Chapter 5 - No Good Answers

I sighed when I came into the breakfast room and once again found everyone in a sleepy daze. "Another movie night?"

"Yeah," Mr.… Bruce said grumpily.

As my gaze swept around the table, it registered a head of black hair with one bleached tuft. I frowned deeply. They had invited John. The second night in a row they had done something fun and left me out of it, and now they were inviting friends. I tried not to look too disappointed. I wasn't their friend, I was their maid. I had to remember. After all, they were boys; they needed boy time.

But then, I realized they weren't all boys. There was someone new at the table: a girl with red hair and bright, sea green eyes. She was the only one who smiled at me, and considering the circumstances, it felt like a taunt.

"Ah, yes," Alfred said, making an effort to rouse himself. "Samantha, this is Barbara Gordon. Miss Barbara, this is my niece, Samantha Meyers."

"Nice to meet you," Barbara said.

They had invited her to the movie night. A girl. Which meant it wasn't just a boy thing; it was a friend thing. That stung more than it should have. I squared my jaw and tried to remain civil.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"How did you sleep?" Alfred asked, watching me closely.

"Like a baby. I can tell you didn't."

"Technically, the optimum sleep pattern for someone your age would differ significantly from that of an infant, so to say that you slept like one would indicate a deficiency in your level of rest."

I blinked at Damian. "That's… neat. Um, shall I go get breakfast ready?"

"I already made it," Alfred said.

"You… you did?"

I looked at the buffet table. There were three covered soup tureens, a plate piled with biscuits, and pitchers of milk and coffee.

"Alfred, how much sleep did you get?" I asked, a little afraid to know the answer.

"Not much," he sighed. "I couldn't, really."

"That does it. No more movie nights."

"Help yourself," Alfred said.

The room went dead as everyone slumped back into a stupor. As I served myself, every sound I made felt out of place and impolite. I wanted nothing more than to make a quick escape. But before I could get to the door, Miss Barbara, Friend of the Waynes, walked right in front of me and started piling sausage links onto her plate. I stared. Her appetite could match that of any teenage boy.

"I might as well get a refill before these boys eat everything," she said. "If they ever decide to get up."

"Not likely," John groaned as he laid his head on the table.

"Come on," Barbara said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Let's find somewhere else to sit. Otherwise, the guys will snore on our food."

Before I could protest, she had steered me out of the room and down the hall. I found myself walking rapidly away from the dining room as she pushed me along. My discomfort doubled.

"You steer," Barbara said. "Where do we go?"

"Uh… turn here."

I guided her to Alfred's personal dining room, where hopefully I could leave her and escape to the kitchen. But the moment we walked in the door, she pulled out a chair and forced me to sit. Then she plunked down across from me.

"So. I haven't seen you before. I assume, because of what you said about making breakfast, you're a worker of some sort."

"Maid."

"Gotcha. That must be nice, being on Bruce Wayne's payroll." She took a bite out of a sausage. "I couldn't help but notice you seem pretty close with Alfred. Are you related?"

I stared at the fork in my hand. "I'm his… sister's daughter's daughter."

"So, grandniece."

"Uh huh."

"That's got to be cool. Alfred's the best. Do you see each other often?"

She sure was talkative. I couldn't decide whether I preferred this to the dead silence upstairs. "I see him every day, now."

Barbara paused mid-bite and looked up. "Oh, that's right. I heard the boys mentioning someone new was living at the Manor. That's you?"

I picked at my food uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"I'm surprised we haven't met yet." Barbara cocked her head. "How long have you been here?"

This was going to get old very fast. I sighed and admitted, "Less than a week."

"Ah, that makes sense. What about your parents? Do they live here, too, or do they live in town?"

I mumbled down at my biscuit.

"What?"

"They're dead," I spat across the table.

Her face instantly switched from friendly interest to utter horror. "Oh. I'm… I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

I immediately felt bad for my outburst. Barbara was just trying to be cordial, even if I wasn't particularly interested. I took a deep breath to clear my head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up."

Barbara nodded. "I understand. I've known this family for a long time. Especially Dick. You know he's…"

"Yeah, he's an orphan. Like me."

