The rooftops of Gotham were quiet. Which, for Gotham, usually meant something was about to explode. Nightwing landed lightly on the edge of a gargoyle before springing to the next rooftop with the effortless ease of decades of practice. Robin followed a heartbeat later.
Silent.
Precise.
Perfect.
Dick glanced over his shoulder.
"...You know, most people answer when someone talks to them."
Damian didn't even look at him.
"I have nothing to contribute to your incessant rambling."
"It isn't rambling."
"It is."
"It is conversation."
"It is noise."
Dick grinned.
"I missed patrols with you."
"You saw me at breakfast."
"I know."
"I regretted it."
"Ouch."
Damian continued forward without missing a step.
"You asked."
"I did."
"You received an answer."
Dick laughed.
"See? That's growth."
Damian gave him a flat stare.
"I am considering pushing you off this building."
"You've already done that."
"You survived."
"Barely."
"I could improve my technique."
Dick clutched his heart dramatically.
"They grow up so fast."
Damian sighed the sigh of someone who had been cursed with older siblings.
The patrol had been uneventful. A purse snatcher. Two car thieves. One very confused raccoon. Dick wasn't entirely sure how the raccoon had gotten into the jewelry store. Damian hadn't asked. He also hadn't stopped Dick from carrying it to a nearby park afterward.
The city had settled into one of its rare peaceful nights.
The moon hung low over Gotham.
The breeze carried the scent of rain.
Then...
Music.
Soft.
Barely audible.
A lone piano drifting through the night.
Dick paused.
"Huh."
Damian frowned.
"...Music?"
It wasn't coming from a club.
Or a rooftop party.
It was...
Gentle.
Melancholy.
Almost impossibly beautiful.
Dick tilted his head.
"Someone's got good taste."
Damian's attention shifted toward a nearby high-rise.
A penthouse. One with a rooftop garden. White lights glowed between climbing vines. Flowers swayed gently in the breeze.
And...
Someone was dancing.
Damian stopped moving.
Completely.
His cape fluttered behind him in the wind.
The world...
Simply ceased to exist.
She stood in the middle of the rooftop, illuminated by moonlight.
Barefoot.
A flowing white dress catching every breeze.
Dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
She moved with a grace Damian had only ever seen in nature.
Like snow drifting from the sky.
Like water finding its course through a stream.
Like a bird riding invisible currents.
Every movement melted seamlessly into the next.
There was no hesitation.
No stiffness.
No effort.
Just...
Emotion.
He knew enough about combat to recognize perfect control over one's body.
This wasn't merely dance.
It was mastery.
She wasn't performing.
No audience.
No applause.
She danced because something inside her demanded to be expressed.
There was joy in some movements.
Longing in others.
Then came sorrow.
It hit him unexpectedly.
Like every turn of her body was asking a question no one had answered.
The music swelled.
She spun.
Her white skirt blossomed around her like flower petals.
Moonlight caught the movement.
For one impossible second...
She looked less like a person...
And more like something heaven had accidentally misplaced.
Damian forgot to breathe.
One word escaped him before he realized he had spoken.
"...Angel."
Dick's head snapped around so quickly he nearly fell off the gargoyle.
"...What?"
Damian didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He wasn't even aware he'd spoken.
Dick slowly looked back toward the rooftop.
Then at Damian.
Then back again.
Then—
The biggest grin spread across his face.
"Oh."
"Oh, this is priceless."
Damian blinked.
"What are you—"
"You called her an angel."
"I did no such thing."
"You literally did."
"I most certainly—"
"'Angel,'" Dick repeated in a near-perfect imitation of Damian's voice.
Soft.
Awed.
Almost reverent.
Damian's face went still.
"...I said that aloud?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I refuse to believe you."
Dick pressed a hand against his chest.
"My baby brother saw a pretty girl."
Damian looked horrified.
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I observed a civilian."
"Mhm."
"She appears to possess significant skill."
"Mhm."
"I merely made an objective observation."
"Mhm."
Dick leaned closer.
"You also forgot to blink."
Damian blinked immediately.
Dick burst into laughter.
"You—"
"I what?"
"You have been staring at her for five whole minutes!"
"I have not."
"You have."
"I was assessing."
"You assessed her pirouette?"
"It was technically proficient."
"The arabesque?"
"...Excellent balance."
"The smile?"
Damian froze.
Dick's grin widened.
"Oh my God."
"You noticed her smile."
"I did not."
"You absolutely noticed her smile!"
