Martha hurried from Monger's apartment building her cowl pulled to cover her face. She knew he hadn't gotten a good look at her face, but it didn't hurt to put distance between herself and the apartment.

Also, she was late.

That was the first thing her father said to her when she walked through the door. "I know," she sighed, pulling back the hood. Her dad was looking at her over the top of his newspaper. Gregory Kane was already dressed in a smart charcoal suit, his tie hanging loose.

"Was your outing successful?" He questioned as his gaze shifted back to the paper.

Martha thought back to her conversation with Edward Monger. "Extremely." She looked a little smug about it, too, but she had completed the task without any assistance. She considered it an accomplishment.

"Good," Gregory said, turning the page. "Lance was watching."

That information surprised her, and she dropped the smug expression, thinking back to everything she'd done that afternoon. Would there be anything for Lance to complain about? She opened her mouth to reply but was quickly interrupted by the arrival of their housekeeper, Miss Gwen. The now-elderly woman had been in the employ of the Kanes since before Martha was born, and both Kane children considered her to be a member of the family. "You're late," Miss Gwen snapped at Martha, obviously frustrated that Martha hadn't moved to get ready the second she walked through the door.

She started ushering the young woman to the stairs, and Martha obliged without complaint. "Fashionably late?"

"Don't get cheeky with me, missy," Miss Gwen replied quickly, but she was smiling as she followed Martha up the stairs. On the landing, she ushered the young woman toward the bathroom where they ran into Martha's mother. Miss Gwen caught the matron's expression and hurried around the pair to get the bath started.

Elizabeth, too, was dressed for the evening in a pale pink formal gown, her dark hair piled atop her head and neatly pinned. "Martha," Elizabeth frowned, fiddling with the clasp of her pearl necklace. "You're late."

"Tell me something I don't know," Martha mumbled under her breath. She stepped forward, though, gesturing for her mom to turn around. "Let me." Her mother turned, gratefully, and Martha quickly fixed the clasp.

"You need to work on your time management skills, particularly with interrogations, dear." Elizabeth ran an absent hand over non-existent wrinkles.

Martha sighed, ignoring the statement. "You look beautiful," she assured before stepping around her mother to join Miss Gwen.

"Hurry and get dressed." She'd tried for stern, but the compliment had softened her considerably.

Martha made a noise of affirmation, disappearing into the bathroom to get ready with the assistance of Miss Gwen.


The house they pulled up to was massive and extravagant. "It's a family home," her father explained, straightening his tie. He always waited until the last second to tie it. Martha had never attended a party with her parents here, and she peered up at the mansion with wide eyes. The Kane's had a beautiful home, but their's was more reasonably sized.

Martha felt this was a justified thought when she stepped into the house, and the butler ushered them into the ballroom. Wayne Manor had a ballroom! Inside, Elizabeth gave her daughter a reproachful look. The room was full, the party already in full swing. Small groupings had already formed consisting of various conversations. Several couples were dancing, too. Martha could tell her mother was disappointed at arriving so late and she offered her an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she mouthed, even though she wasn't too sorry. Philip didn't have to attend the party; she was confident they could have attended without her.

She was saved from having to say anything further when a woman approached them. She was striking; her thick hair was pulled back where it hung loose. She wore a simple, but elegant purple gown. The woman quickly enveloped Elizabeth in a hug, offering the same for Gregory. "Candace; this is my daughter, Martha. Martha, this is Candace Wayne."

Martha was quickly subjected to the same treatment as her parents, and she offered her brightest smile to the hostess. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wayne. You have a lovely home."

The woman waved off her compliment, but her eyes sparkled, pleased. "Thank you, dear. I am so glad you were able to make it. Very nice to meet you, Martha." She smiled, and Martha got the feeling the woman was incredibly genuine. "Elizabeth, I just have to introduce you to some people," and she gestured for Martha's parents to follow her, Elizabeth leaving behind a quiet instruction to mingle and have fun.

Not particularly in the mood for mingling, Martha drifted around the room, eventually ended up at one of the high windows. She glanced outside, appraising the view. Once again her contemplation was interrupted by a warm, male voice. "We have got to stop meeting like this." This time, she recognized the voice.

Martha turned, surprised to find the man from the museum standing beside her once more. She arched a brow at him, lips quirking upward in a smile. "Are you following me now?"

He was smiling. "I was going to ask you the same question. After all, you're the one in my house." She felt her cheeks flushed and wondered if he could see the faint blushing.

"You are Thomas Wayne."

"And you're Martha Kane."

It took her a second to recall that she had only shared her first name with him, but she figured with her being here it wouldn't have taken him long to learn the rest. This time she did smile at him, rather than just giving him a look of faint amusement. "So, you are following me." He was still smiling, responding only with a shrug and she shook her head offering her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

"Thomas," he insisted, taking her proffered hand.