"Yes. And I've known him since he was younger, when it was still pretty fresh. He's boiled over a couple times." Barbara put her chin on her hand. "I still have both my parents, and a little brother to boot, so I guess I'm not really a good sympathizer."

"A little brother?"

"Jimmy Junior. Named after my dad."

Jimmy Gordon? No, wait. My eyes went wide. "Oh. You're… you mean that Gordon. As in…"

"Yep. The famous Jim Gordon's my dad."

"The one who works with Batman?"

"Yeah."

"He must be cool to have as a dad."

Barbara smiled. "He can be. He's pretty busy most of the time. He shows up to birthday parties and holidays, but on regular weeks, he's usually out saving Gotham all day. Still, I love him. You know, one time…"

She went on to tell me a long story about one of the aforementioned birthday parties, and I at last found the stomach to turn to my food. But as soon as I really looked at what I had put so hastily on my plate, I froze stiff.

Biscuits and gravy. Dad had made it all the time, especially on weeknights when he didn't have much time or energy. Mom and Dad were both talented singers, but they needed real jobs to get real money, so Mom worked at a laundromat on the weekends, and Dad worked at the local gym on weekdays. He often came home smelling like sweat and iron, but hey, I got in free on Wednesdays. They still let me come in free after he was hospitalized. And after he died. I think they missed him. Or maybe it was just pity.

Well, I sure missed him. And thinking about him was making me want to cry. I forced the lump in my throat back down. I realized I was glaring at my now soggy biscuits, as if I could set them on fire with my gaze.

"Samantha?"

I cleared my throat. "Sorry, what?"

She frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said, perhaps a little too snappishly.

"Did I upset you?" Barbara reached across the table, just a little bit. "I don't know what I said, but I'm sorry."

I took a deep breath. I couldn't stop the tears any longer. I just kept seeing them-their faces, floating in the back of my mind, tapping at my consciousness and wanting in.

Barbara got up, came around the table, and hugged me. I didn't have the energy to be surprised.

"It's okay," she said softly, brushing a hand over my hair. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm fine." I wiped the tears away. "I must just be tired."

The brushing stopped. Barbara crouched so she and I were face to face.

"I've heard that excuse before. Don't forget, I live with a police officer, and my best friend is an orphan. I know what tired looks like, and I know what sad looks like. You, dear, are the latter. So, I'll ask again: can you tell me?"

My breath shuddered in my chest. I could tell by the way she carried herself that Miss Barbara was much older and much more confident than I was; but I wasn't afraid of her, the way I was often afraid of women like her. No, those women were pushy; Barbara was sincere, and I was already starting to trust her.

"I was remembering my own father," I confessed. "And my mother. I can't seem to stop thinking about them lately."

Barbara smiled. Her smile didn't simper or condescend; it warmed. It warmed me to my soul. I leaned toward her, like a leaf to the sun.

"I loved them," I went on. "I still love them. They were strong and clever and ambitious. They were all I had for so long that I feel lonely and empty, even with Alfred here. I try to stop thinking about them any way I can; I work constantly. But I can't stop, not really. And it… hurts."

Barbara pulled me back into her arms. She hummed deep in her chest, and I could feel it vibrating through my body.

"You shouldn't be afraid of your memories," she said. "They're not what's hurting you. It's the prospect of a future in which you can't make any more of those memories. Am I right?"

I blinked. "Yeah… yeah, that's it."

"I'm sorry if I caused this," she said. "My dad is great and all, but I really shouldn't brag about him so much."

"It's not your fault," I said.

She pushed me out to arm's length. "You can talk to me, okay? I know you might not want to, but I'm here. I've helped my friends with things like this before. I'm happy to do it again."

I nodded.

"Good. And I'm sorry again for making you sad."

"No, it's okay. I haven't really talked just normally with people in a long time. I've missed it. And honestly… I've missed having other girls around, too."

"Aw." She smiled. "Well, I can be around more, if you'd like."

I smiled back. "I would very much like."

I think that's when Babs and I became friends.

/

"She's out of earshot," Dick said, pulling his head back inside the doors and shutting them tight.

As soon as the all clear was sounded, heads came up and eyes cleared. The room woke up in an instant, their exhausted guise vanishing to reveal well-hidden alertness and focus.

