Chapter Text
Damian Wayne was having the absolute best time of his life.
Not.
He was stuck working the most atrocious, mind-numbing, hell-was-better-than-this job that exists in all the known universes: past, present, and heat death of the universe future included.
Customer Service .
Okay, it wasn’t all bad, but today’s events were certainly going to be written down on expensive material with permanent marker and stuck to the fridge with superglue, all so that everyone in the manor would certainly see just how much he hated what they’ve forced him to go through.
The only true upside this place had was the free employee drinks and the small, beautiful, wonderfully adorable shelter cats that the cafe hosted.
But that didn’t stop him from holding his spiteful grudges. Between glares sharper than knives aimed at the backs of offending customers, Damian was mentally planning out just what he would write on that permanent fridge note. He considered telling the events of the whole day in perfectly worded recreation, but he was so pissed and upset by most of it that, now, he could hardly articulate anything, let alone recall any of it calmly enough to describe it with more than emotion-stained, but vague, details. For now, he just concentrated on deciding whose cape would make the most impact if he were to use it as his paper.
The chimes over the air-lock door to the coat room went off as a new customer came through from outside. Most of the cat’s ears twitched at the sound, but only the newer and younger cats actually looked over in curiosity. Damian gave the cursory greeting his trainer had drilled into him, barely glancing up.
What Damian wouldn’t give for that so-called trainer to be one from his old days at the League. At least then he would feel like he was learning something.
He watched from the corner of his eye as the newcomer stopped to scoop up a talkative kitten hounding at their foot before approaching the counter.
“What can I get for you,” he barely managed to say without sounding too much like he wanted to set the next person to talk to him on fire. The person chuckled and he looked up fully with a poorly restrained glare.
Her tired blue eyes looked rather soft and sympathetic, unwavering when meeting his gaze. “Bad day, huh? You get used to it if you last long enough. Large hot chocolate, please, that’s all.”
“I shouldn't have to get used to it,” Damian grumbled under his breath as he put in her order. “Cream?” He paused as he asked, and glanced at the kitten held in her wrapped and gloved hands, wondering if she was going to be stupid enough to try giving a cat human food.
She smiled and shook her head, freeing one hand to raise it like a barrier. “No, don’t want to risk the cats getting too curious.” She scratched under the kitten’s chin, and the fuzzy thing began to purr like a small engine. “And you're right, no one should get used to things that make them uncomfortable.”
That wasn't what he had said, though, he mentally retorted. This was just about himself, not others. Why should he care about how others felt when they were in his position? In fact, why did she care? She looked like she was dealing with her own problems, too, if the bruises under her chin and peeking out from her exposed collar said anything.
She looked like Jason after a fit of Pit Madness.
“What do you know?” he decided to broach, though still not bothering to ease up on his snark. Not even when he then told her the cost for her drink. Friendly conversation with strangers wasn't exactly his thing , but she looked suspicious enough to do whatever investigation he could, stuck behind a counter as he was.
“Too much,” she said in a murmur he still caught. She shrugged and pulled her wallet from her pants pocket with her free hand. “It’s not easy, constantly doing things for others and being told you're a bad person if you say no. I mean, we’re all human, you know? We all have limits, we should all get to say when things are unfair. We all deserve to be allowed to cry when it’s all too much, and not be seen as weak for it. Right?”
He found it curious the way she glanced out the windows as she spoke and handed over a card to pay. He glanced at the name as he put the payment through. Marinette Dupain-Cheng . Nothing special, but he memorized it anyway. He also took note of the new coat in the entryway when he handed the card back. It was rugged, a bit old, and damp from the rain, but likely the most comfortable thing to her, especially if she wanted to hide herself.
He looked her up and down fully now while she put her wallet away and he contemplated his answer. The kitten had started climbing up her shirt, bringing attention to her toned muscles. Not unusual in Gotham. But her voice lacked the local accents- it was foreign, actually, an unusual thing in this place. Something instinctual and honed from experience told him there was more to this person, a reason behind why she looked tough but sounded so very soft.
