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Daniel Fenton steps into a small cafe on the edge of the Upper East Side and knows immediately who works for the Goonion. They’re the only ones who all have one hand out of sight and anger in their eyes instead of the wariness or vague curiosity of everyone else at his size and bulk. He pays them no mind, moving through the sea of little tables to the booth in the back. He’s the last to arrive, but he’s not concerned. His preferred jeans and red converse are topped with a simple sienna Henley. He’d have been here earlier but he’d been busy trying to make a reasonable schedule for the mass of invitations Tim has received recently and hadn’t actually slept last night.
“How was the trip?,” he asks as he slides into the booth across from Valerie Gray. Like the rest of them, she hasn’t really outgrown her usual color palette, but the pale orange off the shoulder tank and light denim shorts still suit her. Thick brunette waves hang down almost to the seat, held back from her face by an orange bandana.
She gives him an unimpressed look. “Uneventful for those of us that know how to drive,” she says, earning laughter from the rest of the table.
Tucker immediately starts reminiscing about one of their trips in the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle, giving Danny the opportunity to take in Sam Manson in a black minidress he’s never seen before over purple leggings and sporting her favorite steel-toed combat boots. Tucker’s in a yellow short sleeve button down and olive cargo pants because he’s supposedly still ‘too fine’ for neutral colors. Jazz has on a black blouse over a turquoise skirt and sensible black pumps, her fiery red hair pulled back by her favorite turquoise headband.
They’re here for a reason, and this place is somehow never busy enough that conversations can’t be had. Jazz leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. Sam does the same at the head of the table, and Tucker goes quiet. “Is it true, Tucker?” she asks softly, bringing them around to the reason Val made the trip out despite having class tomorrow.
This applies to them all, and to so many more people than are aware. Tucker nods, setting his tablet on the table so they can all see the official decree open on it. “It’s true,” he confirms just as softly. “The UN made their decision yesterday, and this was released today from the US Government. The ECTO Acts have been repealed, and an immediate hold has been placed upon all agencies that had enforced them with clear threat of detainment and persecution should they continue to act against any being previously targeted.”
Danny knows they’re still talking, but it fades into background noise as his skin goes clammy and his ears buzz. He’d been so much better lately, especially in a city like Gotham, but sometimes he’s thrown back into his memories. It feels too easy to be over and makes his skin itch. He knows, of course, that it’s taken a lot of work, but his inherent Protectiveness doesn’t think he’s done enough to be the one to protect his people, and it itches at him same as it did when his entire world had narrowed down to humming bars and gloved hands and bags of substances every color of the rainbow.
A hand on his arm jolts him out of his head, and eyes swirling closer to toxic green than cerulean look up and lock with unshakable emeralds. “They’ll never touch you again,” Valerie swears, repeating what she’d told him when she’d blasted holes in several walls and found him barely clinging to his form. He hadn’t recognized her right away, and she’d eventually had to soup him to get him out, but he remembers those words. Remembers the cold rage and violent surety with which they were spoken.
He rests a hand, palm up, on Jazz’s thigh where she sits next to him, and she immediately laces their fingers together, letting him close his eyes while she squeezes through a breathing exercise until his heart has resumed its previously slow pace. None of them speak, though he can taste the traces of sorrow and regret that swirl from them all over their internal chastisement for ‘letting’ him get captured.
Squeezing Jazz’s hand back in thanks, he looks up, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. “It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “Any of you. I knew going in that I was likely not coming out, and I left you guys out of it so you could get to me. I made it in time. I don’t regret it.” He’ll never regret what he achieved that day, regardless of what he had to endure because of it.
They all give him wobbly smiles, hands patting his arms briefly. “Are you gonna tell the Bats?” Val asks. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d want to know, since outing him will most likely mean outing her.
Danny ponders it briefly, but eventually just shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Theoretically it’s safe enough now, but what will that change since I live in their city? And what will happen to you? You’re in Metropolis, which is as hero-famous as Gotham for housing a Justice League founder.” He won’t risk her, won’t risk any of them. People know they’re all attached to him, even if Val’s the only one with a secondary identity to let out of the proverbial bag.