Damian straightened.
"I fail to see how this discussion is relevant to patrol."
"It is extremely relevant."
"It is not."
"It absolutely is."
Dick's voice turned dramatically emotional.
"My little brother likes a girl."
"I do not."
"You called her an angel."
"I was momentarily..."
He searched for words.
"...Mistaken."
"For?"
"..."
Dick leaned forward expectantly.
"...A celestial being."
There was complete silence.
Then Dick doubled over laughing.
"You thought she was literally an angel?!"
"I did not say literally."
"You implied it!"
"I was making an observation."
"You made poetry!"
"I did not."
"'Angel.'"
"It was one word."
"It was the most romantic one word you've ever spoken."
"I despise you."
"I know."
Unfortunately...
Neither of them remembered one crucial detail.
Their communicators...
Were still on.
And connected to the family channel.
Several rooftops away.
Jason Todd was in the middle of interrogating three drug dealers.
"...So you're telling me Black Mask pays this little?"
One thug nodded frantically.
Jason frowned.
"...Wow."
"That's actually insulting."
His communicator crackled.
Dick's unmistakable laughter echoed through the speaker.
Followed by—
"My little brother likes a girl!"
Jason slowly looked toward the sky.
"...No."
Then—
"You called her an angel!"
Jason's helmet tilted.
"...No way."
He pressed a finger to the communicator.
"Replacement?"
Tim's tired voice answered immediately.
"...You hearing this too?"
"I am."
"...Is Demon Spawn..."
"...Crushing?"
A beat.
Then simultaneously—
"Oh, we have to see this."
Jason abandoned the terrified criminals.
"You three."
The men flinched.
"...Run."
They didn't question it.
They fled.
Jason grappled away before they reached the end of the alley.
Meanwhile...
Tim was already changing direction across Gotham's rooftops.
"No way I'm missing this."
Neither of them noticed the criminals staring after them in complete confusion.
"...Did..."
"...Did they leave because one of them likes a girl?"
"I think so."
"...Weird family."
Back on the rooftop opposite the penthouse...
Dick was still trying—and failing—to stop laughing.
Damian had reached the point where murder seemed like a reasonable solution.
"You are behaving like an imbecile."
"And you're behaving like someone who just discovered girls."
"I have always been aware girls exist."
Dick waggled his eyebrows.
"Not like this."
Before Damian could formulate an appropriately cutting response...
Two figures landed behind them.
Red Robin.
Red Hood.
Jason looked between Damian...
And the dancing girl.
Then very slowly looked back at Dick.
"...Tell me."
Dick's grin became positively evil.
"He called her 'Angel.'"
Jason slapped a hand over his mouth.
Tim actually choked on air.
"...He what?"
Dick nodded solemnly.
"Word for word."
Jason looked at Damian.
Then at the girl.
Then back.
"...Huh."
Damian narrowed his eyes.
"...Todd."
"So..."
Jason folded his arms.
"Angelic girls are your type?"
"They are not."
Tim nodded thoughtfully.
"I can see it."
"You see nothing."
Jason pretended to examine the rooftop.
"Very graceful."
Tim added helpfully,
"Pretty."
Jason continued,
"Elegant."
Tim smiled innocently.
"Completely out of your league."
Damian's eye twitched.
Jason grinned.
"Like..."
"Massively."
Tim nodded.
"I mean, she's basically a Disney princess."
Jason snorted.
"And you're..."
He gestured dramatically at Damian.
"...You."
Dick couldn't breathe from laughing.
Damian stared at all three of them.
Very slowly.
Very calmly.
"...I am going to kill all of you."
Jason grinned.
"Sure, Romeo."
Damian made a strangled noise that no human language had ever documented.
And somewhere across the rooftop garden...
The music stopped. All four vigilantes froze. A white-clad figure had turned toward them. Her wide blue eyes met theirs across the distance.
Her cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment.
For one suspended heartbeat...
Damian thought—
She's even prettier when she blushes.
The realization hit him like a freight train. His own face warmed.
Marinette stared at the four masked strangers gawking at her.
"...!" With a tiny squeak of horror, she gathered the skirt of her dress, spun around, sprinted toward the penthouse doors, and disappeared inside.
A second later—
Click.
The rooftop lights went dark. Only the moon remained. Silence settled over the rooftops.
Jason slowly turned toward Damian.
"...Congratulations."
Tim nodded gravely.
"You scared your angel away."
Dick burst into fresh laughter.
