2 | in which Damian Wayne wakes up to an odd breakfast
Part 2 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist
Saturday. Bruce's only schedule for the day? An interview.
But inside the Wayne manor.
It wasn't Marinette's first visit to the house, but she still couldn't get used to how humongous it was. She readjusted the box in her hands and the coat hanging from her arm as Bruce himself welcomed her at the front door and guided her to the drawing room.
A drawing room that indeed looked expensive but was extremely messy at the moment.
"Where's Alfred?" she asked.
"He's out for groceries and a few other errands," replied Bruce, which explained the state of the room. Which also explained the Batarangs and a utility belt lying out in the open which Bruce didn't seem to notice.
Marinette inwardly sighed one of her many sighs for the day. Her boss was lucky she came over early in the morning on a weekend. She wondered how his identity hadn't been discovered by the public yet. She took the chance to give Bruce a once-over to examine his outfit: polished shoes, blue blazer, blue tie, hair gelled to perfection.
"Is it too formal?" he asked hesitantly.
"They will only take one photograph of you but you have to at least leave the impression that you're not 'all work, no play' in your own house." She crossed her arms. "May I suggest your waffle-knit sweater with a collared dress shirt underneath and light-colored pants?"
What is that expression . . . is Bruce actually pouting?! "Yes, okay. I'll change now."
Just as he was about to turn around and retreat upstairs, Marinette stopped him. "Mr. Wayne, may I tidy up this space for our guests?"
He appeared a shade paler, pinned under her stern gaze. "Yes, of course. Thank you Marinette."
And off he scurried to his bedroom.
With his permission, the PA got to work. Ms. Sinclair and her assistant will be here at eight-thirty. We have around fifteen minutes to prepare. She picked up the papers scattered on top of and underneath the coffee table, stored away the blankets draped on the chairs, and safely hid the Batarangs and other identity-incriminating objects behind some knick knacks on the shelves. Armed with a duster and a lint roller, she moved around to clear the cushions of fur and get rid of the dirt between spaces. Finally, she pulled the curtains open to give a lively view of the courtyard (and to introduce some much-needed sunlight into the area).
When Bruce returned downstairs wearing the outfit from her recommendation, he blinked and looked around as if it was his first time seeing the room. "This looks much better," he hummed in approval.
Marinette topped it off by placing a flower centerpiece on the coffee table. "Anything else you need me to do, Mr. Wayne? Should I sit in during the interview?"
"No thank you, I have another request for you." Bruce's eyes flickered towards the kitchen. "You see, some of my children might already be awake at this time and Alfred's not around to take care of breakfast."
". . . I don't believe this fits my job description."
"I'll add to your pay this month."
"I'll get started on breakfast right away, sir. Any preferences?"
"Anything will do."
Marinette nodded and immediately put away all the cleaning equipment as the doorbell rang. Bruce told her that he would be the one to greet Ms. Sinclair, so she headed for the kitchen instead.
***
Upon entering the new room, Marinette noticed that there was already an occupant inside. A short-haired woman sat on top of a barstool on the kitchen island, cradling a mug. Marinette halted in her tracks, bowing slightly.
"Hello. Miss . . . Cassandra." She smiled softly. "I'm Marinette, Mr. Wayne's assistant. I don't believe we've met before. Your father's currently entertaining a Gazette reporter at the moment and asked me to cook breakfast."
Cassandra, or Cass as Bruce would often refer to her, tilted her head. "Nice to meet you."
Marinette unhooked an apron near the refrigerator. "Would you like me to make you another cup of tea?"
Cass' eyebrows raised, perhaps surprised at how perceptive she was. She gazed down at her mug, thinking, and met Marinette's eyes again. "Sure."
With a one-month raise in mind, Marinette prepared the teapot and collected the ingredients. Thanks for not telling me which children are home, she frowned as she went over the contents of the pantry. Very helpful, Mr. Wayne. She settled on playing it safe: simple but numerous choices.
"Have you got any preferences for breakfast, Miss Cassandra?" She asked as she tipped the teapot over Cass' mug. Cass merely shook her head 'no'.
"Very well."
Marinette had just preheated the pans when footsteps sounded. In rushed another Wayne kid, slinging a bag over his shoulder.
