"I have questions."
"Is it about the giant penny?"
Alfred observed his charges from the open platform nearest the medbay, anxiety finally quelled by the sound of Master Tim's voice echoing through the cavernous space. He even sounded energetic, amid a careful façade of cheer.
"And the dinosaur statue. But the penny is definitely a conversation piece."
"We're talking about it right now, aren't we?"
The other voice was unfamiliar, however, and clearly accented. While Master Bruce's pre-arrival conversation revealed their young new ally went by "Genbu" initially, Master Tim managed to uncover a name: Kei, undoubtedly short for something more complex.
Even at a moderate distance and the masking effect of the cave's gloom, the mere fact that Master Tim consented to being carried by Master Bruce outside of costume was an alarming anomaly compared to his usual independence. The short journey from the largest platform in the Cave—a precaution suited for such technologies as dangerous as teleportation—ordinarily succumbed to energetic flips and neverending quips. Seeing him so engulfed by Master Bruce's arms boded ill.
And yet, even before Alfred approached them with a greeting on the tip of his tongue, the relief at the boy's presence could have taken a stronger man out at the knees. Alfred, instead, relied on stubbornness and a convenient guard rail.
"Hey, Alfie," was all Master Tim had to say upon being carefully set on his own two feet, just next to the cot. "I… Sorry I'm late?"
"My dear boy," Alfred said, catching Master Tim by the forearms when it seemed he might topple. He took care to avoid touching the burns on his charge's wrists, gloved palms open and entirely gentle support. "The most important thing is that you have come back to us. I could never demand an apology for that."
"Th'nks," Master Tim managed, his voice and face both quavering just a little in his relief.
And Alfred couldn't have resisted the urge to open his arms and hug the boy if he tried. He did not try. He kept his grasp light, aware that perhaps Master Tim would not appreciate being restrained, but the return grip was almost bruising. "You are very welcome, Master Tim."
Master Tim accepted help onto the medbay's bed for another exam, even knowing that the Justice League's staff had undoubtedly discharged him with no critical concerns lingering. The remaining injuries were within Alfred's skill to treat, or Leslie's if she needed to be consulted, but that didn't stop the worry.
Master Bruce, meanwhile, seemed to consider Alfred's care sufficient for his investigation to continue. Entirely without costume or artifice, a stranger who was undoubtedly the Manor's most recent addition jerked her head around as though torn over whose needs she ought to see to first.
Perhaps her testimony would yet crack the case. Alfred didn't need to be an impressive detective in his own right to guess that such a close witness might be useful. Though he was.
And the way she kept glancing back, deeply concerned for Master Tim's progress, was heartening. Eventually, that led to one purple-clad shadow in paper slippers heading their way.
"Alfie," said Master Tim on her approach, "this is Kei." Though Alfred had removed his mask with the appropriate solvent, he seemed entirely at ease with this young woman's presence. "She's the one who found me."
Miss Kei tucked her hands together in front of her, sling be damned, and then bowed to exactly thirty degrees. When her spine snapped straight again, Alfred saw the inhuman gleam of yellow in her dark eyes even in the Cave's persistent gloom. One assumed photography made for some interesting results on occasion. "Gekkō Keisuke, sir. Or, uh, Keisuke of the Gekkō family. Or just Kei."
"Like a lizard?" Master Tim asked, turning to face her with painful care.
Miss Gekkō's mouth twitched in the barest suggestion of a smile. "Never heard that one before."
"See, I thought you were a turtle, not a lizard, but it would explain the climbing—" Master Tim went on, clearly forcing energy into his voice that he did not have to spare for the sake of his friend.
"Without homophones," said Master Bruce, over his shoulder, "it probably means 'moonlight' in this context."
Miss Gekkō nodded even as Master Tim rolled his eyes at Master Bruce for killing the joke. She bowed again to Alfred, still exactly as military-precise. "Thank you for letting me stay."
"There's no need for that, Miss Gekkō," Alfred said with every courtesy and not a small dose of gratitude. She greeted him like a superior, not the family's butler, and that was a novelty. "Alfred Pennyworth, at your service," he added, with a bow of his own. "And may I just say how thankful we all are that you've brought Master Tim safely back to us?"
