Author note: this is the last chapter. Thanks to everyone for reading.

Damian was vaguely aware of the morning light warming his face as he slowly woke. Usually he hated how the light would peek in through his blinds, but this morning he felt warm … and safe. He still didn't open his eyes, holding onto his sleep because it had been a good sleep. It had been a good dream. One where he was in bed with Stephanie. But it wasn't his normal dream about her, the one that always happened in the Batcave with only little details changing. No, this was in a bed, with her on top and his hands guiding her and his face against her chest. It felt so … good. So real.

Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he could go back to that dream. Plus, his sheet smelled good. Different from how Pennyworth's launderings usually smelled. It smelled like —

Stephanie.

And then it came back to him. All of it. The Arboretum. Poison Ivy smugly tossing the smoke bombs full of the toxin. The scientists that needed the antidote. But he also remembered what came after — the toxin taking effect, him miraculously making it to Stephanie's address, that overwhelming desire to get to her. With dread, Damian remembered what happened next. How he shoved her against the wall, kissed her and grabbed her even when she said for him to wait. He was a monster to her and he took her to bed.

Oh god, she'll hate me forever, he thought in a panic. A "must flee" sort of panic. And it was that panic that brought him out of the post-toxin morning haze. And made him realize he was handcuffed to the headboard.

"What the—" Damian said as he struggled. He arched his back to look at the cuff — they were utility belt standard. Damn! If they were a simple novelty pair he could just break them. Now he'd have to break his hand …

"You might want to take it easy there, D."

He snapped his head towards the voice and there she was. Stephanie. With one hand behind her back, standing at the foot of the bed. Her bed. Which happened to be the bed he was handcuffed to.

And he just realized he was still naked with only the sheets covering his lower half.

"Brown, get me out of these." He shook his wrists.

"I will if you answer my question," she said sternly before adding more exasperated, "And seriously don't struggle. The after affects of the toxins—"

"Don't tell me what to do, Brown!" Damian snapped, ignoring the aching in his muscles that was probably from the toxins.

She glared. "You want to be like that? Fine. Then tell me why you came here."

Damian's heart stopped. "What?"

"You heard me," she said. "The Arboretum is 20 blocks away from here. It's way closer to the Manor. Basically just go over the bridge and you're there."

Damian's brain went to survivor mode, which for him meant cold denial. "I don't know what you mean."

"Damian, I need to know why you came to me. Me specifically."

"Untie me," he said, struggling against the restraints.

She looked at him. "No."

"Untie me, Brown," he said louder, struggling harder.

"No. Not until we talk."

"We have nothing to talk about," he snapped, "Now let me go."

"And then what? You run away and we never talk again?"

He didn't answer because of course he couldn't do that. Then again, he couldn't imagine being able to look her in the face after everything he did to her. After he acted like an animal and basically humped her leg. After she had to put him out of his misery out of pity for the stupid boy who didn't carry enough anti-toxin. Maybe he did want to run away.

"Your silence is telling, Damian," Stephanie said he didn't answer.

"Fine," he spat out, still straining against the handcuffs, "Talk already." Tell me you're disgusted. Tell me I had no right to come to you. Tell me this would be the one and only time you "help" me like this.

But instead of the many statements Damian braced for in his own mind, Stephanie simply looked at him and help up the object she was keeping behind her back. Damian stared at it.

"That's a utility belt," he said. He felt as if he was missing something that would make the shiny mustard yellow belt seem important to the situation at hand.

"Yes."

"But that's not my utility belt," he added, once he noticed the smaller size and the slightly different compartments.

"No, it's not yours," Stephanie said, still holding it up, "… It's mine."

"Wha- … Nightwing doesn't have a yellow belt," Damian said rather lamely.

"No, she doesn't," Steph said, her voice tense, "This is Batgirl's. Batgirl's belt circa three years ago."

He blinked. What was she talking about? Why was she bringing up her former suit's gear.

"I found this," she continued when he didn't respond, now looking at the belt, "a couple weeks ago, I was finally unpacking the last of my storage boxes from the move? This wasn't in the boxes, it was at the bottom of a big pile of winter clothes in my closet," she let out a graveling laugh, "You know how bad I am about hanging things."

