Bird in the Nest

by sketchessie

Samantha Meyers, Alfred Pennyworth's grand niece, has been hired to work at Wayne Manor as a maid. Little does she realize that living in the same house as billionaire Bruce Wayne and his four sons will come with its own difficulties.

10. Chapter 9: Making Amends

Chapter 9 - Making Amends

Breakfast was more tense than usual. I kept my head down; my fork moved more rapidly than usual between my plate and my mouth. Bruce was carrying a quiet conversation with Alfred about something at Wayne Enterprises, something meaningless. I knew, I just knew, that it was staged to keep the others from asking about my arrest.

Then, just before the lump in my throat turned into real tears, Damian cleared his throat.

"Father… shouldn't we discuss last night's developments? For Miss Meyers' sake?"

Bruce shot him a dark look, and the boy instantly ducked his head. But Damian wasn't finished.

"I mean we should fill her in on how her plan went."

My ears perked up. My plan had failed… hadn't it?

Bruce slowly, deliberately set aside his fork and steepled his fingers. "Damian is right. She ought to know."

I finally lifted my head. My eyes met Dick's; he was smiling at me from across the table.

"Believe it or not," Dick said, "your plan actually worked, to a degree."

"What?"

"It's true," Tim said, grinning. "The short of it is—"

"Okay, hold up," Jason said, swallowing his food. "You can't tell it like that. It's got to have style."

"Like you'd know anything about style," Damian muttered.

Jason ignored him and launched into a grand tale of how the Batfam almost caught Oddjob. The thief had appeared at the docks exactly as I had expected, and the whole team had been waiting for him. They sprang on him, fought him, and even managed to pin him down for a glorious twenty seconds. He was wearing a full-face mask, which Tim described as resembling a Chinese Peking opera mask, carefully designed and colored to mimic the guise given to the opera's hero. When they went to remove it, Oddjob executed one of the fastest, most complex maneuvers the team had ever seen, tripping Jason and Tim over each other and loosening Bruce's grip. Before he could be secured again, Oddjob fled behind a shipment crate. When pursued, he was found to have vanished.

"He's obviously being sponsored by someone rich and powerful," Bruce said. "The kind of things he has access to – the clue items, plus whatever teleportation device he's using - they're all expensive commodities, and he doesn't seem like the type to have a lot of money. He has friends in high places."

"Thankfully for us," Tim said, "friends in high places are also friends in obvious places. We can start investigating recent purchases made by various corporations; surely, we can find his mystery sponsor before he shows up again. If we can cut off the funds, we can shut down his whole operation."

"Did you happen to get a clip of his voice?" I asked. "We could check for a voice match. Try to identify him."

"Nice idea," Bruce said. "But no. He never said a word."

"No cameras? Footage? I thought Babs set up extra security."

"She did. He fried it."

"Which means we can add EMP emitter to the list of assets," Dick sighed. "At least it gives us something more specific to look for."

"Speaking of specific," Alfred said, "did he have a mystery item on him?"

"Negative," Bruce sighed. "He appeared to be empty handed."

"Did you get any other stats?" I asked. "What about height, weight, maybe age…?"

"Well, judging by his punch, he's a big guy," Jason said, rubbing his cheek. "Fella gave me a wicked hook."

"Thanks, Jason, real specific."

Jason shot me a strange look, and I realized that was the first thing I had ever said directly to him, not as John, but as Jason. It was a weird moment; and once again, I was saved by Damian.

"He was about five feet, eleven inches," Damian recited, his face still glued to the edge of the table. "His weight, judging by height and build, was approximately 170 pounds. I would guess his age is somewhere between sixteen and twenty."

I stared at him. "You… went out last night? With the rest of them?"

"No," Bruce said, glancing sidelong at his son. "He didn't. How did you see him?"

"When we were hiding behind those crates," Damian said, mostly to me, "I saw someone fleeing over the arm of a crane. I pursued. That's all."

I blinked. It wasn't just a statement of how he had seen Oddjob. It was an explanation for why he abandoned me to the police. He was giving me that reason I had spent so long hoping for. Well, it wasn't the best, but it wasn't terrible. He was trying.