Sam huffs, sitting back with Tucker’s tablet in hand. “Batman’s probably gonna visit you again sooner or later now that this has cleared,” she says. “It looks like the League’s gonna raid the GIW facilities to make sure any captured ghosts are freed. Don’t tell them anything until that’s done and we know what they found. Tucker should be able to get at least a general idea now that they’ve been all over his firewalls, and we can decide from there. Either way, we’re with you.” Tucker, Jazz, and Val all nod their support as well.
Danny thinks he might just cry. Again. Same as he does every time they remind him that they’re with him no matter what happens. There’s still too many unknowns, and too many GIW agents still free that won’t care about legality if they find him. They didn’t care before about who they hurt and Danny knows better than to assume that had changed. He’s had his hands full keeping the ghosts from rioting when word finally got back to the Zone, the last thing he needs is to be caught again.
A barista comes over, delivering drinks and a platter of sandwiches for everyone. None of them speak, other than to offer thanks, distributing food so Tucker doesn’t wail about touching Sam’s hummus and gouda and Sam doesn’t stab someone if she grabs a turkey and brie with raspberry mayo by mistake. Danny lets the heat of his maple brown sugar latte ground him until he’s sure he can stay focused. He can’t afford to get lost in his head again.
They eat in silence, though there’s plenty of looks shared and a few phone buzzes that suggest they’re talking around him, but Danny is content to bask in his freedom, in having his Fraid close. They gather up shortly afterward, coffee having been ordered in to go cups so they can head out once everyone’s got food in them. There’s a new ancient Egyptian exhibit at the museum that Tucker insists on grading. Considering he’s the reincarnation of a pharaoh, they usually humor him.
The walk doesn’t take long, the conversation flowing around him while he pulls himself back into his skin. “Oh, remind me to leave the address in the group chat,” Jazz is saying. “It’s one of the rec centers the Martha Wayne Foundation funds. They’ve got space for just about anything and all the locations cycle through some self defense classes and tumbling and gymnastics and even a volunteer program for kids to have someplace where they can go and help others. Danny and I need sparring partners.” He snorts even though she’s right.
“Tired of wrestling with me?” he asks, all snark and no heat. He knows why they need it, and he agrees, but he is still a younger sibling.
True enough, Jazz smacks him. “No, you pain,” she counters, and might sound cross to those who can’t hear the laughter echoing under her voice. “We know each other too well to keep properly sharp.” Tucker snickers.
Sam’s look is unimpressed. “You still need more grappling practice than any of us,” she reminds him sharply, making the man groan.
They’re laughing as they come within sight of the museum, and Val immediately snorts. It takes Danny 3.8 seconds to spot the gaggle of Waynes headed up the museum steps, and he sighs.
Jazz, however, has her head tilted in that way that means she’s thinking. Danny hates that particular head tilt. “Wonder what they’re doing here,” she murmurs. “That’s most, if not all of them.”
Unfortunately, Danny knows the most likely answer. “There’s a traveling art exhibit that came in a couple weeks before the Egyptian exhibit,” he says, but none of them catch on. “Damian’s big into art.” Lightbulbs go off, and everyone nods like it makes perfect sense. It’s the most logical reason Danny can think of for the family outing, anyway, though he also suspects it was not Damian’s idea to drag everyone along.
He’s not bothered, but not everyone’s as relaxed as Danny is around one of the richest and most influential people in the country. He’s had a lot more exposure than the majority of those around him. He’s also started a mental list of questions, but for the time being that one is staying firmly in his head. It’s not his place to go cataloging minute inconsistencies in someone’s personality. He’s not Wes. When no one outright objects, they cross the last street and head for the ticket window to pay the entry fee.
Tucker pays, since he’s the one who wants to be here, and they make it inside without fanfare. The Waynes haven’t gotten too far in, and Dick glances over and promptly starts waving happily at Danny and his group just as the wall of windows to his left shatters. A woman on a rocket skids for a moment, thrusters firing as she tries to get her flight pattern under control. Danny’s got Sam next to him where they took cover from the flying glass, but Jazz, Tucker, and Val had all flung themselves the other way when the impact happened. The Waynes are similarly broken. Tim and an Asian girl, Cass if he remembers right, are nearby, Mr. Wayne against the wall behind a pillar with Dick and Damian, and who he assumes are Stephanie and Jason based on hair descriptions muttered into too many cups of coffee crouching near the rest of his Fraid.
