They finally arrived at the Wayne manor around 11 that night. The roads were treacherous, especially the long driveway up to the house. Marti was wide awake as they passed through the main gate. Her mouth went slack as she took in the massive structure before her.

"This is your home?"

Bruce smiled out of the corner of his mouth at this. "Yes."

"All by yourself?!"

"Yes.. Well Alfred stays here quite a bit. Also a close friend Dick Grayson lives here during his school breaks."

Marti was amazed by this. They had always lived in hotels, and small apartment complexes. The biggest place they probably stayed was the same size as a small garage they passed before the gate.

As they pulled up to the front door, Alfred stepped out and opened the door for her.

"Hurry my dear, it's quite cold out."

She quickly hopped out the door, and followed Bruce up to the main doors. She felt immediate relief as they passed the threshold. Bruce walked through the entry hall, and into a large ballroom off the to the right. Marti cautiously followed. Along the walls were small side tables with priceless ancient pottery, with large tapestries behind them. In her mind she could hear her mother's voice, "'keep your arms at your sides dear, you don't want to knock over anything.'" Slowly she came upon the ballroom Bruce entered. It was massive, and the ceiling went all the way up through a balustrade stairway, to a beautiful mural painted ceiling. Bruce was working on building a fire in the grand fireplace, as she slowly circled the the room. Her eyes followed the Art Deco sun beams from the center, to all the angelic figures floating about their paradise.

"Mistress, would you like to see your room?" Alfred inquired as he entered holding her small suitcase.

She gave him a worried look.

Alfred looked over to Bruce, "Sir perhaps you could show her, while I ready the fire?" Bruce nodded, and walked over, taking the pink suitcase he guided her up the grand staircase.

As she gripped the cold marble banister chills ran up her arm. She resolved to cross her arms over his chest, squeezing her bear tight. They went round a wide walkway above the ballroom, and down a hall, passing several vacant bedrooms. She marveled at the fine furnishing in each room. Eventually they reached a closed door at the end of the hall. Bruce opened it, revealing a large room, with a tall Victorian four poster bed, and a large plush window seat with a clear view of a grand garden.

"Make yourself at home." Bruce placed her suitcase on the couch, and walked over to turn on the gas fireplace. Adjusting the knob, the flames erupted around the very convincing logs.

The heat from this cut through the chill air, and began to warm her cheeks. Looking round, she became uncomfortable with the mass of space around her. "Where is your room?"

Bruce was taken aback by this, but considering the amount of shock from the child's abandonment, he dipped his head. "I'm one floor up from here."

She let out a quick breath of shock from this. Not only was this place bigger than she had already imagined, but he was so far away.

Bruce approached her, and rested his hand on her shoulder. "If you need anything, you can use the bell call cord next to the door."

She nodded at this. Bruce left the room, closing the door behind him.

Marti took a seat next to her suitcase. Slowly she shed her coat and hat, placing them neatly over the arm of the chair. She slipped off her boots, and placed them off to the side of the fireplace. Eagerly she went for her suitcase, and undid the latch. This was the first time she was able to have her things since her mother disappeared. Opening the case, she could tell her things had been looked through. Digging to the bottom she found her journal. Opening the book she looked over past entries, and the occasional photographs she pasted to the pages. The pages were thick, and the binding of the book was a little worn from the extra bulk added to it. Pulling her feet up to the edge of the couch, she leaned the book against her knees. Her eyes were fixed on a picture of her mother. This was her favorite picture. In was taken when they were in Paris. She was standing on a green bridge in Monet's garden. Feeling a piece of paper poke her leg, she lifted the book up. Thinking it was a picture that came loose, she cupped her hand under to catch it. But it wasn't a picture. It was a small envelope, with her name written on it. Recognizing the handwriting as her mother's', she quickly turned it round. The seal looked to have been already broken. Pulling out the document, she read over the message.

My dear Marti,

If you are reading this, then I did not return from my meeting. In the past your grandfather got involved with the wrong crowd. Which made life hard, and kept me on the run. Thus why we have always been on the move. To me you mean the world, and I will try with all my might to return to you as soon as I can.

Now I am sure you are scared, and I wish with all my heart that this didn't have to happen like this. Hopefully by now the police have found the documents I left with our suitcases. Over the years you have asked over and over about your father. Darling, it pains me to tell you this way. But I feel with these circumstances it must be known that your father is Bruce Wayne. Please know that I always wanted to tell you, but I never could risk our safety with you knowing. By now I'm sure you are in his care, in some way or another. Just know that you can trust him. I love him, and trust him with you.

Give Theodore a hug and a kiss for me, and try your best to keep your chin up.

I love you.

