For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, Annabeth turned over and tried to find a more comfortable position on her mattress. It had been the cheapest acquisition she had made when moving in to her condo; she had found it on a dubious Craigslist ad for only two hundred dollars, and while it was functional—barely—it was by no means comfortable. It was the primary reason, in fact, why Janey always opted to sleep on the slightly-broken couch, and the reason why she was perched out there now while Annabeth tossed and turned about in her bedroom.
Annabeth could hear Janey out there now—3AM in the morning, and the crazy woman was still awake, typing away on her laptop. Like the true friend she was, Janey had agreed to stay at her place that night, to help her pack and to see her off in the morning. As soon as Annabeth's bags were packed—one small suitcase stuffed with with clothes and cosmetics that Janey had forced upon her, a laptop bag, and a briefcase stuffed with files and other bits of work—Annabeth had collapsed onto her bed, eager to gain a few hours' sleep before Bruce and his butler picked her up at the first light of dawn.
But sleep did not appear to be forthcoming, which was no surprise... sleep was, at best, an irregular visitor to her home. And tonight, Annabeth was simply too wound up to sleep. She was equally apprehensive and curious about what the weekend might hold for her. Given Bruce's insistence on separate bedrooms, at least the question of seduction seemed a fairly unlikely issue to arise, which was just as well, in her opinion. But even with that wild card removed from the deck, it would no doubt be an interesting weekend.
From beyond her closed door, Annabeth heard the couch creak in protest as Janey shifted her weight. Whatever she was up to out there, it had to be better than waiting in vain for sleep to creep up on her, and so Annabeth threw back the covers and crept out of the bed. She slowly opened the bedroom door, trying hard to be quiet and not startle Janey, but she wasn't quiet enough. Janey looked up from her laptop and smiled. "No sleep for you, huh?"
"Nothing unusual there," Annabeth sighed. She ambled over to the armchair that faced Janey and settled down there. "What's your excuse?"
Janey's mischievous grin was a familiar and therefore soothing thing. "Starting shit with someone on the Internet."
"Again?" Annabeth raised her eyebrows. At times, Janey was even more strong-willed and opinionated than she herself was, and the anonymity of the Internet was a tantalizing medium for Janey to air her opinions and challenge what she perceived—often not incorrectly—to be the raging stupidity of others. "You know what they say about arguing on the Internet…it's like winning the Special Olympics. You may win, but you're still retarded."
"Annabeth!" Janey looked appalled, most likely by the source than the statement. "Good god, where'd you get that?"
"Where do you think? I overheard one of the kids at work say it yesterday. Isn't it awful?"
Janey shook her head and set aside her laptop. "You really need to try to get some sleep. You're going to look like hell tomorrow if you don't, and you don't want that to happen. Some of those people will be like piranhas—if they smell blood, they'll tear you apart."
"I know," Annabeth yawned. "But it won't make me go to sleep any faster. Maybe I'll nap on the way up."
"Oh, that'll be nice. Maybe you can on Bruce's shoulder." Janey smiled at this image, and then moved on to more important matters. "We packed some blush for you, right? You're so damned pale, it'd be a disaster if we forgot it."
"Yes, mom," Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Seriously, calm down. It'll be fine. You're more anxious about this than I am."
Janey shot her a knowing look. "I'm anxious because I fully expect you to do something to sabotage this whole thing you've got going on with Bruce. You're fine now, but I bet if all of this went on for too much longer and started to work out, you'd flip."
That was the problem with people that knew you so well, Annabeth realized. They could call you in on your bullshit and point out the flaws about yourself that you'd rather forget about. Nonetheless, she felt the need to challenge Janey. "That's a bunch of hooey. I'm not flipping now. Why would I flip?"
"Because you hate change, you little ninny." There was a certain tone of pity, but also exasperation, in Janey' s voice. "Because your life was so unstable for the first eighteen damned years of it. Now that you've gotten to the point where you've established a little stability and security for yourself, you'd be quite happy scaring off anyone or anything that could shake things up."
"And why is that such a bad thing?" Annabeth demanded. She was annoyed at Janey, but at the same time, she was secretly marveling at how readily and articulately Janey could unleash her brand of brutal brutal honesty at such an ungodly hour. It was probably an extension of her internet retardation.
"Just because things change, that doesn't mean that they're always changing for the worse. Here Bruce has waltzed into your life and made all sorts of changes—for the better, it seems—and you seem to enjoy it, but I can tell…you're getting twitchy. You're feeling threatened. You're enjoying things now, but I'm willing to bet you're going to try to screw things up, just so things can go back to being safe and stable and uneventful."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Annabeth snapped. She rose from the armchair and headed back into the bedroom. "I think I prefer tossing and turning to this crap."
"Be sure you're back out here in two hours." Janey couldn't resist taking a parting shot and having the final word. "We're going to make sure you start this trip looking good—we'll have work to do."
Despite Janey's nagging and Annabeth's rejection of her advice, both of them were their normal sassy, friendly selves to each other when they began to move about the condo a few hours later. It was a familiar enough routine with them. One or the other would speak her mind and rankle the other, and within a few hours, common sense—and the knowledge that the nagger was right—intervened and mellowed them. And so it was that morning, and by 6:30, both of them were standing companionably on the sidewalk in front of Annabeth's building, awaiting Bruce and Alfred's imminent arrival.