"Good morning, Mr. Thomas," she chirped. "Would you like coffee, tea, or juice?"
Duke looked like he was caught off guard seeing her there. He looked back and forth between her and Cass, eyes filled with confusion. His sister only motioned for him to reply to Marinette.
"Uuh, coffee please," he responded, walking up to a barstool to sit down.
"I'll brew a cup for you right away." Marinette took the empty coffee maker, suspiciously containing remnants of the drink. Mr. Drake's doing, no doubt. "Mr. Wayne had me get started on breakfast since Mr. Pennyworth isn't here at the moment."
"Ohh," said Duke. "Marinette, right? It's a Saturday today though. Bruce called you in just to make breakfast? He's incompetent but not that incompetent, you know."
"He does require my presence for the interview he's doing." Marinette motioned towards the direction of the drawing room. "I have nothing to do while he's currently conversing with Ms. Sinclair, so he thought I could cook some food for you."
"Pretty sure his main problem was breakfast though."
Marinette slowly nodded in agreement, stirring the contents of one pot. "I didn't object because he promised to compensate me fairly."
"As he should." Duke brought out his phone to check his reflection on the camera. "By the way, do either of you have any tips for an internship interview?"
Cass shrugged and patted his hand. "You'll do well."
"Really? I almost couldn't sleep last night because of it." Duke huffed. "Then Tim told me to just wing it after I caught him making coffee."
Marinette contributed two words while still moving around to cook: "Your cologne."
Duke sniffed himself. "Does it smell bad?"
"It's best to go for a more subtle scent." She wrinkled her nose and momentarily reached for her bag to toss him a bottle that she brought. "Here, this might be more suitable."
"You brought men's cologne?" Duke stared at the glass sprayer in disbelief.
"You'd be surprised at how many things Mr. Wayne unexpectedly needs." The reply drew out a little laugh from Cass.
Duke took a whiff and lit up. "I'll go change and put this on. Thanks, Mars!"
As he raced back up the stairs, Marinette checked the time. She untied her apron, poured out four cups of coffee, and prepared them with differently: the first two (one for Duke), she used only creamer and sugar; in the second one, she added just the right amount of sugar; and in the last, a vanilla flavoring, tower of whipped cream, and a dash of cinnamon. Next, she quickly set up the three drinks on a wooden tray, plus three plates of pastries from the box she brought.
Thank kwamis Alfred has a good kitchen arrangement system, she thought.
"Please excuse me for a moment." She told Cass as she picked up the tray.
She was granted impeccable timing when she slipped into the drawing room—Bruce and Ms. Sinclair had paused their interview, with the latter's eyes immediately gleaming in delight upon seeing the snacks and drinks. Meanwhile, Sinclair's assistant-slash-photographer gawked.
"Excuse me, here's some refreshments." Marinette beamed at the journalist, setting down the tray. "Mr. Wayne picked these pastries just for you, miss. I hope you enjoy them."
"Goodness!" Excitement was practically radiating from the woman. "Aw, Bruce you didn't have to!"
Ms. Sinclair wasn't a difficult person to please. A quick research told Marinette that she had a sweet tooth. A much deeper (totally not borderline stalker-ish) research revealed her favorite coffee blend and pastry shop.
Marinette definitely read a hint of surprise from Bruce, even if he did a good job of concealing it. Because Bruce, in fact, didn't prepare the pastries and is seeing them for the first time. He directed a charming smile at Ms. Sinclair. "It's the least I can do. Please enjoy."
"Such a dear," the woman gushed. "Now I might do three pages of the magazine for you, not two!"
And when Bruce glanced at Marinette, she sent him a look saying 'you better thank the heavens you have me.'
***
When she returned, Duke was back, happily sipping his coffee but along with him was a newcomer.
The youngest son.
Marinette had met Damian Wayne only a few times before and only when Bruce was around. Bruce had introduced him fleetingly, so she had only managed to exchange simple greetings with him, not anything more.
But despite their lack of interaction, Marinette knew a lot about Damian from Bruce's ramblings during lull time at work. He'd tell her 'Damian tried to adopt another cat', 'I think Damian's mad at me', 'How can I get Damian and Jason to bond together?', 'Damian threatened to go back to his mother if I don't agree to let Titus come on vacation with us', or 'I think Damian just used a slang on me. What does this mean?'
