Chapter 2 - A House Full of Secrets

The next day dawned bright and sunny. I lay listening to the birds sing outside, whistling back to them, wishing I could stay in bed forever and ever.

But it was a work day. Every day was a workday now. Besides, one can listen to birds while cleaning.

I ran down to the kitchen - I only got lost twice - and found Alfred talking to Mr. Wayne, who was dressed up and ready for business. I came in just in time to hear the last of their conversation.

"... a nickel this time," Mr. Wayne was saying. "A nickel."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out, sir. We just need to find a way to see behind that—"

Bruce noticed me and loudly interrupted Alfred. "Good morning, Samantha. I was just leaving." He smiled in a very genial, business man-like way. "We'll talk later, Alfred."

I watched him go with bewilderment. "What was that about?" I turned to Alfred. "You guys aren't talking about me behind my back, are you?"

Alfred laughed. "Gossip? About you? Never on my life."

"Good." I grabbed a cinnamon roll from a plate Alfred offered, then took up my post at the sink, which was, once again, filled with dishes. "So, what's the agenda for today?"

"Actually, Samantha, I was hoping to talk to you."

I paused, my hand reaching for a fork. Here it came; the big, emotional talk where he tried to make everything better and I tried to smooth it over like it was no big deal and both of us ended up feeling like nothing had been accomplished whatsoever. I had already made up my mind to keep my problems to myself, and nothing he said would make me take it back.

"Go ahead."

Alfred came up beside me and put an arm around me. "I've finagled your schedule. You get every Saturday off."

I dropped the fork. "Every Saturday? But what am I supposed to…"

"Do you want a day off or not?"

"I mean, yes, it might be nice, being able to… I don't know, do something fun, but I'm here to work! What would I do with a whole day off?"

"You'll find something, I'm sure." Alfred kissed the top of my head. "Now, for today, you and I are going to work on the garden. There's some new trees being put in that I need to supervise, and you are going to work on watering."

I raised my eyebrows. "The whole garden?"

Alfred laughed. "Trust me. It's a nice day. I've often found a day in the garden relaxing."

He gave me another squeeze and walked away. But I didn't feel particularly happy. I didn't want Alfred to worry about me, and I certainly didn't need a whole day off every week. What did he expect me to do with it? Because surely, he knew that working was one of the only things that could take my mind off my parents.

I paused, my hands hovering under the faucet. My parents. How did they keep managing to worm their way back to the front of my mind? Honestly, this felt like some sort of odd vacation, and part of me expected to go home in a few weeks, back to our old house, where they would be waiting for me. Except thinking of them brought on a pain way worse than any homesickness.

I shook my head and reached for the soap bottle. I had to keep working. If my hands were busy, maybe my mind would go numb again. In the meantime, I could occupy my thoughts with other things - for instance, Alfred.

One thing was for sure: if I was going to keep Alfred from working himself to death, I could not take fifty-two days off a year. So, how to refuse his kind gift?

I was only three forks into the dishes when there was a knock on the door. I turned.

"Hi, Dick," I said.

"Wow," Dick said. "You actually remembered who I was after one day."

"Well, you are famous." My face went warm; are you supposed to say that to famous people? "And I'm just good at remembering faces. I especially like to memorize the faces of the people I work for."

"Impressive," Dick said. His hand twitched closer to the latch on the fridge.

"Hey," I said, a sudden spark of courage flaring in my chest. "No free snacks."

Dick pulled his hand away. "Aw, come on…"

"My kitchen now. My rules. No snacking. And absolutely no stealing."

"Aw, you're no fun…"

"Unless you ask first."

Dick smiled. "Miss Meyers, may I steal some food from this fully and unnecessarily stuffed refrigerator for my meagerly and unsatisfactorily stuffed stomach?"

I laughed. "Yes, you may. Don't touch the hard-boiled eggs, though. Somebody seems to have claimed them. Which of you goes by 'Jason?'"

Dick froze, his eyes glued to the egg carton he had in his hand. "Oh. Yes, Jason. Um… that would be… me?"

"You sound very sure."

"It's really more of an inside joke," he said. He slipped an egg from the carton and closed the fridge. "Well, see you around."

"Dick."

He stopped, still aiming for the door. "Yeah?"