The sun had not yet risen over Gotham, but in the grey pre-dawn, the first signs of city life were beginning to stir. Some hardy souls were out jogging, their breath puffing out white clouds of vapor into the chilly morning air. An occasional delivery vehicle chugged past, and in the distance, they could hear the sounds of traffic already beginning to clog the main arteries of the city.
"I think that's them," Janey announced unnecessarily. Both of them could see the stately silver car gliding down the street, and its presence was enough to confirm that Bruce Wayne had arrived—there was no other reason for a Rolls Royce to be present in this middle-class neighborhood of Gotham City.
They watched as Alfred emerged from the vehicle and walked around to open the backseat door; Bruce Wayne stepped out, looking as urbane and handsome as ever, bundled in an impossibly fine wool coat and scarf. Even in the dim morning light, they could see that he didn't look sleepy or groggy in the slightest; it was as though he had been up for hours.
"Damned good genes," Janey muttered, and then found herself temporarily transformed into a simpering mass of estrogen as Bruce flashed her a brilliant smile. There was a ruthless charm about him, she'd give him that—you could tell that his regard for you was genuine, and it was a deeply flattering thing. She watched as he turned his attention to Annabeth and took in her carefully-chosen outfit (chosen by Janey, of course): the double-breasted peacoat, the stylish hat, her carefully-applied makeup, and she allowed herself a moment of smug satisfaction. Bruce may appreciate Annabeth's low-maintenance ways, but he also appreciated a well-turned out woman. Janey took a moment to thank her lucky stars that Annabeth's had agreed to the loan of the clothing and cosmetics now stuffed in her suitcase.
Alfred was looking at that bag now. "Is that all you have, Miss de Burgh?"
"A laptop bag and a briefcase, too…" Annabeth looked a little sheepish. "I didn't pack too much, did I?"
Bruce laughed aloud, Janey giggled, and even Alfred allowed himself a small, gentle smile. "I'm sure you didn't, my dear."
"What's so funny?" Annabeth looked from one amused face to the other. "What did I say?"
"You'll see when we get there, and you see the other women," Bruce promised. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently tugged her closer, and she allowed herself to relax in the warmth emanating from his body. "You look perfect," he whispered to her.
Janey smirked.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Annabeth turned around and waved to Janey from the rear window. After an amused glance at her, Bruce turned around and did the same. It was strange to consider the trip from Annabeth's point of view—an actual vacation, a departure which called for someone to see her off. It had been a long time since anyone bothered to see Bruce off.
After a moment of fierce waving, Annabeth sighed and turned back around to face her present circumstances, and settled back into her seat—although "settled" would hardly be the word Bruce would use to describe her. She sat on the slick leather, bolt upright, shoulders set, back straight. She looked extremely uncomfortable…and nervous.
There was a fair amount of empty seat and tense silence yawning between them, but little things like those weren't going to deter Bruce. He leaned across the back seat and murmured, "Relax." His voice was low and Annabeth swore she could almost feel his breath on her neck.
From the driver's seat, Alfred piped up. "Rest easy, my dear. Gotham City will still be here when you get back, and it will manage just fine without you both for a few days…won't it, Master Wayne?
"No doubt, Alfred." Bruce ignored the pointed tone in Alfred's voice; the older man had spent the better part of the week assuring him that a few days' absence wouldn't make a substantial difference. After all, he had jaunted off to China not that long ago, leaving Gotham open and vulnerable. And it was all in the name of his higher purpose…even this trip to the Elisa/Bradford wedding was for business. Nonetheless, he couldn't shake the persistent feeling of guilt that nagged away at him, even now…
"It feels so strange to be leaving Gotham," Annabeth said reflectively. "I just don't get away from the city much any more."
"Did you ever leave it?" Bruce asked innocently, but there was a teasing lilt to his voice. Annabeth wrinkled her nose in reply and turned her face to gaze out the window at the passing scenery. At first, it was the side of Gotham with which she had grown more familiar over the years: the semi-suburban condos of Bordertown, blending gradually into the seedier areas on the outlying edges of northside Gotham—not nearly as desolate as the Narrows, but still lower-class and ill-maintained. This was where Annabeth had spent the majority of her life, first in apartments that were little more than slums, and then later, shunted about from one foster home to another, some more shabby than others. This was the part of Gotham populated with old duplex houses, chain link fences, grass creeping over the cracked sidewalks, and yards decorated with items traditionally kept within the home. She turned back to Bruce at this point, and was surprised to see him looking at her intensely. It was hard to tell, but it looked as though there was sympathy in his eyes.
"You know this area?" he asked after a moment.
"Is it obvious?" Annabeth smiled ruefully. "These are my old stomping grounds. This is where I grew up, this area." She kept her voice calm, betraying none of the unhappy memories that Bruce was certain lurked in her mind.
"What was it like?"
Annabeth was startled. "What?"
"What was it like?" Bruce persisted. "Living here, living with all of those foster families? I want to know, Annabeth." He twisted his torso so that he faced her and was able to treat her to his most intense, probing stare. "I want to know about you, understand you. And I want to understand this side of Gotham."
In the front seat, Alfred fiddled with some controls, trying desperately to be discreet and disinterested, even as he was absorbing every word. After a moment, a Beethoven concerto began to play softly, providing at least some cover noise for the couple.
