#anyhow time to wash my hair mask off GOODNIGHT!!!!!!!

[balmungkriemhild]

Nobody follows me for Honkai stuff as far as i'm aware but who gives a shit. this is Rêverose, she's a Knight of Beauty and she hates herself because she "wasn't pious enough" to stop the Fall of Idrila. TBH she couldn't have stopped that shit she just has a lot of self-hate and other issues

[lusilly]

and then he kissed me

this is completely without context but this is damian and ellen on their first....date? if you can call it that? ellen is EXTREMELY cautious and damian is just kind of. craving meaningful social interaction so this is him trying to make a friend (genuinely. genuinely he started out desiring nothing more than friendship lmao cuz he a lonely boy)

ideally this will one day be part of a longer nayar-wayne thing i’ve been trying to write for literal years (where they tell their kids about how they met basically lmao and the perspective sort of swings between the two of them depending on who’s telling the story)

           In the Haven, Ember sat before the big computer, monitoring threats as dawn began to break outside. There was a buzz of static, then Jabberwock’s voice came over the computer’s radio. “I’m going to head home,” she said. “See you later, Ember.”

           “Goodnight,” said Ember, though it wasn’t nighttime anymore. “Did Seraph get home safe?”

           “Yeah, I just dropped her off.”

           Someone else leaned forward, over the control panel on Ember’s side. “You should be more cautious about that kind of thing, Jabberwock,” said Robin. “You don’t want to be seen in the suburbs. People will notice.”

           “They might,” Jabberwock replied, scorn evident in her voice. “But everyone was fucking asleep, so I wasn’t really worried.”

           Ember said, “Watch your language on patrol. Good work. I’ll see you tonight.”

           With a half-hearted grumble, Jabberwock signed off. On the map of the city above them, the final blinking red light went out, indicating that all of Ember’s team were out of the field.

           There was a momentary pause, then Robin reached up and gently tugged his mask off of his face. He scrubbed at the ridge of his cheekbone for a moment, then Ellen glanced up at him.

           “Why do you always do that?” she asked. She might’ve sounded annoyed, but there was a weird patina of amusement there too, like she was genuinely curious.

           He took off one glove, wiping delicately with his thumb beneath his left eye. This close to him, Ellen noticed a faint scar on his eyelid, hardly more than a slight discoloration. “Do what?” he asked blankly.

           She gestures to the domino mask in his hand. “Wait to take off the mask until everyone else is out. You made it back here an hour ago, there’s no reason you couldn’t have just taken it off then.”

           “I’m not off the clock until everyone else is,” answered Robin calmly. “And you don’t take your mask off in the field, Ember. You know that.”

           Ellen rolled her eyes. “You’ve never been on the clock a day in your life,” she told him, turning back to the screen before her. “Besides, you’re here in the Haven, not in the field.”

           “I’m still here to act as support for your team,” he pointed out. “So as long as they’re out, I’m out.”

           Finishing a cursory inspection of the city, making sure there were no last-minute catastrophes, Ellen replied, “Thanks, Robin, but we don’t need babysitting.”

           “All I’m doing is-”

           “Besides,” she added, speaking over him. “I don’t think it’s about being ready to leap into action. I think it’s a power play kind of thing, in case any of them come back and catch you naked.”

           Robin gave a shrug. “That’s fair. I have my own secrets to protect.”

           “It’s dumb,” said Ellen, closing the computer programs and looking up at him. “It isn’t as if your secret identity is actually a secret. They all know.”

           “I’d rather not dwell on that,” Robin replied, almost apologetically. “Sometimes when they have to stare reality in the face, it changes the way people see you, the way they interact. I wouldn’t want to distract your team.”

           “They’re your team too,” Ellen said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not some professional vigilante lording above us all, you’re part of this too.”

           Robin looked at her for a moment, as if trying to come up with a reply. Then he let out a little sigh and gave her a shrug. He tugged off his other glove.

           After a longish pause, Robin asked, “Are you hungry?”

           “No,” lied Ellen, out of habit. She would go home and eat leftovers her grandmother had covered for her in the fridge.

