having kittens over it.

Damian shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Mother has lodged her complaints. I've chosen not to heed her words of wisdom. Frankly, she can fuck herself. She thinks you an unfit mother and tried to tell me that the child would be better off raised by her people. I told her that you've had more personal contact with the baby in the months you've carried her than Mother has had in my entire life with me. Mother, Grandfather, and my brother have all been uninvited from our eventual wedding ceremony."

Steph stared at him, actually speechless. Standing up to Talia wasn't something that'd ever come easily for him. No doubt, she'd tried to sweeten the deal by inviting him back to the fold, if only he'd bring her granddaughter and drop the chaff. She wondered if he'd contemplated it, even for a second. He'd never stopped wanting his parents to love him, and it'd nearly cost him his soul.

"Did you actually tell her to fuck herself?"

He cleared his throat. "I was angry. So. Yes. I did."

"C'mere, you rebel. You earned makeouts."

Damian didn't need more than a nudge in the right direction. He laid down next to her, stretching out his long legs with a satisfied sigh. It was always surprising to her when she realized he'd gotten a little bit taller, or a little bit broader, or a little bit closer to looking like a fully mature man. Damian was still growing. He'd been a gangly teenager caught between being a man and a boy when they'd first gotten together, but now there was no mistaking him for a child. In the nine months since the night she'd left, he'd truly grown up. He was a work in progress, but she liked where he was going.

"You and me, we're going to get married," Steph said, kissing him. "And then we're going to honeymoon so hard I will be disappointed if we don't break something."

"If that's your goal, I suppose waiting until after the baby is born is a wise idea. Your water is not what you want to break, I imagine."

"Nope. Not really," she agreed wryly, tucking in neatly against his side. "But my stress level should be fine, now that I know for sure that Mama al Ghul won't be showing up for the wedding shower. Should we worry about Daddy appearing to give me away?"

"No," Damian said, and there was some barely-audible strain in his voice that gave her pause. "I don't think that we should worry about him."

She looked at him, and he looked back unblinkingly, his hand still on her stomach. She could feel that there was something there, that she should ask, that there was a possibility that she wouldn't have to worry about Daddy ever showing up unannounced ever again. It sent a chill up her spine, but it wasn't a totally bad feeling. It was like owning a lion-she'd gotten so friendly with him and trusted him so implicitly, she forgot that he was still a dangerous wild animal. When the realization dawned, it was always with startling clarity.

She trusted him, and she loved him, and she knew that he'd never hurt her, but Damian Wayne was still a man born in a vat of chemicals and raised by assassins. He was every bit the barely-tamed predator.

Steph knew better than to ever ask. There were some things that she simply had to trust him on. He'd made a promise to protect her and their child, and he fulfilled it in the ways he knew how. He'd keep away anyone who could jeopardize their happiness-including his mother and her father. She'd never have to doubt his dedication or fidelity.

She didn't know how to reply to that. What would be anywhere close to appropriate? The idea of Daddy being 'gone' was complicated, nauseating. It was like finding out the monster underneath your bed had moved somewhere new. There was a sense of relief, but it was cut by guilt-he'd been her monster, a kind of obligation-and the irrational fear that he couldn't really be gone. Would being happy that she was finally free make her a bad person? Was it wrong to feel relieved that she didn't have to worry about him ever going near her daughter? Steph couldn't pry apart her feelings, so she just put her arms around Damian's neck and held onto him.

This was the family that she'd chosen.

Getting back in shape post-baby was easier than she had thought it'd be. It turned out that My Partner was Raised by Assassins exercise plan did wonders. Had it just been her working on her own, she would have taken longer to drop the extra weight and gain back muscle strength. Damian was a merciless coach and a constant aggravation, but those were Steph's best motivators. With his high standards and her stubbornness, she was back and swinging within three months. They waited until summer to have the wedding, though, because Steph had made an executive decision: it'd be on the Wayne property, and it'd only be for close family and friends.

Close family and friends being roughly half the cape and cowl community, of course.

There was no way that anyone would try to spoil the wedding, because with 100% superheroes in attendance, it'd be the most disastrous plot against the Wayne name ever concocted. So, Steph wasn't worried about that. It was the rest of it-the being a mother, the being married, the being married to Bruce Wayne's son-that was driving her a little bit batty. She wanted to go out and kick some crime in the teeth, but Kara had already given her an extended lecture on what she'd do to her if she showed up to her own wedding with a black eye.

So, she did the next best thing: she trained, and she exercised, and she tried her damnedest to sweat her nerves out.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she barely registered it when Damian said, "Your form's a wreck. While spastic flailing does burn calories, you'd get more out of your training if you did it right."

