With finality, he closed the door and closed his eyes, taking a long moment to center himself. He would collect his thoughts, regroup, and then when Marinette returned he would take her advice and communicate what he wanted with his mouth until she understood him.

Using just his words. Like an adult. Just communicating in the way that adults did, and nothing else. Yes, it would be just… communication. And just mouths.

Unless he couldn’t get his point across without resorting to non-verbals. Jason had a habit of talking with his hands, and while Damian had always thought it was a sign of his undisciplined mind he was starting to think there was some merit in it. After all, there were certain points that were easier to communicate in concert with hand motions. If such a thing were necessary, if, then Damian was just preparing for all eventualities in considering it. And the key to success was preparation.

“Hey.”

The voice shook Damian out of his spiral. They’d been a useful way to ensure his survival as a child, moving his mind away from the present and into the obsessive planning and replanning that kept him from making mistakes in front of grandfather or mother. Thankfully, as always, the speaker was waiting patiently for him to resurface. He opened his eyes and turned, then nodded to Dick.

“Did you happen to spot a girl with buns running past?”

He gave Dick a narrow eyed look, trying to ignore the smug grin on his brother’s face. “I did not see her running through here.” Despite completely lacking tells, he’d learned not to lie to Dick. He always knew.

Older brothers.

“Well,” Dick shrugged, deliberately nonchalantly. “If you see her, say something. I still owe her for helping me find the building but nobody here seems to know who she is.”

“I will do so.”

He ended the conversation with a curt nod and stepped to the side. Damian needed to move quickly, the alien was coming over. Predictably, she had a warm smile and was excited to see he’d come out of the back room. Predictably, she also managed to catch him as he tried to duck away. As always, her strength surprised him despite his mental reminder each time. He’d seen her lift Dick off the floor with ease, carrying him over her head even despite her ordinary seeming arms and yet she didn’t look like she had super strength.

That was the problem, of course. Koriand’r never looked dangerous, but Damian listened carefully to the little hints Dick dropped in moments of vulnerability and when high on Scarecrow’s fear gas. He knew she’d arrived on Earth with scant experience with mercy. He’d heard Dick reminisce, both fondly and not, about the need to teach her to show any mercy of her own, to not aim for the kill. And how much longer it took for her to understand why.

So Damian didn’t resist, just out of a healthy respect clearly, when she swept him and Dick up in a three-bodied hug that she somehow managed to lift them both off the ground during.

“It is the little bird! How is hiding on the set going Damian!”

Reflexively, his eyes flicked back to the room. He was just checking to ensure nobody was trying to enter and steal the sketchbook. It was his responsibility, that was all.

Koriand’r followed his eyes and was giving him an encouraging smile, waiting for what he had to say with obvious anticipation. Damian was very careful not to lie.

“I have learned quite a lot more about fashion than I anticipated. This experience has been educational.”

“So you will be doing the returning tomorrow?”

He was moderately certain the alien could speak without those annoying mannerisms. Mostly because whenever Dick wasn’t around she seemed to have much less trouble. And because whenever Dick was around she managed to wheedle kisses out of him for the sake of “improving her speech.” However, Damian was also moderately certain Dick knew already and found it moderately amusing to see how much it irritated him. So he said nothing, to avoid giving him the satisfaction.

Damian inclined his head in a half nod, trying to avoid giving her the satisfaction as well. The alien would be so utterly genuine in her happiness at his return that it would be more grating than if she just had the decency to gloat like his brothers would. It was predictable, and therefore more irritating. Worse, he was genuinely grateful to her for bringing him today.

Just for the educational opportunities. Such as the acquisition of a sparring partner.

“Exciting!”

And he was in the air, lifted as the alien displayed her exuberance by gracing him with another hug. He’d been right, it was irritating. Like he was some kind of domesticated pet, mewling for scraps of affection and cuddles. As she put him down, she whispered, loud enough that Damian was very grateful the others on set had mostly left, “On Tamran, the men are showing off by swimming down the Myand’ring Ryv’r and picking the ripest blood flower to wear. If you are requiring my assistance I will be happy to teaching you how to hold your breath long enough to avoid the ankle biting snakefish!”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Or at least how to use concealer on your earlobes. Whoever you were in there with did a real number on them.”

Damian froze. Koriand’r was looking at him with a helpful expression while Dick leaned against a wall with an amused smile on his face. There was very little point in denial. As he opened his mouth to try anyway, however, he was rescued by Donna.

“Hey, come take a look at this.”

She led them around a corner to a tablet someone had set up on a table, acting as a kind of small television screen. The rest of the staff was gathered around it, answering the question of what happened to them Damian glanced back, from his vantage point he could still monitor the doorway to the small room. Satisfied, he turned to inspect the images on the tablet.

They were… unique.

The local heroes were fighting some kind of human blob and a gloating man carrying a walking stick. Damian would have thought some kind of snarky comment about how villains in Gotham were much worse purely on the basis of their superior costuming but Riddler used a similarly overdone cane and it came with more than one lethal trick. He’d learned, sometimes painfully, not to ridicule a costume.