           “Well,” continued Robin, “you should eat something protein-dense anyhow. Sleep deprivation causes your body to work extra hard to keep itself going, which means that your diet needs to be nutrient-rich. I know a nutritionist,” he remarked, casually, as if this wasn’t an absurd thing to say, “if you’re interested.”

           In a way, his complete obliviousness to how ridiculous he was being was a little bit charming. “No thanks,” answered Ellen, still in her seat. Robin was leaning against the control panel, but even this didn’t detract from his obvious height, a solid few inches above six foot. Ellen hadn’t seen him side-by-side his father since the first time she met them, and Robin had been shorter then; now, she was certain he would be taller than his father. Good thing Batman wears lifts in his boots.

           “Anyway,” he added, “I’m going to get something to eat. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”

           He paused just long enough to anticipate a response from Ellen. She didn’t exactly say anything at first, instead just narrowing her eyes at him, trying to tell what this was.

           “Why?” she asked. “Is Nell busy?”

           A tight smile flashed onto his lips, but he didn’t quite look at her. Instead he reached up to detach his cape and hood from his tunic. “Ouch,” he admitted, finally. “To be fair, you should know that she and I parted on mutual terms.”

           “The way I heard it,” said Ellen smoothly, “you grew a conscience and figured out the whole Sugar Daddy scene wasn’t for you.”

           “That’s not exactly how it went,” answered Robin frankly, finally removing the cape and draping it over one arm. This was not exactly how Nell had described the whole situation either, but Ellen thought fucking around with one of her team members behind everyone else’s back was kind of a dick move, and she didn’t want to let him off the hook. “I wouldn’t stay somewhere I’m unwelcome,” Robin added. He ran a hand through his hair. “If she’d asked me to leave, I would’ve. But she didn’t, so if she can live with my presence, I imagine you can too.”

           “I can live with your presence, sure,” answered Ellen. “But does that make me want to go grab pancakes with you? Mmm.” She held up her hands, as if weighing two options against each other. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

           Gesturing towards the door which led to the Haven’s personal quarters, Robin said, “I’m going to take a shower, but I’ll be back in a few minutes. Again, you’re welcome to join me. My treat.”

           He began to stride away, then he stopped and turned around. There was a grimace on his face. He opened his mouth to correct himself, but Ellen assured him, “I know. You meant to breakfast.”

           He stood there for a second like an idiot, then he nodded. “Unfortunate wording,” he said. “My apologies.”

           Ellen gestured for him to keep walking. “Just go.”

           Without another word, he gave her an unhappy nod, then turned around and swept away. For a moment Ellen hovered before the control panel, unmoving. Then she too headed into the personal quarters, towards the shower attached to what was meant to be her room. It was empty – she had not spent a single night in that bed – except for several sets of her uniform, and some other clothes she’d brought over. In the closet also hung an evening gown in a protective garment bag. Robin had supplied a set of formalwear for everyone (even Lucas, who didn’t exactly need help buying himself a nice suit). He’d claimed it was in case they ever needed to go undercover or work an investigative event, but Ellen thought secretly this was his way of working up to asking them all to accompany him to some boring party thrown by Wayne Enterprises. It was a sad little gesture of friendship, and she almost pitied him. Also, it was a really great dress.

           She too showered, unraveling her long braid and dragging her fingers through her hair. She didn’t have the time to shave her legs or fully wash her hair, but it was nice to get the sweat and the grime of the city off her skin. All in all it was less than ten minutes, and then another couple to get dressed and towel her hair dry. She was still braiding it blind, her hands behind her head, when she headed back into the main computer hub.

           Robin was sitting at the computer, playing – Minesweeper? Ellen hadn’t even known that game even existed anymore, much less that it was programmed onto the high-tech Batcomputer in the Haven. Obviously he heard her approach, though, because he quickly got up out of the seat, as if she’d just walked in on him in a compromising position.

           She raised an eyebrow at him. He wore slacks and a button-up and a damn blazer. She wondered if he’d ever worn jeans and a t-shirt in his entire goddamn life. His hair was still damp, brushed back with a distinct lack of its usual gel. For the first time she noticed the little curls at his hairline, just barely long enough to be seen.

           Ellen gestured at the screen. “Having fun?”

           “Not really,” he replied, looking back at it. “I’m not very good at it.”

