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“I cannot believe Father sidelined me again,” Damian grumbles into his salad.
It’s late into the evening, and here Damian sits in a diner that doesn’t look like it’s been updated since the sixties. He looks out the window and spots his father, disguised as Matches Malone, chatting it up with other small-time crooks outside a seedy bar. And at Father’s elbow is Tim, dressed in equally ridiculous garb. Damian can’t decide if he looks more protege or plaything for Matches.
There’s the sound of chewing from across the Formica table. Damian looks at Colin, who has wolfed down nearly half the burger he ordered. The Wayne heir sighs and goes back to staring out the window. Matches is animatedly laughing at a goon next to him, then raises his arm and ruffles Tim’s hair. The older Robin punches Matches in the arm and says something that gets the rest of the little group to laugh.
“At least it’s better than last month,” Colin answers, loudly sucking the last drops of soda through his straw. “I can’t believe how much pigeons like Abuse when I’m on a rooftop.” He scrunches his face and Damian huffs out a small laugh.
He stabs a tomato and slowly eats as Matches and Tim and the rest of the group make their way into the bar. A swallow and a grimace. “Being look out is the worst part of any undercover job. There’s no excitement, no danger, just… waiting and waiting.”
“I thought you enjoyed meditating?” Colin asks with a grin, dangling a fry from his fingers.
A deadpan stare is his answer.
A bubbling laugh squeezes its way out of the redhead, and he polishes off the last few bites of his burger. A lick of his lips and he’s sitting back against the booth with a sigh. “Your dad does a bunch of stuff without you. Last week you had no problem with him making plans with Jason.”
“He needed someone disposable, so he chose Todd. No reason to be upset at that.” Damian rolls his eyes when Colin makes a face at the ‘disposable’ comment. “A joke, I swear. Don’t go telling Father I said that.”
“Of course not, Dames.” The Wayne heir feels his ears heat at the nickname. “I was going to tell Dick about it, instead,” he teases. “The lecture you’ll get about Jason’s feelings…”
“You do and there will be none of Alfred’s chicken noodle soup the next time you catch a cold,” Damian counters, and gets a dramatic gasp from his friend.
“You monster,” Colin responds and glares at Damian. The other boy smiles and shakes his head. Colin’s glares have as much ferocity in them as a puppy’s bark. “But back to the matter at hand, why’s this time have you so grumpy?”
“I’m not- ugh, never mind.” Damian crosses his arms over his chest and sits back. He keeps an eye toward the bar, where nothing is happening save the neon lights blinking. A few minutes of silence pass before Damian sighs. “It’s just…” he glances at Colin, who has finished his food and is focusing intently on Damian. “Whenever we have something that involves undercover work,” he starts quietly, causing Colin to lean forward with his arms on the table, “this is where he always puts me. The others get to be out there with him in the field, but I never do. I never get to do disguises or characters or anything like that. It’s like he thinks I’ll be terrible at it.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Colin chimes in. Damian looks at him with a raised brow, a silent plea to explain. The redhead shrugs his shoulder and pushes his plate from in front of him. “I don’t think it has anything to do with skill. More of…” He drifts off and looks away from his friend, a hand coming to the back of his neck and red blotches hitting his cheeks.
“More of what, Wilkes? Spit it out.”
Colin opens his mouth, and their waitress appears out of nowhere. Damian doesn’t jump, but Colin does.
“Anything else, dears?” She asks while taking Colin’s plate. Colin looks at Damian with those puppy eyes and the other boy sighs, giving a slight nod.
“Whatever you want,” he says, and Colin’s face lights up. “My treat.”
“Could I get another burger, but with onion rings this time? And a vanilla shake?”
“Of course, honey,” she answers with a smile. She walks away and Damian turns his attention back to Colin.
“Continue.” There’s a demand in his voice that he can’t hide.
“Well-” That blush is back on Colin’s face. “-I think the reason your dad may not use you for those particular roles, is because of, well, your… um… your face.” He finishes quietly and stares at Damian, nearly his whole face going red.
Damian, giving a proper glare to Colin instead of the poor attempt the redhead had made earlier, responds with bite in his voice. “And what, pray tell, is wrong with my face, Wilkes?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your face, Damian!” He answers a little louder than he probably meant to. “It’s just…”
“Just what? Am I too hideous or mean-looking to go into a bar with the common scum of the streets?”
“The opposite, actually,” Colin squeaks out, dropping his head until his chin is resting against the table. Another scowl from Damian has him sighing. “You’re really pretty, Damian.”
