A very long time ago—many more years ago than Alfred cared to admit—his mother had read to him from a book of fairy tales.

Come to think about it, maybe he didn't care to admit the fairy tale part, either. Somehow, it just didn't do for the butler to the Batman to have been raised on a steady intellectual diet of the Brothers Grimm, with a dollop of Hans Christian Anderson for dessert. Nonetheless, fairy tales had been a constant in his thoroughly British upbringing, and his favorite tale had been nSleeping Beauty. Something about the enchanted castle and the cursed sleep, he supposed...there was something wistfully poetic about it.

In the days following Annabeth's arrival at the Manor, Alfred thought of that particular fairy tale quite often. For it seemed to him that, in much the same way as the Prince's kiss had awakened the Sleeping Beauty and brought the castle back to life, the presence of Annabeth had broken a curse on the Manor. And in the future, whenever Alfred would think back on those days, that was what he remembered: a castle returning to life after a long and cursed sleep; a reawakening, during which, in dozens of tiny, subtle ways, hope and warmth and sunlight crept back through the halls and walls of the Wayne family home and broke the icy grip of winter.

Of course, that cursed, fairy tale winter was metaphorical, whereas they were in the midst of what was a very real and very brutal winter, which offered weather that was far from magical. However, it was a testament to the magic within the house that the cutting winds, fickle winter storms, gloomy days, and dark nights which unfolded beyond the Manor's walls only seemed to emphasize the strange pleasantness that was developing within.

Rooms and corridors that had stood silent and bereft of all human company now were opened up, and people passed through them now all the time. Annabeth in particular possessed a special knack for losing her way, and Bruce took to heading off in search of her no less than four times a day. Leslie was simply happy to be back in the home of her remembered and much-missed friends, and spent much of her time in the conservatory, or else in the Library—a completely different room than the study, and one filled with an astonishing selection of texts and artwork. Alfred, of course, was in seventh heaven, now that he had call to fulfill more traditional butler duties. When he wasn't moving through rooms, tending to fires, arranging flowers, bringing in the latest newspapers, or assisting Bruce in locating Annabeth, he could usually be espied in the kitchens, boiling water for tea or inventorying the pantry or supervising food deliveries or planning and cooking the next meal. He had taken it upon himself to coax Annabeth's appetite back into existence, and he took this responsibility very seriously.

But even at his busiest, at the back of his mind, he was thinking about that fairy tale.

As for Bruce and Annabeth themselves, well, it was more difficult to say with any certainty if the curse upon them had been lifted. To be sure, Annabeth gained more color and energy each day, and Bruce seemed rather glued to her side. But each day they spent hours isolated with no one and nothing other than the company of each other. When the weather was decent enough, they would tromp all around the barren, wintery grounds of the estate, Annabeth bundled up and looking slightly ridiculous in one of Bruce's enormous winter coats. And when the weather was foul, and they were trapped indoors, the two of them proved to be quite resourceful. They ended up in the study most often, curled up in front of a bright, warm blaze crackling away in the fireplace. From time to time, Annabeth would head up to her office, and Bruce would haunt Alfred in the kitchen, or else Leslie in the Library, and he would brood. And then, every now and then, Annabeth would retreat to the chapel for a good, long cry. Bruce knew she had chosen that place deliberately—she knew that being in the chapel made him uncomfortable, and so he knew she wished to be left alone at those times, to confront her deepest grief on her own.

But every night, he came to her.

He would wait until half an hour had passed after she excused herself and slipped away from the public rooms. And then he would bid good-night to Alfred and Leslie—neither of whom were fooled—and go to his own room and quietly prepare for sleep. And then, by way of the "office" that linked their rooms, he would slip into her room. She was never asleep. She was always lying awake in her bed, waiting for him.

In the cold darkness, in each other's arms, they found a chaste but powerful comfort. For hours, they would lie there, wide awake, saying little, staring up at an unsympathetic ceiling, listening to the sound of their own breathing.

In this way, Bruce and Annabeth found their most powerfully healing moments. And it was possible that they, like the Manor, were returning to life.

"There's no more reason for me to stay," Leslie said to Alfred one morning, a week or so after Annabeth had been released from the hospital. "Annabeth's doing just fine. Her vitals are strong and healthy, the pain has pretty much passed—the last four days, she's declined any painkillers. She's getting to a much better place, mentally. I've done all I can do."