           Arching a single eyebrow, Ellen feigned disbelief. “Did I hear that right? The great Robin, Boy Wonder, isn’t good at something?”

           He placed a hand to his chest. “Please,” he said. “When we’re like this, it’s just Damian.” Then he gestured at the screen once more. “And it’s just that I can’t crack the algorithm. If I had another twenty minutes or so-”

           “I’m suddenly starving,” said Ellen, approaching the computer, “so you don’t have twenty minutes. Besides, it doesn’t have anything to do with an algorithm, it’s just luck. Here.” She inspected the minefield carefully, her eyes glancing across the little gray squares. Then she hovered the pointer over a seemingly random square, and she clicked.

           The square went red, revealing two dozen mines across the field. She looked up and grinned at Damian. “Come on,” she said, exiting the game. “Let’s go.”

           When they got into the elevator that would bring them to street level, Damian glanced at the back of Ellen’s head. “I can fix your braid,” he offered, “if you’d like.”

           She felt a brief but sudden wave of self-consciousness, reaching up to run her hand down her braid. It was off-kilter and wonky, strands of hair hanging out. “No thanks,” she said, glancing at him. “It’s fine. Besides,” she added, with the hint of a sly grin, “I doubt you could do a whole lot better.”

           “All my training,” he responded, with a glint in his eye, “and you don’t think my father ever taught me how to braid a girl’s hair?”

           “Not really, no,” laughed Ellen. “Maybe the butler did, but I can’t exactly imagine Batman thinking that’s a vital skill for the field.”

           As they approached ground level and exited through two sets of biometrics-encrypted doors, Damian gave a shrug. “You never know.”

           They spilled out into a back alley. Hovering just above the horizon, the sun was not visible beyond the towering Gotham structures. Damian checked his watch. “Wayne Tower Grill doesn’t open for another hour or so,” he told her. “But I might be able to call the chef-”

           “You’re not calling the chef of a Michelin Star restaurant just so we can have some coffee,” said Ellen, rolling her eyes again. She took hold of his arm, then tugged him the opposite direction, away from Wayne Tower. “Come on. I know a place.”

           He followed her in the early dawn light, when the city was just beginning to stretch its sleepy limbs and come to life. Around them lights began to flicker on in buildings, and cars began to appear on the streets. Ellen was often awake at this time, and she’d more or less scoped out the city for the best twenty-four hour places, which was how they ended up at the door of a neon-signed diner. Inside it was old and greasy. A jukebox played “Layla” by Eric Clapton in the corner.

           “Oh,” said Damian, as Ellen took a seat facing the door in a booth. This was good, because it allowed Damian the opportunity to survey the rest of the place, to case it and survey for any danger. It didn’t look like there was any reason to be alarmed. “I was half expecting you’d show me some Indian hole-in-the-wall.”

           “Nothing’s open this early,” she replied, then she added, “Also, I eat bacon and eggs like literally everyone else in Gotham. It’s not like you only eat huevos rancheros every morning.”

           Damian frowned at her for a moment, until he realized what she was implying. A waitress bumbled over and offered them menus. Ellen asked for coffee, for Damian only water.

           They looked at their menus. There was a distinct lack of vegetarian options. Incidentally, Damian said, “You know, I didn’t really take you for someone who’d take the tabloids seriously.”

           “Damn,” said Ellen, without looking up from her menu. “And I was trying so hard to impress you.”

          Damian lowered his menu to look at Ellen. “I hate the Cancún spring break theory,” he said, referring to one of many popular theories which the gossip rags liked the circulate about the circumstances of his birth. “It doesn’t even make sense. My father was well out of college before I was conceived.”

           “Pretty sure Bruce Wayne never went to college,” Ellen pointed out. “But a rich guy like him doesn’t need to be in college to get a college girl knocked up.”

           “I thought the prevailing theory was that my mother was a maid at the hotel.”

           “Right. How could I forget.”

           He watched her for a few moments. Then he returned to his menu.

           “My mother is a businesswoman,” he said, quietly. “She’s Arab and Chinese.”

           At this admission, Ellen actually looked up at him. “No kidding?” He nodded. She paused for a moment, then asked, “You think your dad keeps that quiet on purpose?”