Marinette would give her best advice to her boss during those times, but she couldn't help but wonder if the resolutions ever worked with Damian since Bruce never relayed follow-ups.
"Good morning, Damian," she greeted, "Breakfast is almost ready. Would you like a drink?"
"Thomas filled me in." He set his bag on top of the counter. "Father really shouldn't be calling his PA for this. And no, I don't want a drink. I have to go soon."
Duke eyed his brother's outfit. "You have school today?"
"I asked my art teacher if I can come in today to work on my painting as we're not allowed to take our artworks home." Damian replied.
"No need to come in on time," Cass pointed out. "Come eat."
Damian narrowed his eyes at the pans on the stove. "I cannot eat—"
"Vegan kimchi fried rice and tofu scramble," Marinette said, "I cooked something else for you."
". . . Tt. Fine." And he begrudgingly took his seat.
The three siblings watched as Marinette served a feast—the delicious aroma of breakfast wafted around the room as she carefully plated the dishes in perfect portions. She didn't know if her cooking was on par with Alfred's, but she should at least impress them for the good pay she was getting from Bruce. She set down the plates in front of them with a simple 'bon appétit!'
Duke shoveled up the food quickly. "This is so good!" He took another bite.
To this, Cass nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, Damian quietly chewed his meal, paying no compliments.
But he gazed up at Marinette. "You're not going to eat?"
"Oh, no thank you," Marinette declined, "I wouldn't want to impose, and I already ate before I came here."
It was a full-on lie. It was taking all of her strength to not let her stomach growling be heard. Although she was inside Bruce's home, she still had to act professional. Luckily, Damian only raised an eyebrow skeptically and continued eating.
***
"Is there anything else you need, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce seemed stunned for a second after seeing Marinette hand a packed lunch to Duke before he rushed out. He even taste-tested her cooking and remarked how delicious it was.
He blinked at her. "Nothing else. You've done so much already, thank you."
"I should be going home then."
"Wait." Bruce spun around to face his son. "Damian, you're heading out too. Can you drive Marinette home?"
"But Father—"
"I can commute on my own, it's no problem at all." Marinette stepped forward.
"Her residence is on your way to school," Bruce insisted. "And please let him take you, Marinette, as thanks for breakfast."
When her gaze landed on Damian, he didn't seem too happy about it. But how could she deny a free ride?
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne." She bowed slightly. "I'll see you on Monday."
***
Suffice to say, the walk to the car and most of the ride was full of awkward silence. Marinette tried not to look at Damian every second or so. She went over her mental notes about him. Damian Al Ghul Wayne. The current Robin, who's attending university. Likes animals, broody, formerly extremely violent. If she remembered correctly, he was around her age.
"Take the next right over there and my apartment's in the second building." She offered a small smile. "Thank you for the ride again."
He didn't reply.
He only followed her directions and stopped in front of her building. As a last attempt at communication, Marinette took the box with pastries left over and held it out to him.
"Here, you can take these last two. They're vegan." Marinette watched as his gaze dropped down to the box before lifting up to meet hers.
"No thank you. You should have them instead—you're starving, aren't you?" He tapped his fingers on the wheel. "Besides, you're the one who bought that."
Her eyes widened. Had she been obvious the whole time? "Um, er . . ." She retracted her arms. "Okay. Thank you."
She unclasped her seatbelt and sneaked another glance at him. She was close to opening the door when she stopped. "Hey, can you take off your seatbelt for a sec?"
He frowned. "What?"
"It won't take long, Mr. Wayne."
"I don't—" He cut himself off and sighed, most likely remembering one of their first encounters. He'd ask her to call him Damian, not 'Mr. Wayne' like his father, so she'd only use his last name when he wasn't being cooperative.
Damian did as she said and she reached over to undo his tie. He didn't say anything as she redid the lopsided knot, tying his necktie neatly and smoothing over the creases.
She didn't notice how small the distance between them had become until she felt his breath on her forehead.
"There you go." She pulled away and opened the door. "Alfred usually helps you with that, doesn't he?"
"Yes," he mumbled.
She smiled. "Good luck with your painting, Damian."
Again, silence. But Marinette pretended not to notice him fumbling with his seatbelt as she got out of the car.
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