"Maybe we can get married."
There was a soft trill of laughter from the girl as Damian’s face twisted, both too exhausted to sleep as the sun rose behind them. Even with the curtains pulled, light pooled on the floor and on the walls, in the space where the fabric didn’t meet. He was readying for a scoff, she knew by how his nose wrinkled and his eyebrows came together, the light catching his eyes just right and shining.
"Go to sleep, Iris."
"But could you imagine?”
She scooted closer, her voice hushing in excitement, a delirious grin splitting her face. They were both worn, coffee being their only source of energy after a long patrol night. Damian had arrived home too early in the morning to even bother with sleep, knowing publicity stunts and other daily Wayne activities wouldn’t wait on him to get a few hours of sleep. He had things planned and things planned for him, a tux fitting for Stephanie’s wedding and then lunch with the bride-to-be, an attempt to get the press of of his redhead’s trail. “We could. We totally could. We could go to Vegas and get it done there over night or we could just go up to the court house and—”
"My father and your father would collectively slaughter me!" Another bubble of giggles, reaching down to snag his hands, rough and scarred and calloused surrounding her own. His hands were larger, thicker, dark enough to make her own look like porcelain. There was a soft squeeze, her own calloused fingers grazing his own.
"— Or we could do like Steph and Jason are doing, you know, and just have something tiny and not expensive. And then the press could shut up about how Gotham’s Prince is settling, because we would be totally happy. Oh, Damian. I want this so much.”
Even with the light to her back, the rising sun’s hues just outlining the curve of her hip and the copper tint of her hair on his pillow, Damian couldn’t help but notice the joy in her eyes. She knew better, and he knew better than to remind her of such. They would have to wait; it had only been a few months ago that he allowed himself to be seen out in public with her, not wanting to risk her life or her reputation. It hadn’t taken long for either. Her name was plastered across tabloids and magazine covers and newspaper, few good words said about Damian’s love interest. Two weeks ago they had proclaimed her too skinny; a week later, the same tabloid website had seen a baby bump that wasn’t there.
None of them seemed to faze her, bringing their hands up to her face to graze her lips against his knuckles, that smile still on her face and the cogs turning behind her eyes. “And then, we can give them something else to bitch about, because we would have the cutest babies. Well, baby. Babies.” Her expression changed, if only slightly, “hopefully, babies. I mean, you being normal and all, I don’t know how easily that kind of thing would happen, but Damian. Do you see it?”
"It is too early to be thinking about children."
"Oh, you’re no fun."
She had wiggled herself against him, knees and legs intertwined, hands still grasping his. She listened to him yawn, eyelids fluttering, even though she knew he wasn’t going to sleep. His alarm was due to go off in a half hour.
"The press would have a fit!" She was whispering now, lips against his ear, close enough that he could hear her breathe. "Little ginger Wayne babies. I don’t think your father would be too happy, either. He seems to like his boys dark-haired."
”Iris!” His voice raised, too amused by her babbling to scold. “Go to sleep. We can worry about a child when the time comes. We have all the time in the world.”
"And we could get married in that awesome gothic church down town, you know, with the gargoyles?"
If only she knew he and Stephanie weren’t only having lunch.