The Cave was quiet for once. No alarms, no missions, no yelling from Bruce echoing down the stone walls. Just the faint hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the cavern’s endless ceilings.

Damian sat hunched in front of the massive monitors, cape tossed carelessly over the back of the chair. His brows were furrowed in concentration, fingers tapping across the keyboard as lines of data scrolled past. It wasn’t even mission work, he’d fallen down one of his obsessive rabbit holes again, tracking patterns, memorizing names, making sure Gotham didn’t have a chance to breathe without him knowing it.

You were a few feet away, sprawled across one of the worn leather couches the family used as a makeshift lounge. Doing your own thing.

The silence wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable. A rare kind of peace neither of you got much of.

Every so often, Damian would shift in his chair, glancing sideways. Not at you exactly, but in your direction, making sure you were still there. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And you didn’t disturb him, either. You knew better than anyone how much he valued presence over words. He’d never admit it, but having you close while he worked grounded him. Kept him from getting lost in the endless noise inside his own head.

At one point, Titus padded in, tail wagging softly, and Damian absently reached down to scratch behind his ears without taking his eyes off the screen. His other hand never stopped moving on the keys.