Head in hands, Batman stared at the grey of the desk and sighed. It didn't go unnoticed.

"I get it Bruce," came the painfully comforting voice behind him.

How long ago was that the chirpy laughter of an orphaned acrobat?

The man lifted his head, cowl pulled back, and leant back in the chair. He stared at the monitors of the Batcomputer with indifference.

Nightwing walked in to his periphery- a tall man in his own blue uniform, sharing words of parenting wisdom. Where had all the years gone?

"Look, Damian's a man now. As much as we want to protect him, he is capable of protecting himself."

Bruce cracked his knuckles, frowning, "He was raised by the League of Assassins. He's always been able to protect himself."

Dick threw his hands up, "So he ran away! Like he hasn't a million times." He dipped his head, "And for once it wasn't out of spite too."

"He ran to Shiva-"

-"to find answers!"

Batman stood and faced Nightwing, "Then accompanied a demon to an intersection between worlds and met The Devil."

Exhaling heavily, Dick pulled his hands through his hair and left them clasped tightly at his neck. He regarded Batman with a melancholy sympathy.

"You think I'm not worried about him too? That no one else loves him besides you?" As he spoke, to his mind came a flurry of images- of a Batman but him behind the cowl, and Damian, Robin, at his side.

"That's not-" Bruce interjected.

"You know his heritage. Of course he was going to get mixed up in some demonic shit at some point! Just how it's taken this damn long for it to happen is a miracle."

The firm 'ehem' of a distinguished English butler turned both of their heads. But Alfred bore no coffee, no cake, not even a steaming saucer of sarcasm. The man stood between the two of them and placed an aged hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Master Dick is right, and we know that very well, "He said. " much as I want to collar the boy for the emotional duress he's caused." Alfred stared pointedly at Bruce, "How old were you, Master Bruce, when you traipsed from the Manor and across the world for your training?" He looked to his other side, "And Master Dick, when you left the role of Robin, and this house?"

Their silence spoke volumes.

Dick broke from the old man's stern gaze and said, "He'll be getting an earful from me about family, don't get me wrong. But I'm not going to baby him."

With that, he nodded to Alfred (a secret confirmation that the butler was going to have a word with Bruce) and left for patrol.

Alfred sighed, "Master Bruce-"

"He's twenty years old Alfred... I know he's slipping away." The man let shatter his hard exterior in the absence of Nightwing.

A seat rested unoccupied besides Bruce. Alfred sat down.

"All birds leave the nest at some point, son."

Bruce looked to the rows of glass cases lining the cave, filled with empty uniforms. He stared at the hazy reflection of himself in a black monitor screen. Every time he looked, the reflections always seemed to get older.

"Where have my children gone?" He asked.

Alfred frowned with sad, old eyes, "I'll put the kettle on."
***
Swathed in the fluffiness of a much-loved duvet, Raven wandered a drowsy hand to where her shut eyes knew her bedside table was. She drew the cold stab of metal and plastic in to her pillowy cave of slumber. Eyes struggling to open more than quarter way, Raven pressed her thumb to the button at the bottom and the blaring light of her home screen illuminated her fortress under the covers.

"Ughhh fuuuckkk..." she groaned, dropping her phone on to the mattress and turning over.

No matter how early or late she would wake up, it always felt too early.

Raven pushed herself on to her forearms and gazed unseeingly at the old dresser and pale wall in front. She blinked and rubbed the sleep-grit out of her eyes. With a groan, the woman kicked her covers out of the way and stumbled towards the bathroom. Zatanna was always out in the early morning; she'd have the house to herself.

Wash face. Brush teeth. Then deal with life.

A frothy toothbrush lodged between her teeth, Raven poked her head out of the bathroom. Something had pinged. A notification on her phone.

Raven rolled her eyes and spat the mintiness in to the sink. Probably another software update reminder. She finished with the bathroom and walked back to her room, intent on passing the rest of her day sitting on her bed and working through another of the hefty tomes stacked haphazardly beside her bed.

Raven dug under the duvet to retrieve her phone. She started, almost dropping it.

D: Café Noir, South Street 12:30. We need to talk.

'D'? She didn't have anyone's contact by the name of 'D'. There was only once person that it could be...the sneaky asshole...he must have entered his number in her phone without her knowing!

"Wait...twelve thirty... OH SHIT!" Raven scrambled off of her bed and chucked her phone down.