           “It’s probably for the best,” answered Damian. To him, the issue in question was that his mother was Talia al Ghul; to Ellen, it seemed apparent that clocking Gotham’s most eligible young bachelor and heir to the Wayne throne as a brown Arab kid maybe wasn’t the best PR move for his family’s brand.

           “Sorry,” said Ellen, because she suddenly felt like she should apologize for believing what the tabloids said about him. “I shouldn’t believe everything I read. I mean, it’s not like they ever get your dad right.”

           For a second Damian didn’t answer. Then, still scanning the menu, he answered, “It’s all right. I used to have this masochistic impulse to keep up with everything the media was saying about my father and me, so I’ve heard worse.”

           “Fame is such a burden.”

           Damian glanced at her, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Heavy lies the crown.”

            The waitress returned. Ellen ordered bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Damian ordered oatmeal with a side of fruit. She asked Ellen if she needed any more coffee, then refilled her mug.

           Once she was gone, Ellen sipped at her coffee. “That’s kind of funny, actually,” she said. “My dad was Mexican. I always thought you and me had that whole thing in common.”

           Damian, who knew that Ellen lived with her grandparents, and knew the circumstances of how that came to be, just watched her. “Does your father – live in Gotham?”

           “No,” answered Ellen. “I don’t really know where he is. I never met him, but I got stuck with his name after he ditched.” She gave Damian a knowing little smile, very aware that he was in on this next semi-secret. “Which I then got rid of as soon as I could.”

           Damian’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, typed something in, then set it back down again. He didn’t really know what to say to Ellen, having very little literacy in this particular area, so he just gave her a nod. “For the best,” he said, again. “How long have you been in Gotham again?”

           “Ten-ish years,” she answered, with a shrug. “It’s no Star City, but it’ll do.”

           At the mention of a decade, Damian’s interest seemed to pique up. “Ten-ish,” he repeated. “Me too.”

           Ellen grinned at him. “How old were you when you got here?” she asked. “Six?”

           “Eleven,” he answered. “You?”

           “You know how old I am,” she shot back, giving him a look. “As if Daddy doesn’t have extensive file on every member of the team.”

           “I try not to read my father’s files on my teammates,” he admitted, which was only half true. Before they were his teammates, he had read their files so many times he’d practically memorized them. Since then he’d started compiling his own.

           The jukebox was playing a Rolling Stones song. Wild, wild horses…

           “I’m twenty-three in August,” said Ellen, running a hand down her braid again. “Graduating in May, which means I don’t really have time to go on dates with a college sophomore.”

           Ignoring this, Damian asked, “Where do you go to school?”

           “Gotham U.”

           “My friend Stephanie went there,” he said. “I think you know her. She’s the one who showed Nell the ropes.”

           “I know Steph,” replied Ellen. “No offense, but she was the you of the team before we had you.”

           Damian bowed his head in a little shrug. “That’s fair.”

           Their food arrived. After they assured the waitress they were fine and she departed from their table, Ellen pointed at his meal. “What happened to something ‘protein-rich?’”

           Dipping a spoon into his oatmeal – it was sticky, clumping around the spoon – Damian replied, “There weren’t a whole lot of non-meat proteins on the menu. It’s fine.”

           “You don’t eat meat?” He shook his head. “All meat?”

           “Fish is OK,” he said.

           “Why?” asked Ellen, marveling slightly. “Weren’t you the one who was just lecturing me on nutrient-heavy foods?”

           “Vegetarianism can be just as nutrient-heavy as any other diet,” he told her, sounding almost bored, as if this was something he regularly found himself defending. “You just have to eat the right things. It isn’t hard.”

           “I guess not for someone like you. Don’t you have a whole farm setup in your backyard?”

           “It’s a vegetable garden,” corrected Damian. “And I’ve been neglecting it lately anyway, so we haven’t been using it much.”

           “What about the cow?”

           A little laugh crossed Damian’s face; he seemed almost embarrassed. “Yes,” he said. “We still have the cow. Though she’s more of a pet.”

           “Who knew?” she replied mildly, breaking up her bacon into tiny pieces. “Damian Wayne is a vegan hippie. You know, I think you could give Green Arrow a run for his money.”

           There was a smile on Damian’s face as he replied, his eyes gently focused on her hands. “I’m not vegan,” he said.