“Right…” he finally answered. “Because crying is not an indicator of weakness, it is simply an expression of emotion.” Yes, Damian had certainly seen his fair share of grown and experienced people cry for one reason or another. His father cried, as did his siblings. Wonder Woman herself cried, too, and she was an example to live by. As for Damian himself, well, he would never admit it to anyone but himself and his animals. “It can even be a strength, if you use it correctly,” he added more thoughtfully.
Marinette seemed to beam happily at him and he squinted. “Exactly! And that’s why you should never take to heart someone who demands something while crying! At least not right away, anyway.” Now that was quite the jump of very specific logic, Damian thought to himself as she continued. “I mean- Take these little guys for example,” she gestured to the little kitten, now curled up on her shoulder and snuggled into her low-tied pigtail. “They cry to express things when they're young. Then when they are older, they learn to cry for human attention, but not for other cats’. Some cats even use that to get extra food or treats even when it's bad for them, because they like it.”
Damian hummed thoughtfully, engaged in her explanation. “I see. Humans can do the same, only in far more complicated and advantageous ways.” He noticed as she glanced out the doorway windows again as she rubbed her cheek into the fuzz on her shoulder. “I suspect you have experience with such cry-faced manipulators?”
She sighed far more deeply than expected, visibly sagging. He mentally reprimanded himself for not noticing how tense she was through her body language. “You have no idea.”
He hummed again, glancing at the clock before nodding his head towards the empty tables. “Take a seat. I’ll bring you your drink.”
“Thank you,” she said as she scooped the kitten from her shoulder, gave a small wave with her free hand, and stepped away.
He huffed as he turned away and started making her drink with the tallest of the paper cups. It was almost closing time, by just under an hour. An eternity, if you asked him. So he started a second of the same drink. He deserved a treat, and he had yet to take his break, either.
As he waited for the brews to finish, he checked the reservations list on the computer. Nothing, same as when he first clocked in. Good, it wouldn't be a busy final hour. He would enjoy flipping that closed sign.
The chimes went off, and he stiffened. He wanted to glare at whoever just came in and force them into self-combustion. Luckily, when he turned to do just that, he only saw the other customers putting on their coats and grabbing their umbrellas. He relaxed, but only barely. He did notice that no umbrellas were left, though, leaving Marinette, the last person in the cafe beside him, without one. Unless she had one in her coat, he wondered how she would get home while avoiding the rain.
The hot chocolate was ready, and as he turned to it, he called out enough for her to hear well, “Lid or no lid?” He glanced over his shoulder to check if she heard.
“Lid, please. Eliminates the two-way cat risks called spills and chocolate,” Marinette answered easily, not looking up at all from the not tripled number of cats at her side.
He nodded approvingly, though she did not see. He capped the two hot chocolates, then pulled out a thin-tipped marker. He spent a few precious seconds to draw the motif of a cat head with pigtails. He figured she would appreciate the distinction between their cups. He then shoved the marker into his pocket so he could spend more leisure time decorating his own.
Grabbing a little sign from behind the counter, he subtly set it up, revealing that he was now ‘On Break’ . Feeling it was not enough, he grabbed the cups and then made a small detour toward the front.
As Damian flipped the open sign on the window to Closed, the most self-satisfied grin appeared on his face. He cleared his throat and hid the grin as he approached Marinette's table, which he should have already done but didn’t care enough about protocol to do right. No one else was here, anyway, and she was sympathetic to his plight, thus would understand. If she noticed, that is.
“Your hot chocolate,” he announced himself, and she finally looked up. “May I join you?” He didn’t actually consider what would happen if she refused. He was simply determined enough about finally sitting down and asking more questions that he would find a way to do it either way.
Luckily, she seemed to have little to no qualms with the request. “Oh, sure, there's plenty of room.” She glanced outside again. Was she anxious about something? No one looked out a window that much unless they either wanted to leave, or were expecting something to show up.
Intriguing .
