2052
Eleven-year-old Grace muttered to herself as she trudged along the estate's walking path towards her favorite drawing spot, sketchbook firmly tucked under one arm. She was avoiding her mother on this crisp autumn Saturday morning, who would no doubt take great pleasure in verbally eviscerating her simply because she had failed the big math exam this week. Mardi was constantly harping about her grades, as if they were actually important.
She sighed as she came upon the clearing and saw two figures standing next to her rock, the one that had the best view of the ocean beyond. Just to make her day that much worse her sister had to go trespassing on her private spot.
A polite young lady would have turned right around to avoid the scene entirely, but Grace would be the first to say she was neither polite nor a lady. She slipped behind a big oak tree and peeked around. In the clearing Isabella and Terry were in the midst of a very animated conversation.
"You're going to have to accept it Terry!" Isabella said forcefully. "Dad's just not up to the rigors of the job anymore. I'm going to have to be your back up now."
"I don't need you," he said through gritted teeth. "I can do it by myself."
Isabella stepped back as if slapped. "Can't we get past this? What's done is done." Terry turned his head from her. "You got married!" she cried. "What was I supposed to do, just sit around and pine for you? You obviously don't want anything to do with me, why are you so upset I accepted his proposal?"
His response was so quiet it was almost lost among the trees, but Grace was certain he said, "She left me. We're getting a divorce." He kicked at some leaves with his toe. "She couldn't accept the double life. I thought it would be easier if she knew, but it didn't help." He stuck out his hand. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. We can still work together."
Grace gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her arm.
Isabella looked shocked, but she still tentatively took his hand. But instead of shaking it, Terry pulled her forward and gripped the back of her head with his free hand, drawing her into a passionate kiss. Then abruptly he let go. "See you around," he said as if nothing had happened and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning to walk out of the other side of the clearing, presumably heading towards one of the 'Cave's many entrances.
Knowing it wouldn't be healthy to be caught by her older sister, Grace turned and sprinted down the path. She ran as fast as she could, with the speed and stealth that seemed to be a part of her genetic makeup, and was back at the house in no time. Flinging open the kitchen door and rushing in blindly, she came to a jarringly sudden stop as she smacked into her father.
"Oops," she said, backing up with wide eyes.
"What's the hurry?" he asked.
"Um, I forgot something."
"What?"
"Uh, my, um, my – oh yeah! – I forgot my pencils," she replied.
"Then what are those sticking out of your book?" he asked, pointing.
Grace followed his finger to the dozen colored tips hanging out of their holder, and then back up to Bruce, who'd always been able to spot a lie at twenty paces. She was about to launch into a long explanation about different colors needed to capture the proper light when the door opened and Isabella dragged through as if with leaden feet, her face red and wet with tears.
"What's the matter?" Bruce called to her.
"Nothing. Everything!" She stormed through the swinging door, sobbing hysterically.
Bruce's gaze dropped onto his younger daughter. "What's going on?"
She shrugged. "Terry. They were talking and then he kissed her and then he just left."
"So you were listening in on a private conversation?"
"I was investigating," she insisted.
"When there is a crime involved we investigate, otherwise it's eavesdropping and it's rude."
"They were in my spot!"
He inclined his head towards her, with narrowed eyes. "It's all mine."
"Whatever," she sighed, and then her face brightened up. "Hey, were you going to have lunch?"
"Yes."
"What're you making?"
"How does grilled cheese sound?"
"Great! I'll get the cheese."
Soon they were standing side by side, Grace atop one of the kitchen chairs holding a spatula in close observation of the browning sandwiches. When they had been grilled to perfection, father and daughter sat down to enjoy the warm, gooey sandwiches.
"So how are things at school?" Bruce asked idly.
"Mmmm, not bad," Grace replied, licking a bit of cheese off her finger.
"What about math?"
Grace's eyes widened as she looked up at him. She knew and things must be pretty serious if Mom had called in the big gun. "Math's stupid."
"It's important."
"Not to me. I'm going to be a world-famous painter. They don't need math, or any of those other stupid subjects."
"But a Wayne does, and the last time I checked you were still a part of this family."
"Not by choice," she mumbled into her hand.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," she replied more clearly. "Look, I'm good at other school stuff."
"Like what?"
"Art and Phys Ed," she said as if it should be completely obvious.
"Those are not the most difficult subjects."
"Yeah? Tell that to the fat kid who can't even run a mile or the jock who can't even draw a simple tree." She smiled at him in challenge.
"I'm just saying you need to try harder. We don't expect you to be perfect…"
"Like Isabella?" she cut in sourly.
"You are not held up in comparison to your sister."
"Like hell I'm not."
"Grace." The word was not yelled, but did hold a powerful warning. She blushed and dropped her head. There were some lines even she did not dare cross.
"I'm sorry, but it's just like you and she have this secret little club."
"You're very close to your mother," he reminded her.