Even in the dim light and with Alfred's aging eyesight, it was easy to spot Miss Kei's momentary startled expression before it dissolved into bashfulness. She scratched her cheek, right where a long scar came to a tapered stop in a clear nervous habit. "I—um. You're welcome, sir?"
Master Tim's snort of laughter was unexpected, but Alfred had missed any sign of amusement over the last few days. "Sorry. Kei, you don't have to be that nervous."
Miss Gekkō favored him with a brief, faint frown of confusion. "But…" A quick glance back to Alfred. Her voice dropped to a mumbled, "It just feels weird."
"Being… thanked?" Unless Alfred was mistaken, Master Tim sounded affronted on her behalf.
Miss Gekkō shook her head, unwilling or unable to explain.
"I hear your medical skills are nothing to be sneezed at, Miss Gekkō," Alfred said, gently steering the conversation away from the clear minefield. "Given that, I would appreciate a second pair of hands."
Miss Gekkō blinked, then nodded as sharply as a soldier. "Whatever you need, Mr. Pennyworth."
In the process of quelling the ruthless swell of anxiety that had seized all of them for the past three days, the cots were all spotless, all medical supplies now sat inventoried and prepared for duty, and now Alfred descended upon them. With care, of course, but perhaps an unusual intensity slipped through. If so, no one could blame him.
Miss Gekkō was a quick learner and able assistant. While there was no need to manhandle Master Tim, seeing as he was conscious and quite opinionated, she jumped at every request and didn't balk at being ordered around by "the help." While Alfred suspected that might be the case, he still took note. Somehow, Miss Gekkō had come to the Manor with a very inflated sense of Alfred's importance, and that might yet bear investigating.
However, Alfred quickly found himself distracted as the full breadth of Master Tim's mistreatment became clear.
Had other factors not rendered it obsolete, Alfred considered the possibility of addressing his grievances with the Joker via shotgun slugs. Lichtenberg figure scars along Master Tim's wrists, ankles, and temples would be alarming enough even without the knowledge of this context, leaving figuratively identical jagged lines across Alfred's thoughts as he continued the examination. Under most circumstances, cardiac events related to electricity presented immediately, often killing the afflicted in an instant. Alfred despised digging around in the mindset of a man like the Joker, but his only working explanation so far was that the monster had employed very low amperage while tormenting Alfred's charges.
Between those burns and the extensive bruising below them—not to mention other signs of rampant abuse—made Alfred briefly, savagely glad to have seen the photographic evidence of the Joker's demise. Then the feeling fled, leaving him as exhausted and heartsick as before.
Not that it compared to Master Tim's ordeal in the slightest. His limbs faintly trembled all throughout Alfred's careful ministrations, from both exhaustion and the effort not to let it show.
"You're safe here, my boy. We'll be right here when you wake," Alfred said at last, as Master Tim settled back onto the cot in a tired slump. If not for their guest, Alfred wouldn't have dared take his eyes off the boy yet. As it was… "Take a moment to rest as well, Miss Gekkō."
"Yes, sir."
Perhaps owing to the sense of familiarity, or just fatigue, Master Tim fell into a fitful doze not long after Alfred prescribed bedrest and observation. A Superman-patterned blanket made its way around him, followed shortly by one branded with Wonder Woman's logo, as though one fleece was insufficient in the cold and the damp. This minor concern was a far cry from the darkness that overtook the household after Master Tim's disappearance, which seemed a doom from which there would be no recovery.
Miss Gekkō, seeming unaccountably smaller without the pair of blankets she brought from space, lingered at Master Tim's bedside afterward. While she refrained from wringing her hands, her shoulders slumped in a minute but noticeable sign of a low mood.
"Tell me, Miss Gekkō, did you happen to eat recently?"
"I—yes." Miss Gekkō resorted to scratching her scar again. But only until she realized Alfred's attention was on her. "What time is it now?"
"Approximately seven in the morning," Alfred offered. "Prime vigilante sleeping hours."
The last half of his remark was directed at Master Bruce, whose efforts with his workbench continued unabated. He had pulled a computer monitor closer in order to add yet more notes. If not for the hour and his work schedule, Mr. Kent might still have been available to physically drag Master Bruce from the cave.