           She scooted her plate of pancakes towards him. “Then you should share these with me.”

           He didn’t object as she took a bottle of maple syrup and drenched the pancakes with it. Then they both simultaneously cut out a piece with their forks, and took a bite.

           “They’re good,” said Damian.

           “They’re not great,” said Ellen, making a face.

           “Yeah,” agreed Damian, with something almost like a giggle. “They’re mediocre. I didn’t want to be rude.”

           Ellen watched him for a moment, trying to piece him together, turn him into something that was intelligible for her. She had known Damian Wayne for almost four years now, since Colin convinced Robin to train the both of them. Given that Colin had powers that Ellen did not, Robin had offered her extra training, which she had conditionally accepted. At some point he’d graduated to sparring with her, which was a weird kind of intimacy itself, two bodies hot with effort and sweat repeatedly throwing one another to the ground, pinning each other down in a hold, a crash course in hand-to-hand.

           He had even designed her second uniform, including the pseudoderm she wore across her face now, to obscure the scar. But she had never called him by his given name, never called him Damian. In her mind he had always been Robin. A kid sidekick.

           But then that had all abruptly ended, and for a year Ellen and the others had not seen Robin out on patrol at all, not once. When he eventually returned, he was taller, looked older, and had an air of caution around him that she had never known before. He’d been back for a year now, and while occasionally mouthy, he’d been an invaluable member of the team. There was something about Robin that Ellen could tell was different, more than Batgirl or Red Hood or Green Arrow, back in Star City. She might’ve caught a glimpse of it back when Black Bat was in Gotham, but Ellen had only ever seen her once so she could not say for sure.

           There was an ease to Damian Wayne’s Robin, an effortlessness of which he didn’t even appear to be aware. Yes, he was cocky and arrogant about a lot of things, but the purity of action, the determination of a fight, the professionalism with which he secured his patrol route: that came to him as second nature. It was not something he could teach. During their training sessions, he had given her all the physical knowledge he could, but it had ended there. It had been an exchange of services. Ellen had not known him well enough to ask for more.

           While Ellen struggled to figure out who exactly Damian Wayne was, he took another bite of her pancakes. “I’m not a sophomore,” he said.

           She blinked at him, then frowned. “What?”

           He scratched at his face. “You called me a college sophomore,” he explained. “I’m not.”

           “No?”

           He shook his head. “I graduated last year.” He gave her a bitter-ish smile. “With honors. From Princeton.”

           Ellen put one hand to the bridge of her nose, massaging her forehead. “Didn’t we just establish you’re, like, sixteen?”

           “Twenty-one in September,” he said, echoing her own admission of age. “But I was actually sixteen when I started, so it’s not that impressive.”

           With both hands Ellen took her coffee cup, raising it to her lips suspiciously. “Do you hear yourself when you talk, or…?”

           He let out another laugh. Under his skin tone it wasn’t easy to tell, but Ellen thought she caught a hint of pink rising into his face. Once more he ran his hand through his hair, then he said fairly, “Well, I do forget sometimes what my life must sound like to the common peasant folk.”

           This time she returned his giggle, fork in hand. “What did you study?” she asked. “And I’ll be disappointed if it wasn’t something super obvious like criminal justice.”

           “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. Finance,” he told her, “and Architecture.”

           “Architecture?”

           He nodded. “You know the Martha Wayne building on Sixteenth?” She nodded. “Those are my designs. It’s taken them long enough to actually start building the damn thing but,” he held up his hands in a shrug, “what can you do?”            Ellen watched him, again trying to figure out what was happening here. It was like every time she thought she got a grasp on him, there was something else, something she didn’t expect, something she never would’ve guessed. “How is that possible?” she asked, seriously. “Bruce Wayne is smart, yeah, but you’re, like – unbelievable.” She watched him, a grin tugging at her lips, a glint in her eye. “What’s the secret?”

           Damian shrugged. “I was homeschooled.”

           They both laughed, Ellen because this probably actually was the best answer he could come up with, and Damian because he liked to hear her laugh. It relieved the tension in the pit of his stomach, the certainty that he was going to say something wrong and spell out an end to something before it even really had the chance to begin.

           “How about you?” he asked. “What are you studying?”