Steph was so startled by his sudden appearance, she almost fell off the uneven bars she'd been swinging on. She stuck the landing with her face, then prayed desperately that she wouldn't bruise. Kara would have her head.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a strip club somewhere with Jay, Colin, Tim, and Dick?" She asked, sitting up and rubbing her cheek. Maybe she'd get away with just a little bit of mat burn. A girl could hope.

"Unfortunately. But they haven't been able to find me yet."

"You're a slippery little devil," she smirked.

"I just don't understand how watching nude women gyrate on stage is an essential part of the marriage ritual. It seems counter-intuitive, at least to me." Damian heaved a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. She could see that he was keeping something back, that he was trying to find an angle of attack to bring something up. His tells were so obvious now that she knew him.

"Well, if you wanted an at-home show, you're a little late. I'm done practicing for tonight," she said, getting up and dusting herself off. She'd be sore the next day, but that was the norm for her. What would she do with herself if she got a decent night's sleep and woke up with no aches or pains? Madness. That wasn't her life, and it never had been.

"No matter," he said dismissively, fishing something out of his pocket. It was an oily puddle of black fabric. He tossed it to her. "I have a better idea. Put it on."

She recognized this particular scrap of silk. Boy, did she ever. Her cheeks heated.

"The blindfold?"

"Yes," Damian said evenly. "Put it on."

"Trust exercises? After everything? Seriously, I-"

"I have a schedule to keep, Stephanie. My 'brothers' are going to be inflicting a bachelor's party for me, against my will. I have to leave shortly, so just do it," he said crabbily. Steph heaved a theatrical sigh, putting the blindfold on. Easier to do that than fight with her soon-to-be-husband. This was clearly a thing with him, so she had to indulge him. She was already the best wife ever.

As soon as she'd knotted the blindfold, he picked her up. Feeling disoriented, she put her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. She'd seen him bench press five times her weight without breaking much of a sweat, so even blindfolded she didn't worry about where they were going and what the chances were of him dropping her.

He set her back down without a word, carefully teasing out the knot of the blindfold so that it didn't catch in her hair. They were in one of the rougher, less-used corners of the cave. There were no overhead lights, so he'd set up a small, hand-held lamp. It cast a buttery-rich glow over the walls and stalagmites.

"Mood lighting," she said, arching a brow at the lantern. "An interesting touch."

"Thematically appropriate."

"I see. And what is the theme?"

"It's come to my attention that you and I are getting married tomorrow," Damian said, pocketing the length of black silk. She shot him a look.

"You bet we are. And if this is you trying to get out of it, I will break your legs, so help me God."

He rolled his eyes.

"I have no intention of running away from this commitment. I just...felt that I should tell you that I see the ceremony as almost farcical."

It surprised her how deeply that hit. Sure, she'd kind of bullied him into the idea, but she had convinced herself that he was as for the idea as she was. Her stomach churned.

"Not loving your tone, D."

"No," he said, holding up both hands entreatingly. "I simply mean that a paper certificate means nothing to me. Rings are baubles. What we do tomorrow, we do for the public. They will bear witness to you, Stephanie Brown, taking my name as my wife. I will promise to love you and care for you in sickness and in health, so long as we both shall live. I'll mean it when I say it, but I wanted to-" He searched for the right word, blue eyes staring at her intently. "-prove the strength of my word. Not only as your husband, but as your partner."

That loosened the knot in her chest, if only by a little. It still didn't explain what they were doing in the dark, primitive corner of the batcave, though.

"You've come a hell of a long way from being the obnoxious little kid who said you couldn't see what good I was to anyone, since I lacked skills and batty vengeance."

"I would have figured out what makes you tick by then if I could've torn my focus away from your magnificent breasts," Damian said with a twitchy little smirk.

"I knew it," Steph laughed, crossing her arms over her (completely awesome) chest.

"Call it a youthful fascination with a woman bizarre enough to wear my father's crest and flash-freeze me by accident."

Her smile spread into a triumphant leer. "I only said it was an accident."

"You dreadful harpy," Damian said, sounding honestly impressed.

"I gave as good as I got, you obnoxious little bitch. Now, were we going to do something romantic here, or are we going to have a fight?"

He snorted, setting down the lamp and turning it off. There was a sharp scratch of a match being struck, illuminating the angles of his face in reds and golds. He lit two white candles, handing one to her, and recognition swelled in her chest.

Oh. That vow.

"Many years ago, Dick Grayson and my father made a pledge to each other, and to the city," Damian began, in the same tone as a man giving a political speech. He'd thought long and hard about what he wanted to say. He'd practiced. "You and Barbara Gordon made a similar pact, right where we are standing now. The choice to fight for Gotham and pledge myself to her was never really a choice for me. As my father's son, his burden was my inheritance. So I would-I would like to make my vow here. To you."

