When I finally woke up, I thought I was still in my bedroom. But it smelled like bacon and toast, with a hint of pie. I opened my eyes and saw, not a dresser, but the fridge. I had fallen asleep right there on the kitchen floor. Again.
I looked up and saw Pennyworth the cat sniffing at the batch of rolls I'd left on the kitchen island. I tutted at him.
"Not for you, silly kitty. Down."
Pennyworth gave me a loathing look and jumped down from the island. He trotted to his food bowl and meowed loudly.
"I know, Mr. Needy. Give me a minute."
As I sat up and started to stretch, I felt something soft and warm slip off me-a blanket. It was a nice, simple, knitted blanket. Someone must have come while I was asleep and put it over me.
I got up, folded the blanket, and looked around. The kitchen was still a mess, but some things seemed to have been moved around. Alfred's side of the kitchen had some new dishes. That was probably where the bacon smell was coming from. There was also something on the island. A napkin, neatly folded, with a note on top. I grabbed the note and read:
Thanks. NW
Nightwing had come back?! Aw, man, why did I have to miss that?
I pocketed the note and chucked the napkin in the towel hamper. The door opened, and Alfred walked in. He glanced at my disheveled hair and the copious remnants of my midnight feast. "Good morning. You missed breakfast."
"Bummer," I sighed. "Hey, guess what? Nightwing was here! Twice!"
"Is that so?" Alfred nodded to my mess. "I see you made him a three-course meal, too."
"I actually made it for me. I didn't eat much of it, though. I'll clean all this up, I promise."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. You go fix yourself up for the day."
"Oh, no, that's fine. I've got-"
"Samantha. Go."
"Yes, sir!"
As soon as I was all dressed and ready, I rushed back to the kitchen to help Alfred. He was a little reluctant, but I convinced him to let me do the rest of the dishes. I finished with an hour left before lunch, so I grabbed the cleaning supplies and set out for the bathrooms in the guest wing. My hands itched for something to do even if I paused for breath.
I was working away, humming to myself, when Damian found me. He knocked on the doorframe.
"Meyers. Lunchtime."
"Okay. Be right there."
But Damian didn't leave. He stood there in the doorway, watching me. "Did you really stay up all night baking?"
I snorted a laugh. "Did Alfred tell you?"
Damian raised one fine brow, as if he'd like to smile but wouldn't in my presence. I ducked my head.
"I did, yes. And guess who came to test it?"
"Nightwing. I heard."
"You're really no fun to tell stories to." I glanced up. "But… I did enjoy playing with you yesterday."
Damian tutted. "I don't play, Meyers."
"Of course not. Sir."
"Just come eat at some point. I don't want Pennyworth to think I've been a bad messenger." He turned to leave.
"Hey, uh, Damian."
He paused. "Yes?"
I set down my rag. "Do you ever worry that Alfred works too hard?"
Damian blinked. "Not particularly. Why?"
"I was just wondering. He's kind of the only family I have left. I just want to take care of him, and make sure he's not overworking himself."
Damian thought for a moment. "I believe Pennyworth is capable of caring for himself. But… he's also not as young as he used to be."
"Yeah…"
"If that's all…" Damian took a pointed step backward.
"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Bye."
I raised my rag to scrub the mirror. Then I stopped. I stared at my reflection. Even after washing my face and brushing my hair this morning, I looked sort of… weary. Alfred probably noticed that. I might have to start wearing makeup.
Alfred looked sadly at the well spread lunch table. He had prepared egg mayonnaise sandwiches, lemonade, and even a jar of pickles, the kind Samantha loved. He had sent Damian to tell her lunch was waiting. Why hadn't she come?
The kitchen door burst open. Alfred looked up hopefully.
"Samantha! How very kind of you to come."
"I know, I'm sorry," Samantha said, running for the broom closet with two armloads of cleaning supplies. "I lost track of time. Again."
"Were you… cleaning?"
"Yeah. Cleaning the guest bathrooms."
Alfred blinked. "I was… going to do those tomorrow, but alright."
"Yeah, I got them, don't worry. I'll work on the first floor this afternoon after I've finished with Damian's laundry."
Samantha dumped the supplies in the closet and rushed to the table. She stuffed a sandwich in her mouth, then grabbed a glass and poured herself some lemonade. "So? How are you?"