"What was it like?" Annabeth repeated softly. "Profoundly unhappy. The fear of your foster family, if you didn't like them, was only outweighed by the fear of being taken away from, or rejected by, a foster family that you did like. And whatever rejection I felt from the foster families—well, it was irrelevant, in the face of the rejection of my own family. To have no family, no permanent home, to be that rootless…it's a pretty shitty feeling." So engrossed in her own thoughts had she become that the pressure on her hand took her by surprise—Bruce had taken her hand and was gently squeezing it as she spoke.
"It was a long time ago," he assured her.
"Was it?" Annabeth looked out the window once more, but that part of Gotham had already slipped past; Alfred had exited onto the interstate, and they were gaining speed. In a moment, they would be crossing the river onto the mainland. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like that long ago. I still dream about it, sometimes. Like how some people dream they're back in school again, or forgot their homework, but for me, I'm back in one of those places, with that constant uncertainty. I think sometimes it's still a part of me."
Now it was Bruce's turn to gaze out the window. Her words resonated with him, more than she could know, and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts. "Maybe it is part of you. Maybe it's just part of your identity, for better or for worse. Maybe that's always going to be the burden you carry."
"That's uncharacteristically bleak." Annabeth was taken aback by the expression on his face; there was an unguarded pain there that she had only seen a time or two before. "Am I rubbing off on you?"
Just like that, the unhappiness in his face melted away. "Only in good ways," Bruce smiled.
By this time, the day was beginning to break, but there was no sun to be seen. As the morning lightened, it became clear that it would be a typically late-autumn day, with high, wispy, grey clouds that would keep the sun's feeble rays from warming the earth. Annabeth shivered a little; it wasn't that she was cold—the heat in the car was going full blast, and the seat warmers were toasting her quite nicely, too—but there was little that could warm the icy core of her which seemed to be forever tied to Gotham.
For a good long while, all of them remained silent; Alfred was concentrating on the drive, and both Bruce and Annabeth looked intently out their respective windows, each occasionally stealing a glance at the other when the other was not looking. Alfred caught them doing this more than once, and smiled to himself. More and more, he was beginning to feel that they were very, very good for each other. It would be almost entertaining to him to see how the weekend would unfold.
Annabeth yawned.
"May as well get comfortable. We've got another four hours…and that's if the weather is good." Bruce became very solicitous of her comfort. "Do you want to lie down?"
"It's a car, Bruce, not an RV." Annabeth shook her head. "There's nowhere to lie down."
"Right here, on the seat." Bruce patted the seat between them. "Unfasten your seatbelt and stretch out…Alfred's a good driver. And you can use my leg as a pillow."
Annabeth cocked one eyebrow.
"I'll be good," Bruce promised. "Scout's honor. And think of how nice it'll feel, stretched out on that warm seat." He held up the coat that he had shed upon settling in for the ride. "How about a blanket, too?"
"I'll be fine." Annabeth said, or at least tried to say, but what came out was "All ee ine" as she yawned again. This time, her jaw popped alarmingly.
"Didn't get much sleep last night?" Bruce asked. He was shrewd enough to guess the truth, and so Annabeth didn't bother to fib.
"I was a little…wound up." Annabeth admitted. "I'm a little bit out of my depth. I can't imagine why you think I'd be a good addition to the crowd this weekend."
In the front seat, Alfred overheard and chortled. "You've spent enough time around that crowd, now, miss, to know that your presence will be a vast improvement on the weekend."
"He's right, you know," Bruce tried to soothe her. "You are very different from most of the people there, but that's why Elisa wanted you to come, and it's why I wanted you to come with me. Relax. Enjoy the time you're spending with me." He grinned. "It's every woman's dream, isn't it?"
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh lord. Is it too late to turn around, Alfred?"
Bruce leaned into her. "Relax. Take a nap." He tugged on her shoulder a little, and met no resistance. After a moment, Annabeth unfastened her seatbelt and lay, lengthwise, across the seat, resting her head on Bruce's thigh. Despite what he said, it wasn't a very good pillow at all, but by that point, Annabeth wasn't really caring. "Just a few minutes," she mumbled right before her eyelids drooped and sweet, quiet darkness closed in on her world. Her last conscious sensation was the feel of Bruce's hand as he slowly stroked her hair.
Just as he did in his job as a butler, a confidante, a medic, and an armor and weapons supplier, Alfred performed his task of chauffeuring with flawless competence and skill. He guided the car along the interstate, moving in and out of the early morning traffic. He remained quiet, wisely letting Annabeth doze and Bruce mull over his thoughts. That didn't stop him from glancing into the rearview mirror every now and then; each time he did, the view was the same: Annabeth sprawled out on the seat, sleeping peacefully, and Bruce sitting beside her, looking out the window but occasionally glancing down to make sure Annabeth was comfortable.
Privately Alfred suspected that Bruce was more at peace than he had been in a very, very long time. Stuck in the car as he was, caught between Gotham and the Berkshires, he was having to endure an enforced idleness which Alfred knew made him very unhappy…but at least he was able to endure it with Annabeth.
After almost an hour, she stirred awake and pulled herself upright. Almost guiltily, Bruce withdrew his hand from her hair, which he had been absently stroking since she had fallen asleep.
