Authors note: this chapter feels really awkward. I kept going over and over it and I give up! But I tried my hardest...
NOT MINE: BATMAN universe/MINE: MARI WAYNE
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Chapter 2: Play Pretend and Question When
The first night after Mari had come to Wayne manor, the three of them sat down to dinner together. Richard was nervous the whole time, afraid that he would say the wrong thing, afraid that she would find out he was Robin (he still wasn't that good at hiding himself at home), but mostly afraid that she would cry. At that point the memory of his own parents' deaths were feeling rather fresh. The Joker was still at large for the death of Mrs. Dent, and Mr. Dent had turned into a super-villain. There was really nothing he could do. The whole meal had been really dark, until they got to the dumplings.
Mari's eyes had lit up when Alfred put the chopsticks on her plate. They were black plastic with dragon designs on them, cheap but cute. She pulled them out of their case and ate three dumplings before breathing again. Then she noticed him staring, and he blushed, looking down at his plate. Then she said the first thing that he had heard out of her mouth in hours.
"Do you know how to use chopsticks? I... I can show you?" Everything she said had been a question, as if she was asking permission to speak. She leaned over the table and took his right hand, positioning his chopsticks, moving his fingers. "Like that, I guess?" She sat back in her chair, scooting it closer to the table with little jumps. Alfred, noticing her predicament, pushed her in. "Thank you?"
"It's not a problem, Miss Mari." Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered something, and Richard stood up, lost in the moment.
"Here," he carefully speared one of his dumplings and brought it to her plate, "you can have one of mine."
The whole time Bruce just watched, not saying anything, as the two children shared dumplings, smiles, and unspoken sadness.
One time when I was little, Robin kissed me. It wasn't a very good kiss, since it was on my forehead and he was only eight, but it set something in motion throughout the city. Since that moment Mari Wayne has been Batman's girl. Batman's girl is always in danger, from her crazy father to the Penguin. My umbrella is made out of Kevlar and high-grade aluminum, but his has a knife in it. Joker likes to throw cards with metal edges on it, and Bane is well, Bane. And yet, with such heavy competition, I'm still in danger from thugs with guns tonight. I know they have guns because I haven't had a chance to move out of the den. Where the famous artist handpicked his favorite piece just for Bruce, since Bruce Wayne has become a great purveyor of the arts.
Technically it's my fault, since I'm the one who liked the piece. It's a lake with swans and a girl in a flowy white dress. She's carrying a parasol and staring out longingly. It reminded me of England, the first foreign country I went to. So to see a bunch of thugs come in with guns and start to take it down put me in a fist-fighting mood. It was hard enough to be in the same room as them, let alone stay out of their sight. I'm wedged between a bookcase and the couch, the tightest space I could get myself into. They run around like little ants. My chest is killing me, and the small of my back is screaming, but I can't stretch without making noise. I can hardly breathe. Long moments pass before I feel a thump against my face. Someone's in the hall. How many someones? And why are they silent, instead of busting in here to save Mari Wayne? I'm ticked off now that there's nothing left for me to do but be afraid. My hands are shaking and I focus on remembering as many details as I can about the perps in case they get away.
The door bursts open with a shout of "Freeze!" It is the Commissioner, I recognize his voice. I cover my face as three police officers rush into the room, their flashlights startling the four art thieves into dropping a painting onto the carpet. But they quickly recover, falling behind a couch with their guns sticking out like a deadly porcupine. Before a firefight can break out, I take a paperweight off of the shelf and throw it over both couches. I may not have the full use of my legs, but I can cause a distraction. The thieves jump out like its a butterfly grenade, straight into the line of fire.
"Drop your guns," Commissioner Gordon says smoothly, not sparing me a glance. This was way easier then I made it out to be half an hour ago. Two more officers find the room thanks to my noise-making diversion, and the situation is quickly taken care of. The Commissioner shoves the couch out of the way so that he can help me up. I feel dizzy, and I exaggerate my fear, unable to stand.
"Are you alright, Mari?" He knows exactly how disabled I am and sets me down on the couch again.
"Where's Alfred?" I have to know. That was the whole point, to protect Alfred.
"He's fine, he'll just have a killer headache," a female officer says as they push the thieves out of the room.
"Mari, look at me." I wipe my forehead as I turn back to Gordon. He looks afraid for me, and I try to smile.
"Don't worry, I'm used to it," I assure him. "I'm just tired."
"Where are Wayne and Dick?"
I try to be as vague as a police investigation will allow. "I don't know, they went out but I don't..." I put my hands up to my face and cry. Pretend crying is the first thing I learned about my double life. Bruce is a playboy and Dick is a genius, but I'm a crybaby. "I can't remember right now. I just want Alfred."
