Monday, February 2. It was a dreary morning, right at the point of winter in which those who resided in northern climes began to think, despairingly, that spring would never arrive, and that the color green was simply a myth whispered when one recalled "the good old days." When Annabeth and Maya arrived at Safe Haven at seven-thirty that morning, the grey clouds were already lowering, along with the temperature, indicating the approach of yet another winter storm. It would start out, like so many shitty Gotham storms, as rain, but then descend into sleet soon enough. Snow, if they were lucky.
"I hope the heat's working," Maya said as she swiped her key card. It was hard to make out her words, though, for she had wound a scarf tightly around her neck, and it covered her mouth, too. Maya loathed winter, and did whatever she could to shield herself from its effects. But now was not the time to grouse—Annabeth stood silently beside her, and instinctively Maya knew she was gearing herself up to step inside. It was the first time she had been back since everything had happened.
A particularly cutting blast of wind assaulted them at this juncture, and it galvanized Annabeth into action. "Fuck this," she muttered, and yanked open the front door. "If I had nuts, they would've frozen off by now."
And so it was with little ceremony that Annabeth and Maya reclaimed Safe Haven as their own.
What struck them both, immediately, was the silence. It had been almost two months since they had had a normal working day in their building, but they both remembered the constant hustle and bustle, the phones ringing, the children crying and quarreling, the continuous stream of interruptions. Now...
"It feels like a fucking tomb in here," Annabeth muttered as she gazed around at the barren lobby. Admittedly, this had always been a rather inactive part of the building, serving as a mere front, for their true work, but it still gave them a cold welcome now. "Let's get some life into this place."
Annabeth stalked through the building, Maya trailing in her wake, hauling along couple of bags and binders, like an administrative version of a sherpa. Room by room, they turned on lights, surveyed the landscape, made mental notes and vocal observations, and tried their hardest to bring a sense of normalcy into this experience.
When they got to the second floor, though, Annabeth's resolve faltered for just a brief moment. She had spent so many hours of her time here, flitting back and forth between her office and Donna's. And all that time...
Maya was watching her anxiously, and thinking that in that moment, Annabeth never looked more like a young, frightened child. She longed to reach over and hug her—over the past couple of months they had certainly gotten to the point where such an action wouldn't be abhorrent to Annabeth—but she knew that Annabeth needed, in that moment, to handle things on her own.
And handle them she did, just like the Annabeth that Maya had known for so long—the take-charge, take-no-prisoners woman who barreled through each new problem as though it were a foe to vanquish. Room by room, Annabeth made her way through, rarely pausing long enough to appreciate any memories that the familiar space might evoke. Not even Donna's own office got preferential treatment—Annabeth simply stood in the doorway, assessing the room with a gimlet eye. "Were there any locked file cabinets?"
"No."
"Good." Annabeth turned her back on this room. "We need to have access to her files, for obvious reasons. I'm appointing you to clean it out."
And that was that. They continued on to the third floor. Here, Maya expected Annabeth to falter at least a little as she made her way into the playroom. Here was where Seth Percival had made his "last stand", and where, more significantly, Donna had made hers. Here was where Annabeth had learned of the truth behind her own wretched family history, and lost her only chance at family, and came very close to losing her own life. But at no point now did Annabeth slow down, not even a little bit. She merely assessed the room, coolly, unaffected. "Looks like a brand new place."
"People came in and...cleaned the whole place. Top to bottom."
"Hmmm." Annabeth studied the room for another moment. "Did they...they cleaned the carpets, too! Damn, and we had needed that for the longest time."
"Donna used to say it was a waste of money." Maya bit her lip to keep back the inappropriate smile. "I'll say this for her, that woman stretched a nickel about as far as anyone could."
The moment for melancholy and weighty thoughts passed, and Annabeth frowned as, with characteristic discipline, she turned her attention back to the many tasks at hand. "If this place is going to be up and running in a few days, we need to make a list of all the things we need to get done...stocking the fridge and pantry, for one. And making sure we've got enough by way of clean linens..."
Ever the organized administrative assistant, Maya acted at once. Digging a notepad and pen out of one of her bags, she nodded encouragingly. "Just start rattling it all off. I'll jot it all down, prioritize it, and make sure that it happens."
"Good." Annabeth's voice was unusually hard. "Because if you don't make sure it happens, it won't get done."