"How long was I out?" Annabeth croaked. "It feels like I slept for ages."
"Not quite that long, Rumpelstiltskin," Bruce assured her as he tentatively tugged a lock of hair out of her face. "You didn't even sleep a whole hour. We're bypassing New York traffic at the moment."
Annabeth eagerly twisted around to gaze out the window, but if she were expecting a cityscape much different than the one she saw before falling asleep, she was deeply disappointed. After taking in the skyline for a moment, she exclaimed, dismayed, "It's like we never even left Gotham!"
"You've never been to New York?" Bruce didn't disguise his surprise. "Your work never brought you here?"
"My work is a fairly recent addition to my life," Annabeth reminded him. "Before that it was college and grad school—not exactly conducive to living high on the hog—and before that, indigence and upheaval and domestic instability. Didn't leave a lot of time or money for visiting Gotham's big sister."
Bruce nodded, but inwardly, he was already making plans for how he could tempt Annabeth away for a long weekend in New York and the sights he would show her. Annabeth was a hard woman to impress, but the harder it became to impress, the more determined he was to do it. And judging by the poignantly wistful look on Annabeth's face as she gazed at New York City slipping away, that would be his best chance to invoke that wonder, however fleeting it might be.
Now, if only Gotham wouldn't interfere…
The city blended, gradually, into suburbs, and then even more gradually, the suburbs blended into countryside as they headed north. The terrain became more and more hilly, and they drove over and through more and more ravines, hills, and dense forests. Hundreds of trees, stripped of their leaves, studded the hillsides. Annabeth could tell they were heading into beautiful country.
"It's the Catskills," Bruce explained. "I think I came here skiing a couple of times when I was younger, didn't I, Alfred?"
"Just the once, when you sneaked off and broke a leg." Alfred sounded slightly amused. "Although I don't think you learned your lesson. It was almost as bad as the time we were on the Vineyard and you took that twenty-niner skiff out to sea…"
Bruce groaned in remembrance. "We lost the deposit on that, didn't we?"
Just then, Annabeth gasped as they drove past a clearing and were treated to an unexpected vista. Weak sunlight had begun creeping out, and it illuminated the valley far below them. A lake, not yet frozen over for the winter, glittered in the feeble sunshine, and tiny boats bobbed up and down on its calm waters. Even with the blight of the late autumn chill, it was a beautiful view. And that was when Bruce realized that it would take no flashy trip into New York City to fill Annabeth with wonder and awe—if anything, another city might just bore her. After all, hadn't she spoken of one day escaping to the countryside?
As they made their way further north, the countryside became even more beautiful. To Bruce and Alfred, it was nothing novel or overwhelming, but seeing it through Annabeth's eyes was a refreshing experience. She kept silent for the majority of the ride, content to look out the window at the ever-changing scenery. After a while, Bruce left her to her observations and quietly began to pull some documents out of his briefcase: the information that Alfred and Lucius had compiled on the various people attending the wedding that weekend. Bruce was fairly certain that, by the time he finished reading, he would know everything about everyone. Alfred and Lucius were nothing if not thorough…creepily so. And Bruce was determined to go into this knowing as much as he could about the glittering, elite crowds that would be swarming this weekend. Poor Annabeth...she has no idea what she's in for…
"What's that?" Annabeth inquired.
Well, she was about to find out…
"Profiles of some of the very important people who are going to be there this weekend," Bruce answered, passing her one of the folders containing information. "Information. Dirt. Sensitive material. Whatever you want to call it."
Annabeth's eyes were as round as an owl's. "Where'd you get this? Is it…legal?" She started to open the folder, and then paused. "Should I be allowed to see this stuff? Should anyone?" As she asked this, she reluctantly dragged her eyes away from the tantalizing papers that she held. She already knew the answer, and while it rang every ethical warning bell in her brain, lord, she was curious.
"Probably not. But then, I'm probably not supposed to see this stuff, either. So you want to ask yourself, do you really want to fall down that rabbit hole?" Bruce held Annabeth's gaze for a moment and held out his hand for the folder.
Annabeth bit her lip thoughtfully, and glanced down at the folder again. "Why is it important for you to have and know all of this information? Haven't you known most of these people for your entire life? What does it matter?"
These were all very valid questions. Bruce paused for a moment and debated within himself how much he could safely reveal, and finally opted for a half-truth. "Some of these people want to go into business with me….investments, joint ventures, partnerships, and the like. I don't worry about the details—" he waved his hand airily, dismissing the major details and the guilt of the lie, "Lucius takes care of that. But I want to know as much as I can about these people. If they've got shady dealings or dubious vices or unsavory tendencies or business practices I don't like, I want to avoid them. It's my own…code of ethics, if you will."
Annabeth nodded, trying to process this information. "You want to go into this house party knowing everything about everyone."
"Knowledge is power," Bruce said softly.
For some reason, his words had a sinister sound to them. Annabeth tried to ignore the shiver that crept down her spine. "Well, how about you share some of that power? You're about to send me into this crowd, and they could tear me apart. You should give me some of the most important information."
"Why? So you can blackmail them into giving Safe Haven more funding?" Bruce teased.
"Don't be silly." Annabeth began flipping through the folder, absorbing the extensive information contained within. "I only blackmail if bullying, misandry, and guilt-tripping don't work. So…I'll quiz you!"
Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "Where did your scruples go?"
She shrugged. "I think we left them by the side of the road, about half a mile back. So, at the very least, tell me about the Winstons…"
Thus prompted, and with such a rapt audience, Bruce had little difficulty in falling into a steady monlogue about the Winstons, and then about many of the more important people Annabeth could expect to encounter that weekend. She interrupted only once or twice, to clarify a point, but for the most part, she was content to listen to Bruce's descriptions and imagine what was ahead.
Forewarned is forearmed. Knowledge is power.
There was nothing, no way to warn Annabeth about their destination, however. She had asked around before departing, but nobody could tell her much about the Winston's ancestral home of Bellingham Manor, tucked away in the Berkshires. The Winstons were old money— "they make the Wayne family look like parvenus," Bruce grimaced. "The ancestory from whom they're descended was the youngest son of a landed gentry family in England, came over in the seventeen hundreds...the family has since managed to change with the times and hang on to their wealth."
"I've heard, Master Wayne, that the Winston ancestors shipped over some foundation stones from their England home and built Bellingham Manor from that." Alfred chimed in with this offering, and his eyes shone a little at the thought.
"Alfred thinks he's going back to the Mother Country." Bruce smirked a little. "Ten bucks says that he and Bradford's mother will be drinking tea all weekend. Elisa's going to have to run her own wedding."
He went on to describe the house, the grounds, and the gardens. "During the summer, it's all magnificent, but now, you'll want to keep to the conservatory. Everything out of doors will be drab."
"Is the house very big?" Annabeth wanted to know. In her mind, she began imagining a vast and rambling house in which she would become hopelessly lost. Bruce's description did nothing to soothe her. Last night I dreamt I went to Manderly again...
"Bellingham's a bit on the enormous side. The Winstons converted to Catholicism back in the early nineteenth century—the work of a particularly devout and beautiful Irishwoman who married into the family—and good god, they had a lot of children, so they built up the house over the years. Full of antiques and arts, of course, and countless rooms."
Apprehension began to build within Annabeth. "You're not serious…how much bigger than your place can it be?"
"There might even be a ghost or two." Bruce smiled gently. "You don't need to worry. The Winstons are old money, but they're classy. They'll make sure you're right at home…and they won't put you in the most-haunted bedchamber. I already asked Elisa to make sure of that."
Alfred took pity on Annabeth. "Don't listen to Master Wayne, my dear. He's trying to make you think that there's a ghost so that halfway through the weekend, when he grows bored, he can try to scare the daylights out of you. Bellingham is a little on the large side, but it's a lovely place all the same. See for yourself."
They had distracted Annabeth with their banter so much that she hadn't realized that they had come upon their destination. She glanced out the window, and then stared, because even after the descriptions, Bellingham took her by surprise. Her breath caught in her throat as she took it all in, first the ivy-lined brick wall and wrought-iron fence and the gatehouse, and then beyond that the rolling expanse of lawn that sloped gently upward to the actual house. Only, house wasn't the correct word…manor didn't cover it, either. The Wayne family house was a manor, but Bellingham… Bellingham looked closer to a castle.
Or maybe even a palace, Annabeth mused. She'd reserve her final judgment until she saw the interior. But from what she could see of the gables and turrets, the windows gleaming in the morning light, the masonry and the gargoyles and the building which just seemed to go on and up forever, she suspected "palace" was probably the right word for it. Bruce hadn't been kidding when he said the Winstons were old money; the whole place seemed to have an archaic air to it, a feeling of permanence and history and a family tree which could be traced back to long before the Winston ancestors stepped off their ships onto American soil.
At the gatehouse, Alfred stopped the car and spoke with an attendant dressed in a smart uniform; after showing the engraved invitation, the gate swung slowly inward, admitting them onto the grounds.
"You ready for this?" Bruce asked Annabeth. He spoke very quietly, so that only she heard him.
"Less and less with each passing second." Annabeth was pale, and he could tell that tension was coiling in her body. "This isn't me. I don't belong here." All at once, she wished to be back in Gotham, back in Safe Haven, back in a life of predictability, even drudgery. She was not at all certain that she was ready to be catapulted into this very different world. Such a very short time ago, she was simply Annabeth de Burgh, a loner social worker with little more than a crusade to keep her company and give her comfort. She came from nothing—her parents had been worthless deadbeats, she had no family, no connections, no money—and yet, somehow, she had ended up here, in the company of Bruce Wayne, about to attend the social event of the year. She had never expected to move in these circles, nor had she ever wanted to. This was beyond her wildest imaginings.
Bruce's hand stole over hers. "Don't go wimpy on me," he murmured. "This is just a prolonged social event. Nothing special." He was becoming a little worried—had Annabeth finally succumbed the awe that excessive wealth and grandeur sometimes induced? It was one of the things that he loved about her—her lack of pretension, her indifference to wealth and status when compared with character and integrity. It would be a twisted irony if these traits of hers were ruined by the wealthy people that he had brought into her life.
But then, Annabeth's common sense—another trait about her that Bruce loved—asserted itself with a vengeance. He could almost hear her scolding herself: "Why are you getting fussy? They're just people, no better or worse than you. None of this matters. What matters is who they are within." Annabeth straightened up a little, and the apprehensive look faded from her face. Her eyes burned fiercely, and her prickly demeanor asserted itself. There would be no one this weekend that would make her feel like she was anything less than them. She had come a long way from her wretched early years, and it didn't matter at all; it didn't make her worth any less than them.