One of the thrusters hits a railing, throwing the angle off. Danny does the math, realizing where it’s about to shoot towards, and doesn’t think before diving for Tim and probably-Cass. He puts just a touch of ghostly speed into his feet, scooping Tim up in one arm and probably-Cass with the other while he keeps going forward just as the rocket lands where’d they been seconds before. He doesn’t stop, however, until he’s ducked behind the intact pillar with Mr. Wayne.
Setting the pair of them down, Danny takes a moment to look over each of them, listening a little closer than he’ll admit to. Other than elevated heart rates and Tim’s blush, everyone appears unharmed that he can see. He’s not gonna call the blush, just like he hasn’t every other time he’s noticed, because then he’d have to admit he’s looking at this man closely enough to notice. The fact that Tim’s a perfect size to tuck against his chest and shield from the world that costs him so much sleep is irrelevant. Danny knows better than to assume, and a blush does not one’s consent give. Even if that one appears to enjoy being picked up and pressed against Danny’s almost absurdly broad chest.
‘Bad Danny’, he thinks, twisting to figure out where the weird rocket lady currently is. He sees Val with the last pair of Waynes, easing something in him. “She's going to hurt someone,” he mutters crossly to himself. A scuff precludes Sam slipping next to him, giving the Waynes the same once over he had even as she hands over a pair of cuffs she must have plucked off a downed guard.
Mr. Wayne has an arm around Damian, though the boy looks less than thrilled to be enduring the fussing. Danny wonders, since the kid should be well used to it if Brucie was all he was. “That’s Roxy Rocket, she’s a thief,” Dick says somewhat breathlessly.
Sam snorts. “Hell of a job she’s doing,” the girl snarks back. “Not gonna be anything intact worth taking at this rate. Think the mace can short the engine?”
He can feel the odd looks, but all Danny can do is sigh. “You brought it with you, didn’t you?” he asks flatly. When she nods, Danny has to actively bite back a curse. “I regret making that thing collapsible. But honestly, it just might, if you can get close the next time she grounds.”
Sam nods her confirmation, locking back onto her new target now that she’s got a confirmed promise of smashing something. “Danny, she’s a rogue, not some small-time mugger,” Tim says, clearly trying to dissuade him from engaging.
Sam scoffs under her breath, though she’s heard if Dick’s side eye is any indication. Danny, however, catches the turn of the rocket that’ll put her in easy reach and gives Tim an arguably unnecessarily rakish grin. When the man’s breath stutters, he knows he’s won. He shifts forward, so he’s beside the pillar instead of behind it while Sam unfolds the collapsible mace he’d made her on a lost dare. There’s an appreciative whistle from someone, but he can’t focus on who if he’s going to get the timing right.
Sam shifts, sidestepping the swinging tail end of the rocket and sinking the spikes of the mace just above the rocket’s flaming tail end, hitting the switch to light the top up with a far heavier current than most cattle prods. The engine sputters twice before dropping with a whine, and while the woman atop it is still twisted around at Sam he lunges forward and gets a fistful of her jacket. He yanks before she realizes he’s there so she doesn’t have time to take the outerwear off, getting the cuffs on her before she’s fully hit the floor.
Sam comes around, mace propped over her shoulder just as cops flood through the hole where the windows used to be. Danny just takes a step back and lets them come get her. She’ll be out again soon enough, Arkham doesn’t seem to be capable of actually holding people, but that’s not Danny’s problem. Roxy’s scooped up and escorted to the transport truck, and two cops that reek of greedy under-table deals wheel on Danny and Sam.
Danny puts one hand on his hip and stares the lead mustache down. “And who the hell are you?” the cop barks, clearly looking for a problem.
Danny, however, just smiles and flips him a business card. “Danny Fenton, personal secretary to Tim Drake-Wayne,” he says calmly, watching both sets of squinted eyes widen comically.
Footsteps behind him draw both gazes, and Danny turns his head just enough to see both Tim and Mr. Wayne approaching in his periphery. “Thank goodness you got Tim out of the way, she almost landed that absurd machine right on top of him,” pants the frazzled older man. It’s a bit overkill to Danny’s eyes, but that’s probably because he can hear the man’s heart not racing nearly enough for the theatrics.