Marti rubbed at the tears streaming down her face, and dropped the letter to the ground. This letter did not make her feel any better about her situation. In fact it caused her to believe that she may never see her mother again. For a good five minutes she sat in the fetal position, looking out the window. Outside she would catch a few black streaks in the air among the snowflakes. Suddenly one of the streaks darted toward the window, and scraped the glass. She jumped at this, and buried her face in her knees. After a few moments she still could hear a light tapping at her window. Poking her head out a little, she couldn't find the source of the noise. Biting at her lower lip, she summed up the courage, and got up. Slowly she walked over to the window. The tapping still persisted. Leaning over the plush window seat, she reached forward, and wiped the steam from the window where the sound was coming from. As soon as her hand swiped the glass clear, she heard a loud screech through the glass, and spotted a bat with bright red eyes. Marti fell backward at this, and slowly scooted back toward the couch. She gripped at her mother's letter, and stuffed it into her book. The bat continued to screech, and prod at the glass.

Marti was too scared to know what to do, so she ran out of the room, closing the door behind her. The hallway was dark, and the further she got from her room, the colder it was. Down the hall was the dim light from the grand fireplace below. Slowly she crept down the hall, not wanting to make a noise. Once she reached the balustrade she looked down to into the ballroom. She followed a long shadow to a figure leaning against the mantle. It was Bruce, and his attention was on a shiny gold locket in his hand. Adjusting her journal in her hand, the hard cover tapped on the top of the stone banister. This got Bruce's attention, and before she could dart away, his eyes were on her.

Not wanting to call down to him her reason for being out of her room. She slowly walked round to the staircase. Bruce didn't move, he simply clicked the locket shut, and gripped it in his hand.

Sheepishly, she walked toward him, saying in a somewhat broken voice, "there's a bat scraping at my window."

"Is it inside your room?!"

"No, its outside. Its probably gone by now."

"Oh." Bruce responded, easing his muscles at this.

Not knowing why she felt she had the need to do this, she opened her book, and pulled out her mother's letter. "I found this." She said bringing it to him.

Bruce put down the locket on the coffee table, and took the letter. Walking over to the fire he read it over twice.

Marti, feeling at ease being near someone. Took a seat on the couch, and looked over to Bruce. She watched as his eyes shifted from one line to the other. Then she noticed his hair. It had a similar tint of purple to it like hers with the right lighting. Wanting to hear him say something she, broke the silence. "Did you know about me?"

Bruce took in a breath with this, and propped himself up on the mantle. "No."

"Well. That makes two of us." She responded. She wasn't looking at him with this. She was looking at the locket on the table. There was something familiar about it.

Bruce, observing her gaze, collected the locket, opened it, and handed it over to her. "Was this the same picture your mother had?"

"Yes! But I've also seen this locket before."

"She left it behind the last time I saw her."

Grasping the locket in her hands, she traced over the intricate filigree designs. "Oh wait!" Marti quickly handed him the locket, and opened her book. Flipping madly through the pages, she found an older picture of her mother and grandfather, where she was wearing the same necklace. "See. I knew I saw it before." She said turning the book round to show Bruce.

Looking down at the page he saw familiar faces, bordered by her slanted handwriting and a small sketch. "What is this book?"

"Its my journal. Mother had me write about our adventures around the world."

"May I?"

Marti nodded as she handed him over the book. As he leafed through the pages she told him about all the places they had gone together. He seemed to be listening to this, but his gaze was always fixed on the pictures of her mother. Eventually she felt she had been talking too much, so she paused for a moment.

Bruce looked up at this, he knew he was being awkward with his top thing on his mind was what he was to do now. Sure he had brought her to his home. But what next? The media was sure to find out soon, and he he would most definitely have to hire a maid or some sort of governess; Alfred could only do so much for her. And, from the tone of Andi's letter, it sounded like she wouldn't be returning anytime soon. Also he wasn't going to even address how he will have to conceal his alter ego from this new addition to his household. Rubbing his brow, he thought about what he should say. "We will just have to take this one day at a time Martha."

"Okay." She agreed.

There was another long pause of silence. Then he spoke again, "did you want me to check on that bat in your room?"

"No its fine… Actually. Can I stay out here with you? I'm not used to being alone."

Pulling a throw cover from behind him, he passed it over to her across the coffee table.

"May I keep looking through this?"

"Sure," she squeaked out through a yawn, as she covered herself up with the blanket.

An hour passed, and Bruce was still awake looking over the many entries, and pictures of Andi and Martha. He smiled when he read over Martha's account of their Paris trip. Andi always wanted to go to Paris. Through the cracks of the fireplace, he could hear the soft sleeping breaths of Martha. She had the blanket wrapped around her, and was using his discarded jacket as a pillow. Her rhythmic hum of breaths began to get to him, and he slowly drifted off to sleep himself.