Damian contemplated whether throwing all three of his brothers off the nearest building would count as justifiable homicide.
The Batmobile rolled into the Cave shortly after sunrise. Normally, post-patrol debriefs were efficient. Mission report. Injuries. Evidence. Go to bed.
Tonight...
...tonight had gone spectacularly off the rails.
Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer as the four younger vigilantes descended the stairs.
Nightwing looked entirely too pleased with himself. Red Hood had the expression of someone barely containing laughter. Red Robin looked like he'd been waiting his entire life for whatever conversation was about to happen.
Robin...Robin looked like he wanted to fake his own death.
Bruce frowned.
"...What happened?"
Dick answered far too quickly.
"Nothing!"
Jason barked a laugh.
Tim coughed suspiciously.
Bruce's eyes narrowed.
"...Richard."
Dick held up both hands innocently.
"Okay, something happened."
Damian sighed.
"It is nothing of consequence."
"Oh, it is absolutely of consequence," Jason said, already grinning.
Bruce folded his arms.
"I'm listening."
Dick and Jason exchanged a look.
Then both of them smiled.
Bruce had seen that smile before.
Usually right before they did something that would give Alfred a headache.
Dick cleared his throat dramatically.
"So..."
"Robin saw a girl."
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose.
Bruce blinked.
"...A girl."
"Yep."
"...And?"
Jason lost the battle with his composure.
"He called her an angel."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Bruce slowly turned his head toward Damian.
Damian stared determinedly at the cave floor.
Bruce blinked again.
"...You called someone an angel?"
"I did not."
"You did," Dick said immediately.
Jason nodded.
"We all heard it."
Tim raised a finger.
"Technically, all of Gotham's vigilantes heard it."
Damian's head snapped up.
"...What?"
Jason pointed at the communicator clipped to Damian's cape.
"You forgot to mute."
Dick coughed into his fist.
"You broadcast your crush."
Damian looked horrified.
"I most certainly do not have a—"
"Oh, come on," Jason interrupted. "You whispered it like you were in a romance movie."
"I did no such thing."
Dick put on his best Damian impression.
His voice dropped to a reverent whisper.
"Angel..."
Jason clutched his chest dramatically.
"I think I just watched true love happen."
"It was one word!" Damian exploded.
"It was a loaded word," Tim replied.
"I simply made an observation."
Jason nodded.
"Sure."
Tim nodded too.
"Very scientific."
Dick pretended to take notes.
"Hypothesis: White dresses create emotional damage in fourteen-year-old assassins."
"I AM SEVENTEEN!"
"Exactly."
Bruce rubbed a hand over his face.
He had expected reports on Gotham's crime families.
Instead...
His youngest son apparently liked a girl.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Bruce carefully schooled his expression into neutrality.
Inside, however...
Progress.
"So," Bruce said as casually as he could manage.
"What do we know about her?"
Damian looked up sharply.
"We?"
Bruce ignored him.
"Location?"
Dick answered.
"Jagged Stone's penthouse."
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"The rock musician?"
"The one and only."
"Hm."
Bruce turned toward the Batcomputer.
"I'll make discreet inquiries."
Damian frowned.
"There is no need."
Bruce continued typing.
"It would simply be useful to know who is staying in Gotham."
"It is unnecessary."
Jason snorted.
"He means he doesn't want us finding his girlfriend."
"She is not my—"
"Future girlfriend?"
"No."
"Potential girlfriend?"
"No."
"Wife?"
"No!"
Bruce hid a smile.
Alfred chose that moment to enter carrying a silver tray loaded with coffee, tea, and enough sandwiches to feed an army.
"I assumed," Alfred said smoothly, "that tonight's patrol required additional refreshments."
Jason accepted a sandwich immediately.
"Thanks, Alfred."
"My pleasure, Master Jason."
Alfred looked around the room.
He took in Dick's grin.
Tim's barely-contained laughter.
Bruce sitting at the Batcomputer looking suspiciously invested.
Damian looking like he'd rather wrestle Killer Croc.
"...Have I missed something?"
Jason pointed dramatically at Damian.
"He saw a pretty ballerina."
Dick corrected automatically.
"An angel."
Jason nodded.
"Right."
"The Angel."
Tim rested his chin on his hand.
"That's what we're calling her now."
Damian looked personally offended.
"No."
Jason blinked.
"No?"
"You are not calling her that."
Dick smiled.
"Oh?"
Damian folded his arms.
"Find your own nickname."