They were in the kitchen. Leslie had perched herself on a stool at the work island in the middle of the room, and she was watching Alfred as one by one, he juiced a large bowl of oranges. The awkwardness of the earlier days had diminished, partially because they both knew that theirs was a friendship of too long a duration and too potent to jeopardize, but also because Alfred had begun to treat her with less of an attitude of distant affection and more warmth—much in the same way as he had done in the years before Bruce Wayne had returned from the dead.

Now, as Leslie voiced the reasons why she was no longer a necessary presence at Wayne Manor, Alfred paused and pretended to listen. As he nodded and made the appropriately understanding noises, his mind was formulating the most persuasive reason for her to stay on. When he was certain that Leslie was done speaking, he poured her a glass of the juice, passed it to her, and waited until she had started drinking before he struck back. "Can't I persuade you to linger a little longer? It isn't just Master Bruce who makes sure Annabeth is getting better, after all. Your company helps her, too. And in case you haven't noticed, Master Bruce has some fairly intense tendencies towards a life path as a recluse..."

"When he's not in the city, deliberately trying to drag his own name through the mud," Leslie interjected.

"All part of the ultimate hermit agenda, I suspect. My point being—" Alfred placed both hands on the counter and leaned in towards Leslie, "that having company here at the Manor is a very simple way to remind Master Bruce that it doesn't have to be like that."

"You should have been a politician, Alfred," Leslie said softly.

"And lowered myself to your dreadful Yankee standards?" Practically shuddering at the thought, Alfred rejected this idea immediately. "No, thank you! I have no desire to become fodder for some well-intentioned, but in-poor-taste cartoon on the cover of The New Yorker. I prefer to limit my meddling to this; it's far more rewarding. So what say you? Care to tarry a bit longer and help us re-integrate Master Bruce into civilization?"

Leslie pondered this as she watched him move around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors, pulling out pots, putting away dishes, flipping thorough battered, ingredient-crusted recipe books. His movements were calm and measured, his expression far more content and less watchful than usual. In the few times that Leslie had seen Alfred since Bruce had returned, he had always seemed vaguely anxious and preoccupied. But not lately.

"You're really devoted to him, aren't you?" she asked suddenly.

"I am." Alfred didn't hesitate to agree with her. "And I will see him settled before I think about a life beyond Wayne Manor." He didn't add that he wasn't quite sure what he meant by Bruce Wayne being "settled." Settled down? Giving up the Batman? Committing to a lifetime of talk therapy and selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors? "Although heaven knows when it will be," he added.

Resolutely, Leslie nodded. She wasn't a fool, and she could see Alfred was doing the honorable thing and letting her know the lay of the land. Still, like most misguidedly optimistic women, she still had her hopes. "Well, then, let's see what we can do to make life normal for Bruce around here."

So, despite her earlier resolution to leave, Leslie lingered on.

But then, with almost rude suddenness, others began to intrude on this fairy-tale existence. And when it did happen, it all happened at once. One morning, not long after Leslie's halfhearted attempt to leave, Bruce stood in the doorway leading into Annabeth's room, gazing at her as she slowly made preparations for the day ahead.

"You sure you're ready for this?" he asked.

Was she? Annabeth had no idea. She had not been at the Manor for very long, but already she was feeling very sheltered. Gotham City, and all of its problems, seemed a million miles away—which was rather ironic, seeing it was Gotham which had landed her in all this trouble. But Annabeth was no stranger to duty, and there were many duties before her. It was simply a strange and nasty stroke of luck that two of the more pressing duties came to her on the same day.

"You still haven't answered my question," Bruce pointed out. He moved towards where she sat, at the magnificent vanity table. It looked exactly like the one his mother had sat at years ago, but of course that one had perished in the flames that had torn through the original Manor. Still, it was an exact replica, one of the ten originals which had been produced in a small workshop in Brussels in 1908, according to Alfred, who had often felt the need to randomly inform Bruce of the history of various objects in the Manor. Usually it was an object that he had had a rather difficult time procuring.