Alfred stared down at the table, feeling like the weight of his secret guilt was pulling him toward the floor. How could he keep deceiving Samantha like this? She had looked so disappointed at the thought of being left out again.

His thoughts were interrupted as Bruce dove into the day's business.

"Last night, as we all know, was a complete failure," Bruce said, looking as if he'd like to grind his fist into the table. "The thief didn't even make an appearance. So far as we know, he wasn't even out last night. We can't let it throw us off. We need to keep an eye on the computer at all times, just in case he plans on coming out during the day. We know he's not afraid of the light."

"But what about Sam?" Tim asked. "She still doesn't know. If we're in the Batcave all day, she'll get suspicious."

"We won't be in the Batcave all day; we're taking turns," Bruce said. "We go for an hour at a time. Wear watches today. We switch on the hour."

"But Sam…"

"If you're worried about Sam, just stay out of her way."

"We've been doing that," Dick said. "Haven't you noticed the way she looks when we talk about our 'movie nights?' She feels left out."

"And for good reason," Tim said. "Why can't we tell her?"

Bruce pounded the table. "Because I will not have another person under my roof put in harm's way by Batman! Telling her is out of the question."

"But…"

"Case. Closed."

There was a beat of tense silence. Alfred felt quite pleased with Tim for thinking of Samantha, but he had to agree with Bruce. No matter how bad he felt keeping secrets from his niece, it was for her own safety.

"Fine," Tim said. "But I won't avoid her."

"Me, neither," Dick said. "We just need to be careful of alerting her to our doings. She can't notice us leaving so regularly."

"You all should be pros at making good excuses by now," Alfred said, with not a little touch of irony. "I'm sure that, when the time comes, you'll think of something."

Another heavy silence followed this comment. It was clear the conversation was over, but no one wanted to make the first move. Finally, Jason stood.

"Well, if none of you are going to, I might as well eat all this food. I'll be in my room, pretending to be dead, as usual."

Alfred didn't have the heart to tell him off for eating in his room, and out of the soup tureens, for heaven's sake. He was thinking of his niece, surrounded by a whole other world, living so very close to danger, and just barely kept safe by a thin mesh wall of secrets and lies.

How long until she stumbled across the entrance to the Batcave? How long until she overheard one of their conversations and figured it out? How long until she pieced everything together from all the incredibly suspicious activity going on around her constantly? She was clever. She was observant. And worst of all, she was endearing. Which meant soon enough, someone wouldn't have the heart to keep her in the dark anymore.

And it would probably be Alfred.

/

The rest of the day was… interesting.

First of all, when I came upstairs after Barbara left, the breakfast room was empty. I knew we hadn't been gone super long, and considering how tired everyone had been, why would they all up and leave when they could sit around in their chairs? Or did they, once again, have a million important things to do? But that wasn't enough to make me suspicious. They could do what they wanted, and I didn't know them all that well.

Then, when I was dusting shelves in the drawing room, I saw Dick walk past. I poked my head out to say hi, but he was gone. I looked up and down the hallway, even poked inside a couple of the other rooms to see if he had gone into one, but I found not a trace of the eldest Wayne boy. Where had he gone?

I let it go until, an hour later, I was sitting in the game room watching Tim and Damian battle it out on Guardblock 6. All of a sudden, Damian's watch beeped. He glanced at it, then paused the game.

"We'll finish this later, Drake. I have to go."

"You set alarms on your watch?" Tim asked.

"It's convenient."

"Okay… Mind if I do something else while you're gone?"

"I don't care. If you dare try to cheat..."

"Like I'd need to."

"For your information, you were beaten ten minutes ago."

"I thought you had to go?"

"Alright, but this isn't over."

Damian left, and Tim leaned over toward me, holding out a controller.

"You want to play?"

I laughed. "Not for Damian."

"I'll change the game. What do you want to play?" He stood up and started trailing his finger along the games so neatly shelved in a storage unit on the wall. "We've got… tennis? Golf?"

"What, you think I can't play the hard ones?"

"Are you saying you can?"

"Bring it on, brother."

He gave me an odd little smile. I realized that, even in jest, I had just called him brother. It felt… surprisingly normal. Huh.