Alfred watched her incredulously. "First of all, please eat more slowly, I haven't brushed up on my Heimlich maneuver in weeks. And secondly, you look exhausted. Perhaps instead of scouring the entire manor, you could sit still for five minutes and eat a decent lunch."
He didn't miss the slight wince that crossed her face. "I'm fine."
"Yes, and I'm sure you'll be even better after a rest. You stayed up almost all night. You deserve a nap."
"I have too much energy. Besides, I'm on a roll. I could probably get half the bathrooms done today."
"Look, you've gotten a lot done today, and I'm quite grateful for that, but what I need now is for you to sit, eat, and give yourself a break."
Samantha set down her lemonade. "Alfred. I'm fine. I like working. It keeps my brain busy."
Alfred sighed. She made a fair point. Work was one way to keep her mind off her parents. But she couldn't just keep going and going like an electric train.
"I believe that while working can be a good… distraction… rest is also very important. You need balance, Samantha. You need to take care of yourself."
Samantha chewed her sandwich slowly, then swallowed. "I came here to help you keep Wayne Manor in good shape. I'm helping."
Alfred sighed. "You came here to help me, yes, but not to work yourself to death."
Samantha shot him a furtive glance.
"What I want more than anything, more than a helper or a happy face, is a healthy niece. I've been taking care of the Wayne family for generations; I think I can manage things for myself. You need a break."
"I just had a break," she said. "All of Saturday!"
"And it clearly wasn't enough. But, if you really want to work, I suppose I could let you work on that jar of pickles I set out especially for you…"
Samantha looked hungrily at the pickle jar. "How are you so good at tempting me into things?"
"Well, what else are uncles for?" He patted her on the back as she gave him a small smile. "I expect that jar to be significantly less full when I get back."
"Where are you going?"
"Grocery shopping. I should be back in time to start dinner."
"I could com—"
"No, Samantha, you can sit here and eat."
"Okay," Samantha muttered. Alfred heard the telltale pop of a jar lid. "And… thanks for the pickles."
Alfred beamed. "You're most welcome, my dear."
Tim was about to mount the stairs when he heard a whoosh overhead, and a scream. He looked up.
Samantha Meyers was riding the banister down with a full laundry basket in her arms.
Tim backed up in surprise. He got out of the way just in time as Samantha launched herself off the end of the banister, landed on her feet, stumbled a bit, and spilled the laundry all over the floor.
"Oof," she said. "Almost! Next time." She turned and saw Tim for the first time. "Oh, hi. Sorry; I didn't see you."
Tim just shook his head. "No, you're fine. I was… a little startled, that's all. That was good, though."
"Really? Thanks." Samantha turned to the mess on the floor. "Bugger," she sighed. She knelt and started picking things up.
"Here," Tim said, hurrying to her aid. "Let me help." He grabbed a pair of socks. "Whose are these?"
"Dick's."
"I'm so sorry."
Samantha laughed. She tossed a red shirt in the basket. "You guys wear an awful lot of red and black. Are you Robin fans?"
Tim's face went hot. "Robin? Uh, no. Why would you say that?"
"You know, red. Robin."
Tim stuttered. "Red Robin? That's… I, uh…"
"Never mind. I guess they're just normal colors." Samantha glanced at him. "You okay?"
Tim tried to calm his breathing. "Uh, yeah." He quickly busied himself with picking up as many of Dick's socks as he could find.
Samantha stuffed another shirt in the basket. "You know, Dick's, like, at least twenty. How does he not know how to do his own laundry?"
Tim snorted. "He's seriously twelve at heart. He still eats cereal for breakfast. Plus, Alfred just always did everything for us."
Samantha's grip tightened around a pair of jeans. "I know."
Tim glanced up, and for the first time, he really looked at her face. It was aged with lines of concentration. He hadn't noticed before how tired her eyes looked, and yet how passionate. Her mouth didn't smile so much as it exploded with forced joy; her frown looked much more natural.
"Sam… are you…"
"I'm fine. Why does everyone keep asking that?"
"I wasn't… um… I just wanted to know how you like it here."
Her face softened. "It's nice. It's big. I'm not really used to big. But it's good to be close to Alfred. And Mr. Wayne is nice, and you guys are all fun and… nice."
Tim couldn't help but grin. "So, it's nice."