The cops, however, clearly buy into it, expecting such things of the man. “Well as long as your son’s okay, Mr. Wayne. Do we need to get a paramedic over to look at him?” the follower asks, dripping concern fake enough that Danny thinks he might need to call his dentist to check for cavities.
Tim’s already shaking his head. “No, no, she missed me. I’m fine, guys,” he says. “Don’t know what I’d have done if Danny hadn’t been here, though, he’s been such a lifesaver.” Danny has to actively bite back his laugh, because they weren’t here together at all. The cops don’t need to know that, however.
There’s a lot of nodding and placating, but eventually the cops go somewhere else and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. “Not a fan of the police?” Damian asks, having clearly caught Danny and Sam’s reactions.
Danny tries to figure out how to explain, but Sam beats him to it. “ACAB,” she says as seriously as possible.
The sudden guffaws from behind them announce the arrival of Jason and Stephanie. Val’s still with them, though he sees Jazz outside next to one of the police cruisers, so Tucker’s probably still with her. “You’re Danny, eh? Been meaning to swing by,” Jason says, holding out a hand.
Danny takes it without hesitation, and years of hiding from his parents allows him to very specifically not react to the faintest jolt of awareness that skitters across his skin at the contact. “You’re Jason, right? The obnoxious one that keeps multiplying Mr. Wayne’s gray hairs?” he asks, mostly to see if he can get Tim to wail in indignation. He does, in fact, succeed.
Jason gives Tim a look that definitely promises mayonnaise in his conditioner, or whatever sibling-style retribution they get up to. “Good to know that’s what he’s told you. Tell me about the gun,” he says, clearly not trying to make an impression now that one's been made for him.
Danny grins, flicking a thumb at Val. “Her fault, actually. She’s handled them for years and decided that we weren’t gonna be useless once she found out we were aiming for Gotham and made sure we could all shoot and shoot well,” he says easily, and despite that not being the entire truth, there’s enough of it that he won’t ping anyone as lying. It’s a reason, just not the only reason.
Val smirks. “You should swing through Metropolis more often for a good brawl,” she says to him, and Danny doesn’t miss how many of the Waynes take note.
Danny, however, shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he counters. “More of us here than over there, you make the trek to Gotham and we can spar all day long.” She huffs, but doesn't get to roundhouse kick him because Dick steps up and slings an arm over Jason’s shoulders.
Jason’s face scrunches, but he doesn’t suplex his brother, so Danny doesn’t worry. Jason definitely looks the type to get his point across when he doesn’t like someone. “You should swing by,” Dick says happily. “I run the Martha Wayne Foundation rec centers, Jason hits up the one in the Bowery all the time, bet he’d spar with you.” Sam cackles behind him.
Damian, unfortunately, takes advantage of her pulling his attention. “Where, precisely, did you get such a weapon?” he asks crossly, ignoring his father and brother trying to shush him.
Sam taps the mace against her shoulder twice while Danny pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates when she gets that look. “Danny built it for me when he lost a dare. Why, you jealous?” she says, completely unafraid of the child. Danny’s heard Tim muttering enough to know the kid’s got a bit of a violent streak.
He shifts his weight onto his heels, tipping his body just enough to force him to spin partway around to look at her without looming at anyone to do it. “Sam, leave Damian alone,” he sighs. “Antagonizing the kid historically doesn’t end well from what I’ve heard and I happen to like my job.” Tucker does too, of course, but he and Sam have a much more openly antagonistic relationship than either of them have with Danny.
Damian’s still scowling, however. “I did build it, mostly because she said I couldn’t,” he says to the kid, which seems to appease something in the boy. The reasoning, possibly, this family seems the type to operate on that kind of logic. He’s not completely calm, but Danny’ll take partially appeased over actively plotting bodily harm.
Mr. Wayne steps forward, resting a hand on Damian’s arm. “Were you here for one of the exhibits?” he asks.
Danny, Val and Sam all nod. “Yeah, Tucker’s been dying to catch the traveling Ancient Egyptian exhibit. He’s been fascinated by the Mistaken Identity tomb, in particular,” Val says. They’ve all been subjected to the lectures, of course, and could recite most of them verbatim at this point.