And judging by the admiring look Bruce was giving her, in his eyes, it actually made her worth much, much more.
Alfred guided the the car up the curving drive, and even before he had parked, the enormous doors leading into the house swung open, and a tall woman stepped into the cold morning. She waited at the top of the stone steps, slowly rubbing her arms to keep them warm, watching as Bruce and Annabeth and Alfred emerged from the car and stretched their legs. The woman made a mental note to don something warmer than her current silk blouse—Wayne and his lady friend and butler were only the first to arrive, and she had no doubt she'd be out here in the freezing cold, greeting people for the majority of the day.
"Victoria!" Bruce loped up the steps. "Ever the gracious hostess; you should be warm, inside, like I'll soon be."
"Bruce." She proffered her cheek and dutifully, he kissed it. As a child, he had been terrified of Victoria Leigh-Winston, but as an adult he had managed to see past her chilly, proper reserve to see the true lady within. "Please introduce me to your friend."
Annabeth shuffled up the stairs and joined Bruce's side, and for a moment, the two women observed each other. Victoria gazed down at the smaller, younger woman and noted her intense brown eyes, her penetrating gaze, her stiff posture. Here was a woman who had grown up before she should have, a woman who made no apology to the world for how and who she was. Victoria respected this, and she respected, too, her future daughter-in-law Elisa's high opinion of her.
Annabeth took in Victoria Leigh-Winston, wife to Gregory, mother to Bradford. She was tall and slender, and her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into an elegant French twist. Victoria had to be at least sixty, but she seemed ageless. Her steely grey eyes gave away nothing, but her smile seemed genuine. Annabeth held out her hand. "Annabeth de Burgh, ma'am. Elisa's spoken very highly of you; she's very lucky to have such a nice and generous mother-in-law. Thank you so much for having us here."
Beside her, Bruce started; he hadn't thought Annabeth capable of such honeyed words. Over the top of Annabeth's head, he saw Alfred's look of surprise, too. Still waters run deep…
"Victoria Leigh-Winston." Victoria shook Annabeth's hand firmly. "Welcome. And may I say, anyone who can keep Bruce Wayne in line is always welcome in my home. Elisa's a sweet girl, and we're just as lucky to have her in our family. Now," Victoria morphed into the consummate hostess, focused on the business at hand. "It's freezing out here, and you've all been up since the crack of dawn. You're the first to arrive, and this place is going to be a madhouse. I'm going to show you up to your rooms, and I suggest you have a quick nap before the insanity begins." Victoria clearly would accept no protests, and began to usher them inside. "I'll be right behind you."
Briefly, Annabeth thought of Cinderella before the ball—and then glanced back at their car, which resembled no pumpkin she had ever seen. Whatever nonsense would unfold during the course of the weekend, she would be the same from beginning to end, and it was that thought that steeled her spine as she commenced her foray into this rarified world. It was just as well that, flanked by Alfred and Bruce, she entered Bellingham peacefully and even eagerly, little guessing the transformation she was about to undergo within the manor.
As they stepped over the massive threshold of Bellingham and entered the even-more-massive entrance hall, Bruce snuck a glance over at Annabeth. Her face was schooled into its usual expression of impassivity, but he had grown to know her enough to know that there was a lot more going on under the surface. He reached down and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Annabeth glanced up at him, briefly, and gave him the slightest smile. She left her hand in his, however, and the gesture was lost on neither Alfred nor Victoria. The two older adults glanced at each other, and Alfred merely gave a mysterious smile and a half-shrug.
No poker face, however, could keep Annabeth's eyes from darting about, taking in the details of elegance and grandeur. Bellingham could have easily been a house intended for royalty—and for all she knew, perhaps it was not beyond the realm of possibility. Silently she took in the sixty-foot ceiling of the Great Hall—by sheer instinct she knew it to be a Great Hall and nothing less—supported by soaring arches; the massive dome of stained glass; the sweeping staircase leading to the floors above; the waxed and gleaming wood floors; the tapestries; the Persian rugs.
"Not in Gotham anymore," she murmured to Bruce, who gave her an encouraging smile.
It was then that Annabeth began to realize how tired she was. Even though she had had her nap on the ride up, it had hardly been restorative, and she was left wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for another two days. As well, she hadn't eaten since…well, she couldn't really remember. This was why she didn't try to take vacations often—so long as she kept busy, she couldn't realize how truly exhausted she was. But give her a few hours of enforced idleness, and she crashed. In her sudden weariness, she swayed slightly, and then caught herself, hoping none of her companions had caught it.
They hadn't. Victoria and Alfred had begun to converse with the ease of people who had known each other for decades, and had momentarily forgotten her presence, and Bruce was curiously gazing around the Great Hall, eager to see what had changed in his absence. Annabeth temporarily forgot her fatigue and studied him with more attention. His brow was furrowed as he looked around, and there was a look of concentration around him. Given the intensity with which he was studying his surroundings, it almost seemed like he was assessing everything and calculating to see how it wold fit in with some sort of scheme he was trying to hatch.