Samantha laughed. "I know. I'm not the best with words."
"Nah, you're fine." He glanced at her. "You're nice."
She laughed again, and this time, it sounded a little more genuine.
The laundry basket was full by now, so Samantha picked it up and set it on her hip.
"I mean it, though. You really are nice, Tim. That's hard to find in Gotham."
Tim stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Thanks. Do you want any help, or…?"
"I'm good, thanks. See you around."
"Yeah, you, too."
She walked away, that strange, inexplicable bounce in her step. Tim shook his head and turned back to the stairs. Why did she keep pretending to be happy when she obviously wasn't? Maybe Dick would understand. He acted much like Sam did - sunny on the outside, like a circus tent pitched over a deep, dark hole.
I smiled and hefted the laundry basket. It felt nice to carry a simple, meaningless conversation with someone. Nice. Why couldn't I find a better word? Pleasant. Enjoyable. Maybe even normal.
I headed for the laundry room. But I barely got five steps when something behind my eye started throbbing. I rubbed my eye and winced. Maybe I was getting a headache.
I glanced up. The light from the windows hit my eyes, pierced right to my brain. I blinked and shielded my eyes. Something was wrong…
The pain didn't grow so much as it came over me like a bomb exploding. It engulfed the rest of my head like a tsunami. I dropped the laundry and reached for the wall, my mouth open in a silent scream. I couldn't close my eyes but keeping them open was near unbearable. The pain was so intense, it felt like my skull was going to implode. My body was a distant memory, tiny compared to my agony. Nothing mattered but waiting, wishing for the pain to end.
And it did. As quickly as it had come, the pain vanished.
My head cleared like a fog lifting. I found myself panting, curled over my lap with both arms cradling my head. I felt exhausted, as if I had run several miles in the past three seconds, and my mouth tasted like upset stomach. Was it three seconds? Or three hours? When the pain was at its worst, it felt like it would never end, but now that it was over, I couldn't imagine having been here for more than a moment.
What was that?!
I slowly, stiffly unfurled myself, sitting against the wall as I calmed down. The pain was completely gone, and yet, I felt so tired, so completely used up. What on earth had happened? A flash migraine? Or something worse?
Suddenly, a memory jolted through my head. My dad, sitting on the couch, reading a book. He doubled over suddenly and clutched his head, screaming. Mom ran from the kitchen and started freaking out. They called 911, and an ambulance came and took Dad away. I just sat on the floor of the living room, staring straight ahead and wondering what had happened… wondering what could reduce my strong, brave father to a helpless, screaming animal.
His had been much worse, but I couldn't deny that my sudden attack had felt exactly the way his looked. Maybe… maybe this was it.
The disease that killed my parents. It had finally found me.
My first instinct was to scream, to cry, to release the terror resting pent up in my lungs. But the house was so quiet, so undisturbed, I couldn't do it. I couldn't make a sound. Then my mind began to work. What should I do? Whom should I tell? The doctors hadn't found a single cure for my parents. What hope was there for me?
I was so tired. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep away the terror. I got shakily to my feet and made my way, step by step, to my room. The moment I hit the pillow, my whole body relaxed. Here in my own room, in the safety of my bed, nothing seemed more important than lying still, breathing slowly, closing my eyes… and falling asleep.
When I woke up, I felt a million times better. My head didn't hurt at all, and I was awake and energized. Maybe I had been overworking, and just needed a nap. Maybe that headache - so long ago now, it almost seemed like I had exaggerated it - had simply been a sign of sleep deprivation. I would be fine. There was nothing to worry about.
I went down to dinner with a new spring in my step. Alfred smiled as I walked in.
"You seem lively."
"Turns out all I needed was sleep," I said.
"I can tell. I went to check on you and you were so fast asleep, you didn't even wake up when I knocked over the desk chair."
Dick looked up a little too eagerly. "You could say your parkour wasn't up to par. Kour."
I snorted out a laugh. "Wow."
I glanced over the dining room, and my eyes widened in surprise. Everyone was here. Mr. Wayne, Dick, Tim, Damian… they were all sitting around the table.
"What's this?" I asked, cocking my head. "Is there a special occasion?"
"We thought it might be nice to have a meal together, as a house," Mr. Wayne said. "What do you think?"
I smiled so wide, I showed my teeth. "I think that's great."