The Cave became completely silent.
Jason stared.
Tim stared.
Dick slowly looked at Bruce.
Bruce looked at Alfred.
Alfred looked at the ceiling.
Jason burst into hysterical laughter.
"He claimed the nickname!"
Tim doubled over.
"He actually claimed it!"
Dick was laughing so hard tears formed in his eyes.
"Our little Robin is possessive!"
"I AM NOT!"
Jason leaned against a workbench for support.
"You literally said we couldn't call her Angel because that's your nickname for her!"
"I said no such implication!"
"You absolutely implied it."
Bruce cleared his throat.
"I believe that is... accurate."
Damian whipped around.
"Father!"
Bruce's lips twitched.
"Merely an observation."
Dick whispered dramatically,
"The apple doesn't fall far from the emotionally constipated tree."
Bruce ignored him.
Mostly because he was trying not to laugh.
Alfred set the tea tray down.
"I presume," he said, "that none of you attempted to disturb the young lady."
There was silence.
Dick looked at Jason.
Jason looked at Tim.
Tim looked at Damian.
Alfred sighed.
"...What happened?"
Jason raised one finger.
"We may have..."
He paused.
"...been seen."
Alfred closed his eyes.
"...Master Jason."
"It wasn't my fault!"
"It was absolutely your fault," Tim said.
"You were the one who called her out of Damian's league."
"Because she is!"
Damian made a strangled sound.
Dick laughed again.
Jason shrugged.
"She saw us."
"And?"
"...Then she ran away."
Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose.
"So..."
"You frightened a young lady who was peacefully dancing."
Nobody answered.
Alfred looked disappointed.
That was somehow worse than him looking angry.
After a long moment, he spoke.
"Master Bruce."
"Yes?"
"I trust there will be no investigations involving surveillance of a young woman whose only apparent offense is practicing ballet in private."
Bruce looked mildly offended.
"I wasn't planning surveillance."
Jason coughed.
"Yet."
Bruce ignored him.
"I simply intended to identify the current occupants of Mr. Stone's residence."
Alfred looked unconvinced. "I must remind you all that monitoring a young lady from the rooftops while wearing tactical Kevlar is not considered proper courtship in any civilized nation."
Then he reached into his pocket.
Pulled out his phone.
And dialed.
Dick blinked.
"...Who are you calling?"
"Miss Gordon."
Damian looked confused.
"Oracle?"
Alfred nodded.
"Preventative measures."
The phone picked up almost immediately.
"Hey, Alfred."
"Good morning, Miss Gordon."
"What's wrong?"
"I require a favor."
"Okay..."
"If any member of the family attempts to access city cameras, satellite imagery, traffic feeds, or civilian records regarding a young ballet dancer residing temporarily at Mr. Stone's penthouse..."
Barbara was silent for exactly two seconds.
Then—
"Oh my God."
"They're trying to stalk Damian's crush?"
The entire Batfamily froze.
Jason slowly lowered his sandwich.
Dick looked delighted.
Tim was biting his lip so hard he was turning red.
Bruce looked betrayed.
"It is not—"
Barbara cut him off.
"I'm locking all of you out."
Bruce sighed.
"Barbara."
"Nope."
"No stalking."
"No background checks."
"No facial recognition."
"No 'accidentally' tracing her grocery purchases."
Jason looked horrified.
"...Bruce has done that before, hasn't he?"
Bruce remained silent.
Jason gasped.
"He has!"
Dick laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
Barbara continued,
"If Damian wants to meet her, he can do it like a normal seventeen-year-old."
Click.
She hung up.
Silence.
Jason slowly turned toward Bruce.
"...You got parental-blocked."
Tim nodded solemnly.
"By Oracle."
Bruce sighed.
"...Apparently."
Jason recovered first.
He slung an arm around Damian's shoulders.
"So..."
"When's the wedding, Angel Boy?"
Damian shrugged him off with enough force to nearly send Jason stumbling.
"There will be no wedding!"
Dick grinned.
"Date?"
"No."
"Courtship?"
"No."
"Conversation?"
Damian opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Jason noticed.
His grin turned positively feral.
"...You haven't even talked to her."
Damian looked away.
"I have no intention of doing so."
Dick smiled warmly.
"You should."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because."
Jason folded his arms.
"Compelling argument."
Dick's expression softened into something more brotherly.
"Hey."
Damian reluctantly looked at him.
"If you think she's beautiful..."