Annabeth shook her head. Bruce couldn't scheme his way out of a backstreet alley in Gotham, nor would he have any need to. Clearly she needed to get more sleep.
Victoria saw Bruce gazing around, and Annabeth's subdued demeanor. "It looks enormous, I know," she said, her voice carrying a slight tinge of gentle mirth. "The first year I lived here, I got lost at least once a month. But the public rooms on this floor are fairly easy to navigate, and so long as you remember how to get from your bed chamber to this floor, you'll be fine. I did leave some bread crumbs and a ball of twine in your room, though."
Annabeth glanced back at her, and incredibly, Victoria winked. There was more to this grand society dame than met the eye.
At that moment, Annabeth's foot caught on the edge of a Persian rug, and she stumbled. Only Bruce's quick reflexes kept her from doing an undignified face-plant into the floor; he tightened his grip on her hand at the same time as he caught her elbow with his other hand and kept her upright.
"Good heavens, Miss Annabeth," Alfred said as he joined her side. "Are you quite alright?"
All three of the others studied her for a moment, and they could plainly see that Annabeth wasn't quite alright. She was pale and tired-looking, which was nothing new, but it was rare to see her nodding off in front of them.
Bruce made a shrewd guess. "When was the last time you had anything to eat?" He kept his voice light, but he was frowning.
"Uuuh…yesterday? Lunch, maybe?" Annabeth tried to keep it light. But she swayed dizzily once again, and Alfred looked over at Victoria, who, like the flawless hostess she was, took the hint.
"Perhaps you would all like some breakfast before I show you up to your rooms?" she asked lightly, and took the lead. "I believe our chef is keeping food in the breakfast room all day, since we're going to have people arriving at all hours. Follow me." She led them through a maze of hallways, rooms, and corridors, all of which seemed familiar to Bruce and Alfred, but to Annabeth, in her fatigue and hunger-addled state, it merely seemed confusing and overwhelming.
After what seemed like an endless journey, Victoria came to a halt in front of a set of double doors and swung them open. After the wealth and pomp of the rooms through which Annabeth had already passed, she would not have been at all surprised had Victoria led them into a medieval banquet hall. But no, the room that was revealed to them was much smaller and more intimate, and for that reason alone, that much more charming.
Exhausted though she was, Annabeth was still able to take in the crisp white linens, the fire crackling away in the blue-veined marble fireplace, the sky-blue raw silk lining the walls, the enormous bowl of hydrangeas in the middle of the table, and the feeble morning sunlight fingering its way past the enormous bay window and catching in the silver and delicate china, all meticulously laid out.
Bruce didn't give her much time to admire the scenery; firmly, he planted his hands on her shoulders and steered her towards the table. "Sit," he commanded, pulling out a chair, and Annabeth, too tired to think of doing anything contrary, obeyed.
Victoria seated herself a few seats away, and cocked an eyebrow as she watched Bruce make a beeline for the eighteenth-century sideboard, plate in hand. The chef had set out several hotplates and dishes filled with breakfast delicacies, and Bruce was unsparing as he heaped eggs, fresh fruit, and potatoes onto the plate. He placed the plate in front of Annabeth and sat down beside her. "Eat," he said, his tone, if possible, more commandeering than before.
"My goodness, Bruce," Victoria remarked, "this is a brand new side to you."
"Wouldn't you like some food, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked. He, too, was filling his plate; it was nice to eat food cooked by someone else for a change.
"Not until Annabeth's eaten." Bruce frowned ferociously.
Alfred seated himself across from Victoria, who continued to watch Annabeth and Bruce's interactions: Annabeth had begun to eat slowly, silently, and sleepily; Bruce was watching her beadily.
"Miss Annabeth has a habit of neglecting basic things like eating and sleeping," he explained to Victoria, his tone slightly exasperated. "I sometimes think she believes she is stronger than we lesser mortals."
"I can't imagine how frustrating that must be," Alfred said, shooting Bruce a surprisingly dirty look.
Delicately, Victoria tried to steer them towards calmer waters. "Coffee?" she offered Annabeth, reaching for the silver pot on the table.
"NO!" Both Alfred and Bruce exclaimed.
Victoria blinked owlishly.
"If you give her caffeine, she's going to terrorize every man, woman, and child in this house for the entire weekend," Bruce explained to Victoria. "For the safety of everyone, keep this away from her." To punctuate his words, he took the pot and removed it from Annabeth's reach.
Annabeth simply continued chewing methodically as she struggled not to fall asleep in her breakfast, and occasionally cast longing eyes at the silver coffee pot. Without her curious combination of passion and snarkiness to add flavor to the conversation, Bruce and Victoria simply settled for making idle chatter—Victoria clearly assumed they were catching up on the gossip of their social circle, but Bruce, Alfred knew, was sniffing out information that wouldn't be in any file, computer record, or dossier.
"Who's going to be in the house party staying here?" Bruce was asking as he polished off the eggs benedict on his plate.
"Apart from yourselves? Mayor Garcia, of course, and his wife, Aimee. His second wife, I should say…the first one is stowed away somewhere in upstate New York, with the children. Funny how there wasn't much coverage about their divorce…who else?" Victoria paused, and Alfred suspected that it was not in an effort to remember, but rather to give her audience time to absorb. Accomplished hostesses like Victoria forgot nothing. "My sister-in-law, Grace, who's Vice-President of the Board at Gotham Memorial Hospital, and her husband, Aloysius. I still don't understand how she could marry a man named Aloysius. But at least he took the Winston name. Their daughter—Bradford's cousin—Theresa…she's flying in from a modeling shoot in Majorca this evening, dating a federal agent, if you can believe that…" Victoria's tone was admiring. "It seems the younger generation is determined to add some new elements to the gene pool."
