Wayne Manor was quieter than you expected, no grand echo of voices, no intimidating display of power. Just the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall, and the smell of something baking that felt completely out of place in Gotham’s most notorious house.

Dick had his hand on the small of your back as he guided you toward the kitchen, a rare nervousness in his posture.

Dick: “He’s gonna love you.” he muttered, though it sounded like he was reassuring himself as much as you. “Just… don’t let him smother you with questions. He can’t help it.”

Before you could ask what he meant, a voice, warm, precise, and unmistakably English drifted from the doorway.

Dick: “Master Richard.” Alfred said, setting down a tray of steaming mugs. His gaze lifted to you, sharp but kind, like he could read you with one glance. “And you must be the reason he’s been smiling a great deal more these days.”

Dick groaned under his breath, ears flushing red.

Dick: “Alfred-”

But Alfred only gave a small, knowing smile, crossing the kitchen to press a mug into your hands. The tea smelled faintly of honey and cloves.

Alfred: “Welcome” he said simply. “Any friend of Master Richard’s is already family here.”