"Well," Bruce said evenly. "At least something came of your little escapade last night. Dick, Jason, Tim, you three head down to the cave. Input everything we know about Oddjob and start a file on him and his mystery sponsor. Samantha, you may help Alfred clean up, and then you may meet me in the Batcave. And Damian…"

Damian kept his head down, scowling. But this time, I could see, there in his eyes, what I hadn't been able to see before: just the tiniest hint of fear.

"You will come with me," Bruce finished.

I got up and started clearing plates as the other boys stood and talked loudly to dissipate the tension. I made my way around the table to Damian's spot, and, in the hubbub, bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't be afraid of him," I whispered, taking his plate. "He just wants you to be honest."

Damian blinked rapidly, trying to keep his scowl from slipping. I gave him a small smile and hurried after my uncle.

/

Bruce was true to his word; the next week—a week exactly, meaning seven days—was devoted entirely to finishing my primary tests and getting all my info into a file. After that, Bruce claimed, they would have enough research to conduct further tests through computer programs. I didn't believe a computer could help me to the extent he promised, but I didn't want to keep doing these tests any more than he did.

There were no attacks, thank goodness, but that also meant we didn't have much to look at beyond the normal me. They took plenty of blood and skin samples; I had Band-Aids on all my fingers by Thursday. They tracked my sleep patterns, had me eat a specific diet, even put me through some physical exercises to see if they could set something off. But nothing looked out of place. Nothing was off.

Through it all, I kept telling myself, "We just haven't tried the right test. We've just missed something, something small, easy to miss. We'll figure it out."

It was getting harder to believe.

By Friday, the research was finished, and everyone was fed up and tired, so we spent the weekend being lazy and trying to have fun. Alfred drove me into town, and we went on my first Wayne-budget shopping spree. I came home with some very posh outfits and a stomach full of coffee and ice cream. My uncle sure knew how to treat a girl.

It was so nice and fun and relaxing, I deeply regretted Monday's arrival – at least, until I remembered that I didn't have to go down to the cave and lie strung up on a cot. I could finally return to my real job, and with Alfred's consent I decided to spend the day working in the garden.

As soon as I stepped out of the house, a wild grin spread across my face. The sun was shining, and there was a fine breeze rustling the bushes and flower beds that lined the paths. I let myself wander for a moment, my shoes crackling against the gravel as I took in the colors and smells of the great outdoors after so long confined to a dank, dark cave.

"Perfect," I sighed to myself.

The morning passed spectacularly. The garden was looking wonderful by the time I finished with it, everything trimmed, watered, and glowing with life. I sat on a bench in the middle of it all, next to a fountain, and watched the rainbows dance through the droplets and the sunlight dance through the trees. Then Alfred brought me lunch, and we ate it together outside. It was so good to be alone with him, just the two of us having a picnic. It was like normalcy.

The work wasn't done, so I stayed outside into the afternoon. Once Alfred went back inside, I started watering the flower beds. I moved down the walkways, passing under the spotted shade of the apple trees. It was so peaceful out here; I relaxed, mesmerized by the sparkling droplets as they sprayed over the flowers, brushing against the leaves.

"Meyers."

I jumped so hard, my hand lost the hose and water sprayed everywhere in a rushing torrent. I scrambled to grab it and turn it off, soaking myself in the process.

"Damian Wayne, don't do that!" I whirled on him, water dripping from my shirt. "Now I'm going to have to go change."

Damian stood a few feet away with his dog, Titus. He looked more stiff than I had ever seen him. His whole demeanor was odd, almost awkward, as if he were nervous.

"I can leave, if you'd like…"

My face softened. He was nervous about something. "No, it's fine. I'm sorry. You just startled me, that's all."

"I have that effect on people."

I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to laugh. Instead, I asked, "Did you want to say something? Does Alfred need me?"

"No." Damian took a deep breath, staring into the depths of the garden. "I came out here in order to… tell you something. Something which Father has been pressing me to tell you. Since… I took you out and got you arrested."

So he hadn't just stumbled across me while walking Titus. He was actually trying to apologize. No wonder he looked so tense. I motioned to a nearby bench. "Would you like to sit down?"