Gordon remembers that I'm only thirteen and pulls me into a hug. "It's alright, you did a good job calling us. It was just bad luck that you ended up in the same room as them." I sniffle and try to nod. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" I go through my body, and I'm just tired. Besides, there's only one doctor besides Batman who has been trusted with the fact that I'm an alien.
"No," I insist, then whisper, "I'm not bleeding so I don't want to risk it."
"Are you sure, because we can call Dr. Tompkins." I shake my head again.
"I just want to make sure Alfred's okay."
"Okay, but don't force yourself, Mari." He helps me up and we head down the hall to the foyer. Alfred is sitting on the ground with a paramedic holding a piece of gauze to his forehead. He looks dejected, probably feeling the same way as me: What good are we without Batman? Someone's found my wheelchair, the one that is always lying around somewhere, but I ignore it and walk over to the group of officers.
"Miss Wayne!" Alfred calls out when he sees me.
"Alfred!" I run the last few steps to his side and collapse in his arms. "Alfred are you okay?" This time my tears are real. It's over, so I don't have to be a bat.
"I'm fine, Miss Wayne, just a bump on the noggin. How are you?"
"She's great," the female officer tells him with pride. "You should have seen her, Mr. Pennyworth. She was really brave."
"I have no doubt of that," Alfred tells her.
"All I did was call the police...," I insist, thinking 'that was all I could do.' But if I had gone all bat and beaten them up, it would have been pretty obvious.
"Mr. Pennyworth, Miss Wayne," Gordon said."We'll have to bring you in for questioning but I think it can wait until the morning. We look out the front door and the sky is already lighter. "Well, until later in the morning. Does Mr. Pennyworth need to get checked out?"
"No," the paramedic says, writing things down on a electronic tablet. "He probably doesn't even have a concussion, though he should be careful for a few days."
"Okay, then." Gordon turns to us and I know exactly what he's going to ask. "Where's Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson?"
Alfred, the better liar, fields the question. "They went to Metropolis for the night. They should be back later today."
"Okay," Gordon seems annoyed. He never really did like Bruce, even for my sake. "I'll need a number where I can reach them."
I stand up, and a wave of dizziness serves a good distraction for both men. "Oh," I force out, leaning against something, which turns out to be the paramedic. "I think I need to lie down now." The paramedic helps me back in my chair, finally. The tiny piece of kryptonite in my back rears its head, like a dragon saying: Hey, you forgot about me! The adrenaline that took me up the stairs, through this adventure, and down the hall to the foyer is all gone, and I'm left with a extremity-tingling feeling all throughout my body and the knowledge that I'm gonna be sore in the morning.
I ignore the rest of the conversation, since they're just talking about me, and wait for Alfred to wheel me to my room. I haven't seen it in a while, being down in the batcave and all, and I sink into the mattress like it was a giant feather pillow.
"Alfred, where are they really?" I ask him as he hands me pajamas. "They wouldn't answer the communicator."
"I'm afraid I'm in the dark just as much as you, Miss Mari," he says with a sigh. "They don't always tell me what they're doing either." We smile at eachother tiredly. Just another night, so usual and familiar. They're probably on some covert op with the justice league. Commissioner Gordon is worried for my mind and body, but the truth is, tonight was easy. I thought the worse, like Joker showing up to kidnap me.
"It was just art thieves, Alfred!" I chuckle. "Of all the things, art thieves!"
Alfred has to chuckle too. "I still got hit on the head, though, I'm afraid. Do you need anything else tonight?"
"No," I tell him, thoroughly amused. "See you in the morning."
Bruce Wayne, also known as the Batman, had spent a large amount of his fortune insuring that I could walk someday. I feel like I exceeded expectations by joining him and Dick in the fight against evil. No one, not even my adopted father Harvey Dent, ever associated me with Silver Bat. She was powerful, I was weak. When I turned into myself again, like a pumpkin after midnight, I must have made him feel pretty bad. He must have felt responsible for the incident. Not only had he placed me in the home where the mother gets killed by super-villains, the father turns into a super-villain, and I had been tossed around by social workers (putting my secret in danger), but once he had repaired everything as best he could-a new family, a new purpose for living-I was in a wheelchair again. It hadn't been his fault that the battle with the vampire formerly known as Dracula ended up in a cave full of kryptonite, or that I had been knocked over an underground cliff, or anything. It wasn't even his fault, as some supposed, that he could save Harvey Dent from the acid that had driven him over the edge.