"That's only because we both almost died when I was born." She sighed. "You guys, are just, well, you're Bat people." She lifted one shoulder in resignation. How could she explain the wide difference to the original Bat, the one who'd been doing it so long there just wasn't anything else left of him. Her mother knew the difference, though she kept her feelings and opinions to herself more often than not, but Grace could see the look in Mardi's eyes every dinner they missed because of an important mission. Isabella had eagerly followed in their father's footsteps. And recently she was starting to work at the offices of Wayne Enterprises, which had been run by a board of directors since the Powers family had abandoned it, and was predicted to be ready to take over by her thirtieth birthday. She was the beautiful, intelligent pride and joy of the family, whereas Grace seemed to be a disappointing tagalong, a tomboy with close-cropped, rarely brushed hair, who liked to do nothing more than draw.
Not that she wasn't allowed to be a part of the 'life'; in another couple of years after she'd turned fourteen, she'd be permitted to put on a suit and go out. That was the rule. She still wasn't sure how she felt about it, whether it would make things better, or worse.
While she loved her father very much, she always felt there was a part of him held back, a part that Isabella got to know, but she didn't. After one of the few verbal confrontations she'd heard between her parents, she'd asked her mother if she still loved him. Mardi had smiled at her for a moment and then replied, "Oh I love Bruce as much as the day I married him. Batman and I have some issues however." And that was when she knew. She may have trained and learned the ways of the Bat, but she would never be a true part of that world, would never feel it in her soul like they did.
He was staring at her from across the table, waiting for her to elaborate on her statement. "It's nothing. Never mind," she muttered.
"Grace, I don't love you any less than your sister."
"I know," she said softly, pushing congealed cheese around on her plate.
They sat in silence for a while, until the kitchen door pushed in and Mardi strode in, a pinched look on her face. "What on earth is wrong with Isabella? She's locked herself in her room, bawling pathetically, and won't talk to me."
Bruce looked at Grace who in turn looked up at her mother. "What else? She and Terry had it out. He's getting a divorce."
"What?" Mardi asked. "How do you know that?"
"She probably found out when she eavesdropped on they're conversation today," Bruce remarked.
"Grace Elizabeth Wayne! You know better than that!" Grace rolled her eyes. "Well I think the perfect punishment for you would be to spend the rest of the weekend in your room studying math."
"What?!"
"I spoke with your teacher. She's giving you a make-up exam on Monday, and this time I suggest you pass."
Grace looked to Bruce for some support, but saw no sympathy for her plight. "Fine." She pushed out of her chair and slipped her sketchbook off the table.
Were all parents this annoying or just hers, she thought bitterly as she exited the kitchen. Grace had long held the belief that she was switched at birth. Otherwise it would mean she was as crazy as the rest of them.
From the kitchen she plodded up the grand staircase towards her doom. What a waste of a glorious weekend, and she only had one person to blame. On the second floor she paused in front of Isabella's room. Just as Mardi had described, a sniffling wail could be heard from behind the closed door. She walked over and tried the knob, which was locked as also reported. A small, unchildlike smile appeared on her young face as she started to unbend the end of the metal spiral that kept the pages of her sketchbook together. Mardi, unfortunately, had never learned the fine art of lock picking.
In less than thirty seconds, she'd gained entrance into her sister's private domain, an offense punishable by death, but she didn't care; she was too angry. With her face mashed against a pillow, Isabella didn't see her sister come in, and without her HALO device, didn't hear anything. Grace walked to the edge of the bed and flung her body onto it, causing the mattress to ripple in response.
Isabella immediately lifted her head at the commotion. Even with her hair a mess and her cheeks blotched from crying, Grace was once again reminded that her sister was voted most beautiful woman in Gotham three years running, which only made her angrier.
"What are you doing in here, squirt?" Isabella said quietly. "I'd like some privacy if you don't mind."
"You got me in trouble!" Grace accused.
"How did I do that?" Isabella inquired mildly.
"Because when Mom asked me what was wrong with you I told her!"
"What do you mean?"
"That you and Terry had a fight."
"How did you…You were spying on me, you little brat!" she exclaimed.
Grace shrugged. "I call it objective observation," she replied matter-of-factly.
"I oughta…" Isabella reached for her, but Grace just batted her hand away.
"I really don't see why you're acting like such a crybaby." Isabella stared at her younger sister as if she had grown a second head. "I mean he's free now. You obviously are both still interested, so go for it so the rest of us can live in peace!"
"I'm engaged to another man Grace," Isabella said emphatically.
"You're not still going to marry Jeremy are you?"
"I already said yes."
"But you don't love him."
"I do," Isabella insisted.
"You never act around him like you do around Terry."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"With Jeremy you're nice and polite and smile all the time. With Terry you're bossy and belligerent."
"Belligerent?" Isabella asked with a raised eyebrow.
"It was a vocabulary word. I remembered it because it describes you to a T!"
"Stop acting like a twip. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then you'll die alone and unhappy!" Grace leapt off the bed, barely dodging the pillow that was thrown at her. At the door she turned back to the bed. "Not that I care or anything. Now excuse me while I go study!"