"Stephanie, what are—"

"It has anti-toxin," Stephanie cut him off. "The utility belt. It has two doses of anti-toxin. Enough to help you last night. It was right there in the closet the whole time that could have saved us from this whole thing and it didn't even connect with me that it was there until we were … done."

Damian absorbed the words but the main phrase that stuck was "could have saved us from this whole thing." That particular phrase solidified into confirmation of his worst fears.

"Do you know what the worst thing is, D?" Steph said, shaking from her bitterness. "When I woke up and found this stupid belt in the closet, my first thought, my very first thought was that I was … glad I didn't remember."

Wait … what?

"What?" Damian echoed out loud.

"Oh god, I hope you don't hate me," she said, putting her hands to her face. When she lifted her head, there was resolve there, but it was brittle and shaky.

"Last night … what we did at the end," She put her eyes toward the ceiling, "I liked it. A lot. I've thought about it, about us being together, before this."

She looked him in the eyes again, the tears welled in her eyes. "I need to know why you came here, came to me, because I need to know how horrible a person I am for giving in and not protecting you."

He looked upon Stephanie — this woman that he admired and learned to trust. The woman he was sure hated him for his own behavior the night before. And she thought it was her fault. But even more, she said last night … that she might actually …

Damian closed his eyes and prepared. "Take off the handcuffs."

"No, I'm told you—"

"Stephanie, I swear on my life that I will not run away," Damian said, opening his eyes, "If I'm going to do this then I want to be sitting up with some small dignity."

She stared him down, probably trying to judge whether he was telling the truth or not.

"Please, Stephanie." The please apparently did it, because a moment later she was putting the utility belt up on her dresser and approaching the side of the bed. He closed his eyes as she leaned over him to get to the cuffs. He did his best to make his brain ignore the fact that robe-covered chest was just a few inches above his face. He also did his best to ignore how she smelled the same as she did the night before.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity, he felt the handcuffs unclick on his left side. And then (with her leaning over even more) a click on his right. Free from the restraint, Damian rubbed his wrists and began scooting himself up to a sitting position. In the meantime, Stephanie had moved back to her position at the foot of the bed. Which wasn't the very best sign but he would take what he could get. She folded her arms, stern and waiting for his answer.

"Stephanie, when I was mad a few minutes ago, when I demanded to leave, it wasn't because of what you did. I was afraid that I had … forced you." It made him cringe to say it.

"That's … that's stupid," Stephanie said, "I mean, I would never hold it against you. You were poisoned and confused! You're not the one here that's supposed to feel guilty about last night!"

"And you think you're the one to blame?"

Stephanie looked away again.

"Brown," he said, choosing his words carefully, "if you had remembered that belt was in your closet last night, what would you have done?"

Her frustration softened a bit at the question. "I … I don't see why—"

"Come on, Brown," Damian said, "If you had remembered the belt after I had— after you realized it was Ivy, would you have used it or not mentioned it?"

Tears came to her eyes again and for a split moment Damian feared the answer.

"I would have used it!" Stephanie nearly shouted, "Damnit, of course I would have used it! You could have died last night! And you were in pain! And … and—" She took a deep breath. "And I wouldn't do those thing to you compromised if I knew I could fix it. No matter how much I liked what you were doing."

"I know you wouldn't," Damian said, smiling just a little despite himself. This woman, this woman in front of him, was so good. There was no going back now.

"You wanted to know why I came here last night?" Damian asked, looking her in the face. "Because when the toxins hit my system and I could barely fathom my own name, the one thing that pulsed in my mind was you."

It was Stephanie's pursed lips softening in shock that made him look back at his knees. "To be frank," Damian added, "I've felt this way for quite some time."

"Oh," a still shocked Stephanie managed, more an exhale than a word.

"In the back of my mind I had some hope of breaching the subject with you at some point, but Ivy's toxins was a catalyst I wasn't expecting. And now …"

"Now?" Steph said on bated breath.

Damian looked up again. "Now I fear that even if you don't blame me or hate me after this, the small chance I had to woo you is gone. That whatever attraction you felt for me last night will be tainted by the situation it happened in."