It was the ridiculous feeling of blame that had led to last night's events. He, in order to insure that I didn't know where he was going, hadn't told Alfred either. So I wasn't surprised that they hadn't left word that they were fighting him last night. Dracula, or the fake him anyway, had risen from the dead the way vampires do, and had in a flurry of teeth and stakes been killed off for real. After that, Batman went back through the night to retrieve an unconscious Robin and his lost communicator. I'll leave his moment of regret and responsibility to others to imagine.
After dealing with art thieves, who had turned out to be rather anti-climatic, and hazarding Gordon's unanswerable questions, I was exhausted. Alfred, now sporting gauze on the back of his head, helped me up to my room where I fell asleep immediately. I'm guessing I got about two hours of sleep before dawn woke me up. Over breakfast in bed, Dick told me what happened, and then I told him.
Now, at lunch time, after wheeling myself to the den only to find that Bruce was already gone, Dick was at school, and Alfred was asleep (not that I blame him), I'm left feeling rather mad. I know I should be worried about them getting hurt, but it happens regularly, so now that they're okay I can't keep the feeling up. Anger is the only emotion left. Well, that and sadness, cause I know that down there in the Batcave is an unfinished letter to my brother. I rub my forehead, taking a break from spread mayonnaise on sourdough bread. What am I supposed to do now?
I wish there would be another crisis. Robin would take care of me, and I could just avoid the problem-Bruce's unreal expectations of all of us. He wants me to be weak, is that why I have been? Why last night I was expecting them to come and save me, and I could barely save myself from low-down thugs? What would have happened if Gordon hadn't showed up.
"Dear Diary," I say to the sandwich as I add bologna and cheese, "How do I do this? Why am I so angry? Why am I talking to a sandwich?" Pickles and lettuce, tomatoes and mustard, la de da de da! I have to reach awkwardly to grab the pickles, since the table in the kitchen is almost as high up as my forehead, and my back twists. The pickle jar rolls away, splashing everything with vinegar.
"AUGH! DAMNIT I CAN'T DO THIS!" I cry, grabbing the mayo and throwing it against the wall. It feels good, and the sound of durable glass cracking is oddly satisfying. So I throw the mustard. It's in a plastic squirty bottle and I'm left wanting more. I throw the head of lettuce against the china cabinet, and the tomatoes against the stove. I rip up a piece of bologna with my teeth like a dog as I throw the cheese in every which direction. I grab the fork and throw my arm up over my head, aiming for the stove. Someone grabs me, and I yank out of the firm grip, turning around with a growl to see Bruce and Alfred. Bruce takes my hand again and takes the fork from it.
How dare he interrupt my therapy? I'm riled up again and I smack him. I have to stand up to reach his face. The look he gives me is not right, it's too sad and pitying. I thought that he would understand, I guess, though I don't know why. I thought he could understand that feeling of not being able to do things right. I wheel myself past him, bumping him with my elbow, and into the hall. Someone comes after me, but I speed up until I reach the low stair separating the front door from the rest of the house. The way down jolts me again, and dammit it hurts! Sore muscles cry out, and I gasp. Whoever's behind me grabs the handles on the back of the chair, and I whirl around to see...
Alfred, of course. Bruce wouldn't come. "Wait, please, Miss Mari," he starts, but I'm not having any of it. Even with pickle juice on me, I don't want to be anywhere near that man.
"Don't 'please' me, Alfred. You were in danger last night because he was stupid enough to go chasing after ghosts all night. What if Gordon hadn't believed us about Bruce going out of town? What if he had shown up in the middle of the interview all Batted up or whatever? What if Dick hadn't gotten just knocked out? Leave me alone damnit, until he can answer that!" I yank on the door, but it's locked. "ARGH!" I don't like this at all. Why is everything so messed up? I burst into tears.
"The whole time I thought that they were dead or something! Why else wouldn't they come? What if they got killed? What if you got killed? What if they killed me and did a weird alien autospy? What if our identities were compromised?" Alfred wraps his arms around me, and I cry into his shoulder. "I was so scared!" I wail, finally letting everything out. "I hate him!"
"No you don't, not really, or you wouldn't be mad," Alfred gently insists.
"I'm mad because he always has to do everything himself, and then he gets messed up about letting me get hurt when if he was a little smarter than everyone would be perfectly fine," I huff, knowing that the great detective never asks for help. Everyday he gets more and more alone. Someday something's gonna happen to Dick and then he'll just break and really abandon us. Abandon us to save us, in his mind. "I want to see Richard," I tell Alfred after holding on to him for a while.
"Master Grayson will be home in a couple of hours," Alfred tells me quietly as he straightens and pulls my chair back up to the level of the foyer. "But how about a bath, first? So you don't smell like pickles all day."
We chuckle together, and I smile weakly. "Probably a good idea."