Jason and Tim both perked up.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Dick continued innocently,
"...you could always introduce yourself."
Damian scoffed.
"I merely acknowledged that she was aesthetically—"
He stopped.
Everyone stared.
Damian froze.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
He realized what he had almost said.
Jason whispered,
"...Say it."
Tim nodded eagerly.
"Come on."
Dick smiled.
"Finish the sentence."
Damian's ears turned bright red.
He looked absolutely trapped.
Finally, through gritted teeth, he muttered,
"...Beautiful."
Silence.
For exactly one second.
Then the Batcave erupted.
Jason collapsed onto the floor laughing.
Tim was wheezing into his cape.
Dick was openly crying with laughter.
Even Bruce had to turn away to hide the unmistakable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Damian looked at every one of them.
Made a sound somewhere between a growl and a scream.
Then spun on his heel and stalked out of the Batcave.
Jason managed to gasp between laughs,
"See you later, Romeo!"
A thrown batarang embedded itself in the cave wall inches from Jason's head.
Jason only laughed harder.
Bruce watched Damian disappear into the manor, then quietly took a sip of coffee.
Without looking up, he murmured to Alfred,
"I believe this may be the first genuine crush he's ever had."
Alfred smiled faintly.
"I believe you may be correct, sir."
Bruce's smile returned.
Small.
Hopeful.
Perhaps, he thought, the future held more than endless nights of crime-fighting.
Perhaps... one day... there really would be grandchildren.
Alfred caught the look on Bruce's face and decided not to comment.
Not yet.
After all, the poor young man hadn't even learned the angel's name.
Damian should have gone to bed.
Objectively, logically, and according to Alfred's schedule, he should have gone upstairs, showered, slept for six hours, and forgotten the ridiculous events of the night.
Instead...
He found himself standing in front of the door to his art studio.
"...Tt."
He glared at it.
"This is absurd."
The studio, naturally, did not respond. With an irritated huff, he pushed the door open.
Unlike the rest of Wayne Manor, Damian's studio felt... lived in.
The walls were lined with canvases of every size.
Landscapes.
Animals.
Portraits.
Studies in charcoal.
Oil paintings stacked carefully against one wall.
Shelves overflowed with brushes sorted by size, pigments arranged by color, and sketchbooks filled with years of observations.
Near the large bay windows stood an easel, washed in the pale light of the moon.
This room was one of the few places where Damian allowed himself complete honesty.
Here, he wasn't Robin.
He wasn't the League's heir.
He wasn't Batman's son.
He was simply...
An artist.
He removed his gloves and tossed them onto a nearby table.
"I shall paint."
The declaration sounded firm.
Reasonable.
Controlled.
Painting always settled his mind.
A tiger, perhaps.
Or Titus sleeping.
Maybe the Japanese maple in the east garden.
Anything.
Anything except—
His brush hovered over the blank canvas.
Without conscious thought...
A single curved line appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
Damian frowned.
"...No."
He dipped the brush into white.
More strokes followed.
The silhouette of a flowing dress emerged.
"...No."
He reached for blue.
Moonlight.
He added silver.
Flowers.
Soft lights.
Long, graceful arms extended in an arabesque.
His hand moved almost independently of his thoughts.
It was only after several minutes that he stepped back.
The brush slipped from his fingers.
"...Impossible."
There.
On the canvas.
Was the rooftop.
The moon.
The fairy lights.
And at the center...
Her.
Not every feature.
Not yet.
Only her silhouette.
A young woman suspended in the middle of a pirouette, white dress billowing around her like flower petals caught in the wind.
He stared.
Then immediately turned the canvas around so it faced the wall.
"...Ridiculous."
He crossed his arms.
Waited.
Counted to thirty.
"..."
"..."
"..."
His eyes drifted back toward it.
"...One correction."
He turned the canvas around again.
The lighting was wrong.
The moon had been slightly lower.
He mixed ultramarine with a touch of Payne's gray.
Adjusted the shadows.
Better.
The flowers.
He remembered white climbing roses.
No.
There had been lavender too.
He added them.
The vines.
The fountain in the corner.
The soft golden glow of the fairy lights.
Each detail returned with startling clarity.
His memory had always been excellent.
Yet...
Why did he remember this so vividly?
He frowned as he reached for another brush.
"It is merely because the composition was aesthetically pleasing."
Of course.
That was all.
Any artist would have remembered it.
The contrast between the white dress and Gotham's skyline.
The movement.
The balance.
The light.
Entirely artistic appreciation.