Mr. Wayne nods. “It looks like the damage hasn’t hit too far in, and they’ll refund everyone’s entry fees. It should be repaired enough in three or four days to come back,” he says, and Danny would be more concerned if this kind of thing didn’t happen at least once a week.
Val sighs. “You’re lucky I’m staying all week in that empty townhome,” she says, though Danny just grins. She only sounds put out on the surface; she’s a lot like Sam in that regard.
Danny catches movement in his periphery, noting the cops moving people out with more purpose. “Looks like we’re being thrown out,” he says casually. “We won’t keep you guys. See you at work, Tim!” He can see the sudden blinking, but pretends there’s nothing amiss as they head for the doors. As much fun as it is, he doesn’t actually intend to flirt with the man. It’s just so easy to make him blush.
Cops are still taking statements, but Danny, Sam, and Val meet up with Jazz and Tucker without being stopped. It seems sloppy to Danny, but he supposes that when three dozen people are all telling the exact same story that got caught on multiple security cameras, there’s not really any doubt. Plus, nothing actually got stolen and the thief is already in custody, so there’s not even a need for a full on investigation anymore, either. Just the police report for the Thing That Happened, probably for the insurance.
“I will sell you my soul if you throw me off the top of this building,” is the first thing Danny hears Wednesday morning.
He hangs his coat up, leaving his messenger bag on his desk chair as he steps into the open door of his boss’s office. “Somehow I don’t think owning your soul would save me from Dick,” he replies, taking in the state of Tim’s desk warily.
There’s a heavy, put-upon sigh from the man, but tellingly no argument. Danny just grins, tipping the travel mug still in his hands over Tim’s empty coffee cup. “Oh, is that Death Wish? Damn, guess I gotta live a little longer anyway,” he says, scooping the cup off the desk and damn near inhaling the liquid.
Danny just shakes his head. “It’s a genuine wonder you haven’t developed heart problems,” he says idly even as he turns back to his desk. Tim huffs, but doesn’t bother trying to argue anymore. Danny settles at his desk, getting his email and Tim’s schedule pulled up on two of his three screens. He’s finally got a spreadsheet of everything Tim’s been invited to and done some preliminary prioritizing and notating the ones he highly doubts Tim even wants to go to.
He checks a couple more things over, making sure he’s done as complete a job as he can before he sends it to Tim’s email with a request to verify Danny’s data and confirm which ones he needs to work into Tim’s schedule. There’s no point otherwise, and this won’t be the first time he’s made excuses for denying the RSVPs for things like this.
The hum of the elevator announces someone’s arrival, and Danny looks up as the ding announces the car landing at their floor. He’s aware that most people wouldn’t hear the mechanisms humming, but he’s kept himself subtle enough that it doesn’t look like anyone’s managed to catch on to the traces of not-quite-human that he regularly taps into.
He relaxes, however, when the elevator opens to reveal Dick and the girl he’s pretty sure is Cass. He’s about to find out, either way. “Hi, Danny!” Dick calls happily. “Tim busy?” It’s been a strange tightrope to walk, but everyone, Dick especially, asks instead of barreling through since Danny does manage to get him to nap periodically. The lot of them respect his position when Tim’s at work and Danny is beyond thankful that he doesn’t have to bully his boss’s family.
Danny shrugs, which has become his usual answer when Tim is technically busy but would rather be kidnapped than keep working. “He asked me to throw him off the roof when I got in, so he’d probably welcome an interruption,” he says idly just as the door behind him swings open.
True to form, Dick immediately wails and flings himself at the shorter man with all the dramatics he’s learning to expect. He’ll owe Tim another cup of Death Wish for it, but it’s a small price to pay to be able to taste how much care there really is between them.
Danny just smiles, focusing on the girl watching with a fond smile he knows well. “You’re Cass, right?” he asks softly, mostly to make sure he’s absolutely sure of who she is.
She nods, turning her focus to him. He feels watched with her attention on him, though she’s done nothing to warrant it. “I am,” is the simple answer, her voice soft but confident.