Without a word, Damian walked to the bench and sat down, letting out a pent-up breath. I followed and seated myself next to him. Titus sniffed around the flower beds, but stayed close, as if keeping tabs on his owner.

"Alright, so what did you want to tell me?"

Damian stared at the cobblestone path, his hands tapping the seat of the bench. "I wanted to tell you that what I did was not right. I should not have taken you out against my father's wishes, and against Alfred's. Even though your plan was a good one, and there really wasn't a better solution. In fact, if we hadn't gone out and done what we did, we would never have…"

"Damian."

Damian scowled. "Right. Anyway. My purpose in taking you out, it was to test you. I wanted to see what you're made of. I prefer to see for myself if members of Batman's troupe are trustworthy and capable. And with you in the Batcave so often, and helping with this current mission, I thought it would be worth seeing if you could handle the rougher side of things as well. Which was a mistake, obviously, considering you aren't at that stage yet. You don't have any of the skills you'd need to go out with the rest of us yet…"

"Damian."

"Not to be offensive, of course. I'm sure you understand. Anyhow, thank you for your time. I'll let you get back to work now."

I sighed. "Damian."

He paused, halfway to his feet. "What?"

I smiled and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. He shook me off and stood.

"Damian," I said, "have you ever apologized out loud before?"

Damian turned red. "I… have. I must have. It's not that hard. I should go…"

I raised my eyebrows. "Nuh-uh. This is a skill everyone should learn. If you know how to swing from rooftops and stop bad guys, you can learn to say 'I'm sorry.'"

Damian growled. "I can."

I cocked my head. "Would it make it easier if I told you that I forgave you, like, a week ago? There's nothing resting on it. I just want you to be able to say it. Go on; I believe in you."

Damian stared at me. He bit his lip, moved his mouth, took a breath. He set his stance and nodded firmly.

"I… am… I apologize. I'm sorry for what I did."

I smiled. "Well done, Master Damian."

His face changed. His tension vanished, and in its place came a mix of relief and pain. He slowly sat down again, and I waited patiently until he had regained his composure.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Yes, it was."

I laughed. "You know, you're really not as tough as…"

Damian gave me a withering look. I swallowed my comment.

"The point is, I'm glad you said it. Now I think we can move on."

Damian nodded. "My thoughts exactly." He turned to me, all traces of emotion well hidden. "How are you doing, after a week of tests?"

I shrugged. "Well enough. I'm… a little worried it won't be enough. We didn't get any results mid-attack. It's been a week since I had one. I can feel another winding up." I shuddered. "It's like living under a cloud."

"Like the mule from Winnie the Pooh."

I stared at him. "Uh… yeah. How… I didn't think…"

"My father made me listen to him read them when I was ten. He thought it would be a good bonding exercise. I hated them. The real world isn't nearly that childish."

"Aw. I liked those books. My mom read them to me when I was little."

Damian was silent. I glanced at him, curious.

"What was your mom like?"

"We don't talk about her," Damian said, standing. "Thank you for… I'll leave you now."

"Yeah, I should get back to work," I said, shaking myself. "My foot's fallen asleep."

I stamped my foot on the ground, trying to wake it up. But the pins and needles feeling wouldn't go away. Then I realized that both my feet were tingling. I frowned and tried to stand.

Next thing I knew, I was on the ground.

Titus barked once, loud. I looked up to see the great dane bound toward me, Damian on his heels.

"Samantha? Are you alright?"

I tried to push myself up, but now my arms were tingling. And I couldn't feel my feet. Actually, I couldn't feel my legs at all. They were completely numb.

"Damian," I said, my voice shaking. "I think… it's an attack."

Damian crouched next to me. "What is it?"

My arms gave out. I couldn't feel my fingers. I couldn't feel my arms. I couldn't feel any of my limbs, and my back wasn't working, either. I was…

"Paralyzed," I gasped. "I'm going paralyzed."

"I'll get Alfred," Damian said. "Titus! Come!"

He disappeared from my sight. I felt panic bubbling in my chest.

"No, wait, Damian…"

"I'll be right back," he said, his voice getting farther and farther away. I pushed my consciousness to the edges of my body, begging it to get up, but I was trapped, pressed to the ground by my own weight. I felt a scream build up in my throat.