He took the chair across from her smoothly, observing her as she took the marked drink when he set it down near her. She smiled, noticing the art. She took a sip, and the smile only grew. Damian felt satisfied by Marinette’s reaction. He hated the job forced upon him, but he was rather proud of his expanding ability to create things.
His brow raised in slight surprise as she dug out a marker of her own and began adding to her cup. Not one to be outdone in his own territory, he grabbed his marker and cup, going to work with gusto.
The two took breaks from their drawings to actually drink from the cups and play with the cats who watched them. Damian got tempted to sabotage Marinette’s progress while she was waving a fishing pole toy over the cats, but decided against it. He wanted to see what she had done, and the little peeks of it he saw as she kept rotating it around looked intriguing. The way her eyes gleamed when she looked at him during his own distractions told him that she might have thought the same thing- or at the very least she simply knew what he was thinking and was conveying she would return it two-fold. He would rather keep his artwork intact, thank you very much.
Marinette finished her art first, downing the last of her drink triumphantly and energetically but gently slapping it back down on the table. Damian gave her a glare over the top of his lid, but it didn't feel all that heated. A minute later, he set his own down as well. They held eye contact for a moment, then nodded permission and slid the cups across to each other.
He looked over her art, trying to embody the energy of a harsh critic. The little cat face motif had been transformed into a storybook-styled cat child, wearing cute little clothes and ribbons tangled in their paws. The background he had glimpsed was a dual cityscape on either side of the cat. One side had what he recognized as the view of Paris, distinct with the Eiffel Tower. The other side was Gotham itself, a view he could never mistake, not with the Wayne tower standing out so proudly. The middle ground on the back of the cup where the two skylines met was forested. The front with the cat was an open park, each side distinguished by the local flora.
Damian had to admit she did a good job, setting the cup down with a light frown. He watched as she continued to spin his around, the semi-realistic-looking flower petals and layering leaves keeping her eyes transfixed. He faintly smiled proudly that his thinner marker allowed for more details to stand out. It was no proper competition, but he won this nonetheless.
“What brings you here, anyway?” Damian broke the silence, pushing her cup back towards her. She looked up, surprised, then smiled a little sheepishly as she handed him back his own.
“Class trip,” Marinette answered simply. There was another of her window glances. Briefer than before. She was relaxing a bit, now, at least.
“You’re alone,” he pointed out skeptically.
She rolled her eyes. “Free time to explore.”
“Alone?” He emphasized it a bit more this time, pointing out a whole new problem.
She sighed. “Odd number of students, even number of teachers. I’m trusted .”
He immediately picked out the anger hidden under the sarcasm that should have been pride for a teenager like themselves. Clearly, she did not approve of the way supervision was handled for her trip. Damian, to his credit, at least understood how stupid it was for any person to be alone in Gotham.
They should know this. Everyone should.
“You are not local, are you?” He squinted, not quite a glare, trying to figure things out.
Marinette gestured to her cup, spinning the Paris skyline to face him. “International trip.”
Damian floundered at the revelation. “In Gotham? What crazy idiot-”
“Several, actually,” she sighed, posture sagging like she had been through a thousand battles over this very topic. “A person with a tub full of fake tears in a building of socially dumb people can get just about anything.” More glances at the windows. Longer this time. But then her eyes fixed on something and she laughed .
Before he could check to see what she was looking at, she ducked her head and shook it in disbelief. Damian stared incredulously. Marinette glanced up with a soft and grateful smile. “You closed the shop. Thank you. I know it wasn’t for me, but I- Well, it’s appreciated nonetheless.”
Damian scoffed and looked away, fighting back the warmth her thanks had filled him with. “I simply wanted a break from the customers. I’d have kicked you out when I did, had you not proven yourself to be at least slightly tolerable.” She laughed again, and he groaned, then reluctantly let his gaze return to her. She was smiling so much more brightly than she had before. He looked at the cats instead.
“Still. From one stranger to another, thank you.”
“Damian,” he spoke out instead. “You should at least know the name of your benefactor before giving proper thanks.”