Remembering Tim’s comments about Cass, he clicks out of the email he’d been responding to and turns to face her fully. “Do you have a particular sign you’d prefer to be referred by?” He knows some don’t care, but he’s met some who are extremely particular about it, and he makes a point of asking everyone who signs, just in case.
Her soft smile grows, and she makes the typical ‘C’ and bounces it on her other palm in what looks like a shortened ‘dance’ sign. She then signs out quickly that she does ballet, and while her brothers did it once as humor, she found she liked it.
Danny chuckles, answering in kind: “Siblings seem infuriatingly good at that. Tim mentioned once you don’t always like to speak after one of Dick’s visits. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind the extra sign practice if you’re ever nearby.”
She giggles softly, and Danny glances over at the shocking lack of sound behind him to find Dick and Tim watching them with an almost parental indulgent fondness. He considers asking what they’re looking at him like that for, glancing back at Cass to see her looking entirely too pleased that he signs, and a few lightbulbs go off.
“Most people think she’s stupid because she prefers to sign,” Tim explains quietly.
Danny can’t stop his snort. “We’ve already established that most people are morons,” he mutters before his filter remembers that it’s not just the two of them. However, the sudden burst of laughter from everyone assembled soothes any fears he has about overstepping.
“I like him,” Cass declares, and heads into the office without further fanfare.
Dick chuckles, but Tim just shakes his head. “I’m almost done with that list,” he says before closing the door to filter out whatever nonsense his siblings have brought in.
Danny just shakes his head and returns to his own computer. He’s got another rush of incoming reports from various departments and facets within the company, and needs to sort, input, and prioritize them. He’s waiting on Wayne Entertainment’s latest proposal for the arena, since Wayne Steele nearly had a collective aneurysm at the numbers when it had been forwarded on. He’s also waiting on manifests from the Shipping sub-company, which should have come in already. He’s taken over those spreadsheets, as well, and has a rather lengthy document with all of his complaints about delays and inefficient management that is periodically sent to Tim to review.
A fresh email comes through, and he opens it to find the quarterly reports for the Biotech division’s latest research. They’ve also sent over the data for the clinical trials they’re doing with Wayne Pharmaceuticals. Danny skims over it curiously, checking which projects are looking most promising. There’s a new formula for both a Joker gas antidote and fear gas antidote being tested for wider distribution to work across most strains according to years of past toxicology reports.
Danny checks that nothing else is urgent, and settles in to compile a condensed report on each of the sub-company updates for Tim. The full reports are uploaded to the associated digital files so he has easy access should he want to read them in more depth himself. Danny’s summaries, however, seem largely sufficient unless he’s got a more personal interest or there’s a potential concern.
The hum of the elevator approaching pulls his attention again, mostly because Dick and Cass are still in Tim’s office and they’d have warned him if others were coming. He closes out of the sensitive stuff and rolls his shoulders as he stands in preparation of tension as the elevator doors open. A woman steps through, ginger red hair and curious green eyes a familiar sight to Danny, who makes sure to keep up with any rumors that could negatively impact Tim or the company. He’s not fooled by the sensible cream suit or low pumps.
She walks confidently through, her eyes on him but her attention on the door behind him. “Pardon me,” she says, clearly intending to pass him right by.
Danny, however, has moved, sidestepping to put him at the edge of the desk, directly in front of the inner office door, and drawing her up short. “My apologies, Miss, but unfortunately Mr. Drake-Wayne is in a meeting at the moment and cannot be disturbed. May I put you on his schedule for next week?” He wonders how far she’ll push.
True to form, The Daily Gotham’s top gossip columnist doesn’t back down, putting one hand on her hip. “I have an availability of right now and I’m using it,” she says, somewhat haughtily in Danny’s humble opinion. He still has one hand behind his desk, and uses a tiny bit of intangibility to send off a quick text from the cell in his pocket to Dominic for a little assistance.
Danny takes a moment before answering, purely to make her uncomfortable. “Mr. Drake-Wayne does not have any open availability this week, Miss.” He doesn’t crowd her, not yet, but he’s resigned to possibly startling another female convinced she can get past him.
She turns to face him properly, crossing her arms. “And who are you to tell me where I can and cannot go?” she barks, clearly intending to start something.