"Damian!" I dragged in breath after breath, trying to fight off claustrophobia. "Damian, come back! Damian!"

His footfalls quieted and vanished, and I was alone. Suddenly, I couldn't control my breathing. I couldn't control any part of my body. I started to cry loud, ragged sobs, silently begging the rest of me to work again. Nothing happened; nothing changed, and I couldn't move. I couldn't move…

"I'm back!" Damian knelt in front of me. "I'm here."

"Damian, I can't move, I-I can't move…"

"I sent Titus; he's trained for this. Someone should be out soon—"

"Stay here, please, Damian! Please, I can't…"

"Calm down."

"I can't… can't, I can't…"

Damian reached out and put his hand at the base of my neck. Then he slid his fingers along my shoulder and pressed gently against the soft spot behind my collar bone. Instantly, my breathing calmed. My heart stopped pounding.

As Damian sat back, I relaxed. "How'd… how did you do that?"

"Tt. I know more than how to fight."

"Bruce taught you that?"

"No."

"Then who…?"

"No one."

I could see his face. I knew he was hiding secrets behind a well-constructed mask, secrets darker than any I had heard so far. But a mask is meant to be seen—as is the fact that there is something else beneath it.

"Who?"

"Do you want me to place you in a more comfortable position?"

"I'm alright. Damian, can't you please tell me? Just to pass the time."

Damian didn't speak for a long time. I was convinced he wasn't going to give me an explanation. But then he sighed.

"My mother taught it to me."

"Your mother?"

I still knew nothing about her, the secret woman. Alfred hadn't gotten around to that part of the story, and I got the distinct feeling that he had avoided the topic on purpose. Maybe he was waiting until Damian himself was ready to tell me. Well, he seemed ready now. I had so many questions… where to start?

"Who was she?"

"Her name is Talia."

"Is? I thought… is she still alive?"

"Yes."

"Then where…"

"Even I don't know where she is now. She raised me from an infant until I was ten, the way my grandfather told her to - the way that would prepare me to be the strongest soldier in his war."

"Why… who's your grandfather."

"I don't suppose you would know him. His name is Ra's al Ghul. A warrior, a self-proclaimed visionary; he believes he alone can bring about the kind of balance the world needs. He is… an enemy of my father's. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps; I'm sure he hoped I would also follow in his opposition of Batman. But…"

"It's hard to oppose your own dad."

"Not always," Damian scoffed. "But I'd rather oppose him for my own reasons than for someone else's; and our moments of disagreement are few and far between. Anyway, Mother… wasn't good for me, and Father and I have agreed not to speak of her."

"She did teach you some useful things, though."

"That technique is meant to be used in situations requiring stealth and swift incapacitation of hostiles. If you apply enough force, the receiver will be knocked unconscious for about twenty minutes."

"Oh." I blinked. "Well… I assume she also taught you how not to do that, so, that's good."

"She taught me everything," Damian said, his voice strangely wistful. "How to fight, how to think; she taught me how to survive." He looked at me with fiery eyes. "It was Father who taught me how to live. That's what matters."

"It sounds like you still care about her, though."

Damian jerked back as if my words had shocked him. But after a moment, the defiance slid from his face, and his gaze went somewhere far away. "I… have wondered—just a few times—if she had been on the right side of things… if we could have been a real… a proper family…"

He fell silent, scowling. If I could have moved, I would have put a hand on his arm. But I couldn't move, and he probably wouldn't have appreciated it, anyway.

"I know you can't have a full family, Damian—a family with a mother. But we're here; we're a real family. A proper one. Don't think for a second that you're less loved."

Damian stared at his hands. "I thought you'd say something like that."

"We're not all as uptight as Batman. I'm willing to say I love people."

Damian glanced at me. Then we both heard a loud bark from the direction of the house. He looked back over his shoulder and his face changed, the brief moment of vulnerability vanishing. "Father."

I strained my eyes, trying to see further up the path. Titus trotted into view, leaning over me and licking my face. I smiled.

"Good dog."

"Sorry for the delay." Bruce knelt in front of me. "What is it this time?"