Annabeth set down the comb she had been running through her damp hair. "I have no idea if I'm ready," she told him. "But I suspect that doesn't matter. It's not like I have too much of a choice." So I'll do what needs to be done, because it's what I've always done, she wanted to add. Common sense restrained her—it sounded too self-pitying, and the time for that had long since passed. Now all there was time for was action.

He was standing behind her now, his hands on her shoulders. Annabeth saw his face in the mirror, and smiled at his reflection. It was a small smile, but genuine. "I need to get back on the horse, anyway," she told him. "We both know that. There's too much work to do."

"Tell me about it." Bruce pulled away and meandered over to the window. "Still, that's a lot of work for one day—"

"—and there's no way to get out of it." Annabeth's voice revealed her old core of steel. "You know it. And you're going to have to stop fussing over me sometime."

Bruce grimaced in reply. It was bad enough that Maya was even now on her way to the Manor, her car loaded up with all sorts of boxes and papers and correspondence. It seemed that just because Safe Haven was temporarily closed, the business of running it continued on, and Maya was drowning. The previous night, Annabeth had made the decision to take up her workload again, and invited Maya to journey out to the Manor so they could tackle things. But not an hour after Annabeth and Maya had made their decision, another call came through. This one was from Donna's attorney; he was quite eager to meet with Annabeth. Time was of the essence, he had implied, and Annabeth, knowing the social services system like the back of her hand, knew that he was correct. And so, the attorney would visit the Manor that evening, for a pleasant dinner and a session of legal strategizing for dessert. And then, tomorrow, the social worker would be coming with Timmy; it would be Annabeth's first time seeing him since Donna had been killed.

Wisely, Annabeth didn't speak any more of the day ahead. Having lived under the same roof as Bruce for a little while now, she had gained a little more insight into his personality. She suspected that his unease could be attributed to two factors: first, that he was unhappy to be leading such an inactive existence. He was used to being in the thick of things, out every night, in one identity or another, but there had been very little of that lately. Annabeth sympathized; she too was less than thrilled to be limited by her body's current weaknesses. It had to be worse for Bruce, though; he was as fit and healthy as ever, and so the only thing keeping him from his other activities was...well, her.

The other cause for Bruce's current unease was one which he was trying valiantly to hide from Annabeth. To his infinite credit, not once did Bruce let on how difficult it was for him, not just to open up the Manor to outsiders, but also to share Annabeth. He wanted to keep constant vigil over both—and it was possible to do so with neither. He struggled a great deal, internally, to conquer his knee-jerk aversion to company, and as soon as he realized how much Annabeth was eagerly anticipating the company, his resolve was strengthened, and he put on the best act possible. She saw right through it, of course, and sympathized, but that was all. He was the one who had hauled her here to the Manor, after all.

"I think Maya's here," Bruce said. "I can hear her car coming up the drive."

Annabeth rose, and together they headed to the window to peer out. It was Maya's car, a vintage VW bug that she had purchased back in college. The little indigo-blue vehicle looked absolutely ludicrous, dwarfed as it was by the massive proportions of Wayne Manor, but Maya blithely ignored this. In this—and in other ways that she had yet to realize—she had acquired some of Annabeth's supreme indifference to her own possessions when compared to others. As they watched from the window, Maya popped out of her car and began pulling boxes out and stacking them on the gravel.

Not more than five minutes later, Maya sailed into Annabeth's bedroom, with Alfred trailing behind her, laden down with two of the boxes. And as she entered, Bruce resolved to permanently banish his various misgivings. While it would have been inaccurate to say that Annabeth's face lit up when Maya entered the room—after all, despite all of the changes Annabeth had undergone, she was still a rather reserved, even dour woman—her eyes did glow warmly with the pleasure of seeing a familiar face, and she held out her arms. "Maya!"

"Since when do you, like, touch people?" Maya demanded, not bothering to stifle the incredulity in her voice. She was dimly aware of Alfred quietly setting down the box and discreetly withdrawing. Once she was certain he had left, Maya crossed the room, bent over, and gave Annabeth a quick hug. Not quick enough, for she caught a whiff of Annabeth's scent—a clean, soapy smell, along with the scent of the freesia lotion she had been wearing since she had first discovered Bath and Body Works back in the mid-nineties and had never stopped using, and now it hit Maya, painfully, of how close they had come to losing her. Upon realizing this, her quick hug lingered, and she tightened her grip, feeling Annabeth's fragile bones, before roughly rubbing her eyes and getting rid of the tear that had popped up. "You're looking good."