Two hours later the two teens were seated on a stone bench outside in the garden. There were others outside, too, talking in pairs and small groups, but Martha paid them no attention. At some point, she had taken her shoes off and now had her feet in the soft grass. "I'm sure you were a nightmare," the assassin chuckled. She was warm, her cheeks flushed pink from sitting outside and the few drinks she'd had. She was surprised to find that she was comfortable sitting with Thomas, and even more surprised to realize she was having a good time.

"Oh, I was," Thomas agreed, shaking his head. "Alfred and I were always causing issues one way or another. There was one time when we were exploring the caves near the edge of the property, and we went missing for a whole day. My dad was furious when he finally found us." Martha laughed.

"I can imagine he was worried."

Thomas shrugged, silent for a moment. "So, are you ever going to share what you found so fascinating outside of the museum this afternoon?" His tone was light, but Martha was immediately on her guard.

She opted for a half-truth, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. "I was just killing time," she admitted with a shrug. "I'd already looked around the museum, and I was waiting."

"I've never seen someone look so focused, staring at nothing."

"I was thinking of painting the scene." That was true, too; the thought had crossed her mind.

Thomas' eyes went wide. "You're a painter?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I paint. Sometimes. For fun. Calling me a painter implies I'm good at it, or it's my occupation or something."

"Just a hobby, then?" Martha nodded. "I'd love to see it if you do end up painting it; see the scene from your eyes."

"I'm not sure I'll ever get around to it, but I doubt I'll see you again to show it to you." It was a simple fact, stated as such. Just as when she'd said something similar at the museum, something flashed in his eyes at her words.

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't generally hang around museum windows," she smiled, lightly, "or attend these kinds of parties."

"So? I exist outside of museum windows and parties," Thomas pointed out.

"So," Martha continued, patiently. "I do not see how we are likely to run into one another again."

Thomas ran his hand through his hair, letting out a short breath. "People can see one another without coincidences." Martha blinked at him, not understanding. "If I wanted to see you again, intentionally-"

She cut him off, quick. "Sorry, but no."

"No?" It was his turn to look confused.

"Look," Martha brushed stray hairs from her eyes. "I'm incredibly busy-"

"Too busy for friends?"

"Too busy for friends," she confirmed. "I don't have the time to... I don't know; visit? Not to mention, I may not have recognized your face earlier today, but I have heard of you." She paused as he smirked at her words. Martha's eyes narrowed, "Nothing good, I assure you." The smirk fell. "Always showing up to parties and events with a different girl on your arm. I believe the terms 'rake' and 'womanizer' have been used."

The feeling of camaraderie between them was now gone, replaced with an atmosphere of tension. "You were having fun sitting here with me," Thomas countered. Martha let out a laugh.

"Yeah, I enjoyed myself. It's a party, and you were nice, and I'm grateful for that. I had fun, despite being forced to come." She raised a hand to stop him from interrupting. "However," her tone insistent, "it was fun for tonight only. I have no interesting in being added to your already lengthy list of female friends."

"Because you don't have time for friends," Thomas bit out, and she didn't miss the bitterness in his voice.

"Exactly." There was a part of her that felt bad, but she had made it a rule not to grow close to people outside the Brotherhood. She didn't want to deal with all the lying that it would require.

"Pretty presumptuous, don't you think?" Thomas stood, running his hand through his hair again.

"Pardon?"

"You assume that my invitation to see you again has something to do with my apparent status as a playboy-"

"Well-"

This time it was Thomas who held up a staying hand to stop her from speaking. "Who I spend my time with, and for how long, is my business. What right do you have to pass judgment about my life having just met me today? Not to mention you're hardly the caliber of girl I'd invite to have on my arm at a party." His laugh came out harsh, mocking. Martha felt as if he had struck her across the face.

She shoved her feet back into her shoes as Thomas continued. "Your face is plain, your clothes lacking in taste, and the only going thing for you is your last name and the weight it carries."

Martha stood, quickly, face flushed and hot. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. "If that is how you treat someone you wanted to be friends with five seconds ago, you have only solidified my decision to part ways here." She paused, taking a breath. "You were having fun, too. Don't worry; I won't let you waste another second of charity on me, seeing as you can't bear to be seen with me at a party and here we are, attending a party."

She turned on her heel, face twisted in anger and hurt. "Martha, wait." He reached out, grabbing her wrist again and his tone was considerably softer than it had been just a moment ago. She didn't care. Wrenching her arm from his grasp, she hissed, "Don't touch me," and fled back to the party.

Inside, the music from the old radio was playing. Martha could hear talking and laughter in the ballroom, and she could even see the swish of fabric as couples danced across the room. She found an empty hallway, leaning against the wall as hot tears slid down her cheeks. It shouldn't matter what Thomas Wayne thinks of her, seeing as she wanted nothing to do with him; but his words had stung.

Martha stayed in the hallway for another five minutes, wiping away any traces of the hurt and angst before reemerging in the ballroom. She catches sight of Thomas, almost immediately, talking earnestly with another man in the far corner. She heads in the opposite direction, rolling her eyes. She was quickly distracted by a vice-like grip on her arm preventing her from moving forward. "Martha!"