They continued on their way, Annabeth charging through the building, her voice steady as she issued each observation and command. Maya kept apace, diligently transcribing everything. Floor by floor, they looked at each room, personally checking to make sure all was in order. It was, of course—as they headed back down to the lobby, Maya confirmed that the cleaning company that Bruce had hired had been most thorough. "Say what you want about him, the man has an eye for quality. And he doesn't mind paying for it."
"Let's be clear." Annabeth pinned Maya with a sharp look. "You've been incredibly discreet about the whole me and Bruce thing, and I am incredibly grateful for it. Janey won't shut up about it—she's been calling me all times of day and night, reading me the riot act. But you've been very supportive, and I can't tell you what that means when I've had to make the decisions that I've made over the past few days. But don't feel like you can't like Bruce. He's an incredible person, underneath all that bullshit. I love him dearly, and you don't need to feel like you're taking sides when you say something nice about him. It's good. Bruce needs people in his corner."
Maya nodded. It was true, she had felt a conflict of loyalties lately, as she had headed down to the Gordon house every day for the past few days, joining Barbara and Annabeth as the three of them decided the next moves, both for Annabeth and Safe Haven. She had sympathized and agonized with Annabeth, but at the same time, a portion of her heart—a very politically savvy portion of her heart— went out to Bruce. Maya and Annabeth shared a past, but Maya was future-oriented, and she knew that Bruce would play a role in it.
Any further discussion would have to take place at another time, as they saw through the glass doors the first of the "guests" begin to arrive. Surprisingly, it was not Barbara—who they had both learned had a surprising habit of conscientious punctuality—but rather Victoria Leigh-Winston. Maya saw her first, negotiating the stone steps that led up to the entrance. By this point, the snow had begun to fall, but this didn't slow Victoria down a jot. She kept right on plowing up the steps, despite the high heels that Annabeth just knew she was wearing, and despite the fact that she seemed to be encumbered with a handbag and a large bakery box. And yet, as both Maya and Annabeth observed, she appeared to do this with a grace that was sickening to watch. Or at least, it would have been sickening to someone who didn't know her.
But then, Annabeth did know Victoria, and she wasn't sickened at all. In fact, she felt better than she had all day, now that she had a reminder of Victoria's good sense and poise and style. They would be valuable in helping to guide Safe Haven through the years ahead. "She's quite a dame, isn't she?" she said to Maya, who was scarcely able to disguise her smile. Less than half a year ago, who would have been able to imagine Annabeth de Burgh singing the praises of a wealthy Gotham socialite?
They had all changed.
Right behind Victoria came Barbara, whose galoshes clomped noisily as she entered, her cheeks ruddy and her eyes sparkling from the cold, a few snowflakes contrasting vividly from where they had fallen on her red hair. "Christ on toast! It's colder than a witch's..." As the door swooshed shut behind her, and she caught of Victoria, whose face was a mask of genteel surprise, she wisely terminated her analogy. But she couldn't be repressed for long; she possessed too much blithe confidence and good humor for that to happen. "Hello! I think we met—at Bruce Wayne's. You're Victoria Leigh-Winston, aren't you? That was a clever piece of legislation the Senator presented last week."
It never ceased to surprise Annabeth, how Barbara managed to blunder her way into so many awkward situations, and yet then charmed her way out of them. Victoria's polite smile had been replaced by a genuine one. "Thank you; I'll be sure and tell him. And if I'm not mistaken—you just won the Stoker Fellowship, didn't you? My congratualations."
Now it was Barbara's turn to be charmed. "The Stoker Fellowship is one of the most prestigious at the university," she explained to Annabeth and Maya. "The last three years running, the board didn't award it to anyone—that's how big this thing is."
So here was another reason for Annabeth to feel encouraged about the people who were taking control of Safe Haven. Over the days that she had stayed with the Gordons, she had had many opportunities to observe Barbara, and was by now firmly convinced that Barbara was a genius. "More accurately, high-functioning autistic with an ability to mimic proper social responses," Barbara had dismissed this two nights ago, when Annabeth proposed her hunch. It didn't matter, though—Barbara's formidable intellect, whatever its source, was an asset that could only serve Safe Haven well.
However, now was not the right time to contemplate Barbara's academic successes, for Maya straightened up a little. "Here's Bruce, coming up the steps now." She glanced at Annabeth in trepidation, and saw Barbara do the same. There was no opportunity to worry, however, for here he was, opening the door and striding in.
"Good morning!" Bruce's voice was loud enough to echo through the waiting room, and its forcefulness took them all aback, even Victoria. "Lord, what's with all the badly disguised undercover cops outside?"