"I'm feeling okay, and that's what matters." Annabeth's eyes glittered dangerously, and Maya realized she hadn't been the only one close to tears. "I'm thinking it's about damned time we got some work done."

From years of experience, Maya recognized the note of determination in Annabeth's voice. There was work to be done, and god help the person who tried to keep them from doing it. Still the same Annabeth, Maya noted in relief, and found it a comforting thought.

"Do you need my help?"

The new voice startled Maya. She glanced behind her, and saw Bruce, standing in the shadows by the fireplace, from which a bright, warm blaze now crackled. Seeing Maya looking back at him, Bruce gave a lazy wave. How long had he been standing there?

Annabeth smiled, seemingly unconcerned by his presence. "I can't imagine that this would interest you...it's going to be a lot of administrative work."

Bruce shrugged. "I don't mind. It's not like there's much else to do...Alfred's going to be cleaning today, and he hates it when I'm underfoot. He says that cleaning the Manor would be so much easier if I weren't living in it, but wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" He paused for a moment to let those words sink in. "Anyway, I bet I can help here. There's some important decisions we've got to make."

"You're right about that." Annabeth looked grim. "But before that, there's still a million administrative details that manage to pile up, regardless of whether we're open. There's a hell of a lot of work to do."

"Yet you seem remarkably excited."

"Are you kidding?" Annabeth actually grinned. "This is like my frigging birthday! Better than my birthday, actually. I hate birthdays. They're depressing as hell, and that's if someone remembers it. Now...what's in those boxes you had poor Alfred haul up?"

Before coming out to the Manor, Maya had been slightly apprehensive—it would be the first time she had seen Annabeth since she had been released from the hospital, and more than that, it would be the first time that they would have a conversation of substance since that terrible night. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what her anxieties were, exactly, but as she and Annabeth slipped readily and easily into their old working relationship, Maya began to see how silly it had been for her to have any trepidations. Annabeth was still the same funny old Annabeth—obsessive, caring, obnoxious in her dedication, and slightly prickly, but still, beloved for all of those reasons and more.

Together they bent their heads to the task of digging themselves out of the backlog of work which had gone neglected in the days that had lapsed since That Night. There were reports to file; letters, emails, and memos to dictate; bills to pay; bills to dispute. There were donations—actually, a surprising number of them—to record and acknowledge, and deposit slips to fill out. There were clients to follow up with, appointments to re-schedule, legislation to monitor, newspaper articles and editorials to read and file. These, in particular, took up the better part of two hours—the drama and trauma of Safe Haven and its involvement in organized crime had made papers as far west as St. Louis.

"We might need to hire someone for PR," Maya said at one point, as she finished reading aloud from a publication which proclaimed itself to be the "mouthpiece for the conservative family values that define the greater Cementville region." She made a disgusted noise. "Allow me to reiterate what we are up against. These fine souls imply that we're a lot of misguided harridans who—and this is a direct quote—'got what was coming to them for undermining the stability of the traditional American family...' What's that noise?"

"The last of my tooth enamel, grinding away." Annabeth rubbed her jaw. "Forget hiring someone for PR, I need Bruce to get us a good dentist." She snatched the paper out of Maya's hands. "Where the fuck is Cementville, anyway?"

"Somewhere in Pennsylvania, about six miles northeast of a nuclear waste dump site." Maya had already moved on to another stack of papers. "Here's The New York Times, about three weeks' worth." She happened to glance over at Bruce, who had by this point managed to doze off in one of the armchairs. "What was the point of him hanging around if he just conked out?"

Annabeth knew that Bruce was merely feigning sleep, and so simply smiled and shrugged. "He was probably going to be bored either way. So he may as well be bored here."

The two of them continued to toil away, and somehow managed to plow through a rather remarkable amount of work. Finally, around mid-afternoon, a quiet knock pulled their attention away from their tasks. They watched as Alfred backed his way into the room, carefully pulling along a cart which bore one of his afternoon teas. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, Miss Annabeth. But I thought you ladies might be in need of some refreshment by now."