Danny just smiles. “Oh, forgive me. I’m Danny,” he says happily, as though she’d simply begun standard introductions. “Mr. Drake-Wayne’s personal executive assistant. I have his schedule up now, as a matter of fact, if you’d like to set up an interview, Miss Vale. However, I cannot allow you unrestricted access to his private office, especially when he’s in the middle of a rather important meeting.” His voice loses the chipper tone, ending on a much more serious note.
She takes in his straightened shoulders, and he can see her hand pat what is almost certainly a taser or similar. He doesn’t see nearly enough bulk, no matter how well hidden, to be a firearm. He’ll need to call down to see how she got the taser past security, she shouldn’t have anything in this building, never mind this far up.
The elevator opens, clearly startling the woman. Dominic comes out, Security Team jacket in place, with two others tailing him. Both are women, which eases Danny’s stress a little about anything Miss Vale may accuse. Vicki Vale puffs up, and Danny can damn near taste her frustration mounting. “I will not be carted out of this building like a common thug,” she hisses. “I have been trying to get through to him politely for a month! Now get out of my way, you useless oaf, I have a job to do.” Dominic’s face draws down, fury painting itself across his features at the insult to Danny.
She takes two steps forward, angling herself to step around him. Danny lets his eyes narrow, his spine stiffen. His shoulders drop, fingers flexing once in preparation of use, and he widens his stance a little in the way he knows makes him appear to expand even further. “Take one more step and I will interpret it as an outright act of aggression,” he warns, knowing how his voice almost echoes when he drops it into his ‘angry grumble’.
Miss Vale’s steps falter, and he watches her eyes widen as she audibly gasps as though he’s actually intended to strike her. He can see the hand she raises defensively shake slightly. “I…..y-y-you can’t stand th-there and threaten me!” she says, though the suddenly high pitched squeaking as her voice breaks gives her away as surely as the stuttering.
Danny doesn’t move, and doesn’t relent. “That was a warning, Miss Vale, not a threat,” he says lowly, keeping his words slow enough to maintain her fear of him. “I offered to solve this peacefully and you refused my, and thus the company’s, hospitality. Dominic, would you please escort Miss Vale downstairs to her vehicle and inform the commissioner that I will send the incident report to him directly once I’ve confirmed whether actions intend to be taken against Miss Vale’s aggression, please? Also, she appears to have gotten a taser by the front desk and I would like to know how.”
He ignores her sputtering, demanding to know how he knows that, and stands impassively in front of Tim’s door as Dominic and one of the women each take an arm in what he silently hopes is a bruising grip to escort her downstairs. She’s gone mere moments later, and Danny slowly releases the tension in his frame. He allows himself several slow and deliberate breaths to make sure he’s calm enough to return to his duties with a clear mind.
The opening door draws his attention, and he can tell immediately that they’d been standing there listening, and likely waiting for him to relax from his post. “You good?” Tim asks gently.
Danny waves a hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hate having to go Big Bad when it’s a lone woman because some of them don’t hesitate to fling accusations to hide their fear or get out of trouble,” he answers honestly. “I sent a text to Dominic asking him up the moment I realized she wasn’t going to be reasonable, just in case. I’ll probably need to check on him, he definitely didn’t like what she had to say.” He’s not bothered, really, and he’s definitely been called worse.
Dick’s frowning, though, and Cass’s head is tilted in a thoughtful way that feels like she’s seeing more than he intends to tell her. He doesn’t let it bother him, pulling up the slightly unofficial reporting template he keeps on hand for things like this so they can maintain records of things that happened, and things that didn’t. It didn’t take long for Danny to realize that the Police Commissioner is a personal friend of the Waynes, so he doesn’t mind putting these together to keep a running record of repeat problems.
He suspects they’re going to be concerned by his lack of reaction, but all he can be is (mostly) truthful with them. He gets the entire report down before the silence is broken, which is admittedly strange. “Are we pursuing action?” he finally asks, needing to finalize this so he can send it off.
There’s a moment’s hesitation. “No, she didn’t do anything serious enough to warrant it,” Tim finally says, though he doesn’t sound entirely thrilled with the prospect.
Danny nods his confirmation, tidying up the end with the denial. “Are you really okay?” Dick asks suddenly. Danny bites back a sigh, because he knows that tone, and he’s gonna have to address it before this turns into a whole Thing.
