PART 1A FOUR: New Life

Elle

People say that you only live one life. That's great and all, but I disagree. It's true that you only live once, but to only live one life? I suppose it depends on how you look at it. It seems that the consensus is that life is equal to how many years are spent breathing. But what about those actual, individual years? The days? The hours, the minutes? I think those are more important. What is done in those times is what defines your life, not how long you're breathing.

I mean, you can live to be 102 years old, but if all you did was follow everyone else and not think for yourself or do what you enjoy, did you really live? No. I don't think so. You just lived like everybody else seemed to be instead of living like you should have. And therefore, I don't think you really lived. Such a waste of oxygen and time.

Then there's the consensus that you only live one life. Once again, it all depends on your definition of life. It's similar to what living is – doing what you want and what you enjoy – except it's broken down even further. You live the life of a child, then the life of a college student or the life of a soldier or something like that, then the life of whatever you decide to do.

For instance, I lived the life of a child when I was with my birth family. Then I was forced to grow up some and live with strangers. I lived the life of a foster child. And now, I'm living the life of a soon-to-be-adopted girl in Wayne Manor.

It all depends on perspective.

Thursday, June 21

Breakfast was at nine. Alfred came in and woke me up at 8:30. I spent the next half hour marveling at how there actually seemed to be a bit of a fixed schedule with the Batfamily, something that hadn't existed for me in years. I dressed in Tim's clothes after showering and made my way to the kitchen. I was glad that I didn't get lost. That would have been embarrassing.

I sat at the table cautiously, still unused to the fact that I lived there now. Bruce and Tim both looked sleepy, so I kept quiet. Alfred served a large breakfast, which I ate wholeheartedly. I hadn't eaten so well for a long time.

I kind of zoned out for most of the meal, partly because I was tired – I was a bit of an insomniac and definitely not a morning person – and partly because I was bored. But when Tim and Bruce started talking about what I assumed was something that had happened last night on their patrol, I started paying attention.

"– who he was in contact with," Bruce finished saying.

I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be included and I wanted to know what had happened. "Who who was in contact with?"

Tim and Bruce glanced at each other, as if to wonder if I should be told anything. I pushed down my frustration. I wasn't naïve to crime. And it wasn't like I was going to tell anyone. Who would I tell?

"It's just someone we interrogated last night," Tim said, trying to shrug it off.

Ha. As if it was that simple. The way they'd been talking suggested it was something serious. And I wanted to know what. I had a right to know that, didn't I?

"Who?" I asked, keeping my voice calm. It wouldn't help to lose composure in front of my future adopted family.

"No one," Bruce stated darkly. Obviously, then, it was someone important. Someone so important that they couldn't tell me.

Or they just wanted me in the dark.

Frustrated and maybe a little jealous, I put down my fork and looked between Tim and Bruce. "I'm not a child," I said, half-lightly, half-seriously. "I can handle it. I want to know."

"It's none of your concern," Bruce said.

"But –"

"Master Bruce, perhaps it is best to include Miss Elle in the details about your night job," Alfred interrupted. I shot him a small smile of gratitude.

"End of discussion," Bruce repeated firmly. "It doesn't concern you."

It was like a slap in the face. Like I'd been invited to a club, only for a last-minute sign to say 'Bats only.' I felt like even more of an outsider. I'd always been worried that I wouldn't belong, but to basically tell me that I wasn't allowed to know anything about their patrols? That hurt. Surprisingly a lot.

"You look good in my clothes," Tim teased, trying to lighten the tension.

It didn't help. And I was still angry. And this was a very obvious change-the-subject-quick quip. I decided to let the conversation move on, despite my hurt and anger. I stuck my tongue out at Tim.

"Shut up," I whined playfully. I turned to Bruce. I was far from over the hurt, but it was time to pretend that I was. "So how's the adoption thing going?"

Bruce smiled slightly. "It's going. Lots of papers to sign. Lots of waiting."

"And you did this how many times?" I mocked.

That was a mistake on my part. I was a lot more sarcastic when I was hurt and angry. Not to mention, what I'd said reminded me with a pang that I wasn't the first. I was the fourth. Suddenly I realized how Jason must have felt when Tim had become Robin. I wasn't the one being replaced, but it felt like I was just there. Like I wasn't important.

"Very funny," Tim said, rolling his eyes. But he was smiling.

Alfred took our dishes to the sink. Once again, I offered to help clean up. Once again, he declined. I followed Tim and Bruce out of the room. Feeling left out and a bit lonely and useless, I matched my pace with Bruce's.