Obediently, Annabeth's stomach growled. "I think you're right. And anyway, Maya hasn't had the opportunity to feast upon one of your legendary spreads. She'll think you're trying to fatten her up to be Hansel's side dish...so what did you pull out of your hat this time?"

Alfred was already pouring the hot water. "Darjeeling and Earl Grey. Egg and cress sandwiches, also salmon and cucumber. Scones, of course, with Devonshire cream. Some fruit tartlettes, and a selection of cheeses and biscuits." He set the silver teapot down and carefully lifted the lid on each platter of food, and Maya could only hope she was not drooling as she took in the delectables being described. To distract herself, she glanced over at Annabeth. "It's amazing you haven't gained ten pounds since I've been here. And him..." here she glanced over at Bruce, still feigning sleep. "How he stays the weight he does, I'll never understand."

Obediently, Bruce snorted and shifted in his armchair, and a moment later, his eyes opened. "Do I smell food?"

"Splendid timing, Master Wayne," Alfred said. "Tea?"

"Sure." Bruce stretched and looked over at Annabeth and Maya, who were beginning to stack up some of the paperwork they had gone through. "Did I miss anything good?"

"Just the boring stuff," Annabeth told him. "You woke up in time for the good stuff."

"Which is?"

"Time for us to start batting around ideas for the next director of Safe Haven." Annabeth glanced over at Maya. "Right now, Bruce is the only active member on the Board of Directors. We were in the process of bringing in Kate Moriarty, but still, at the present, Safe Haven's a bit like a headless beast...in fact, it's like a headless beast that's also missing most of its limbs. We need to get more people on the board, we need to replace Donna, we need to grasp and control the finances...not to mention, we need to make sure we don't get slapped silly with lawsuits." It was a huge task, and one that needed to be accomplished as soon as possible.

"Well, why don't you just replace Donna as Executive Director?" Bruce asked.

The silence that greeted this suggestion was a tense one, to say the least. Alfred actually paused in his work, and glanced at each of them. Bruce looked quite earnest; Maya awkward; Annabeth vaguely amused.

"Well?" Bruce prompted them. "What do you think?"

"I think it would be a great way to send the place straight to hell in a handbasket," Maya blurted. She glanced over at Annabeth. "Sorry, Annabeth. But I know you agree. Plus, I think it would be a little...hard for you. It's Donna's legacy."

"She's right, Bruce," Annabeth said. "I'm not meant to lead Safe Haven. Besides, the Board has to be the ones to appoint and vote on the new Executive Director."

"The board which is rather...understaffed...at the moment," Bruce mused.

"The board is what we need to address first," Annabeth said decisively. Maya nodded in agreement. "Let's have some suggestions."

Silence stretched before them, and then Maya finally ventured an idea. "I think Donna—" she cut herself off, then started again. "I think we should have at least one attorney on the board. Free legal advice and all."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "Some sort of chaplain, or community religious leader, might not hurt."

"A doctor, too." Annabeth was taking notes as fast as she could. "And may as well have some more philanthropists on the board. Or politicians."

"Politicians..." Bruce repeated this word thoughtfully, and then unexpectedly grinned. "I've got an idea. Alfred, is our District Representative in town?"

"He and his wife are wintering in Palm Beach, I think."

"What about the County Supervisor?"

"In Palm Springs, at least until the end of the month. And the Gotham City Manager is, too."

Annabeth couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You mean to tell me our elected officials aren't even here? That they're off...humping palm trees in warm locales with bourgeois names?"

As intent as she was on polishing off her cream-laden scone, Maya had to pause. "Does this actually surprise you?"

After a moment's thought, Annabeth sighed. "No."

"Didn't think so. So stop complaining and start eating; it's better for your health. Here," she thrust a fruit tart into Annabeth's hands. "Eat."

Obediently, Annabeth ate; by this point, she was growing accustomed to food being forced upon her, usually when she was about to wax righteously indignant about some injustice or other. Bruce smirked, and then got up. "Would you ladies excuse both Alfred and myself for a few moments?"

Judging by the expression of surprise, and then disapproval, on Alfred's face, Annabeth figured that whatever Bruce was cooking up was news to him. "Maya and I will be fine. You've left us plenty of food."