I bit my lip. "Do, um… do you ever get the feeling Alfred is overworking himself?"

"Alfred's… a busy man." His voice was soft, as if he were holding it back.

Busy. Was that everyone's excuse? "So, you agree with me?"

Dick gave me a forced smile. "Hey, he's got a lot of stuff to him. I wouldn't worry." He quickly opened the door and slipped out. "Bye."

The door clicked shut. I blinked at it for a second. Why was everyone so keen on being cryptic and sullen? Or was I just imagining things?

Later that day, as I was weeding through the fridge for lunch food, my eyes landed on the egg carton again. As I read the name scrawled across the lid, something clicked.

Jason. That was the name of the boy Mr. Wayne adopted all those years ago - the one who died.

Some sick inside joke. Why the heck would anyone write a dead kid's name on an egg carton? These people were seriously messed up.

/

Alfred sat in the Batcave, his chin resting on his hand. His mind was far away from Batman, high above the cave in a bedroom, fast asleep.

Alfred? Batman spoke over the com. Alfred, are you still there?

"What? Oh, yes, sir." Alfred leaned forward and tried to focus. "The two attacks that our courageous kleptomaniac has already made were both on jewelry shops, and both done using a single random object. The five stores he's been to are in the same general area and getting progressively closer to the high school on Clarence. And all he's stolen are rings - engagement rings with the exact same type of emerald. Considering this, I believe these three locations will prove most useful to you."

Thanks. I'll have the Robins split up.

Aw, really? Nightwing said. I was hoping to get some quality time with my buddies.

Nightwing, you live with us, Red Hood said. I thought you'd be sick of us.

Can we keep the chatter down? Batman asked. I'd like to get at least a sighting of our perp tonight. Preferably, we'd get some cuffs on his wrists, too.

"I'll broadcast the location when he's spotted," Alfred said.

Thanks, Alfred.

Alfred leaned back. His job was fairly simple: maintain contact with all the Gotham City vigilantes, monitor their locations and vitals, and keep them posted if the radar picked up anything they had missed. But tonight seemed fairly quiet. The Bat had been on patrol for half an hour, and nobody had even busted the lock on a bicycle. Yet.

With nothing to do, his mind started wandering again, pulling up images from the back of his memory: a little girl, two shining brown eyes, a black dress.

Alfred loved his grand-niece, so much that his heart ached every time he thought of how hard she had had it these past three years. First her father, then her mother, had died slowly and painfully from a horrible disease they picked up overseas somehow. Alfred remembered pouring money - some of it donated from the Wayne treasuries - into research and hospital bills, doing everything he could to save Samantha's parents. But all they got, from three years' worth of research, was a confirmation that the cause of their suffering was "increased brain activity," and no progress whatsoever had been made toward a cure.

What if the same thing were happening to Samantha, even now?

No; he couldn't think that. She was fine; she hadn't gone on that fateful trip with them. She was safe. But he couldn't lie to himself; one of the reasons he had brought her here was so he could keep an eye on her, monitor her vitals, as it were; and, in case of… tragedy, to spend as much time with his little girl as possible.

But if she was going to live here from now on, weren't there particular things she should know? Was he supposed to keep secrets from her?

Should he tell her about Batman?

Hey, guys, I think I've got something!

Alfred shook himself out of his stupor at Red Robin's exclamation. Tim was at the corner of Clarence and Wright.

"I hear you, Red Robin," Alfred said. "Everyone else, I've sent you the location."

Good work, Batman said. Close in; hold the perimeter.

Do it quick. I've got eyes on him, but he's… hold on, is that a… he's using a…

No, please, Red Hood said. Keep us in suspense.

It's a tie. An ordinary men's necktie. Navy blue, polyester. Might be 'Olson' brand.

Nightwing whistled. I do love a criminal with a good fashion sense.

This guy is insane! He just picked the lock using a necktie, guys. We might be outmatched here. There was a pause. Where are you guys?

In position, Batman said. You still have eyes on the target?

Hold on… there he is.

I see him, too, Nightwing said. He's got something, definitely.

Move in, Batman said. Slowly.

Alfred sat up, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of a fight. But he waited for a full minute in absolute silence. He started to get worried.

"Hello? Master Bruce? Richard? Anyone?"

He's… gone.

"What?"