Nothing more.
Satisfied with this explanation, Damian continued painting.
An hour later...
"...The proportions are incorrect."
He narrowed his eyes.
Her posture was perfect.
The balance was right.
The folds of the dress moved naturally.
Yet...
Something bothered him.
He walked closer.
"...The shoulders."
Too tense.
No.
Not tense.
Guarded.
He closed his eyes.
Remembering.
She hadn't danced like someone performing.
She had danced like someone...
Trying to let go.
He softened the line of her shoulders.
Immediately, the painting felt more alive.
"...Better."
Another thirty minutes passed.
He added tiny white flowers near her bare feet.
He wasn't entirely certain why.
He simply remembered them.
Then came the hands.
Delicate.
Expressive.
Every fingertip told part of the story.
He had seen countless dancers before.
At galas.
Fundraisers.
The theater.
They had all been technically exceptional.
This girl...
She had made him forget to breathe.
"...Tt."
He set the brush down harder than necessary.
"This is becoming tiresome."
Across Wayne Manor...
Dick quietly opened the studio door a crack.
Jason and Tim stood behind him.
"So?" Jason whispered.
Dick peeked inside.
"...Oh."
Tim leaned over his shoulder.
His eyebrows shot upward.
"...No way."
Jason squeezed in beside them.
"...Holy—"
All three stared.
Damian hadn't noticed them.
He stood completely absorbed before the easel, adding tiny highlights to the strands of the dancer's dark hair.
His expression...
Was unlike anything his brothers had ever seen.
Focused.
Gentle.
Almost...
Tender.
Jason mouthed silently,
"He's gone."
Tim nodded gravely.
"Gone."
Dick smiled to himself.
"He's smiling."
Jason looked again.
"...He is."
It wasn't a large smile.
Most people wouldn't even notice it.
But Dick had helped raise Damian.
He noticed.
His little brother looked...
Happy.
Jason whispered,
"We should take a picture."
Tim immediately shook his head.
"If he catches us, we're dead."
"...Worth it."
Dick snorted.
Jason slowly pulled out his phone.
Tim grabbed his wrist.
"Jason."
"What?"
"He'll hear the shutter."
"I'll mute it."
"He'll sense your intentions."
Jason considered that.
"...Fair."
The three continued watching.
Damian stepped back from the canvas.
Tilted his head.
"...The eyes."
Jason blinked.
"...He painted the eyes?"
Tim nodded.
Apparently.
Damian carefully mixed several shades of blue.
Cerulean.
A hint of gray.
Something lighter.
He painted slowly.
Patiently.
Then frowned.
"...Too dark."
He wiped them away.
Mixed another shade.
"No..."
Again.
Still wrong.
Dick smiled.
"He remembers them."
Jason grinned.
"Oh, he's down catastrophically."
Inside the studio, Damian muttered under his breath.
"I require a more accurate reference."
He paused.
Reference.
"..."
His eyes widened ever so slightly.
"What."
He looked at the painting.
Then at the palette.
Then back.
"...No."
He had almost wished to see her again.
Simply to confirm the color of her eyes.
Entirely for artistic accuracy.
Certainly not for any other reason.
Absolutely not.
He glared at the canvas as though it had betrayed him.
"You are a painting."
The painting, wisely, remained silent.
"You will cease causing unnecessary complications."
Still silent.
Damian sighed.
"...This conversation has become irrational."
Outside the door...
Jason was clutching Tim's shoulder to keep from laughing out loud.
"He's talking to it."
Tim was biting his lip so hard it had gone white.
Dick had both hands over his mouth.
"I can't—"
Jason wheezed.
"I've never seen him this gone."
Back inside...
Damian finally added the finishing touches.
A final stroke of silver across the moonlight.
A faint breeze lifting the hem of her dress.
The city glittering behind her.
He stepped away.
The painting wasn't perfect.
No painting ever was.
But...
It captured the feeling.
The quiet loneliness.
The grace.
The impossible beauty of a stranger dancing beneath the stars.
For a long time, he simply looked at it.
Then, almost unconsciously, he smiled.
A real one.
Soft.
Small.
Honest.
Outside the door, Dick's expression softened.
Jason quit smiling for a moment.
Tim folded his arms.
"...He's really got it bad."
Dick chuckled quietly.
"I think so."
Jason grinned again.
"He's never living this down."
The first rays of sunlight crept through the studio windows.
Golden light spilled across the floor.
Damian blinked.
He turned toward the clock.