We ended up playing "Jade Warriors: The Omega Race" for an hour. Then, out of the blue, he looked at his phone and paused the game, just like Damian had.

I looked up. "What?"

He set aside his controller and flashed me a guilty grin. "Just procrastination, coming back to bite me. I forgot about a pretty big essay that I have to finish for tomorrow."

"Ugh. What class is it for?"

Tim continued to back toward the door. "Um… Biology. Anyway, it's a pretty big assignment. I should probably…"

"Hey, I totally get it. Don't let me keep you."

"Thanks, Sam." He waved over his shoulder. "Hey, fun playing with you! Let's do it again sometime."

"Yeah, let's."

As I stared at the pause screen, I felt a little guilty. I had been playing videogames for two hours. It was time I got back to work.

Just as I got up, John walked in. He saw me and stopped.

"Oh. It's you."

"I was just leaving," I mumbled. I couldn't look him in the eye, not after he was invited to the Waynes' secret movie party and I wasn't. Did he live here now, too?

"Mind if I play?"

"Go ahead," I said, tossing my remote on the couch. "I'm going to get some work done."

I ran to the kitchen and gathered up some dusting cloths and a rag. I knew there were some rooms I hadn't been to yet, and I wanted to go over the entire house at least once, so I was familiar with what was needed where. I decided to start with Bruce's office, a room I'd been told to leave for Alfred, but after how haggard he looked this morning, there was no way I was going to let him deal with a whole office by himself.

And definitely not this office, which had to be one of the grandest rooms in the Manor. Floor to ceiling windows cast long beams of light on an intricate Indian rug. To one side stood a desk of dark, polished wood, and well-stocked bookshelves lined every wall. My eye caught sight of a grandfather clock, stately in its spot of honor behind the desk. Maybe that needed dusting.

As I crossed the room, I stared up at the great big painting hanging over the desk. There were three people in the picture. I didn't know them, but they looked familiar. A man, a woman, and a boy. A family. And the father looked an awful lot like…

"Bruce," I whispered into the silence. "It's the Waynes."

I had heard the sad history of the Wayne family. How they had gone out to a theater one night, and upon leaving, were accosted in a nearby alleyway. Both Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had been shot and killed, leaving Bruce an orphan. Maybe that's why he kept adopting kids - so that he could be the father he didn't get. Dick was an orphan, too; maybe that's why Bruce adopted him. So far, I got the feeling Tim was in the same boat. And I hadn't heard a word - not even the barest whisper - about Damian's mother; maybe she died, too.

What an unlucky family.

I looked around the rest of the room. There were plenty of framed art pieces randomly arranged across the walls, but only one more picture - a portrait of Bruce and all his boys. It was strange to see them all dressed up and serene. I had only ever seen them in jeans and t-shirts. Except Bruce, of course, who didn't seem to grasp the concept of dressing down.

I took a moment to look a little more closely at the grandfather clock and realized suddenly that the time was off. The clock said it was 10:50. I knew for a fact that it was only nine o'clock. I reached out to turn the hands back to the proper time.

"Sam!"

I snatched my hand back and whirled around, all while jumping out of my skin. Bruce Wayne stood in the open doorway, his face livid.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I was just cleaning, Mr. Wayne!" I held up my dusting cloths.

"My office is off limits," Bruce said as he towered over me, his frown casting dark shadows over his eyes. "Please get out."

I ducked my head and ran. I didn't stop running until I came to my bedroom; I dove through the door and slammed it shut. The desk chair creaked angrily as I collapsed into it, panting.

My chest felt hollow, like I was going to cry. Bruce had never been angry with me before. He was scary when he got mad. What was so wrong with going into Bruce's office? Was he afraid of me breaking something? Seeing something?

No, that's silly. I tried to rein in my wild imagination. But something about how he reacted to my presence made shivers of doubt raise the hairs on my arms. Something wasn't right about the Waynes.

I wondered if Alfred could tell me. Maybe I'd try to speak to him about it. But for now, I had to calm down my still racing heart. Bruce Wayne angry would be enough to scare Batman!