"Then I think I'm fine." Miss Gekkō let out a noise almost too soft for a sigh, then said, "Mr. Pennyworth, do you need help moving Robin upstairs?"
Alfred paused and gave Miss Gekkō's arm, still in a sling, a considering look. Her comically oversized clothes hid most of her build, but Alfred would not be surprised if she was an athlete of the same stripe as Master Dick. Not bulky, like Master Bruce, but nonetheless capable of swinging from a trapeze with a person dangling from her grasp.
"I'm not really hurt," Miss Gekkō, said, following his gaze. "It's…more a reminder to be careful."
"I beg your pardon, but I'll be the judge of that."
"Yes, sir."
But, as she said, Miss Gekkō's examination yielded no more results. If not for the sling's presence in the first place, Alfred might have assumed she was simply a new face brought in from the cold. While, yes, her clothes didn't fit even slightly, one didn't judge another's sartorial choices aloud. The instant counterpoint represented by Master Bruce's cape and cowl would win any burgeoning argument.
"In hindsight," Miss Gekkō began, pointing at her left shoulder as Alfred carefully rotated the arm, "if they'd lined up a revolver here and unloaded, then I'd be in real trouble. But they didn't, and I healed fine."
"So I see. And thank Heaven for that." Once Alfred released her arm, Miss Gekkō put her hands together to pop her knuckles one at a time, with the air of someone denied the option for far too long. He watched the process—wincing internally—until she finished, then said, "If it suits, we do have some options that would still allow you to use both hands. It would make your meals more convenient, if nothing else."
Miss Gekkō perked up a little. "Like…a compression sleeve?"
"I daresay so." But internally, even as he searched their shelves, Alfred allowed himself doubt.
In truth, Miss Gekkō seemed the very picture of health, compared to what anyone could expect from a recent Joker captive. No macabre grin split her face. It was rather uncanny. While Alfred had read the synopsis of the Justice League's report—co-signed by Miss Zatara, Doctor Mid-Nite, and Miss Gordon, among others—the young woman sitting in front of him didn't show a single hint of pain.
Part of that could be training, given Master Bruce's updated notes. The problem with stoic young people was usually down to pride, but the instinct to flinch in a fight was not one that often survived combat in its original state. Alfred didn't particularly want to consider the potential avenues Miss Gekkō's life might have taken, and yet, here they were. Even if Master Bruce's choices eventually took him as far as Japan and studying ninja arts, he made those decisions as an adult. Miss Gekkō's listed age precluded that option.
Metahumans may not have been Alfred's expertise, but perhaps, by now, young would-be heroes were. It was a frightening thought.
As Miss Gekkō wriggled back into a sweatshirt easily three sizes too large for her, covering her sleeveless undershirt, Alfred came back with a roll of athletic tape normally reserved for post-patrol recovery procedures. While Master Dick had favored brighter colors as a young boy, particularly those of his Robin suit, this plain white iteration became more common as they all aged.
"You said you might only need a reminder, correct?" Alfred asked, peeling back one corner of the roll. Given the size of Miss Gekkō's wrists and the lack of serious injury, they didn't need much material to form a somewhat unusual bracelet. Her ligaments hardly needed support now, by all accounts.
"Yes, sir." And before Alfred could retrieve the scissors, Miss Gekkō reached out with her right hand and drew an invisible line across the tape with a fingertip. The material parted, with no other input, and Miss Gekkō smoothed down the tail end of the adhesive without a hint of worry. At least, no new worry, as her resting state seemed some flavor of generally anxious.
Having run the infirmary—and indeed the entire back end of Batman's operation—for years, Alfred knew nothing in the Cave bar the sterile cotton balls would tear so easily. And even then it was a stretch. "My word. I did hear you were a magician, but that seems an awfully minor use."
"Gotta stay in practice." Miss Gekkō flexed her wrist experimentally, then bowed again. "Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."
"You're very welcome."
In short order, Alfred roused Master Tim from his nap and encouraged both him and Miss Gekkō toward the stairs. They did not go until the latter sighed, bodily picked up Master Tim like a child half his size in a bridal carry, and waved off any offer of help Alfred might have managed. And despite teenage pride and the brief, if intense, nature of their acquaintance, Master Tim relaxed in her hold like it was nothing.