"They're Annabeth's protection detail," Barbara told him. "And they're not even trying to be undercover. Dad gets twitchy whenever Annabeth goes out in public, so he makes sure everyone in a mile radius knows that Annabeth's being guarded."
"Sounds inconvenient." And because it would have been rude and obvious and awkward to ignore the very person they were talking about, Bruce turned to her. "Good morning," he said, and this was in a voice much quieter, even gentle. Meant for Annabeth alone.
She offered him a tentative smile. "Hey, Bruce."
"Why don't I give you two the tour?" Maya addressed both Victoria and Barbara. "Bruce has been here a bunch of times, but you haven't. May as well get to see the place and know your way around, and know what you're getting into."
The three women vacated the waiting room with almost comical speed, and their consideration gave Bruce and Annabeth a few moments of badly-needed privacy. They had parted by mutual agreement, and on good, even tender terms, but still. This was The First Conversation since, and required careful handling.
Annabeth was no good at careful handling. "How have you been?" she asked with her characteristic bluntness.
Bruce shrugged. "Been busy," was his ineloquent and unrevealing response. Actually, he remembered the last few days only with vagueness—long and lonely days, filled with Alfred's silent reproach, evenings filled with tedious social events out on the town, followed by late nights spent re-staking the Batman's claims on Gotham's streets. "Yup. Busy."
Busy with what? Annabeth wanted to ask, but no, she couldn't. She had given up her right to ask that question when she had driven off on the back of Barbara's motorcycle and out of Bruce's life. So instead, she went for a light approach. "How was the ice hockey game?"
It worked. Bruce smiled. "You read about that in The Gazette this morning, I take it?" He had attended an ice hockey game the previous evening with Felice Tannerton, the current rising star of Gotham Got Talent. But while ice hockey, as it turned out, was not her spectator sport of choice, dating ice hockey players was. And so, Bruce Wayne had left the game early, and alone. Felice Tannerton had not. When Annabeth had read of Vicki Vale's gleeful account, she had felt neither amusement, nor anger, nor even pity. Now that she understood the nature of Bruce's double life, she simply accepted it.
"Vicki Vale makes watching your social life a spectator sport for the masses of Gotham," Annabeth smiled. "What did Alfred think of Felice?"
"Alfred's too busy being annoyed as hell with you and me," Bruce admitted, and he couldn't help but to smile sheepishly. "He thinks you and I need couples counseling."
He was rewarded by Annabeth's stifled snort of laughter. And after that, it was easier—they were able to talk with each other, and carefully find their footing in this new world of After. Annabeth filled him in on the work that she and Maya, with Barbara's help, had been doing with Safe Haven, and Bruce listened and asked questions. And privately, each decided that they, and the other, would be fine. It was glaringly obvious, by Bruce's forced jocularlity and Annabeth's carefully-studied friendliness and courtesy, that they were both emotionally bruised and perhaps only barely holding it together, but in the long run, they would be fine.
When Annabeth figured this out, she decided it was time to raise the subject that she had been dreading. "Bruce..."
His eyes were wary; he knew her voice and its various shifts and octaves well enough to know that a Serious Moment was approaching. But the moment passed before it had a chance to come to fruition, because the front door swooshed open again, and in stepped Hugh Lundquist and Katie Moriarty, chatting amiably. Hugh, in particular, looked far more animated than he normally appeared, and it was no doubt due to the unexpected company of the vivacious Katie Moriarty. But as soon as they entered Safe Haven, they dutifully turned their attention away from each other and to Bruce and Annabeth, and so they could only extend the same courtesy to the newest arrivals.
There was no more opportunity to talk now, and there likely would not be, later—so Annabeth stole one final, regretful glance at Bruce, who could only stand by and watch as she was swept up into the hustle and bustle of Safe Haven returning to life.
Forty-five minutes later, Barbara seated herself at the long conference table in the meeting room. She was the first one to take her seat, so she had the advantage of being able to survey every person as one by one, they trickled into the room. As they did, Maya moved around the room, setting out legal pads and pens and bottled water, and finally, a tray bearing the delectable danishes and muffins that Victoria had brought with her.
Predictably, Annabeth was the next person to come into the room and take her seat at the end of the conference table. Barbara could tell that she had gone to the ladies' room and primped, just a little: her hair was freshly brushed and clipped back, her lips glistened with a new coat of sheer lip gloss, and she had donned her suit jacket. She appeared to be poised, confident, and quite thoroughly prepared to lead her first board meeting.