/

Alfred entered the kitchen with a heavy, anxious heart. He knew Samantha would be in there, working hard. Too hard. She didn't look healthy anymore. Granted, she hadn't looked very healthy at all since her mother died; grief explained that. But ever since she started working at Wayne Manor, she continued to look worse. Alfred knew the signs of fatigue well; he had to bear seeing them in the faces of the Waynes every morning after a long, hard night of keeping Gotham safe.

May dear Samantha never have to live like that.

Alfred opened the door to find Samantha mopping the floor on her side of the kitchen. She looked up with a smile as bright as ever.

"Hello."

"Samantha," Alfred said. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah!" She scrunched up her forehead. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm worried you've set yourself some very high standards. I just want you to know you don't have to do all the work, just for me."

Samantha smiled less brightly. "About working… I tried to dust in Bruce's office today."

Alfred's heart dropped. "Oh."

Samantha let the mop rest, her face cycling through a million emotions. "Yeah… he got really mad. And I was just wondering… why?"

She was hurt. Alfred's heart cracked in two. Bruce's anger had probably scared her. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, a protective gesture. But the way the space between her eyebrows creased showed she was more worried than scared.

She probably interpreted Bruce's strict secrecy as unhappiness with her. And it was all because of the doorway - the secret doorway hidden behind the grandfather clock. Which she could never know about, so don't even think about it, or you might get loose lips.

"I think…" Alfred swallowed hard, trying to control himself. "I think he's just worried about… having a space to himself."

"But he was so upset… I could see it on his face, he wasn't just annoyed, he was angry." Samantha furrowed her brow. "I thought he might have been worried about me breaking something, but he doesn't seem like the sort of person who would blow up over a broken vase."

Alfred tugged at his collar. "I'm sure he was just having a bad day."

Samantha cocked her head. "Because he was up late, watching a movie with the rest of you?"

"Yes, that must be it."

Samantha didn't look satisfied. In fact, she looked more upset than ever. "Does he ever shout at you?"

"I don't… well, I know him better."

"I'm sure." Samantha began mopping vigorously. "I'm sure it makes all the difference, being a part of the family and not just the hired help. You know all the rules, all the do's and don'ts. You don't have to worry about tripping up and accidentally making the whole family angry with you for ruining their day."

"Samantha," Alfred said, disliking the new tone this conversation was taking. "I don't think you're approaching this the right way."

Samantha threw the mop to the floor. "Well, then, why don't you help me? Maybe you could teach me how not to be a nuisance, maybe tell me what the Waynes hate so I don't accidentally tick them all off! Maybe even tell me the real reason Bruce doesn't want me in his office, because no matter what excuse you come up with, I can tell you've made it up! And the other excuses, too. Movie nights that turn you all into deflated zombies? I've never heard a more obvious lie in my life!"

Alfred could feel his fear becoming visual. The wall of secrets that kept her safe was almost tangible, hovering between them - the uncle and his niece. It physically pained him to keep it up, but for her sake, he could never break it down. She couldn't know about… don't even think it. Think it, and it might become as clear as that wall.

"And do you know what else I'm not buying?" Samantha growled. "Family. You said I'd be a part of this household, a real part of a real family. But if they're keeping secrets from me - if you, my real family, are keeping secrets from me - if I'm a liability to whatever you're hiding, then I'm not one of you. And maybe that's what's wrong with me, Uncle. Maybe, even living under the same roof as six other people, I'm still just as alone as I was the day Mom died!"

The room fell into a ringing silence. Samantha stood frozen and stiff in a puddle of soapy water, a mop laying at her feet like a dead thing. Alfred tried to speak, but what could he say? There was nothing to say. He had to keep the secret.

This secret was destroying them.

Samantha hid her face, her hair falling around it like a veil. Alfred knew she didn't want to talk; frankly, neither did he. If he talked any more, he'd start spilling secrets. And that wouldn't help her in any way.

Alfred took a deep breath and tapped into his acting skills. "I'm going to start lunch. How much longer do you think you'll be?"

Samantha stirred. She bent down and picked up the mop. "Not long."

"Would you mind doing my side when you're done?"

"Not at all."

They worked in silence, half ignoring each other. Alfred wondered if she wanted to speak to him as much as he wanted to speak to her. But until he learned to control these dangerous urges to blurt out everything he knew about Batman, Alfred would have to keep his mouth shut.