"Paralysis," Damian said. "Everything but the head, I think."

"I'm so sorry, Sam. Let's get you inside. Damian, hold her head for me."

Damian lifted my head as Bruce picked me up and carried me like a baby. I would have been embarrassed, but Damian's story kept me distracted. They walked me inside, where Alfred reacted just like a doctor - with focus and reason. They got me to a couch, then Bruce gathered up the boys and rushed down to the Batcave, where they were going to set up a space for me to stay permanently. Hopefully not actually permanently. This would be gone by tomorrow. Right?

/

In minutes, I was situated cozily in my own little Bat-bedroom in a less drafty part of the cave. There was a nice soft bed – going off what others told me; I wouldn't have been able to tell if it was made of nails. I couldn't feel anything in my arms or from the waist down. They had also brought down an entire dining area, complete with candles, so there was no lack of space for people keeping me company. The boys sat around me while Alfred and Bruce set up the medical side of my private wing.

"I suppose it's scenic enough," I said, trying to make conversation. "I get the Batmobile, the giant penny, and a T-rex to keep me company."

"And a squadron of enthusiastic helpers," Dick said. "Willing to go on midnight milkshake runs and morning muffin expeditions – for no personal reasons, of course."

"So long as Gotham isn't falling to shambles," Jason added.

"Uh, yeah, please don't let the crime rate go up because you're babysitting me."

"Please," Damian tutted. "We can multitask, Samantha."

Tim stared at him. "You just called her Samantha."

"You never call us by our first names," Dick said.

"It's different with females, Grayson."

Dick grinned. "Uh huh."

"Alfred's going to be busy taking care of Sam," Bruce said, coming up behind Dick's chair. "I think we should take over with dinner. Damian – you're cooking."

"Damian?" I glanced at him. "You can cook?"

Damian grinned. "I learned that one from Pennyworth."

"We can eat down here," Bruce continued. "Tim, set the table. Dick and Jason will do the dishes afterward."

"And you'll stay with me?"

"I'll stay."

The boys trotted off, leaving me and Bruce alone. He gave me a sad smile.

"I guess we can get some mid-attack results now. I just wish you didn't have to go through this."

"It's alright," I said. "I'm getting used to it."

Bruce winced. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"For what?" I smiled. "It's me versus myself. You have nothing to apologize for."

"I want to see you get better, not worse," Bruce said, taking my hand. How odd – I didn't feel a thing. "For now, you get some rest. I promise to stay right here."

"Thank you."

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the terrifying sensation of having zero control over my body. I couldn't feel the bed, the blankets – not even the various tubes and wires already connected to my arms and legs. If this was permanent, I hated it. I'd give anything for my body back.

For now, though, sleep sounded like the closest thing to relief. I quieted my mind and let myself relax, until reality gave way to dreams.

/

I woke with a start. Bruce was shaking my shoulder, gently telling me to wake up, dinner was ready. I rubbed my eyes…

I rubbed my eyes!

I stared at my hand. Then I lifted the other one and stared at it for a while. I shared a surprised look with Bruce.

"My arms are working."

"Yes, they are. Are your legs working?"

I kept my hands up; no way I was letting them out of my sight. I tried to move my legs, but it didn't work. I couldn't even wiggle my toes.

"No. Just the arms. That's a lot better than nothing, though." I stretched them, flexed my fingers, waved my hands. "So much better. I felt like a jellyfish."

"At least I don't have to spoon feed you," Bruce said, smiling. "Here. Dinner in bed."

"Are the others eating with us?"

"They already ate. You were so fast asleep, we decided not to disturb you."

He set a tray on the bedside table. Then he held out his arms to help me sit up. I pushed him off.

"I can handle it."

I started by moving other parts of my body—neck, head, back—just to see what parts of me I could use. Then I slowly pushed the top half of myself upright. It was like doing a reverse push-up, without using my legs at all. The second part was trickier: pulling myself up the bed so I was leaning against the pillows. I grabbed the back of the mattress and pulled with all my might, until bit by bit, I slid up to the pillows.

As soon as I released the mattress, my arms cried out in relief. I realized for the first time how much I used my legs, even just to move the rest of my body. Before panic could break through the wall of calm I had managed to set up, I patted my lap and smiled.