"Great." Bruce grinned, and then, with Alfred trailing in his wake, he was out the door.

As the door closed, Annabeth decided to forestall any questions as tactfully as she could—which was not tactfully at all. "Before you ask, no, I haven't any idea what's gotten into him. More tea?"

It was more than just a few minutes before Bruce returned. Fifteen minutes passed, and the two women began to realize that whatever Bruce was up to would take more than a little bit of time. And without the presence of Bruce, there was little to stop Maya and Annabeth from tentatively finding their way back into their working relationship of old.

Chewing thoughtfully on what had to be her third scone—lord, she'd need to get a new wedding gown, at this rate—Maya decided that a direct approach would be the one that Annabeth would appreciate the most. "Annabeth? I need to say something."

Carefully, Annabeth set down her cup and saucer and became still. "I'm listening." Her dark eyes betrayed nothing.

"I just need to say—first, I'm so sorry. So sorry for everything. And I'm sure you're sick to death of people saying that to you," Maya added, "but I think it would have been worse for me to not acknowledge it at all. Maybe I should have done it sooner-"

"No." The word sounded harsher than Annabeth had intended, and it took them both by surprise. "No, you should not apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. You will not explain, reproach, or berate yourself for anything that happened. You caused nothing, brought no harm to us. You are completely innocent." She looked so fierce, so determined, Maya was half-afraid she would try to shake her for emphasis. But then, Annabeth's expression softened. "You've only ever helped Safe Haven, and while you may have been doing it simply for the paycheck, you still never made a morally ambiguous sacrifice for what you thought was a greater good. No one died because of anything you did, or of any choice you made."

As soon as Annabeth paused for a breath, Maya jumped in. "There's something else I need to say. I want you to know, I never knew about Donna, nothing. The entire time I worked for Donna, I never had any idea about—about anything she was involved with. What she was doing on the side—and who she was, that she was your mother. She never let on so much as a hint, and I never would have helped her lie or hide anything. I just never knew."

This possibility had crossed Annabeth's mind more than once, but as she took in Maya's painfully earnest expression, she truly believed her. Donna's betrayals had never been committed with the knowing assistance of Maya. Here, at least, was a kernel of comfort—a truly tiny kernel, but no less substantial. "I believe you," Annabeth said softly. "And it's good to know some things in this damned town aren't corrupt. But what you need to realize now, Maya, is that Donna deceived you, too."

Judging by the look on Maya's face, this was not something that had occurred to her before. Annabeth pressed the point. "Donna withheld the same information from you as she did from the rest of us. She used you, and endangered you."

"But she wasn't my mother," Maya pointed out. "Yes, Donna wronged me, she wronged everyone at Safe Haven. Her deception was deep, but you were her daughter, and especially wronged. Don't discount your own loss or draw attention away from it."

"I wasn't aware that was what I was doing."

"Not deliberately." Maya's gaze was level and honest. "But it's your way to subvert your own sorrow and pain, and focus on the needs of others, all the while not dealing with your own, and letting them fester like a poisonous wound. You focus on others because you don't know how to move past the crap that's happened to you. Be honest with yourself about your lot. You've been dealt a shitty hand—again—so look at the cards, deal with them, and then get them the hell out of your hands. Otherwise you're just going to end up the single unluckiest and unhappiest woman in Gotham."

Surprisingly, Annabeth smiled at this, but it was a ghostly kind of smile, with the shadows of bitterness. "Who says I'm not already?"

Before Maya could muster some sort of suitable reply, she was rescued by a soft knock on the door. A moment later, Bruce poked his head around the door and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry for taking so long...it took a little more work than we expected." Seeing Maya's welcoming smile, and Annabeth's more restrained pleasure, he stepped in the room. Alfred followed behind him, looking far more composed.

"Care to tell us what you've been up to?" Annabeth prompted them.

"Definitely. Maya, are you free tomorrow night?"

"Enh?"

"You and your fiance. Are you both free tomorrow?"

"I think so...why?"

"Alfred and I have spent a little time arranging a dinner party for tomorrow evening. A select group of people with the necessary amount of community spirit, who will feel honored and obligated to answer when duty calls." Bruce grinned at Annabeth. "I think after tomorrow evening, we'll have a hand-picked board."