Alfred swept a hand to my seat, and I pulled it out. But before I could sit, the doors burst open again, and a tall, burly young man I had never seen before strode in like he lived here. The room went silent as the young man froze stiff.
"Oh… hi."
"Hi," I offered, as the others couldn't seem to find their voices. "I don't know if we've met…"
"Yes," Mr. Wayne said, clearing his throat. "This is, um… John. He's a family friend."
John shot Mr. Wayne a look that bordered on glaring. "Yes, I was invited to dinner. And you are…?"
"Samantha Meyers," I said, holding out my hand. John shook it with a fast-spreading grin. "I'm a relative of Alfred's."
"Pleasure to meet you."
Something about him was familiar. But for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what. We settled down to dinner, and Alfred's food was good, as always, but it couldn't distract me. I definitely stared at the newcomer more than was appropriate. There's no way he was from work; he was way too young, his jacket was old and grubby, and he seemed to have dyed a strand of his hair stark white. He looked more like a stray dog than a family friend.
"So, Samantha," Mr. Wayne said, suddenly drawing my attention his way. "I hear you humming sometimes when I'm home. Are you a singer?"
I flushed. They could hear me? "Yes, sort of. My parents were both musical. I just grew up singing. I haven't been in a choir in a while, though."
"That's a shame." Mr. Wayne smiled. "Any chance I could help with that?"
"Ah, no. It's fine; I don't really have time anyway."
"I'm not overworking you, I hope."
Suddenly, John snorted. "I think she's overworking herself. The girl's a workaholic."
I stared at him. How did he know? How the heck could he possibly know? I caught the look on Alfred's face. He looked absolutely horrified.
John looked up, then turned sheet white. "I mean, I only guess, of course. I don't know her."
Tim massaged his forehead. "Yeah, nice job, John," he muttered.
I ducked my head and stared at the table, my cheeks burning. Was it that obvious? Was I trying so hard that total strangers could see I was working every hour I could manage? I'd have to be a ghost to do better.
Alfred cleared his throat, still looking slightly petrified. "Samantha, dear, why don't you start clearing plates?"
I stood so fast, my chair almost fell over. I piled up as many dishes as I could carry, terrified that I'd have to come back. It wasn't until I had left the room that I realized why John seemed so familiar.
The mystery voice. It was his.
As soon as Samantha had left the room, Bruce turned on the dinner party's unexpected guest.
"What were you thinking?" he hissed. "You could've blown your cover, not to mention ours!"
"Yes, John," Damian snickered. "You're usually so tight-lipped."
"It just slipped out," Jason snapped, glaring daggers at his brother. "I can't help myself, I'm a fast talker."
"Well, learn to deal with it," Bruce growled. "I hope you'll remember why we keep our night jobs a secret from Alfred's niece next time you decide to show off."
"Alright, sheesh!" Jason scooted out of his chair. "I got it."
"You'd better," Bruce said as Jason made his escape.
"That boy is a hazard," Alfred sighed.
Bruce shook his head and rose from his chair. "You haven't seen the worst of it. Excuse me, I'll be right back… after I fix this."
He made his way to the kitchen, where Samantha was already working away at the dishes. Bruce had noticed at dinner that she looked a lot better than she had the past few days. But she still looked tired. He turned solemn with sympathy.
"Samantha," Bruce said. "I'm sorry if our friend hurt your feelings. He can be a little loose with his words."
"I don't mind, Mr. Wayne," Samantha said, giving him her usual sunny smile. "I actually enjoyed myself. I haven't had a meal with my whole fam… I mean, with… a group of people in a long time."
"I'm glad you liked it. Alfred was the one who suggested it."
"Oh." Her smile fell a little.
Bruce tapped a knuckle against the counter. "You know he just wants you to be alright."
"I know. But I'm fine."
"I'm sure you are." Bruce decided to change the topic. "You know, going back to our earlier topic, I really do want to help with anything I can. I know you haven't graduated yet. And I was wondering if you would permit me to pay for your education for senior year of high school."
Samantha blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Really," Bruce laughed. "I'm sure I can spare the cash."
"Then… alright. I would love that. Thank you."
Bruce smiled. "Good! I'm glad my money has something beneficial to do instead of just sitting in a bank vault all day."
Samantha laughed. "Happy to oblige, Mr. Wayne."