"All set."

Bruce handed me the tray. "You have good upper body strength."

"Yeah. That would be thanks to the gym my dad worked at. I got in for free every week."

"I'm surprised you'd want to do that much work. I pegged you as more of a bookish sort."

"I was… once."

I took the lid off my food and instantly died a thousand happy deaths. It looked like some kind of curry; I could smell the spicy sweetness of the sauce. My mouth watered.

"Wow. I didn't realize Damian could cook this well."

Bruce smiled. "Alfred doesn't let him into the kitchen often. He went all out for tonight's meal. Go ahead and eat."

I obediently devoured my dinner like a dog, barely pausing for a moment to swallow. It was amazing. Hopefully, Alfred would never find out I liked Damian's cooking so much. Bruce worked at the computer and waited patiently for me to finish.

Finally, I set the lid back over the empty dishes. "Give my compliments to the chef."

Bruce returned to my side. "You can do that when he comes down for patrol. In the meantime, I was wondering... would you mind telling me more about yourself?"

I hesitated. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell me. I just want to get to know you better."

Whatever I was willing to tell. How much did he want? Maybe I should tell him everything, just in case. I thought back, far back. And of course, what I found were my parents.

/

When I was little, we lived miles from the city, in a little town called Bloomfield.

I was seven years old, still young enough to get tucked in, but old enough to know Mommy and Daddy stayed up after I went to bed. That night, I had decided to find out what they did while I was asleep. I ended up sitting next to the dining room door and listening to a conversation I definitely wasn't supposed to hear.

"Right under my nose," my dad was saying. "I should've suspected something. All of them were on it at some point; I saw that. But I should've connected the dots; I should've known they were selling it, too."

Mom sighed. "People make stupid choices sometimes."

A beat of silence.

"What are you going to do?"

"Leave the band," Dad said. "I can't support what they're doing, and I definitely can't get involved, for your sake and Samantha's."

"While I applaud the sentiment, Charles, I can't support our family on weekly gigs and high school choral accompaniment. You'll have to find a new job."

"I know."

"And…?"

Dad made that frustrated noise, and I heard the creak of the table that meant he had leaned his elbows on it. "And I haven't got the slightest clue where to start. Nothing out here would take me; now that the secret's out, people won't be quick to trust."

"They know you weren't involved."

"They heard I wasn't involved. That doesn't mean they'll believe it. I'm sorry, Daph. I think… I think we might need to move."

I put a small hand to my mouth. Move? Never, in my seven years of life, had I considered such an option. We were supposed to stay here forever. Here, where my kindergarten class had birthday parties and play dates. Where the nice park with the birds and the climbing trees was just down the road. Where we were happy.

"I agree."

I frowned. Mom, how could you?

"I know it'll be hard, but… we're just not making enough out here."

"I've been looking for a new group, or solo gigs," Dad said. He started to speak, then stopped. He took a long, deep breath. "Daph, I know… how we feel about Gotham."

Mom sucked in her breath.

"But… whatever I apply for, I'm going to have this band on my resume. There aren't many people who would trust me after that. But in Gotham, there's a whole lot of programs in place for people like me who got mixed up with the wrong crowd. People who are innocent and need a new start. I think that guy your uncle works for set a lot of them up."

"You mean Bruce Wayne?"

"That one. Also, your uncle. We'd be a lot closer to him. I know how much you care about family."

"But… the city… and Batman…"

My ears perked up. Batman? Were we going to move to Batman's city? Suddenly, moving sounded a lot more exciting.

"Another plus."

"Charles, that's not a plus."

"Yes, it is. Think about it. Maybe we get a few bad weeks—"

"More than a few. You remember… last time."

Silence fell again. My eyes travelled across the carpet. They were talking about Jeremiah, weren't they?

My twin brother. Who had died.

No wonder Mom was so reluctant. Last time we went into the city, we had gotten caught in a supervillain attack. I learned later that it was the Joker. What awful luck, right? Jeremiah had gotten separated from us in the chaos of getting out, and the GCPD had listed him among the dead. I never saw his body… never saw my brother again.