"So, what can I do?" I asked.

Bruce shot me a confused look. "Do?"

"Yeah," I said. "I want to do something. Laundry? Vacuuming? Washing windows? If I'm staying here I want to help." I don't want to be useless, was what I wanted to say. I'm not going to break, I wanted to say. Let me do something, I wanted to say.

"You don't have to do anything," Bruce told me. "You're a part of this family now."

"Besides, Alfred's got you beat on all those points," Tim pointed out. I shrugged.

"I guess."

"Before I forget, I have something to give you," Bruce said to me.

Tim went off somewhere while I followed Bruce. He went into his room. I hesitated to follow. It was his personal space. His privacy. I didn't want to intrude. So I stayed in the hallway until Bruce returned with a small box. I gave him a curious glance before opening the box. Inside it was a black cell phone.

"Wow," I said. "You didn't have to. Really."

"It's a good idea to be able to get in touch in case something happens," Bruce replied. He had me there. "It has internet connection, too. You're probably better off asking Tim what else included, though." I grinned. "I already put my, Dick's, Tim's, and the house phone numbers in the contacts."

"Great," I said. "Thanks. Thanks a bunch!"

Bruce glanced at his watch, then began fast-walking away. He shouted back something about work. And I was left alone once again.

I wandered the halls, trying to figure out what I could do. I mean, there was always going out into the city, but with all the crime, plus with Bruce Wayne adopting me, it probably wasn't a good idea. Not to mention, I didn't like going places alone. It made me feel vulnerable.

So I tried to find Tim. I found him with his own laptop, but he looked so engrossed in whatever he was doing that I felt like I was intruding. So I left. Alfred was doing whatever Alfred did, probably. Which left me. Alone.

I didn't want to get in the way of anything, so I returned to my bedroom. Even that made me feel lonely and small and alone. The room was huge. White walls. Wood floor. An empty bookcase. A nightstand with a lamp. Plain white sheets on the bed. Plain white pillows. It wasn't me at all. It was a stranger's room. It was a guest room.

I just lied in my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I wasn't in the mood for watching Batman. But I had nothing else to do. I was useless. And boring. And bored. And then my cell phone buzzed. Confused at who would be texting me, I looked at the ID. I smiled. It was Dick. I opened the message.

DICK: How's B treating you? Like a queen, I hope!

I raised an eyebrow. I wasn't fragile. Just because I was of the female sex didn't mean I needed to be – nor wanted to be – treated differently. I smirked.

ELLE: He has yet to kneel at my feet. Oh, well.

DICK: …You can be sarcastic! Good job! Have a cookie! (::)

ELLE: Shouldn't you be working?

DICK: I'm bored.

ELLE: Of course. So all the crime stops when Dick Grayson is on duty. Seems about right.

DICK: I'll take that cookie back now.

ELLE: I already ate it. Go buy some donuts or something.

DICK: Somebody's snarky.

ELLE: And?

DICK: Aren't you supposed to be shy?

ELLE: Aren't you supposed to be working?

DICK: But I don't wanna!

ELLE: Not my problem.

Dick never replied after that. I assumed he had gone back to work or whatever. But I was suddenly all too lonely once more.

I stayed in my room all day except for a quick lunch. Tim had said that he was in the middle of something and ate very little before returning to his laptop. Alfred apologized for him. I talked a little with Alfred, but eventually even he had to go do chores. I found a television and watched random shows until later.

Bruce returned late. Tim had already gone down to the Batcave after promising Alfred he'd eat a large breakfast tomorrow. I didn't want to intrude, but I wanted to see the Batcave in action. What was it like when it was in use? I started to follow Bruce to the Batcave, but he stopped me.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I want to see what you guys do in the Batcave," I replied.

"You already know," Bruce said.

"But not in person," I countered.

"I don't want you seeing what's on the computer."

"I'm not a baby!" I snapped. I blushed, realizing I had just raised my voice at Batman. "I'm sorry."

Bruce stared at me. "You're staying up here," Bruce stated. "And that's final."

He left, somehow knowing that I wouldn't follow. And I didn't. Because that's what I always did. I followed orders like a good girl. So I retreated to my room. As soon as I'd closed the door, I started crying. I curled up on my bed and sobbed like the baby I had just claimed not to be.

This had been a bad idea. I was just a burden. And oh so alone in a big, empty room and a big, lonely mansion with almost nothing to call my own.