           “Engineering,” she answered. “I’m trying to get a job at this firm my grandmother used to work at.”

           “Do you like it?”

           She shrugged. “It’ll pay the bills.”

           This didn’t seem to matter to Damian. “But do you like it?”

           She watched him for a moment. “I like it fine,” she said coolly. “Did you like Finance?”

           “Not really,” he answered fairly. “If I could do it again I would’ve just gone for Visual Arts or something. Maybe I’ll just do an MFA or something.”

           “Are you planning on going back to school?”

           Damian shook his head. “Not right now. My day job right now is with my brother, with the Neon Knights Organization. I expect to stay there for a while first.”

           “What do you do there?”

           “I’m the Regional Finance Director,” he answered. “I run the budget, basically.”

           “Your dad got you that job, huh?”

           Damian considered this. “Technically my brother did,” he said, “but I imagine he would’ve been a little more reluctant had my father not asked him to do so, yes.”

           Leaning back in her booth, Ellen said, “You know, Bruce Wayne offered me a job once, too.”

           “I know,” said Damian. “You have a standing authorization for any entry-level position in the company. It’s in your file.”

           Ellen watched him. “I thought you didn’t read your teammates’ files.”

           “You weren’t always my teammate,” said Damian, bowing his head in acknowledgement that he did, in fact, say that. “And…I hope that’s not all you’ll be, in the future.”

           Something about the whole encounter changed then, slowing down, coming back to Ellen and knocking her to her goddamn senses. This was Damian fucking Wayne she was talking to, a rich privileged vigilante who’d grown up with an inherent disdain for authority and an unquestionable ability to get whatever he wanted, including whoever he wanted, which just so happened to have included in the past not one but two of Ellen’s closest friends. Sitting across from him in a cheap and greasy diner in Midtown, he looked earnest and harmless; but she’d been with boys who were curious about her before, who wanted to get laid and then get high with her and then move on. She wasn’t about to risk being Ember for a boy, no matter how hot, how tempting he may be. No matter how good it made her feel, flattered and jittery, to know that he wanted her.

           But she also knew that saying no to rich men who were used to getting what they wanted could be a potentially dangerous thing. In her heart she really did believe Damian was a good kid, but when he was looking at her like that it didn’t really matter. Either extreme could end badly for her or at least for her continued existence as Ember, so she didn’t want to push it.

           “Then He Kissed Me” by The Crystals started to play on the jukebox, words obscured by the growing chatter from the early morning crowd.

           She held her coffee mug in hand, swirling its low contents. “Oh?” she asked, her voice lowered. “And what is it that you hope I’ll be?”

           His gaze returned to his oatmeal, which he pushed around the bowl, untouched. Then he looked back up at her. “A friend,” he said, “would be a good start.”

           “Because it’s so hard for Damian Wayne to make friends, huh?”

           He didn’t reply. He placed his oatmeal spoon down against the side of his bowl. Ellen’s heart seemed to slow down as she suddenly realized how badly her sarcasm had missed the mark. To his credit, he managed to give her a smile. “Well,” he began, “I already have four if you count my siblings, so I do have a bit of a head start.”

           Ellen felt bad, but not that bad. Lonely little rich boy. She’d seen this before in shitty TV movies. She was pretty sure there was a Regina Spektor song out there about it.

           “To be fair,” she restarted, “you do spend all night wearing a silly costume and all day behind a desk at an office. So it’s not like you really have the time for a thriving social life.”

           “Thanks,” he answered. The waitress returned to take their plates away. She asked if Damian was finished, and he said yes, though his oatmeal and his fruit was mostly untouched. There was a long moment of silence between the two of them.

           Then Damian and Ellen both spoke at the same time. They both awkwardly stopped, and then Damian gestured for Ellen to continue. “Please.”

           “I was just going to say,” she began, “don’t you need to get to work?”

           “It’s a Saturday,” he replied.

           “Oh, yeah,” she said. “That would explain it.” There was a beat of silence. “What were you going to say?”

           He waved this away. “Nothing.”

           “Nothing?”

           “I was just going to ask,” he said, relenting, “when your graduation date is.”

           This sort of surprised Ellen. “Um, in May sometime. I can check.”

           He nodded. “You’re on the Wayne Enterprises scholarship, yes?”