I heard Mom sniff. She had probably been thinking about Jem, too. I didn't want her to cry. I decided it was time to stop hiding, and ran into the dining room to give her a hug.

The conversation stopped after that. But a few weeks later, Mom and Dad sat me down and told me we were moving.

We were moving to Gotham City.

/

Mom had a singing gig every Monday and Thursday night. Dad was hired by a theater group as a pianist. They also got outside jobs—Mom at a laundromat, Dad at a fitness gym. Life in Gotham was drastically different from life in Bloomfield. But we adjusted, and we still had each other.

I started school in the city. It wasn't all bad. I made a couple good friends; there was one girl, Lucy, who took me out to eat at a burger place every Sunday when my parents were busy. She'd only ever talk about celebrities—the Waynes especially. She had a violent crush on one of them… Tim, maybe?

I'd go visit Mom and Dad at work when I wasn't at school. The gym let me in free every Wednesday. I would go after school and request Dad as a trainer, then take him somewhere away from everyone else and talk to him about my day while we worked out. With Mom, I'd bring our own laundry, and we'd stand next to the washer and talk. I guess that's most of what we did—talk. Silence was not a part of my childhood.

And then, with no warning, no precedent, silence became most of my life.

My parents went on a cruise when I was thirteen. We didn't expect anything harmful to come of it. They were back for a whole week before we noticed anything was off.

My dad got it first. At work, they thought he was just sick with a regular cold, because he said his throat hurt. They gave him a day off. And that day was the day he had the headache that sent him to the hospital.

He never came home.

He lived for another two years, but it was like he was living a half-life. Mom and I visited the hospital as often as we could, but she had to work twice as much because Dad was sick, and I was just starting high school. It was hard to find time. The last week, we just gave up and took the whole week off work and school. We didn't leave the hospital for five days straight. He wasn't awake for most of it, but on the very last day…

We were at his bedside. Mom had closed her eyes and was trying to rest, so I was the first to notice… his eyes had opened.

"Dad?"

His eyes found mine, and for a single, shining moment I wondered if he was finally getting better.

"Mom, he's awake," I said, rushing to take Dad's hand. Mom came over and held his other one. He looked between us and tried to smile; clearly, it took a lot of effort, but he managed.

And then he spoke.

"My girls," he whispered. He had to whisper; I don't think he had enough energy to do anything more. "My beautiful girls."

I smiled back at him, tears in my eyes.

Then he said, "Don't stop singing, Meadowlark, okay? Don't stop… ever."

His eyes closed again. Five minutes later, he was gone.

/

Mom got sick the next week; she managed to stay on her feet for a whole month, but after that, she just had to be brought into the hospital.

That's when Alfred found me. We'd been in touch on occasion, and he'd been to a couple family gatherings. But now that Mom was in the hospital, he started coming to the house, so I wasn't alone all the time. I was fifteen, going on sixteen, so Alfred helped me get my license. Then I could drive to and from the hospital—and my job, which I got at Alfred's urging. He probably knew I work better than I worry.

Mom died two years after Dad. No last words; just… gone.

/

I'm not sure how much of all that I communicated to Bruce in actual words. But I said enough to give him a decent story. When I finished, he leaned forward, hands clasped thoughtfully.

"The house… do you still have it?"

"No; we sold it before I moved to the Manor."

Bruce took my hand. He didn't smile or look at me with false sympathy. In fact, his whole face was the image of understanding.

"I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry for your loss."

I stared at the tray still sitting on my lap. I had forgotten it was there, since my legs couldn't feel it.

"I miss them," I said quietly.

Bruce squeezed my hand. "I know."

"Bruce?"

Dick stepped into my little corner, giving me a quick grin. "Bruce, it's time to go. And, uh, Damian's begging to drive this time."

"Tell him no, and I'll be right there."

Dick left, as did Bruce after a moment, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My heart hurt as many painful memories resurfaced—memories of brightly lit hospital hallways and a rain-washed landscape of headstones, as well as a narrow city alleyway flashing with bright colors and the screams of the Joker's victims. It created a jumbled stew of color and sound that overwhelmed me with emotion. I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes, begging sleep to make me forget.