She covered her mouth as she snorted, then laughed lightly. “Marinette. Thanks, Damian.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled, not a bit of the thorns he had tried to put into his voice managing to poke out. He crossed his arms instead and chose to change the topic. “So, why come to Gotham? Why not another place- any place besides here? There are far better places for a class trip, especially one with an international budget.”
Marinette shook her head, picking up one of the cats and holding it close enough to bury her face in its fur. “Paris isn’t that much better than here, right now. More street-based danger, sure, but nothing beats… Him .”
Damian did not like the way she said ‘Him’. The feeling her voice gave with that one single word was like listening to Bruce and the eldest of his brothers talk about Joker. Something was deathly wrong, and not enough was being done about it.
“But that doesn't stop some people from trying,” she continues. “Sometimes, someone would rather put on a show to entertain themselves than consider people’s safety. And some people are too blind to notice they’re being led into pointless dangers.”
The way she said ‘someone’ was also rather telling. The way she glared at the windows made him think that very person was not all that far away.
Damian chose not to ask any questions about Paris. He could find out about that on his own. There was no need to make Marinette use that tone from before again.
But the second topic might be confrontable.
“Have you tried anything to tackle this ‘someone’ problem?” He probed.
She glanced up from the fur she had previously been hiding her face in. “You think I'd be here if I was successful with that? Tackling didn't do anything but put me in detention.” There was a pause as they blinked at each other. “You…Didn't mean that literally, did you?”
Damian, taken fully off guard during the moment of pure seriousness, burst with quick and sudden laughter, eyes disbelieving but full of mirth. “Did you really tackle someone to attempt getting out of this trip?”
She groaned, then flustered as she lost her hiding place when the cat jumped from her hold. “I- Well no- You see- The thing is-” Her hands found her face and she muffled an incoherent string of words.
Damian chuckled again, sitting back as a cat leaped onto his lap. He pet it like some evil supervillain, feeling rather mischievous for having flustered Marinette.
Her head popped back up and she glared at him, but the twitch of her lips showed she was hardly close to being mad at him. He raised a brow and smirked, and she huffed, sitting back. “I tackled her some other time when she was pulling a similar stunt. Like I said, it didn't work, so I didn't try again. Did I mention the building full of idiots?”
“The socially dumb ones who can't tell emotional crying from a tub of fake tears?” She nodded. “Yes, I do recall such mentions.”
She shrugged and waved a hand. “Well, turns out, yelling into the top of a dunce cap like a megaphone does not make the brain on the other side smarter.”
Damian snorted a quick laugh again, his smirk growing. “Sounds like my everyday life.”
Marinette cracked a smile and chuckled, too. “Same hat.” He made a face and she quickly added, “I get it, I mean. Similar situations.” She sighed, then. “They're smart in their own ways, you know? They can do amazing things when they put their mind to it. I just wish that…”
She seemed to struggle to find words, so Damian filled in with his own. “They could see things from your perspective and understand your experience instead of making things worse?”
Marinette’s small smile reached her eyes as they met his own for a moment. She looked relaxed after he spoke for her when she needed it. No sagging in defeat, just a loss of tension he realized she had been holding since she entered. “Yeah, exactly. I’m glad you get it, Damian. Thank you.” She gave a little laugh then, shaking her head. “Now if only I could take you back with me and you could show them what’s what for me.”
He snorted, shook his head, and then stopped. He considered it. He looked at the clock. He looked back at her, her eyes curious as they noticed him. He shook his head again, but sat up to lean forward on the table. Marinette mirrored it, eyes wide. “I may not be able to go myself, but I may be able to help, if you seek it.”
“ Please ,” she said, like the weight of the world was forcing it out of her. Yet still, she shook her head. “If you can, I'll take it. But only if I ask, alright? I’m trying…I want to do as much as I can on my own. I can’t…” She hesitated to continue.
“There is no one you can trust more than yourself,” Damian nodded. Her eyes were thankful and bright as she looked up at him again. He smirked. “Same hat?”