He's gone, Robin repeated. He went down an alleyway… we were at both ends! And on the roof! How did he escape?

Maybe he's still there, Red Hood said. I'll check…

Wait. Alfred, calculate a possible next target.

Alfred sighed. "Lake Finnwell Jewelers. Two blocks down Clarence."

Regroup there. We'll let him think he's free. Then we catch him before he goes in.

Is this how the rest of the night is going to go? Red Hood groaned.

With luck, no…

I've got it! Nightwing cried suddenly.

What?

Pocket Man!

Um… Red Hood sighed. What?

Pocket Man. As a name. You know, he just pulls random things from his pocket and uses them to…

No.

Really? I thought it was…

Just no.

Alfred cracked a smile. He was stunned by how well Dick Grayson had been able to retain his sense of humor, even after years of depressing, dark work on the streets of Gotham City. He brought an unexpected ray of sunshine to the team.

Sort of like how Samantha had been an unexpected ray of sunshine in Alfred's own life.

Alfred shook his head. If he kept thinking about Samantha, he would lose track of the mission. Back to business. And a thief that refused to be caught.

/

I thought it was an absolutely normal morning. It should have been; everyone had gone to bed on time. But for some reason, every single other person in the house was exhausted. I found them all slouching in the dining room chairs - the second dining room, family sized, used to be a breakfast room - with droopy eyelids and vacant expressions. I paused in the doorway, a little uneasy. I had never seen all the Waynes in one room at the same time.

"Good morning," I ventured.

Only Mr. Wayne and Alfred made any attempt to acknowledge me. Dick made a rather noncommittal grunting sound.

"Um… it's Friday."

Alfred sighed. "Yes, I suppose it is." He groaned and started to get up. "I'll have to teach you how to take out the garbage and recycling…"

"Hold up." I put my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down. "Are you okay?"

Alfred rubbed his eyes. "Fine. Just a long night."

"Really?" I looked around the table. "I thought you all went to bed before I did. I saw you all leave the game room in a hurry, like the clock was ticking down to bedtime and the hounds would get you if you weren't under your covers in time."

Mr. Wayne almost laughed. "I don't know where you got that. We were… getting ready."

"For what?"

Mr. Wayne glanced around the table. Dick shrugged, his head resting on his fist. "Movie night."

"Oh." A movie night? How did I miss that? "Sounds… fun."

There was a rather strained silence. I shouldn't have felt so bummed about missing a movie night. I surmised when I came that I wouldn't be an instant addition to the family, let alone best friends by day three. I was only the maid, after all. But a part of me kept asking, Am I that unwanted? Maybe keeping my problems hidden wouldn't be as hard as I thought.

Finally, I decided to cut the tension. "Well, do you guys want breakfast?"

"You do have work today, Master Bruce," Alfred said, perking up a bit with the prospect of keeping a schedule. "Remember, you've got that meeting with the board this afternoon."

"Course," Mr. Wayne grumbled. He looked like his head was going to sag right down onto the table.

"I'll make some coffee, too," I said, turning to leave. "Strong coffee."

"Yes," Tim muttered. "Caffeine."

Damian just snored.

I sighed and took my leave. Just outside the door, however, I managed to trip over my own feet and knock into one of those fancy side tables with the big flower jars on top. I grabbed the jar in time, but the table slammed hard into the floor with a nasty crunch. I winced, set the jar aside, and began to assess the damage.

As I checked the glass top for cracks, I heard a voice coming from the dining room. I hadn't thought they were awake enough for conversation. I paused to listen.

And as I listened, I realized I had no idea who was talking.

"...do that again, I'll drop a sausage down your shirt."

I got closer to the door, my mouth half open in bewilderment. I had never heard that voice before, and I prided myself on remembering voices, almost as well as I remembered faces. Nobody in this house matched that voice.

There was someone else in there.

"I feel awful, lying to her," Dick mourned. "She looked so unhappy."

"Yeah, well, you always were soft for puppy eyes," the stranger voice said. "What exactly do you want to do about it?"

There was a pause. Then, almost too quiet to hear, Dick said, "Tell her the truth?"

My ears perked up at that. Truth? Lies? What was going on?

"No," Bruce said. "It's too risky. Even now, she's just an added liability."