"I do have one requirement: you have to stop calling me Mr. Wayne. Bruce will do."
"Yes, sir… Bruce."
"Your niece has to be one of the most innocent and sunny persons I've ever met," Bruce said, pulling on his gloves. Alfred glanced over from his post at the computer.
"I couldn't have said it better myself, sir." Alfred frowned. "Still, I can't help but feel as if…"
"She's not really as happy as she seems," Bruce said. "Not all the time, but often enough. It's the smile. It's too forced."
"You don't have to tell me. I was the one who had to gauge your emotional well-being from the most minute details for years."
"And I was taught by the greatest psychologist on earth." Bruce lifted his cape onto his shoulders, straightening slightly as he began to settle into the familiar character of Batman. "We can discuss Samantha later. Listen up, team!"
The four boys snapped to attention, subconsciously forming a line in front of their leader.
"Tonight is about vigilance and speed," Batman said. "I don't want to lose our thief again, so I'm splitting you all into teams of two, which will each be stationed near a specific target location. Alpha, you'll be Robin and Nightwing. You'll be stationed at Isla Fair Jewelers."
Nightwing grinned and held out his hand to his little brother. Robin allowed him a subtle high five.
"Beta will be Red Robin and me," Batman continued. "And Gamma…"
"Wait, is Gamma just the Hood?" Red Robin cut in. "No offense, but isn't he the worst person to have fighting alone?"
"He won't be alone," Batman said. "Just a warning, Hood, I would've benched you completely, after that stunt you pulled at dinner, but unfortunately, we need all the help we can get. So I called in a friend to keep an eye on you."
"Hold up," Red Hood said. "Who exactly did you assign me to? You know I have a very refined taste…"
"Lucky for you," said a new voice, "I'm very refined."
Nightwing whirled around. "Batgirl!"
Batgirl waltzed in from the outside entrance. "Hey, boys. I hear there's a new bandit giving you trouble."
"Bandit!" Nightwing cried, snapping his fingers. "The… the… aw, never mind. I've got nothing."
"No, wait, it has potential," Red Hood said. "Wait… the Bewildering Bandit. Naw… oh, he steals rings, right? Bandit of the Rings… bling! Bling Bandit!"
"I refuse to call him that," Robin sniffed.
"Back on task, please," Batman sighed. "Batgirl, you and Red Hood will be patrolling the streets surrounding Canopy Jewelers. Watch him, Please?"
"Aye-aye, Captain!" She whipped her hand to her temple and headed for the vehicle bay. "Canopy's not too far; we can just take the bikes. Come on, Red Helmet. Let's go."
"It's Red Hood!"
"Gee, is that right? It sure looks like a helmet to me…"
"Nightwing and Robin," Batman continued, "you'll be taking the Batmobile. Nightwing drives."
"Yes! Sweet!" Nightwing punched the air. "Dude, having a license and Batman for your dad rocks!"
"I can drive," Robin huffed.
"No."
"I know how!"
"No. Nightwing, don't forget, Isla Fair."
"That's the one on the posh side of town," Alfred said. "Not the one on Pinebrook; he's already been there."
"Here," Batman said, tossing the keys to Nightwing
"Batmobile. Isla Fair. Posh." Nightwing caught the keys. "Got it. Let's hit the road, Robin."
"Give me the keys."
"No."
"But I want to drive!"
"Aw, are you whiny, Wobin?"
"I hate you."
"Red Robin," Batman said, pulling up his cowl. "You and I are canvassing the St Clair area. There's two jewelry stores there that our thief hasn't been to."
"Got it. Is there one store he's more likely to go for?"
"Both have the kind of emerald he's looking for," Batman said. "Neither is a more likely candidate, especially as he seems to have no pattern and we know nothing specific about him. These are his last targets. He's hit every store, every pawn shop, even some private dealers. Tonight, we get him, or we lose him."
"Right, no pressure," Tim said. "Let's get going."
It was hours before Alfred heard anything, and then it was just a hurried check in from Batman, asking if the others had called the Cave. They hadn't.
It was morning when they came home. They all wore looks of exhaustion and defeat.
"Where were you all?" Alfred asked, massaging his tired eyes. "Did you forget to contact me when he showed up?"
"He didn't show up, Alfred," Batman said. He ripped off his cowl and threw it aside. "He didn't show up at all."