The assassin smiled as she recognized the voice. "MaryAnne," she greeted, steadying the girl who was now teetering by her side.

She hadn't been lying when she said she didn't have time for friends. If she did, though, Martha would consider MaryAnne to be a friend. The young blonde standing at Martha's side was bright, energetic, and friendly. She was also a loyal member of the brotherhood making her someone Martha could be open and honest with.

"I saw your parents," MaryAnne informed her as they hugged, her voice slower than normal. "I was surprised when they said you were here, somewhere. Thought maybe they were pulling my leg when I couldn't find you."

"I was outside for a bit," Martha grinned. "Mom insisted that I come, though I'm not sure why."

MaryAnne rolled her eyes, blue orbs gazing across the room. "Well, duh. How else will you find a husband?"

She nearly choked, and MaryAnne giggled as Martha managed to sputter, "What?"

The other girl looked amused and hardly sympathetic as she patted Martha's back. "Why else would she insist? Honestly, Martha, do you pay attention to anything outside of assignments? She assumes in a few years you'll be getting married and starting your own family. She wants you to-Oh! Isn't he cute?" She was distracted from the conversation and Martha followed her gaze.

Thomas.

She couldn't help but snort disbelieving. MaryAnne looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "His personality is lacking," she offered, dryly.

"I'm not asking if he has a charming personality." She rolled her eyes, deciding Martha was a lost cause. "Oh, nevermind; I'm going to go introduce myself." With Martha's help, she steadied herself before flouncing off.

Martha watched as MaryAnne approached, confidently introducing herself to Thomas and his companion. As he introduced himself, Thomas' eyes met hers across the room. She glared, watching as he brought MaryAnne's hands to his lips. He smirked, then laughed at something her friend had said. Martha turned away.

The rest of the party was uneventful from her end. She was grateful when her parents found her, both ready to leave. She didn't miss the disappointment in her mother's eyes when they saw her standing alone. She was going to have to address that, eventually.

At home, Martha immediately headed for the stairs but was stayed by her father's hand on her shoulder. "Let's talk about Edward Monger." Tired, with a headache forming, Martha agreed with a reluctant nod.


Thirty minutes later they were seated in the parlor. Philip looked tired, but he was there, too. Miss Gwen was serving tea. Her brother and parents faced her, expectantly, and she shared what had happened with Edward Monger.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Edward leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "That's quite vague. you're younger than I thought you'd be."

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden subject change. "So are you," she countered, tapping her blade. Monger's eyes followed the impatient gesture.

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

He sounded honestly curious, and the question caught Martha off guard. She answered honestly, "Yes."

They were quiet as she let that information sink in. "The Sword of Eden," she reminded him.

He smiled, straightening his posture. "Right. I'm guessing you know about all the other pieces?" When she nodded, he continued. "The first use of the sword was by Perseus when he slew Medusa. Later, a shepherd unearthed a sword and presented it to Attila the Hun. With that sword, Attila ravaged Eurasia. A century later, King Arthur pulled a sword from a stone, naming it Excalibur. With it, he became ruler. All of these are stories that most people believe to be myth and legend, but they happened. Event he stories people believe, Genghis Khan, Jacques de Molay, Jeanne d'Arc; the sword appeared to them at one time or another. The successes of these people can be attributed to the Sword of Eden. What do you know about the other pieces of Eden?"

Martha sighed and recited automatically, "They were left behind by the Isu and are instruments in controlling humanity. Not all of them were about control. I know the sword is more offensive in nature and the shrouds have healing properties."

"You know the shrouds are in possession by the Brotherhood?" Martha shrugged a shoulder. She knew that her ancestors Evie and Henry Greene had protected the shroud, but she wasn't about to confirm that to this stranger.

He seemed to know it, regardless. "The Swords are more than just offensive; they provide the wielder with incredible charisma; having the sword in your hand causes you to be immune to the effects of the staves and the Apples. It can alert you to enemies. It does have an offensive capability with an energy blast, but it is so much more than that." His eyes had lit up, and he had a faraway look in his eye as he described the Swords abilities.

"Do you know where it is?"

He snorted, attention coming back to Martha. "It's rumored to be hidden in Gotham. It should stay hidden, too. Something that magnificent was not meant for mortals. It's dangerous in the right hands, even worse in the wrong hands."

"Why do you know so much about the sword?"

"I never got an answer on why he was so important," Martha lied. She wasn't sure why she was keeping that information from her parents, but something in her gut was telling her to keep the rest of the conversation with Edward a secret, and Martha intended to follow that feeling until she knew more.

"I think we have more questions now than answers," Gregory sighed, swiping a palm down his face. "Alright. Off to bed. It's been a long day, and we'll get nowhere thinking on his now with tired, muddled brains."

Tired as she was, Martha lay awake in bed for several hours, replaying the last of her conversation with Edward Monger.