Ships Adrift in a Strong Tide

Discovery

Alfred balanced a plate of waffles, orange juice, a protein shake, the usual dose of painkillers for all who lived in this house, several pieces of fruit, and silverware and a napkin on a round tray.

Since Damian’s official graduation from college, a mandate from his father which was met with much complaint from the young man, his father had been giving him more and more responsibilities at Wayne Enterprises, and he was expected there in an hour and a half for an important meeting. Damian was not a heavy sleeper, but he liked to stay in bed until Alfred was forced to pull the covers off his bed so he forewent knocking and pushed the door open.

“Good morning, Master Damian. I trust you remember—”

Alfred found himself struck by a rare moment of genuine surprise, although the moment was fleeting and he was able to hide his surprise with little more than a raise of his eyebrows.

In the large bed draped with fine linen was not just Damian, but the familiar inky-haired, gold-skinned form of Mar’i Grayson, clothed in what appeared to be an extra shirt of Damian’s. The two of them were settled close together and it was hardly a stretch of the imagination to picture them curled against one another as they slept.

Seeing them together was a shock initially, but looking back with the information he now had, it was easy for Alfred to see details he’d overlooked previously—times when both of them had been absent from meals, lingering glances shared between them, the slight adjusting of patrol routes organized by Damian that placed them near each other.

“Alfred!” Damian exclaimed in a startled gasp. He’d pushed himself into a sitting position, instinctively angling himself between Alfred and Mar’i. A poor attempting at shielding her from him, but perhaps if she wore her pendant and disguised ger skin, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it was her so immediately.

“I trust you remember this morning’s meeting,” Alfred said calmly, averting his eyes from the red mark on Damian’s bare chest and placing the tray of food on the heavy wooden desk. He approached the thick curtains on the windows and pulled them open, making both occupants of the bed throw their hands over their eyes to block the sun.

“I—forgot—”

“Apparently, sir.” Nodding at Mar’i as she sat up, looking terribly guilty, he asked,“Will you be needing another tray, Mistress Mar’i?”

“No!” she squeaked, and she pulled her hair over her shoulder as the ends caught fire. Shooting him an apologetic look, she said, “No Alfred, thank you.”

“Pennyworth,” Damian began, throwing the coverlet to the side and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “Please—Not mentioning what you’ve seen would—”

“Sir, please do not act as though this is the first time I have walked in on a Wayne entertaining a lady.”

He nodded, his cheeks flushing deep red and averting his eyes.

“I’ll return in one half-hour to collect the tray, sir.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Alfred closed the door behind him, smiling to himself, a private gesture he allowed himself at the unexpected turn of events.

“Why wouldn’t you lock the door?” he heard Mar’i demand from inside, answered by a muttered apology.

Alfred had a difficult time smothering his smile as he made his way back to the kitchen to prepare a plate for Bruce.