Marinette giggled, covering it with her hand. “Yeah. Same hat.”
Then, Damian stood and grabbed both of their cups, taking them back behind the counter. Marinette stood and watched him, curious. The longer he took as he rinsed out the cups and stuffed one with napkins and pre-packaged snacks, the closer she got just to see what he was doing. Then, on the inner lip of the stuffed cup, he wrote something down. He then capped it swiftly and held it straight out to her. She eyes his floral art-covered cup, taking it hesitantly, questioning him with her gaze.
He set the other cup to the side as he went to explain, not quite sure why he had salvaged it as well. “Contact information is inside. Food, for when all the idiots keep you from enjoying a good meal in their company. It also keeps it weighted, so they won’t suspect you carry an empty cup for no proper reason. Won’t spill if one of them decided to bump it, either.”
She looked almost surprised by his quick and thorough thoughtfulness. He smirked and internally preened at the achievement. He did good. Take that , annoying family.
Then she smiled, and he just felt, well, good.
He watched as she reached over and took her original cup. It made him chuckle to see her writing on the inside, just as he had. Then she handed it back to him, and he took it with grace.
“I should get going now,” Marinette said then. She tucked loose hair behind her ear as she shrugged. “Closing time soon, right? And I need to meet back up with my class for check-ins.”
“I understand,” Damian said with a nod, though he frowned. Closing time was starting to feel a little less fun than it had been earlier.
“Thank you, again, Damian,” she added finally. “See you around?”
“If our schedules allow it, then yes. I will see you again.”
She beamed, and once again Damian was left wondering why someone so bright and strong was weighed down by forces out of her control. “Bye, Damian.” She waved, pulling open the door to the outer coat room.
“Yes, bye…” He said, just a little too late for her to hear to the end, or for him to finish the way he wanted.
He watched as she shoved on her jacket, sad to see her strength covered up like it was something to be ashamed of. If only it wasn’t raining, perhaps she could have left this place a little more proudly. But despite all that, she still looked much brighter than her surroundings.
He wondered if her brightness was what brought people to tread on her.
As she went through the second door to the outside, she held out her hand to feel the rain beyond the eves. Damian then made up his mind as he grabbed his own umbrella from under the counter and dashed forward, into the coat room, and then pulled open the other, startling Marinette. He held it out firmly.
“Take it. We might not be able to meet again if you go off and get caught in the rain and find yourself in trouble because of it.”
She blinked, then hid a laugh behind her scarf. “Yes, alright. Thank you.”
She took the umbrella gently. Their hands never touched, but he knew she was being considerate, not knowing if he was averse to such brief and incidental contact. It was nice to have such consideration given to him. He wanted to see it again.
“No. Thank you. Today…is not so bad, now. I hope you can say the same thing as well.”
She smiled, and her eyes shone with her inner brightness. “I can.”
“I am glad. I hope it is the same for us the next time we meet as well.” He nodded, absolutely certain that it would happen.
“With luck, you’ll be right.” She seemed just as determined to see that hope through.
“I don’t need luck. I can do anything I put my mind to.” She laughed, and he smiled proudly in turn. “Now, off you go. Trouble, remember?”
“How can I forget?” She shook her head, but stayed with her head held high in spite of the reminder. The umbrella popped open and she stepped out under it.
“Be well, Marinette,” Damian finally said.
“With your determination helping me, Damian, how can I not?” She grinned wide, turned on her heel and began to sprint off into the rain, with nothing but an umbrella and a worn-out jacket to keep her safe.
Damian sighed, watched until she was gone, and then went back inside. It was time to close up, after all.
Later, he never did get around to telling Alfred where his umbrella disappeared to. He did, however, get a few things started for Paris down in the Caves. He was glad to see it catching a few other sets of eyes.
Unbeknownst to him, back with Marinette, she was being giggled at by her closest companion. How was she supposed to remember she had a collapsible umbrella in one of her jacket pockets? She didn’t do it on purpose, really. She just had bad luck. Right?