Ouch. That was definitely not a sentence meant for my ears. But I couldn't leave now. I stayed fixed to the spot, blatantly eavesdropping.

"She's getting curious," Alfred said. "I don't know how long you'll be able to keep your secret. Trust me, she's worse than nosy; she's clever."

Um… thanks?

"Well, what are you going to do?" Tim asked. "Make her leave? You know we can't do that; she just got here."

"You're certainly right, Master Timothy. Don't any of you dare to think of it."

"So what do we do?" Dick asked.

There was a beat of silence. I heard a chair creak.

"We need to work on our act," Tim said. "We need to start acting more like… normal people. Not, you know…"

"Sh. Did you hear something?"

I realized I had set the jar down rather loudly. Rats. What was Tim about to say? Not what? And what about the mysterious voice? I wanted to hear it again, to memorize it, maybe even identify the speaker. But if they caught me eavesdropping, I would be kicked out for sure. I ran around the nearest corner and pressed my back to the wall, my heart beating unnaturally fast.

The dining room door opened, and I heard footsteps coming out. A pause; then they started coming toward me. I held my breath, hoping they wouldn't find me. Why was I so scared?

It was too late to wish. Before I could move, someone came around the corner. Unable to control myself, I yelped and jumped backward. Tim jumped, too.

"What are you doing?!" he gasped, clutching his chest.

"Nothing," I squeaked.

Tim frowned. "What were you doing? Were you listening to us?"

"No…"

"Samantha, please don't lie to me."

He didn't sound angry. Actually, it sounded as if he expected me to lie. I had to prove him wrong. I had to show him I could be trusted.

"I… I was. Listening, that is. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just knocked over the table, and the jar, and I stopped to pick it up, and I heard… I'm sorry."

Tim heaved a sigh. "Please don't do that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I won't, I promise."

Tim turned to leave. But I needed to know; without thinking, I grabbed his arm.

"Tim, who else was in there?"

It was as if someone had pulled down the blinds over his eyes. I couldn't read a thing. "What do you mean?"

"There was a voice in there I've never heard before."

"You probably just didn't recognize one of us. You've only been here for a few days."

My shoulders slumped. "Yeah… maybe."

Tim bit his lip, as if he wanted to take the words back and chew them to bits. But he didn't say anything. He just pulled his arm away and left. I stood there for a moment, my hand still stretched out. Then I forced it back to my side. It had no right, grabbing Tim, actually touching his arm. I wasn't his friend, I was his servant. I belonged in the kitchen, not eavesdropping outside the dining room.

So that's where I went. And it was with great shame that I stood in the doorway and cried.

/

"Hey."

I was scrubbing out stains in the sink, vigorously. I kept my eyes trained on whatever red sauce had gotten on this pair of jeans. I wasn't going to answer Tim. I knew better now. Just don't listen, don't talk, don't touch. Don't interact with them at all, and they'll stay happy.

But Tim still stood there and waited. "Samantha."

I lowered the pair of jeans into the suds. "Yes, sir?"

Tim glanced bashfully at his shoes. "I'm sorry about what happened. I wasn't trying to be mean."

"I'm sure you weren't, sir." I grabbed a shirt and started looking for stains. I found what looked like grease and grumbled. This would take forever to come out.

"Samantha."

I started scrubbing. "Mm."

"Could you… I just want to know that you're listening."

But listening was wrong. I had gotten in trouble this morning for listening. And I hadn't liked what I heard. I was a liability. I had to be kept in the dark about some super-secret gig the rest of the house had. Even my uncle was in on it. What was so important that they couldn't tell me? I wanted to shout at Tim. I wanted to scream at him that I could keep secrets as well as they could. That I was willing to listen to them, to be a part of their super special society. That I wanted to be admitted into their club - their family.

Instead, I just said, "I'm listening."

Tim nodded. "I just feel really bad about what you heard. I want you to know that we're not trying to push you out or anything. We want you to feel welcome."

Welcome? Ok, they'd given me a room. They'd given me a place to stay and lots to keep me busy. That was kind of welcoming. And some of them at least tried to be friendly. I breathed out through my nose and turned to Tim with a pleasant expression.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He backed away, not taking his eyes off me. "I just… hope you know that we want you here. We're glad you're here."

"I know."