           Growing slightly colder, Ellen watched Damian. She didn’t want to talk about money. It didn’t seem like a safe topic around the Waynes. “Yeah,” she said shortly. “Are you going to help me finish these pancakes, or not?”

           “I’m fine,” he said. The waitress came by and dropped off their bill, telling them to take their time. Damian took out his wallet and dropped a silver credit card onto the receipt. Then, glancing at him, Ellen reached out and took the sheet of paper, leaving Damian’s card. She scanned the numbers there, then asked, “Can I Venmo you the nine dollars?”

           “No,” he answered, reaching out to pluck the bill out of her hand. “Ellen, please, that’s absurd. What use is wealth if I don’t get to use it to pay for my new friend’s breakfast once in a while?”

           “Don’t make me owe you.”

           “What could you possibly owe me for nine dollars?” asks Damian, giving Ellen a look, and then handing his card to the waitress when she came around again. “That’s not even minimum wage in Gotham.”

           “Like you know what minimum wage is in Gotham.”

           “I’m a Finance Director,” Damian pointed out, “remember?”

           “For a Fortune 500 company.”

           “Neon Knights is a charitable organization, not a company.”

           “So your charity has a lot of minimum wage workers, is that it?”

           Damian watched her for a moment, himself trying to puzzle together what Ellen meant by this, what she meant by her sharpness and her hesitance and the ease with which she spoke to him. “No,” he said. “Most of our grants are income-based, and as part of that we’ve done research on the living wage in Gotham. It’s well above the current minimum wage, by at least a dollar and a half. We’ve submitted a proposal to City Hall.”

           Ellen hated that Damian had an actual answer for this, and she hated even more how it was such a good answer.

           The waitress returned with his card, thanking him. Damian scribbled a tip and his signature. Just as he was about to get up, his phone started to ring – but it was not a regular phone ring, but something else just as familiar. It was the default alarm clock ring. He slid his thumb across the base, silencing the alarm.

           “Excuse me,” he said to Ellen. “I need to use the restroom.”

           As he left, Ellen thought about ditching. But she hadn’t had a terrible time, and she’d appreciated breakfast. And at least – at least if Damian was interested in her, whether it was genuine or merely a carnal sort of interest, then he obviously hadn’t been put off by her going out bare-faced out of the shower, her braid shitty and twisted. It felt kind of good to be wanted without having to put all that extra effort in.

            She checked the receipt. He’d tipped a solid 500%.

           He returned not a minute later, offering his hand to Ellen. “Shall we go?”

           She grinned up at him, then took his hand. “I guess so.”

           In true gentlemanly fashion, he walked her back to the apartment she shared with her grandparents. When they arrived, Ellen pointed up at her unit. “This is me,” she said.

           Awkwardly, he sort of hovered for a moment. “You were impressive tonight,” he said. “Your team performed well.”

           “I assume you’re including yourself in that.”

           A smile of relief blossomed across his lips.  “Of course.”

           Despite herself, she gave him a shy-ish smile. “Thanks for breakfast. How are you getting home?”

           He jerked his thumb behind his shoulder. “I was going to drop by the Tower. I have some things to finish up there.”

           “Oh,” said Ellen, raising her eyebrows. “So you are going into the office on a Saturday.”

           “It’s not work stuff,” he assured her. “I told my father I’d get a jump on some of his case files before I got home, so. I’ll be taking care of that for a few hours.”

           “Alright,” said Ellen. They were already standing fairly close, but somehow she found herself sidling up slightly, moving them closer. She had to look up to look him in the eye. “Good luck.”

           “Thank you,” he said. “I’d…” he paused, “like to see you again sometime, if you want.”

           “Oh, of course,” she said. She reached up and patted him on the chest, resting her hand just below his shoulder. She smiled at him. “I’ll see you on patrol tonight. OK?”

           She turned to head away, into her apartment building. Then, a few yards away, she came to a stop. Part of her was staunchly telling her to keep going, get into the building, take a nap before Nani came in to wake her up and accuse her of sleeping the day away.

           Despite her better judgement, she turned around, intending to go back to Damian and grant him a simple kiss on the cheek. But by the time she looked back, Damian was already walking away, hands in his pockets, oblivious.

           She watched him go.