Her first, and her last.
As Annabeth took her seat, Maya paused and was seized by a moment of cognitive dissonance. Always before, it had been Donna there, preparing to lead the (admittedly scantily-attended) board meetings. It had always been Donna, projecting the necessary aura of leadership and vision and competence, and looking down the table and grimacing at Maya as they each silently contemplated the tedious meeting to come. But now things were drastically different. Donna was dead, and in this strange new universe, it was Donna's daughter Annabeth who now gazed around the room and pondered and planned. The other difference was that now the room was filling up—a far cry from board meetings past—with dynamic, involved, often influential people, hand-picked by Bruce for precisely those qualities. Maya suspected there would be nothing tedious or boring about today's meeting.
Here was Bruce, now, coming into the room, talking earnestly to Sandra Sondheim, the civil rights attorney. Barbara watched him for a moment, and then compared what she observed with what she knew of him, and decided that perhaps he was a little off today. Not much, and if she hadn't have had a firsthand knowledge of recent events, she would have just chalked it up to Bruce's notoriously erratic behavior. But he seemed more mercurial than normal—overly enthusiastic, and then morosely subdued, and sometimes swinging wildly between the two in a short span of time.
Barbara wasn't the only person watching Bruce. She saw Maya pause in her task for a moment, a small frown furrowing between her eyebrows. In her conversations with Maya, Barbara had detected in the transparent young woman a genuine and platonic affection for Bruce, and it was clear that her affection led to the worry that was now written all over her. Not once had Maya questioned or reproached Annabeth for her decision to leave Bruce—in fact, Barbara and Maya had both agreed that it was the wisest and healthiest course of action for them—but her loyalties were beginning to feel a strain. Maya had a long and strong past with Annabeth, but sensed that the future lay nearer to Bruce.
"I think everyone's here now," Annabeth's voice arrested the attention of everyone in the room. "Let's go ahead and get started..."
Bruce, Barbara noted, seated himself at the other end of the table, far down and opposite of Annabeth. Yet it felt not so much like an obvious act of opposition, but rather a subtle act of balance.
Annabeth felt the same way, because she gave Bruce a tiny, grateful smile just an instant before she launched into the little statement she had crafted and rehearsed many times. "I just want to take a moment and thank all of you for joining us and for stepping up to help during Safe Haven's hour of need." She paused, and allowed herself a brief moment of smugness; this was cool! It felt like she was made for this. "Safe Haven recently entered a prolonged phase of transition, but looking around now and seeing you all here, I can say with utter confidence, that Safe Haven will emerge from these transitions intact, functional, and with a focused and promising future."
Everyone was silent, although one or two people nodded in approving agreement. Bruce was one of them.
"Shortly before her death, Donna Drake appointed Bruce Wayne to the board of directors. Bruce accepted this appointment, and, due to the lack of active board members, became board president by default. In short, Bruce is now the acting President of the board."
They all knew it—had known it for a while—but nonetheless, it was still disconcerting to see that same acting President of the board sitting at one end of the table and look vaguely bemused, as if he couldn't quite remember how all of this had come to pass.
"Bruce has foregone the responsibility of chairing today's meeting," Annabeth continued, "and so I will do so in his place, as well as deliver the director's report and recommendations. Maya will take minutes, and Sandra Sondheim has agreed to serve as Parliamentarian for today's meeting..."
And so it went. Of course, Barbara had spent several hours the previous evening, studying the structure and governance of nonprofit organizations and becoming familiar with the finer points of Robert's Rules of Order. She has also spent much time learning the history and mission and finances of Safe Haven, inside and out. And now, she had the meeting agenda in front of her. But she still hung on to every one of Annabeth's words, not wanting to miss a single morsel of information.
Similarly, everyone else at the table remained respectfully silent and attentive as one by one, Annabeth plowed through the items on the agenda. The first item she tackled was, of course, the elephant in the middle of the room—or, as she blandly phrased it, "the incident on the night of December 22, 2008." Despite the fact that she had been both witness to, and victim of, this incident, she managed to render her summary in terms so dry and unexciting, it would have been comical had it not been so disturbing:
"At approximately 6:30 in the evening on December 22nd, several armed intruders forced their way into Safe Haven, and precipitated a hostage situation. The intruders did damage the property, as well as some of the hostages, and Donna Drake was killed. Copies of the official GCPD summary and report, in addition to several witness statements and incident reports submitted by clients, are available in the now-vacant director's office. Safe Haven is scheduled to be 'open for business' and receiving clients as of..."