They'd been together long enough that the whole butterflies-in-the-stomach infatuation had matured into something more lasting. But still, every once in a while, he said or did things that made her insides do acrobatics. She'd assumed that when she'd suggested they write their own vows, he'd been ignoring her. But he'd been listening, and he'd taken the idea to a whole other level.

This was the most sacred form of promise he knew how to make.

"I pledge to you, Stephanie Wayne, that you will be my partner until the day I pass the cowl on. You are my partner, my lover, and the mother of my children," Damian said solemnly, looking down at the dancing lick of flame. "I pledge to honor our partnership on all its levels."

Stephanie Wayne. That one would take some getting used to. And she'd have to have a talk with him about the plural he'd used with child. She wasn't interested in popping out any more babies anytime soon-not after finally slimming back down to pre-baby weight.

"And I pledge to you, Damian Wayne, that I will honor our partnership, even after we get too old and gray to dark knight it up. You are my partner, my lover, and the father of my child-any others pending thorough discussion. Deal?"

Damian tipped the candle, letting the hot wax sizzle into a pool at their feet.

"I accept."

Steph did the same with her candle, sealing their pact.

The oath taken there, in the cave, consummated without witnesses by the light of two spluttering candles, felt realer than the vows they took the next day. It was private, encompassing all of what they were and what their relationship meant.

The public display was infinitely more difficult.

"Grayson, if you don't stop pacing, I will be forced to hamstring you. Don't think that I won't. I'm sure that Todd would be more than happy to take your place as best man."

"I can't handle this!" Dick said, throwing up his hands. He'd been pacing the length of the bathroom for going on fifteen minutes, ranting as Damian had calmly shaved. "I can't. Damian, you're getting married. You're a father and you're getting married. I'm getting faint. Tunnel vision. Is this the real world? Pinch me."

"Your dramatics never fail to impress," Damian murmured dryly, running his razor under the faucet. "Can you please take this outside? I'd like to finish shaving and dressing, thank you. As you mentioned, I'm getting married today. I'd like to be presentable."

"You look like a million bucks. Don't worry about that."

"Upsetting," he drawled, drawing his razor over the last of the shaving cream. "My net worth is considerably higher than one million dollars."

Dick just grinned. He knew Damian well enough to see through the Little Lord Fauntleroy routine. Damn him and his inescapable empathy.

"You're scared out of your mind, aren't you?" His brother asked, blue eyes twinkling bright.

Damian dried off his face, more or less burying it in a towel and not resurfacing.

"I can't believe this is really happening," he mumbled from the terrycloth depths.

He squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "It's happening, big guy. You've already gotten further along the Adult Responsibilities curve than the rest of us. You've got an adorable kid and a wife. At twenty-one-and in our crowd-that's something."

"And everyone assumed I was the least normal individual to wear the Robin uniform."

"You were and still are," Dick grinned, then adjusted his tie. He was more than capable of doing it himself, but it was comforting, in an abstract way. Nightwing was worrying himself into a frantic mess, so if getting his OCD out on tie-knotting would help, Damian would allow for the fussing. "It just blows my mind, Little D. When I left, you were a pissed off sixteen year old. And now look at you."

"Nearly twenty-two, married, and with a child," he deadpanned. The enormity of who he had become in the last year was daunting, sometimes. "Abnormal decisions for someone in our line of work."

"Abnormal? Maybe. Still pissed off? Usually. But you're abnormal, so there you go. You've done pretty well with your big decisions. I'm proud of you. I know that Bruce would be, too."

He tried to not let his feelings show, but the concept of Father being proud of his match and his child made his throat tighten until no words could eke their way out. The idea of him being proud of what he deemed selfish decisions-taking on a partner who emotionally compromised him, bringing a baby into their lives despite the perils of their 'night job'-was complicated, because it wasn't the Father he knew. His Bruce had been demanding, remote, and Batman before all else. He'd been positive he would have faulted him for being weak, by jeopardizing the crusade by having a wife and daughter. But, Dick knew his father better than he had, and if he said that he would have been proud, he had to accept that.

"This is what I want," Damian said finally, after much struggle. "I want Stephanie and Laila, and anything else must take second string. I lost my soul in a bid to be the Batman Father couldn't be. Now, I've become that Batman for entirely different reasons. I don't regret any of these choices."

His brother beamed. He couldn't stop smiling long enough to get words out, it seemed like.

"Yeah," he said, squeezing his shoulder again, and then, "Yeah, I know. And you shouldn't. You're-you grew up to be a good man. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

When Dick manhandled him into a hug, he didn't fight it.

He didn't believe in God, and he didn't believe in luck, and he didn't believe in the glittering folk creatures that bestowed wishes. But, if he had, he would have been praising the names of every intangible benefactor possible. He hadn't imagined that he would ever marry, much less with his first partner, his best friend, his brother, as his best man.