"Okay." He tapped a finger against his leg, as if measuring out the number of seconds it was appropriate to wait. I stayed silent and pleasant. Finally, the tapping stopped. "I'll let you get back to your work."

I nodded thanks and returned my focus to the grease-stained shirt. After a moment, I heard the kitchen door close behind Tim. I glanced up.

It definitely hadn't been Tim I heard. His had a lot less growl. The mystery of the other voice still went unsolved.

/

Tim knocked on the door to Dick's room.

"Come in, Timmy."

Tim slipped inside to find his big brother working at his computer. Dick waved without turning around.

"So? How'd it go? Is she off our scent?"

"Yeah, I guess." Tim frowned. "I don't know. She's still not happy with us."

Dick turned on his swiveling desk chair. "Okay, so what's the solution?"

"I have no idea. If we can't tell her… maybe she's just doomed to be unhappy with us. Unhappy with me most. You know how it is, with the messenger."

"I know. But someone had to do it, and you're the least likely to mess it up."

"I thought you'd be fine."

"I had work for an excuse. Here, take a look."

Tim looked over Dick's shoulder at the screen. Dick had three windows open, each with a different search result: a spoon, a nickel, and a men's necktie.

"Doesn't look like you've gotten very far."

"No." Dick rubbed his chin. "There's absolutely no connection between any of these. Maybe we should call him Mr. Random."

"Mm… too much Mister, not enough catch."

"Alright, but someone has to name these guys. Anyway, I'm waiting until tonight to run diagnostics on the different items. Good thing we picked them up before the police did."

"I don't think Gordon's particularly pleased with that. We should let him have them when we're done."

"Agreed. While we sit here, though…"

Dick pressed a key, and a fourth window opened. Then he pulled a set of joysticks from a drawer and plugged them in. He handed one to Tim with a smile.

"Like old times?"

Tim pulled up a chair, a grin spreading across his face as he sat down. "I'll still beat you."

"Still worth a shot."

"Loser buys the winner an ice cream."

"Done."

/

I didn't mean to fall asleep. And yet, there I was, in the middle of the day, waking up on the floor with my head against a cabinet and two dark haired boys sneaking in the back door. They froze when they saw me, their mischievous looks turning to concern.

Dick looked me up and down. "You good?"

"We woke you up," Tim said. "Sorry."

"No, you didn't," I yawned. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Of course not," Dick said. "It's okay, we won't tell on you."

I picked myself up off the floor. "Thanks. I don't know what Alfred would do if he found me sleeping on the job."

Dick smiled kindly. "Don't worry about us. It takes a lot of work to keep this house looking as good as it does. I think you can be allowed a nap."

"Why were you out?" I asked.

"Ice cream," Tim said. He grinned. "Dick's treat."

"Hm." I rubbed my eyes. "Well, I should probably get back to work." I shot a remorseful glance at the pile of dishes on the counter.

"We'll get out of your hair," Dick said, shuffling toward the door. "Vamoose, Timothy."

As they headed for the stairwell, Tim hesitated. "You sure you're okay? You look… off."

"Yeah, fine!"

Actually, I felt great. That little nap had given me a lot of energy. The trouble was, I couldn't remember being tired, let alone falling asleep. And no thirty-second nap, however powerful, could make me feel this good. Something didn't add up.

"Hey, what time is it?"

Tim glanced at his watch. "Four fifteen."

I blinked. "But… it was barely noon."

We stared at each other for a moment. Tim was starting to look concerned, so I put on a brave face and shrugged it off.

"I must have lost track of the time. I did have turkey for lunch."

"Okay," Tim said, still eyeing me warily. "Well… take care."

I couldn't tell if it was a farewell or advice. I just sort of waved and smiled.

Tim gave me one last glance and left. I hoped he wouldn't stay worried about me. The last thing I wanted was for our relationship to be built solely on anxiety.

Who was I kidding? We didn't have a relationship. I was working for his dad. That was all.

I forced myself to my feet and started on the dishes. Maybe I had fallen asleep randomly in the middle of the day for no apparent reason, but that was no cause for alarm. I was practically a grown-up now. Didn't grown-ups take a lot of naps?

Still, the episode stuck in my mind, and no matter how much I busied myself for the rest of the day, I couldn't stop worrying about it. Tim was right. Something felt off.