He thought maybe admitting that fear would make it better. It didn't really. Especially when she was still standing there, apparently contemplating. But perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps the embarrassment of his affection would have been agonizing no matter when or how he told her. Perhaps through this they could salvage their working relationship. He was preparing to ask her in the least awkward way possible if she had any clothes remotely close to his size so he could leave the apartment when Stephanie did something unexpected … she sat down, delicately, at the foot of the bed.

"You know," Stephanie said, "I'm wondering how much of you last night was the toxins."

Damian's lips pursed as the sting of her words hit him, her doubting his admission of affection. Did she think he was lying? Did she not trust him anymore?

"As in, your performance."

Damian paused his inner monologue.

"My what?"

"Performance."

"Performance," Damian echoed like a trained parrot, not quite able to understand the words.

"Well, performance, size … general stamina," she said casually, playing with a bit of the bed sheet. "I figure it was probably the toxins."

A familiar defensiveness brewed in him. "How exactly do you figure that, Brown?"

"Oh don't get me wrong, I've heard rumors about you. But with how powerful the toxin was, I have to believe it had the bigger hand in what happened once we got here," she patted the bed, "then you did."

He scowled. "You know nothing, Brown. I had everything to do with last night. The toxins did nothing for my stamina." The argument had him riled up, a normal occurrence in their partnership. It was strange to feel comfort in an argument, but there he was, feeling more himself in it than he had since the toxins took hold of him.

"In fact," he continued confidently from his last statement, "if I'd had my wits about me instead of on that poison, I would have gone for far longer last night."

"Longer?" She teased, leaning in. "Is that a fact, D?"

"That's a guarantee." He leaned in as well.

She paused for a moment, looking from his eyes to his lips, the slightest sound coming from her throat that vaguely reminded Damian of the mewling Alfred the cat made just before being served cream.

"You know," she said, "the only way for me to know for sure you're not lying about your natural skill is to put it to the test."

Like in those silly children's shows Grayson made him watch, a light bulb seem to click above his head. Oh.

"That does make sense," Damian said out loud, as much to himself as to her.

"I mean, you did say it was a guarantee," she smiled, seemingly getting that he caught on. "It's important for you to uphold your word, right?" Her hand moved to his knee, still under the sheet. With that touch, he made note that her position on the bed had moved significantly closer to his between when she first sat down and now. He knew what she was doing, what this acknowledged and how it also briefly postponed the conversation they'd no doubt need to have if this was her answer. But with her leaning forward over him, the robe slipping a bit off her left shoulder, he didn't seem to mind that strategy.

"You know, Brown," he muttered as his hand found her waist and her hand moved up his thigh, "We should probably test this a few times. Just in case we have some residual toxins in our system."

"You mean," she said, now inches away from his mouth, "like testing it right now and then again tonight?"

"And tomorrow morning, perhaps, yes," Damian nodded, trying to keep sitting up on one elbow as his hand blindly managing to find and pull on the robe's tie enough to come loose.

"Well, if we're going to be thorough about it," she grinned before bridging that small space between them with a kiss. It wasn't lost on him (even as he was enjoying her lips and tongue and that sound back in her throat) that even after all they had done the night before, this was the first kiss that she had initiated. It was sweet and felt right, as if he could imagine doing this every morning. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

But they would talk more about what this meant for them later. For now, his thoughts of future day fell way to the feeling of his hand under her open robe. For now, her hips were rocking against his lap and hardening erection in an absolutely tortuous way, even with the sheet between them.

"Mmmm, D," Stephanie moaned, smiling against his mouth and arms now wrapped around his neck.

"What are you thinking?" he asked in a whisper, eyes heavy.

"I'm thinking … I still want to know what you said last night in French."

Without a word, he flipped her onto her back, making her shriek and laugh and then moan just a little as his mouth made contact with her neck and his hand made its way between her legs. Oh, there would be time to tell her what he said in French. And in Arabic. But for now, if Stephanie wanted to know his natural talents as a lover … well, Damian Wayne was certainly up for the challenge.