7:12 a.m.
"..."
He stared.
"...I painted all night."
He hadn't even noticed.
His back ached.
His hands were stained with oil paints.
The palette was nearly empty.
He looked once more at the finished canvas.
"...Tt."
Carefully—far more carefully than he would ever admit—he carried it to the drying rack instead of storing it with unfinished works.
Then he drew a clean cloth over it, concealing it from casual view.
Not because he was embarrassed.
Certainly not.
It was simply...
Private.
He washed his brushes with practiced precision, cleaned his palette, and restored the studio to immaculate order.
Only when everything was exactly as it should be did he remove his paint-splattered apron.
He caught his reflection in the studio mirror.
There was a faint streak of white paint across his cheek.
He wiped it away.
Then frowned at himself.
"This is enough."
His voice echoed quietly through the empty room.
"I shall not think of the dancer again."
He turned off the lights.
Opened the studio door—
—and nearly walked into Dick, Jason, and Tim, who were all standing in the hallway looking far too innocent.
The four brothers stared at one another.
Jason smiled.
"Morning, Romeo."
Damian's eye twitched.
Without a word, he walked past them toward the kitchen.
Behind him, Jason leaned toward Dick and whispered loudly enough for Damian to hear,
"So... do you think Angel likes flowers?"
Damian resisted the overwhelming urge to throw every one of them into Gotham Harbor.
Breakfast was going to be a very long ordeal.
The Wayne Manor dining room was unusually lively.
Which, in Damian's opinion, meant it was unusually insufferable.
He entered wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced indifference.
If anyone noticed he had slept exactly zero hours...
No one mentioned it.
Mostly because they had something much, much funnier to discuss.
Jason looked up from his coffee.
His grin was immediate.
"Oh, look."
Dick glanced over.
"Our resident romantic."
Tim, halfway through reading the morning news on his tablet, looked up with suspicious innocence.
"Morning, Damian."
Damian narrowed his eyes.
"...Drake."
"You slept well?"
"I did not."
Jason gasped theatrically.
"I wonder why."
Dick sighed dramatically.
"Probably stayed up writing poetry."
"I was painting."
There was a beat of silence.
Jason slowly smiled.
"...Her?"
"..."
Damian reached for the tea instead of answering.
Jason took the silence as confirmation.
"Oh my God, it was her."
"It was an artistic exercise."
Dick nodded solemnly.
"Of course."
Tim took a sip of coffee.
"Purely academic."
Bruce looked over the rim of his newspaper.
"What did you paint?"
Damian froze.
"...A landscape."
Jason snorted into his cereal.
"A landscape with a ballerina in it?"
"I fail to see how that concerns you."
Dick leaned forward.
"Can we see it?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
Tim looked thoughtful.
"If it's just a landscape, there shouldn't be a problem."
"It is private."
Jason pointed his spoon accusingly.
"HA."
"He admitted it's private."
"It is a personal work."
Dick smiled knowingly.
"Very personal."
Damian silently counted to ten.
It wasn't enough.
Alfred entered carrying another pot of tea.
"Good morning."
"Morning, Alfred," Dick said cheerfully.
Alfred poured Damian a fresh cup.
"I trust your painting session was productive, Master Damian."
"It was."
"I am pleased."
Jason grinned.
"He painted his crush."
Alfred didn't even blink.
"I gathered as much."
Damian groaned.
"...Et tu, Alfred?"
"I merely observe, Master Damian."
Bruce coughed into his coffee to hide a smile.
Mercifully, breakfast ended without anyone saying the word angel.
Damian almost believed the teasing was over.
He should have known better.
As he reached the foyer, Dick called after him.
"Taking Titus to the park?"
"Yes."
"Have fun."
Jason added,
"If you meet any angels, remember to introduce yourself."
Damian didn't dignify that with a response.
He clipped Titus's leash onto the Great Dane's collar.
The enormous dog wagged his tail enthusiastically.
"Come, Titus."
Titus barked happily.
Unlike the rest of the family, Titus possessed enough dignity not to tease him.
Damian appreciated that.
The morning air was pleasantly cool.
Gotham's largest botanical park had only begun filling with people.
Joggers followed winding paths.
Parents watched children feed ducks by the pond.
Artists painted flowers.
Students read beneath ancient oak trees.
It was... peaceful.
Titus trotted beside Damian with the effortless confidence of a dog convinced the world existed solely to pet him.
"You are entirely too spoiled."
Titus wagged harder.