There’s a beat between them and Damian squints. “What the hell are you saying?”
The waitress appears again, a softer smile than last visit, and slides the food in front of Colin. She wanders off without a word, and the two boys have their heads down for a moment.
The redhead slowly reaches forward and pushes the plate to the side, ignoring it in favor of the milkshake. His fingers wrap around the cold glass, and he tries his hardest to meet Damian’s eyes. “You’re pretty, Damian. Handsome, good-looking, whatever you want to call it.” His eyes dart back down to his drink.
Damian clicks his tongue again, and he puts his chin on his fist, staring out the window. “They say that about everyone in my family.”
“You’re… different,” Colin submits to his friend, which only gets him the reflection of a raised eyebrow in the window. “Yeah, Tim is cute, and Dick is gorgeous, and your dad is… yeah, but you’re… ugh, you’re hot in a different way.”
There are a few moments of silence between them before Damian pouts. “How am I different?” He asks quietly.
Another shrug from Colin and he holds the milkshake closer to himself. “You’re… unique. I’ve seen people just as pretty as Dick or Tim, but no one has ever come close to you, Dames. You’re gorgeous in a way that makes it impossible to forget about.” His entire face is red now, and his fingers keep tapping the sides of his glass.
Damian still doesn’t look at him. He can feel his own ears heating up from the comments. A sigh finally escapes him, and he closes his eyes. “…I don’t think Father would have put it that way, but I get what you’re saying.”
“Good.” Colin touches his shoe to Damian's shin lightly, trying to meet the other boy's eyes and failing. “Now can you stop pouting and eat? I'm a burger in and you've barely touched your salad.”
Damian nods and takes small bites, gaze traversing from his friend to the bar and back, again and again. He takes in the blush that is slowly fading from his face, the hunched shoulders, and the burger held firmly between them. The wild red locks that he refuses to get an appropriate haircut to tame. Freckles across his cheeks that Damian knows also cover his shoulders and down to the few on the backs of his hands. Green eyes like pine that slowly look up from his fries to his friend. Lips that twist, food bulging out a cheek-
“You keep looking at me like that, and I'll expect you to paint me like one of your French girls.”
Damian blinks and scowls. “I understand that is a reference...” He gets a huffing laugh in response. “... but is that not an unusual outcome for me? You are an incredible model, after all.” The Wayne heir smirks around his next bite of salad as Colin's freckles disappear once more under a heavy blush.
There's a mirthful chuckle above them and Damian feels his own blush creeping on him when the waitress says, “you two are the cutest things I've seen all month.”
At least Colin has the manners to mumble out a “thank you” as their drinks are refilled.
“Speaking of cute couples,” Colin says as he twirls a fry in some ketchup, “how many of those guys at the bar are thinking the same thing of them?”
“Ugh, please don't ruminate on that, Wilkes.” Damian holds a hand to his stomach. “That is my father and Drake. Disgusting.”
“Bet they get asked like... five times.”
“Again, disgusting.” Damian looks out at the bar, where only one criminal stands guard. “Only one person will be stupid enough to ask.”
“Six times, and if I win, we're watching Titanic.”
“Tt. Twice at most, and you attend Shakespeare in the Park with me. It's King Lear, this time.”
“Deal.” Colin holds a hand out with a smile, and Damian takes it, giving it a squeeze and a strong pump.
“And now we wait.” Damian goes back to staring out the window, pointedly ignoring the small smirks Colin shoots his way and the tapping on his shin again.
Only a couple hours later, and Damian scowls at the frown and flushed look on Drake's face as he leaves the bar and makes eye contact with the teens. Father follows Drake, the trademark Malone smirk appearing to be straining to maintain, as they turn and walk across the road.
The teens stand, and Damian leaves a number of bills on the table, nodding to the waitress while Colin talks about the food and hopefully coming back. If he bumps their shoulders too often, or walks into Damian's space the entire walk to meet up with the two undercover men, Damian doesn't mention it.
He also doesn't mention the glee in Colin's hum when Drake confirms his suspicions with a refusal to return to the bar with Bruce in any future capacity.
Well, Titanic can't be that long of a movie, can it?
Two days later, with a giant bowl of popcorn in his lap, and Colin pressed firmly to his side, Damian finds that Titanic is unbearably long. It is also unbearably boring. But, with Colin's fingers running over Damian's knuckles, he finds there are worse ways to spend his evening.