Dick leaned in next to him. “Looks like they’ve got things under control.”

“Obviously.”

“No need for any backup, in case you were looking for an excuse to escape.” He said that part quieter, just to Damian.

“Obviously.” Damian didn’t bother looking at him. They both knew showing up as heroes was out of the question. They had enough trouble fabricating a backstory for the alien, putting it to the test so brazenly by having Robin, Nightwing, Wondergirl, and Starfire all in the same city as their civilian counterparts? If the risk were worth taking, if the threat was large enough, they might be willing.

Not that the threat was. A magical charlatan throwing around temporary mind control spells didn’t rate. Not when Mad Hatter routinely mind controlled Gothamites for fun, or when Joker drugged people into thinking they were supervillains like Condiment King for petty revenge. These “akumas” might have a little more power behind them, but there was a vast difference between a mind controlled puppet hyper fixated on a single objective and a full fledged supervillain intent on applying their unshackled mind to the task of destroying Batman and Robin.

So, while he could respect that there was a battle going on outside he wouldn’t intervene. There were too many reasons not to, and few reasons to believe this pair needed backup. Even then, if those reasons did tip, it would probably be sensible to wait until father showed up to give the impression it was an organized response.

But while Damian didn’t know much about the situation here in Paris, something that continued to irk him, (father really ought to take his suggestion and push for more organization) it did seem like the locals were competent enough to manage on their own. Well, the cat-boy at least. He’d clearly been fighting for some time before his female partner had arrived. No doubt she’d been “busy” with something more important than saving the city.

What, he just couldn’t imagine.

Burdened by an unreliable partner, Damian had to commend the cat-boy for holding out while outnumbered for so long. Given the news coverage, however, the girl was considered the leader here. His opinion of her dropped further as he watched the cat-boy try to talk to her only for her to rebuff him in favor of swinging away on her yo-yo. Dismissing her sidekick entirely, Batman would never do the same to Robin. She was a poor leader, then.

He shook his head as she manifested some kind of object too difficult to make out on the small screen and threw it ineffectually at the blob. Meanwhile, the cat-boy was clawing away at the one with the cane, engaging him up close in a back and forth battle. His claw attacks were like a fencer’s careful strikes, full of feints followed by swift swipes. Not as direct a style as Damian preferred, but it was enough to keep the cane at bay.

It was too early to make a definitive evaluation of this team, but from what he’d seen so far he wasn’t overly impressed. The cat-boy had some training and decent instincts, but he wasn’t much of a team player. Not that the leader made it possible for him to be. She seemed flighty, dismissive, and more intent on engaging the monster in creative ways than simply taking it down for good. A show off, then.

Perhaps it had something to do with the magic involved. Admittedly, Damian’s experience with magic was limited. The Lazarus Pits simply worked, and that was all grandfather ever trusted him to know. Beyond that they’d had run-ins with the reprobate Constantine, and that Zatanna performer rolled through intent on flirting with Father whenever she wanted his help, but the villains in Gotham didn’t use much of the stuff as a rule.

Damian knew when he didn’t know enough, however. His private assessment of the miraculous team was just that, his private opinion. So while he might not personally approve, he wasn’t so childish as to voice that. How other heroes did their work was their business. And, particularly given Batman’s own brand of sometimes controversially brutal justice neither he nor father had much ground to stand on telling others what to do. Batman was vengeance, Robin a bird of ill omen for criminals who thought they could play the system.

So while he might not find the Miraculous Team’s style effective, it didn’t matter. Effective or not, they were winning. And winning, at the end of the day, was all that mattered.

There was some kind of fluttering of wings and the giant blob burst apart in a flurry of darkness that made it impossible to tell if things were improving or not. Either way, the reaction from the news reporter seemed to suggest it was a positive sign. As did the miraculous repairs going on as formerly battered buildings reknit in front of his eyes. People started showing too, much quicker than Damian would have expected after such an attack but that was civilians in a nutshell. Completely unaware of how dangerous things really were.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he let out a light click of his tongue. “Tt. Is it over then?”

“Shhh!” one of the production assistants said, “they might have Hawkmoth cornered!”

Damian rolled his eyes. He’d seen these villain partnerships fall apart before, and the one universal rule was that both sides always, always, had an escape plan. If the blob was going down, then this Hawkmoth wouldn’t be joining him. So instead of watching the heroes play out their inevitably slim chances of actually catching both villains, he turned back to the room.

Slipping away was easy, even Dick was moderately distracted by what was going on on the screen. Or just by the fact that the alien was leaning over to get a better look and the skirt she had on was extremely form fitting, as if whoever made it had been envisioning her legs in it the entire time. No doubt he would insist he was merely admiring the Jagged Stone logo on her leather jacket if called out.

Damian vanished without anyone noticing, not that it took any of his training whatsoever. Placing a hand on the door he paused. The unassuming wood of it was neutral under his hand, neither hot nor cold. It just was. Still, it felt centering, bracing, as he pushed it open and slipped back inside.