"Hm."
Damian allowed himself the smallest smile.
Animals, at least, were uncomplicated.
They wandered deeper into the gardens.
Rows of roses gave way to sprawling meadows filled with wildflowers.
Butterflies drifted lazily between blossoms.
Birdsong echoed overhead.
It reminded Damian, vaguely, of the manor gardens.
Though less meticulously maintained.
He appreciated both.
Then—
His footsteps stopped.
About fifty yards away...
Beneath the sprawling branches of an old cherry tree...
Sat a girl.
Pink.
The first thing he noticed was the dress.
Soft blush pink, simple and flowing, reaching just below her knees.
Tiny embroidered flowers decorated the hem.
A woven sunhat rested beside her.
Fresh white daisies had been tucked into the braid woven through her dark hair.
She sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket.
A sketchbook rested in her lap.
Colored pencils were scattered beside her.
Completely absorbed in drawing.
Damian's heartbeat stumbled.
"..."
No.
It couldn't be.
He looked again.
Blue eyes.
Dark hair.
Gentle smile as she concentrated.
The same graceful posture.
The same quiet elegance.
It was...
Her.
The dancer.
The Angel.
His mind supplied the nickname before he could stop it.
He immediately scowled at himself.
Ridiculous.
Coincidences happened.
Gotham had millions of people.
Meeting her again the morning after...
...was statistically improbable.
Not impossible.
He stared.
Without realizing it, he began comparing her to the painting hidden in his studio.
The flowers in her hair...
He hadn't included those.
The sunlight caught hints of blue in her dark hair.
He'd missed that.
Then his artist's eye caught something else.
Her eyes.
He looked.
Really looked.
The clear summer light revealed them perfectly.
Not the deep sapphire he'd painted.
Lighter.
More like cornflowers.
With faint gray around the edges.
"...Too dark."
The words slipped out under his breath.
He had painted them too dark.
His memory had failed him.
He should correct the portrait later.
...Why was he thinking about the portrait?
He tore his gaze away so abruptly it almost hurt.
This was absurd.
He had no reason to continue staring at a stranger.
He turned on his heel.
"We are leaving."
Titus did not move.
Damian frowned.
"...Titus."
The Great Dane's ears perked up.
Then, before Damian could tighten his grip on the leash—
The clasp slipped from his fingers.
"Titus."
The dog looked at Damian.
Then at Marinette.
Then, making what he clearly believed to be the best decision of his life—
He ran.
"Titus!"
The Great Dane bounded across the grass like an overgrown puppy.
Damian's eyes widened.
"TITUS!"
Marinette looked up from her sketchbook at the sound of pounding paws.
Her first thought was—
Horse?
It was certainly large enough.
Instead, an enormous black-and-tan Great Dane came barreling toward her at alarming speed.
She blinked.
"...Oh!"
The dog skidded to a stop directly in front of her.
Its tail wagged so enthusiastically its entire back half moved.
Marinette looked into the dog's hopeful brown eyes.
Then smiled.
"Well..."
"Aren't you handsome?"
Titus immediately leaned against her.
Demanding affection.
Marinette laughed.
A bright, clear sound that rang through the quiet garden.
She scratched behind his ears.
"Oh, you're just a big baby, aren't you?"
Titus practically melted.
His tail thumped against the ground.
Marinette giggled again.
"You like that?"
Another happy thump.
She rubbed under his chin.
"I think you do."
Titus decided then and there that this human was wonderful.
Damian reached them moments later.
He had intended to apologize immediately.
Retrieve Titus.
Leave.
Instead...
He stopped.
Because she was laughing.
It wasn't loud.
Or dramatic.
It was soft.
Warm.
It filled the garden.
Damian found himself thinking—
She is... beautiful.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
He stared.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
Recognition flashed across her face.
It was only for a second.
Then—
She smiled.
Not the distant smile she'd worn while dancing.
Not the tiny smile she'd given Titus.
A genuine, warm smile directed at him.
"Is he yours?"
Damian's brain ceased functioning.
Entirely.
Every language Talia had taught him.
Every battle strategy Batman had drilled into him.
Every Shakespeare quote Alfred had ever made him memorize.
Gone.
Nothing.
He simply stood there.
Looking at her.
She tilted her head slightly.
Concern flickered across her face.
"...Um?"
He opened his mouth. No sound emerged.
Behind him, Titus looked from Damian...To Marinette...
And if a dog could sigh in disappointment...He absolutely did.
