"You went through my things?" Helena gasped in disbelief. She lurched forward to grab the device. "It's not a bomb, I promise, but please don't drop it!" She took it from his hands and placed it gently on the bed. She spun to face him. "I can't believe you went through my backpack."
"If you've seen what I have, you wouldn't blame me." Alfred's eyes were dark. "If it's not a bomb, what is it?"
"I can't tell you."
"Miss Bertinelli, if you think for one moment I'm going to let you get Master Bruce mixed up in something like this—"
"I'm not trying to—"
"You can't even keep your story straight." Alfred stopped her. "You think I couldn't notice when you were explaining your tale back there? The story about Hugo Strange is rubbish. I don't even know if that rock is what you're even after at the Lab. But I've seen enough people take advantage of that boy, and I won't let you do the same."
"I wish I could tell you, all right!" Helena was so exhausted she felt like she could cry. "I wish I could explain everything. You don't know how much I want to. But if I do I might just make things worse!"
"You tell me the truth, or you leave right now."
Helena knew he meant it. She took a deep breath. Alfred was better at keeping secrets than anyone she knew. And if he did know the truth, he would be an important ally. The trouble was, she wasn't sure he would believe her when she did tell him.
She sat down on the bed and looked at her feet. "The device is a time machine," she said quietly. "I didn't build it and I don't know where it came from. I accidentally triggered it and ended up here." She looked up at him. "I couldn't get it to send me back, and when I took it apart, I found out it was the power source had shattered." She reached into the backpack and dumped out the small pieces of the stone into her hand. "I've been trying to find out what this is and how I can fix it, if I even can. The closest thing I've found is that stone in Wayne Labs. That's why I need help."
Alfred looked shaken. He ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the bench of the vanity.
"Do you believe me?" she asked. His reaction wasn't what she had expected.
"I once lived with a clone of Bruce Wayne for months without noticing," he said. "I've learned that anything is possible."
"Even time travel?" Helena prodded.
"As much as it pains me to open myself to the possibility of it, yes."
She exhaled in relief. "You can't tell anyone," she said. "I mean, you really, really can't. Especially not…" she nodded towards the door..."them."
Alfred closed his eyes a moment and sighed. "Please don't tell me they're your parents or something." The look on his face said he already knew.
Helena looked at him apologetically, and Alfred swore.
"You know, you'd wash my mouth out with soap if I ever said anything like that," Helena couldn't help but say.
Alfred ran a hand over the bottom half of his face.
"I understand it's…difficult. It's hard for me, too." She furrowed her brows. "What did you think I was up to? You must have thought it serious enough if it meant prying through my things."
"At best, I thought you had your own agenda to save your own skin from something. At worst, I thought you might be working for Strange himself. Both Bruce and Selina have gotten tangled up with him and his experiments before, and you look so much like them I feared…"
"Oh my gosh." Helena made a disgusted face. "You thought I was some weird hybrid of them that he made in a lab or something? Gross."
"As I said…anything is possible. To be brutally honest, learning your existence originated by the usual manner of such things is something of a relief." He paused. "Surprisingly."
Helena walked over to the fireplace and removed the brick. "This is actually my room, you know," she said, pulling out her wallet. She pulled out her driver's license and handed it to him.
Alfred ran his finger over her picture. "Helena Martha."
"It means "shining light,' " Helena said. "Dad always said that was important, that he wanted me to always know that no matter how dark things get, there's always a light."
"And the Martha is after your grandmother," Alfred said.
Helena nodded. "Yeah," she said softly.
"You're…you're really Bruce's little girl, aren't you?" His voice cracked on the last word of the sentence, the weight of her identity suddenly hitting him.
Helena nodded and felt her eyes water. After a moment's hesitation, Alfred pulled her close to him and hugged her. She couldn't stop the tears now; she cried into his shoulder.
"I just want to go back home, Alfred," she said into his shoulder. "I want my parents to know who I am, and I want the rest of my family back, and—and I want your oatmeal cookies."
Alfred pulled away so he could look at her. "When you get back home, because you will," Alfred said firmly, "I'll make sure those cookies will be ready for you."
Helena laughed a little through her tears and wiped her eyes. "That would be nice."
"You've got his eyes," he said, looking at her a moment. "You look like your mother, but you've got his eyes."