And that was that.
Annabeth moved on to the next critical issue, that of appointment of board members. She would, she explained to Bruce and the rest of the audience, provide her recommendations, and if Bruce approved, he would then make the appointments, which the appointee would then accept or decline.
"First recommendation: appointment of Barbara Gordon Junior to the position of Vice-President of the board."
Huh? Barbara rarely found herself at the disadvantage of being surprised, but now was one of those rare times. She heard Annabeth explaining to a stonily silent Bruce about her background in law enforcement, her forward-thinking mindset and technological and research skills, her civic-mindedness and energy—
"Fine. I appoint Barbara Gordon to the position of Vice-President. Miss Gordon, do you accept?"
Thoughts of her still-unwritten thesis, as well as her obligations to her father and siblings, flitted through Barbara's head, but she dismissed them quickly enough. Well, what was one more responsibility? Not like she slept that much anyway. "I accept," she said, deliberately ignoring the vexed expression on Bruce Wayne's face. She knew she discomfited the man, but she had no idea why. Other than helping out Annabeth, it wasn't like she had ever gotten into his business. Well, everyone knew Wayne was a little odd. Lord only knew why he had taken against her.
The appointment process proceeded. Katie Moriarty, recommended, accepted, and appointed as secretary; Hugh Lundquist, recommended, accepted, and appointed as treasurer; Sandra Sondheim for parliamentarian, Victoria Leigh-Winston for chair of the fund-raising committee...bit by bit, person by person, the governing board of Safe Haven took shape, and Annabeth visibly took heart, and gathered her courage for the final and most important item on the agenda.
"And with that, we now come to the issue of staffing and personnel. As you all know, the death of Donna Drake leaves the position of Director vacant, and it's vital that we fill this position as soon as possible. I've taken the initiative and compiled for the board a list of potential candidates, a few of which, I might add, approached us. Along with this list, I'm submitting a summary of each candidate's qualifications, as well as my own assessment of the potential of each." Here, Annabeth paused. Up until this point, she had conducted both herself and the meeting with consistent poise and competence. But now, for a moment, she hesitated and fell silent. Crossing the Rubicon, she thought, finally understanding the old phrase's import. And then, when she spoke again, her voice was as strong and confident as ever.
"The board needs to consider one more position that is being vacated, and that will need to be filled—or not, according to the board's discretion. As of five p.m. today, I will be resigning from my position as Safe Haven's Lead Counselor and Administrator. I apologize for the lack of notice, but I've accepted a position elsewhere, and in light of recent events, I need to consider my own well-being and safety."
Reactions from the board members varied—Hugh and Katie appeared mildly surprised, but Maya and Barbara, not at all. They were, after all, the two who had spent the past days assisting Annabeth in planning and executing this checkmate move. Sandra Sondheim retained her composure with a predictable poker face. Victoria glanced with dismay from Annabeth to Bruce—the former seemed serene and maybe just a little sad; the latter, as poker-faced as Sandra.
"In a manner similar to my approach with regards to the director position, I've prepared a list of potential candidates whom I feel could adequately succeed me, and I now submit this for the board's approval."
She slid the papers in question towards the center of the table, and it was this action that convinced Bruce that Annabeth was deadly serious. She was leaving, not just Bruce, but Safe Haven, and maybe Gotham. He remembered that she had tried to speak to him just before the meeting began; this must have been what she wanted to warn him about. Well, at least she had tried. Now, all he could do was try to do right by her, as well. He spoke, and for once, there was little thought or calculation put into his words. "The board accepts your resignation, Annabeth, with deep regret, but also, with thanks for your years of service. Safe Haven owes you tremendously—you've given up a great deal for this institution, and we honor you for your sacrifice. I promise, on behalf of the board, that we will not squander the legacy you leave behind."
One or two people in the group glanced in mild surprise at each other; who knew Bruce Wayne to be so serious? But most around the table nodded in agreement and murmured appreciative platitudes, and Annabeth accepted them with a small smile on her too-composed face.
From that point on, there was little business left to conduct, only a "round robin", during which each board member spent a few minutes pontificating on they honor they felt in being part of this, and how they wished Annabeth the best in her future life.
Conventional words, of course, but no less sincere and kind for all their conventionality. And of course, Annabeth thought as her eyes met Bruce's, how could they guess—she had already had the best?
Still not done, but soon. Hang in there.