Damian had a parent-teacher meeting tonight. Alfred had always gone to Bruce's, and he was glad that he was kept in the loop of his grandchildrens' educations throughout the years. He remembered fondly going to Jason's and hearing the faculty singing his praises. Bruce and he had gone to very few of Tim's, much to everyone's regret. There was so much of Tim to be proud of. Cass had never gone to school, Steph didn't need Bruce for hers, and so Damian would – hopefully, but not likely – be the last child to go through the education system. No more meetings.

It felt like a foolish hope.

It had been established that Damian was not to go on the upcoming school residential upstate. Whilst he would be missing out on the socialisation he clearly needed, Bruce would not go through the stress of sending a child out of his reach. It always set him on edge, leading to "overprotective batdadding" on the field and an increase in Bruce'sinsomniac tendencies. Alfred smiled down at the eggs frying on the hob.

"Alfred, you're driving us?"

"But of course my boy. I will be sitting in?"

"You better had," muttered Bruce as Damian marched past, "you better had." He leant over Alfred's shoulder. "Are these eggs salted?"

"No, Master Bruce."

"Hnn."

Alfred shook his head as he listened to Bruce wander over to the fridge. "I have told you several times," he began, pausing to put the eggs on the table, "and – dear lord! Bruce Thomas Wayne do not drink from the bottle or so help me..." A wooden spoon waved threateningly in Bruce's direction had always been the only discipline needed from him. After all, nobody was keen on being assigned to scrubbing every inch of the ballrooms and libraries – it had happened before, it would happen again – until they passed Alfred's impeccable standards. Bruce put the milk bottle away, and took the washcloth from Alfred to wipe the bottle down. He smiled, taking comfort in the familiarity of breakfast rituals.

"Ready, Alfred?"

"But of course."

Damian was positively vibrating on the approach to the school. He'd inherited his father's genius as well as his mother's and whilst he'd not admit it Alfred knew that Damian truly valued his father's approval of his efforts. Bruce would probably be more enthusiastic than Damian was expecting, and that was something Alfred keenly awaited. He parked in the empty space nearest reception and caught Bruce's eye in the mirror, conveying through narrowed eyes that he would be on his best behaviour. The staircases hadn't been deep cleaned in some time, after all.

"Mr Wayne," smiled the young receptionist "what a pleasure to see you again."

"At least we're not here for bad behaviour," grinned Bruce, "and please, call me Bruce." He signed his name in the visitors list and passed the book to Alfred as the young man shook his head.

"I can't even begin to list the reasons I can't do that, sir. You taught me advanced chemistry and got me through my grade. You're my favourite teacher," insisted the boy – not a boy, if Bruce had taught him chemistry. That must have been a long while ago now, way back before Jason died and Bruce lost himself.

"Well – thank you," said Bruce in surprise, "Be sure to get in touch if you think I can help any more." Damian grabbed Bruce's wrist and started to pull him out of the entrance down to his teacher's office. The young man shook his head fondly, handing an envelope to Alfred.

"They're looking for a part time tutor and lecturer for chemistry," he said very quietly, "and I think – it will do him good, maybe."

Alfred sometimes thought he was done being stumped speechless by the kindness of strangers, but clearly he wasn't.

By time he'd reached Bruce and Damian, he'd wiped the tears from his eyes and was ready to interact with the teacher. The teacher opened the door almost before Alfred had reached them – he would have to teach him about appropriate etiquette.

"Good morning, Damian, Bruce, Mr Pennyworth," greeted the teacher. Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"Nobody told me you were Damian's teacher, Mister Postlethwaite."

He laughed. "Alfred, Bruce, we've known each other since your Bruce was Damian's age. Call me Kade."

"I understand what your receptionist said. In his words, I can't even begin to list the reasons I won't be doing that," insisted Bruce. "But I am unfortunately on a schedule this morning, so if we could perhaps dispense with these pleasantries?" Alfred felt entirely justified in the tap he administered for this rudeness. Thankfully Kade didn't appear bothered by yet another example of Bruce's untempered abruptness.

"Damian is a wonderful child to teach." He turned to the boy in discussion with a broad smile, "You deal with the cultural challenges facing you brilliantly. Unfortunately, there are several holes in your knowledge. You're very cooperative with all our tests, which is very helpful, and we've managed to get your scores through-" he paused to shuffle some papers "- and I think with some tutoring you'll be up to speed in a matter of weeks."

Alfred glanced at his boys and could see the almost hidden satisfaction at the assessment. "What can we do," he asked, "to help him along?"

"I recommend that he reads with someone for ten or fifteen minutes a day in English, just to stay on top of his fluency. I know that yours is a very multilingual household and I encourage that, so keep on in whatever language you use at home Damian. Bruce, you're a chemist, so if you could oversee his sciences tuition?"

"Of course, of course," agreed Bruce with a smile.

"I'll put together a pack today and send it home with Damian."

When the meeting ended ten minutes later Bruce and Damian looked pleased as chips, to use one of Bruce's malaphors, and they'd established that Damian would read aloud fifteen minutes a day in the morning as well as reading in Arabic with Bruce. And, perhaps the sweetest of all, Kade had seen the envelope and wished Alfred the best of luck. Not only was Damian settling in but Bruce had been all but offered a job doing what he used to love. Life was truly looking up.