"I inherited a lot more than that from him, or at least that's what mom tells me when I'm being stubborn." She smiled.
Alfred shook his head. "Your mother." He rolled his eyes upward and sighed. "Of course."
"Believe it or not, apparently you're thrilled when they get married, Alfred. I have it on good authority."
"Oh, whose?"
She smiled. "Your own." To Helena's memory, Alfred and Selina had always been close, probably from decades of ganging up on Bruce to keep him from getting himself though their relationship now certainly seemed rockier, Helena had the suspicion that neither of them disliked each other as much as they pretended to.
"She does grow on one, I'll give her that," Alfred admitted. He glanced at Helena's driver's license again, and she laughed.
"Don't worry, Alfred. I'm not born for a long, long time." She took the wallet from him and hid it back in the fire place.
"Now that my mind is set to rest on that account," Alfred began, sitting down, "tell me all that you know about this time machine."
"How are you doing, Miss Helena?"
"A little better," she croaked from her bed, talking around the thermometer in her mouth. She couldn't breathe out of her left nostril, and her throat felt like it was on fire. In all her eight years, she couldn't remember feeling so sick. For the past hour she'd been blearily watching Robin Hood, and while it had always been one of her favorites, it was hard to enjoy it when she felt so sick.
"Well, this should help." Alfred brought her a tray with a bowl of soup and some crackers, and she perked up.
"Chicken noodle?" she asked, pushing herself up so she sat against the pillows.
"Homemade." Alfred set the tray down on the nightstand and took the thermometer out of her mouth. "Hmmm." He looked disapprovingly at it. "You still have a fever."
Helena had already started on the soup. It felt amazing on her throat, so amazing that she would have kept on eating it even if she hadn't been hungry.
"Slow down, Miss Helena. We don't want you to choke, now do we?"
Helena slowed her slurping. "Thank you for the soup, Alfred." She licked a drop of it off of her bottom lip. "Can you turn off the TV, Alfred? My eyes are tired."
Alfred did so. "Would you like a book?"
Helena shook her head. She already had a small headache, and she knew reading would make it worse.
"Would you like me to read to you, then?"
Helena brightened up a bit. "Yes, please." She pointed to the book on her dresser. "I was going to start on that one before I got sick."
Alfred picked it up. "Ah. The Mark of Zorro. That was always a favorite of your father's."
"It was?" Helena perked up.
"This is a second copy," Alfred said. "He read the first one so much it fell apart. Now, shall I begin?"
Helena nodded, and Alfred cleared his throat.
"Again the sheet of rain beat against the roof of red Spanish tile," he began, "and the wind shrieked like a soul in torment, and smoke puffed from the big fireplace as the sparks were showered over the hard dirt floor."
Helena snuggled deeper under the blankets.
" 'Tis a night for evil deeds!"
The flippant Don Diego, disguised as the masked hero Zorro, had just dueled the villain Gonzales by the time Helena's eyes fluttered closed and fell into a deep sleep assisted by cold medicine.
She awoke two hours later to cool finger pressing against her cheek and forehead. She opened her eyes to see her mother, still wearing work clothes. She hadn't even taken her heels off yet. Her mother usually didn't leave Helena when she was sick like this, but she'd had a meeting at the orphanage and couldn't miss it. Helena knew how important the orphanage was to her mother. Not that Selina had good memories of her time there—but perhaps that was why she was so passionate about helping the children who ended up without a home or family.
"How are you doing, kitten?" she asked. "You still feel warm."
Helena shrugged. "Too sick for school."
Mom smiled at this. "I'm sure you are. But Alfred's taken good care of you."
Helena nodded. "He always does."
Mom sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the book Alfred had been reading. "Zorro, huh?"
"I already watched The Great Mouse Detective and Robin Hood," Helena said, and reached for her glass of water, which her mom handed to her. "My eyes were tired." She took a sip and then handed the glass back to her mother, who set in on the nightstand.
"I bet they are." Her mother gently ran her hand over Helena's eyes and kissed her forehead. "You go back to sleep now. You need your rest. Okay?"
"'kay." Helena yawned. She didn't need to be told twice. "I'm glad your home."
"Me too, baby. I'll always be here whenever you need me."