It's abandoned screen read 12:05.

Oh Azar...she still had to do her eyeliner!

***
Fifteen minutes and a painfully painted pair of inky wings later, Raven peeped out of an alleyway portal. The coast was clear. Across from her, sat a café comfortably resting in worn down brick, each stone rounded with the erosion of time. A wooden sign hung at its side, reading (if she tilted her head to match the angle) the same as was written above the shop door: Café Noir.

Bingo.

Shrouded in shadows, utterly inconspicuous, the empath slipped in to the midday Gotham light- pale but promising. With each step, beelining for that ajar shop door, Raven's stomach churned. Was he already there?-Imposing himself on a defenceless table and chair, his aura declaring him king of the newly conquered café corner. Would she shuffle on to a wonky stool, drumming her fingers on splintery wood until the door swung open with a gust of charming arrogance and he sauntered in? Oh but what would he be wearing? Leather jacket? Turtleneck and scarf? Jeans and t-shirt? Surely he wouldn't be wearing an assassin's tunic for a coffee date...

Date? Halfway crossed the road, Raven raised her hands to her face. Good gods what if she was getting the wrong signals? The empath looked down at her jacket and skirt. Leather did suit her. But if he was bringing the dossier maybe she ought just to have worn her Azarathian cloak. 

"I can't believe I wore fishnets. Am I trying to look like a whore?" she winced and tried to see her reflection in the distant shop window.

A loud beep brought her back to reality. She gushed her apologies and zipped to the other pavement. 

Raven slapped her forehead. What was all this stressing for? She wasn't fourteen again. So what if it was or wasn't a date? So what if she wasn't dressed for a damn war? Raven knew she looked hot in a pair of fishnets ("borrowed" from Zatanna). What's more, she knew that Damian thought she was hot (the perks of being an empath).

In the glass Raven saw a woman pass behind her. She turned and followed the woman with interest. Her skin was a wonderful blue, far brighter than Raven had ever seen the Gotham sky. Surveying the streets, Raven felt the warm pain of realising change. Across the pavements, in cars, munching on Subway sandwiches and slurping on bubble teas, were all manner of beings- aliens and creatures whose magical species she recognised. With the rise of heroes, they'd immerged from the darkness, from hiding. And there it was, the fruit of all the protests, campaigns, legislation; society had changed. It felt like living in the future, Raven realised. And that was a wonderful feeling.

She looked in the mirroring glass, thankfully it shielded only a display board, otherwise she might have received some strange looks from people in the shop. Raven was as much demon as she was her mother's blood. There was no reason to fear her skin. That crimson was as comfortable to live in as Arella's pink-tinged ivory. 

Raven closed her eyes. When they opened, she stared back at a reflection that screamed 'demon'. She reconsidered it again, stared back in to her own eyes, and smiled. it screamed 'Raven'. And if she was being honest, the fishnets looked so much better on her this way.

'Café Noir' was two shops down. She turned her phone on. 

12:23

Perfect. 

She pushed the café door open, after pausing to steel herself.  And there Damian was, noticing her a second later. He looked up and smiled in evident relief, then masked it with a raised eyebrow and dead-set mouth. The folder on the round, wooden table was forgotten and he stood up. Damian walked around to hastily pull back the chair accompanying his for her to sit. She eased in to the chair, her turned to keep him in her periphery. Damian pushed the chair in with ease.

"Who ever said chivalry is dead?" she joked.

Damian sat down and tutted, "It's common curtesy."

Raven inclined her head, "If you insist..."

The haughtiness disintegrated and the man leant forwards, smirking a little, "Tt. Don't be coy Raven- it suits you far too well."

She laughed, setting her bag down, "Is that flirting?"

"You tell me." he shrugged, clamping a grin down with his teeth. "You're the empath."

Pulling a chair out for her, flirting, biting his lip... oh this was a date date.

A.N:

After so so soooo long, we return with another chapter! 

I'm so sorry for the wait folks. I've had so much going on in my life and it's made my updating much less frequent than it should be. I'm so frustrated at myself for that so please accept my apologies and know that I am even more pissed at myself than you guys are! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! It's not an awful lot in the way of compensation, but I hope you liked it all the same!

We've got some real fluff coming up next chapter! So hold on for that!

Thank you guys, and sorry again!

-Bats