"Plying them with drinks and unpronounceable food is all it takes?" Annabeth glanced over at Alfred, who had begun to gather together the detritus of their meal. "How will you manage to pull this off?"

"Have you tasted my food, Miss Annabeth?"Alfred gestured significantly at the now-empty plate which only sported a few scones crumbs—the only evidence that baked goods had ever been there. "Furthermore, Gotham tends to be rather drab at this time of year...most everyone is in Palm Beach or Palm Springs."

"Or Palm Coast," Bruce added.

"Or Palm Desert," Alfred concluded. "Which is actually right next to Palm Springs, but that's an entirely different subject. My point is, my dears, that Master Wayne having a lovely, intimate dinner party is just appealing enough to exactly the type of people that you'd like to involve in Safe Haven."

"People who are good quality, but not completely involved in the social scene for its own sake." Bruce concluded here. "I think you'll like every last one of them."

"It's a good idea," Annabeth admitted grudgingly. "And it should expedite the process of rebuilding the board."

Not long after, Maya began to prepare for her departure. "What time do you want me here tomorrow?" she asked Annabeth as she packed away her laptop.

"Not too early." Annabeth hesitated, glanced at Bruce before continuing. "You see, the social worker should be bringing Timmy tomorrow during the day. So I wouldn't show up until maybe an hour or so before dinner...right, Bruce?"

"Absolutely," Bruce agreed. "No distractions for you while you're spending time with Timmy and the social worker." He sensed her unspoken anxiety, and casually let a hand drop to Annabeth's shoulder. Maya didn't miss this, nor the reassuring squeeze he gave her, nor Annabeth bringing her own hand up to touch his. "Let's walk you on down to your car, Maya."

So they did, the three of them moving at a pace much slower than Annabeth's aggressive, no-nonsense clip from the days of yore. As she absently listened to Bruce's cheerful, banal chatter, Maya found herself thinking of Annabeth's newer, more subdued personality. She was grim as ever, and as dedicated as ever—but somehow, it seemed as though much of her fire had been extinguished. Maya missed the old Annabeth, full of piss and vinegar and always spoiling for a fight.

Maybe it's a temporary thing, Maya told herself. She's been through so much...it takes time to recover. She prayed that this was the case.

As Bruce hauled open the front doors, the cold air blasted them all. Annabeth ignored it as she turned and faced Maya. "Thank you for coming out. It was the first step, and I couldn't have done it on my own." This part she murmured low.

Maya glanced at Bruce. "It's pretty safe to say that you won't ever have to." This she said just as quietly.

Together the three of them made their way down to the gravel drive, where Maya's car was parked. Impulsively, Annabeth reached over and caught the younger woman in a fierce hug. "Thank you."

Maya returned the hug with interest. And as she pulled away, she watched as Annabeth took her place on the steps beside Bruce, who put his arm around her and drew her to him. She couldn't help but to notice what an attractive couple they made. "You look like you belong there, the lady of the manor," she said teasingly. "Make sure she sticks around, Bruce."

"I'm working on it." This Bruce said with jocularity, yet the look in his eyes seemed troubled.

Maya opened her car door and prepared to slip in, but caught herself and turned back to Annabeth. "You look like her, you know," she blurted, before she could stop herself.

Bruce felt Annabeth's body stiffen defensively, and he tightened his arm around her in a vain attempt to shield her from what he knew was coming."Sorry?" Annabeth asked.

For her part, Maya looked as though she dearly wished she had kept her mouth shut. Still, the damage had been done. "I said, you look like her. Donna, I mean. It's not something I ever thought about, of course, until after everything, but...still...knowing what I know now, I can see it. Not in anything obvious, maybe just a little around the eyes. Timmy has the same eyes, too. It seems so obvious to me, now..." Maya shrugged, aware of the pain she was causing. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Don't be." Annabeth's voice rang out, more strong and confident than she had sounded all day. "All I'm ever going to know of Donna is what other people tell me. So I want to hear everything." And her voice rang with the old tone of command, the certainty of truth, and Maya knew that the Old Annabeth was still alive, no doubt recovering and growing stronger day by day.

The only question was, would the Old Annabeth be able adjust to this new life?