Annabeth revived long enough to issue a challenge. "Is that a problem?"
This unexpected sauciness from a guest who was previously semi-comatose didn't surprise Victoria in the slightest. She simply smiled gently as she responded, "On the contrary, I think it's the best thing for any family. I was one of those new elements, at one point…" her eyes narrowed as she watched Annabeth's head dip down a little. "Another story for another time, I think…Bruce, my dear…" she turned to Bruce and favored him with a perfect smile, "I think it's time for Annabeth to be taken to her room. Did you want to take her up? She's in the Medieval Chamber, and you're in the one next to hers, the Heppelwhite Suite."
Bruce nodded. " I remember where it is. I'll go ahead and take her up…if we can wake her up."
" 'm not sleep," Annabeth mumbled. A second later, her head jerked up. "What?"
Of course, Victoria was too polite to laugh, but her lips twitched a little. "We were just saying that it's time to show you both to your rooms…but Bruce remembers his way around, I'm sure…I think some of the other guests will be arriving soon, so I think I can leave you to it?" Without giving them an opportunity to answer, she rose gracefully from her seat. "Sleep as long as you need to, my dears. The house and festivities will still be here when you return to the land of the living."
She rose from her seat, and both Bruce and Alfred followed suit. Annabeth blearily watched the older woman as she left the room, and then turned to them. "I'm confused…did I just meet Emily Post?"
Alfred chuckled, and Bruce laughed outright as he helped her to her feet. "A close relation, I think. Victoria's suited for this life…" he maintained a firm grip on her arm. "Come on…now that we've gotten enough food in you so that you don't eat a pillow when you're asleep, it's time to get you to your room. You need a nap."
Obediently, Annabeth rose from her seat and leaned into Bruce. "You're nice."
Bruce cast an enigmatic look at Alfred before turning his attention back to Annabeth. "You're delirious. Time to sleep."
Old memories and habits never truly die. While it had been many, many years since Bruce had visited Bellingham, he had not yet forgotten the manor house, or the layout of it. With enormous ease and confidence, he led Annabeth through the manor, keeping one arm gently around her shoulders, half-supporting, half-guiding her. Were it not for that, and Alfred faithfully bringing up the rear, Bruce had no doubt Annabeth would have somehow ended up in the old kitchens, or possibly wandering the grounds no small distance from the house. He found himself hoping sincerely she didn't have a tendency towards sleepwalking—if so, they might never find her.
Up the grand staircase he led her, and through the endless maze of corridors. "When you're actually awake I'll show you the back ways," Bruce said. "The routes that the servants took—probably still take—for housekeeping."
"And that the lovers took for their secret trysts," Alfred chimed in helpfully.
At long last, they entered the Guest Wing, at the west end of the house. "About seven bedrooms on this floor, and another seven on the floor above," Bruce remarked. "In addition to the guest parlor and the gallery. Don't bother using those rooms…no one ever does. All of the important stuff happens in the public rooms on the first floor."
Annabeth "mmmmed" in reply; she was solely focused on staying awake. When were they going to get to their rooms?
And then they were there. Bruce came to a sudden stop in front of a massive door—which was exactly the same as all the others down the corridor-and turned to Annabeth. "Are you ready?"
She managed to give him a bleary-eyed glare. "Sleep. Now."
Alfred coughed delicately behind them.
"Fine, fine." Bruce grasped the rather large door handle and nudged the door open. "Welcome to your new home for the next few days."
Annabeth was too far gone to take in the opulence of the bed chamber that Victoria had assigned to her. She was too tired to notice Bruce's gentle hands as he guided her towards the enormous bed and helped her in. She was too sleepy to feel the soft eiderdown comforter as Alfred placed it over her. And she was too far into sleep to hear the whispered exchange between Bruce and Alfred.
"I think I will go back down to the car, Master Wayne. No one needs to bring up our luggage, I don't think." Alfred meandered over to the enormous window that overlooked the western grounds.
"No indeed," Bruce agreed, thinking about the various supplies and equipment stashed away in the secret compartments of his custom-built Rolls-Royce. He may not be able to don a batsuit and cape over the course of the weekend, but there was still plenty of work that could be done that would possibly require his tools of the trade. "I think we should let her sleep, though...just let her wake on her own. She needs the sleep."
"She can't get into any trouble, either, when she's sleeping." Alfred agreed affably.
Annabeth snored lightly.
Bruce leaned down and brushed Annabeth's forehead with his lips. She didn't stir, and Bruce turned back to Alfred. "Good thing...when it comes time for her to meet everyone, she might need us around to keep her out of trouble." He straightened up and headed out of the bedroom, Alfred on his heels.
"And where are you off to, sir?" Alfred asked, watching as Bruce began to make his way down the corridor. Bruce glanced back at him, and the jocular countenance he had been maintaining for hours, for Annabeth and Victoria, was long gone, and only grim determination remained.
"I'm going to explore."