He doesn’t immediately answer while he’s putting the last of his thoughts into the open email still in front of him. Once the email is sent, Danny turns to face the Waynes properly, because nothing less is going to suffice. “Look,” he says a bit more tiredly than he’d expected, “I grew up the son of our smaller town’s weirdo scientist people. People have called my dad far worse for most of my life, and once I started filling out with his side of the family’s bulk and helping with projects some of it rolled over to me purely because I’d grown up with these people and now I was looking more and more like Dad. It’s happened before and it’s gonna happen again.”
They’re all looking at him with mild concern still. “Not right,” Cass says softly. Danny’s starting to suspect she speaks when she needs to drive a point home, because Tim and Dick both take particular note when she does.
Danny shakes his head. “No, it’s not,” he agrees. “But you can’t control other people. I’ve chosen to brush it off unless the insult is truly targeted or harmful and be better. Their words reflect upon their worth, not mine.” It had taken a lot of time, but he’s honestly been a lot less stressed since he’d made the decision to stop taking other people’s narrow-mindedness so personally.
Cass nods definitively as though he’d explained all of this to her, and Dick’s giving him an oddly thoughtful look. He doesn’t worry about it, they haven’t done much philosophical exchanging so far, so this is probably news to him, and to all the Waynes, really. Danny knows his size, though, and he knows how people take to things they consider abnormal. There’s going to be viewpoints he can’t change, and he’s tired of losing sleep over it.
He does click open the next unread email, though, seeing Tim finally returning his collection of invites. A quick skim shows some that are usually attended being denied, and one that he’s denied twice being approved. “Star City, huh?” he mutters softly, not really intending to speak aloud.
Tim just groans. “I don’t much like dealing with Oliver, personally, but Dad insists we’re overdue a family appearance,” he admits. Danny can’t help lifting an eyebrow.
Dick laughs, and even Cass giggles. “We’ve known the Queens for a while. They’ve always been competitors, but being on opposite coasts has made us much less competitive than some of the others, and thanks to galas and such, a lot of the old money families have some very public connections. It looks better if we can at least pretend we get along,” Dick says amicably.
Danny lets himself chuckle. “Long trips to schmooze for no other reason than publicity not your favorite?” he asks Tim. His boss’s answer is a scrunching of his entire face like he’d just smelled the sewer lines.
He understands the sentiment. Not on such a personal level, of course, but he can imagine how inconvenient it can get sometimes. “That one’s gonna be a squeeze to fit in around that exhibition conference that FoxTech wants to host and the annual Thomas Wayne Foundation’s annual block party,” he says, turning several options over in his head.
Tim leans against the door jam, clearly thinking. “Unfortunately I think Lucius is needing me to attend at least the first two days of the conference,” the man murmurs, thoughtful but concerned.
Danny, remembering something he’d been told about the block party previously, starts mentally running numbers. “If we can justify the expenditure for a second jet, could we send Bruce and Dick and possibly Damian back from Star City early?” he asks. “That way they have the Big Man, his biological son, and the eldest who also works directly with said foundations to welcome people for the block party. Not ideal, but honestly that should cover most of the bases that get remembered given what people have told me. That way you can stay with Oliver an extra day or two for the company’s sake as CEO.” He doesn’t know who else would be best served where, but he has no doubt they’d be able to split the rest evenly.
They all look thoughtful. “That……holy shit, that might actually work,” Tim nearly shouts. “Danny, you’re a fucking genius, I gotta call the old man!” He’s already halfway into his office, and Danny can hear the pen holder and what might be the mouse get shoved aside in his dive for the phone.
“Your cell is still on the corner table,” he calls, genuinely concerned that Tim doesn’t remember leaving it there. Dick goes back into the office, and Danny tilts just enough to see him swipe the cell up and practically pick Tim up off the desk he’s draped himself across instead of going around. Danny briefly memorizes the view before chastising himself and studiously ignoring the clear musculature in Tim’s shorter frame.
Cass gives his arm a gentle pat as she follows the boys out to go talk to Bruce. He just smiles at her and settles in to start making sense of his schedule now that he knows which events to account for.