"Please make your way to the residential wing. Master Tim knows the way. I should only be a moment."
"Yes, sir."
That gave Master Tim some pause. He shifted in Miss Gekkō's grip and, with a shadow of his former spirit, he said, "You can call him by his name, you know."
Miss Gekkō made a face and didn't reply on that topic. Instead, she brought up the local bat population—the animals—and commenced carrying Master Tim toward the house.
Once the children's voices were up the stairs and gone, Alfred strode to Master Bruce's computer chair and said, "Don't make them wait, Master Bruce. Your most timely concern now ought to be making your way through that clock, too."
"Alfred…" Master Bruce, cowl off, ran a bare hand over his face in one of the most blatant signs of fatigue since the Doctor Destiny incident.
Admittedly, Mister Kent had sent along a photograph of Master Bruce sleeping in full costume in a Watchtower chair after that dust settled, but his insistence on trying to be more juggernaut of justice than mortal man only grew more ironclad since.
Alfred took the moment to glance over Master Bruce's modified workload. While earlier he had been working on the remaining evidence lifted from the Arkham crime scene, the item on his docket now appeared more like the appropriate paperwork to craft a false identity. Miss Gekkō's scarred face stared back at Alfred with an expression best suited for the line at the DMV, or perhaps a spectacularly boring book. Basic biological information was in tatters around the half-built page (height, estimated weight, nearest likely Earth ethnicity, etc.), likely because she hadn't yet been consulted on a suitable false history she might have to adopt in public. Certainly her honest employment history needed to stay a gaping black hole. Alfred shuddered to think what it might be in reality, given the hints so far.
"Master Bruce, everyone made it home," Alfred said at last, as Master Bruce looked up. "Sometimes, we can only thank our lucky stars and move forward. Ideally, after a decent… day's sleep. I've already taken the liberty of rescheduling your appointments for a later date."
Master Bruce closed his eyes and leaned back against the leather headrest. Alfred watched his brow furrow as he fought himself over his next argument, either against Alfred or for working onward. It was largely a distinction without a material difference these days. Then: "I almost lost him, Alfred."
Alfred did not say, "Now you know how I feel every night." It would have been petty cruelty of the highest order, no matter how true it was. A more optimistic man than Alfred might have downplayed the very real risk that Master Bruce, who had been one of Alfred's charges for his entire life, would not come home one day. He did not know when or how, but Batman was a name, a mantle, and a crusade. And as they used to say to warriors of days gone by, "Come back with your shield, or on it." Alfred dreaded the latter option, but could never dismiss the possibility.
Instead, what came to mind was: "But you did not, sir. Now that very child is above our heads, safe and sound."
"He is." The forlorn component in Master Bruce's bearing eased a little, but only just. "He's not going to be happy with what I have to say tomorrow." A sweep of his hand, toward the row of displayed costumes, as he rose from his chair. "Tim can't go out as Robin again. Not after this. Robin is done."
Alfred imagined that would trigger the sort of argument previously limited to the tail end of Master Dick's time as Robin. The chandeliers would quake. Still, Master Bruce seemed more likely to win this battle than Alfred's graceful defeat regarding Batman, if only because Master Tim was yet a child.
"He's alive to have a proper row with you about that, and that's enough for now."
At least, Alfred hoped he would. The fragility in Master Tim's demeanor was something entirely new to the boy, for as long as Alfred had known him. While he put on a braver face here than even his routine outings as Robin, the cracks in that mask were very real. If not for the presence of his new friend, Alfred suspected Tim might yet fly apart at the seams.
They would simply have to all be present and willing to help him pick himself up in the aftermath.
Oblivious to Alfred's thoughts, Master Bruce said, "Strange to be grateful for an impending fight."
"Oh, not at all, Master Bruce."
Master Bruce's expression told Alfred he had most definitely heard the unspoken, "After all, this is familiar territory for us" implied by Alfred's tone.
"Up you get, sir. The work will still be here later." And the timeline involved can be far longer than before, thanks to the deaths of everyone involved in such a heinous plan. Something to be viciously grateful for, for a very long time.
It was always the after that got to Kei. When all the dust settled, the adrenaline ran out, and medics had already told people to get lost and go home, since there was nothing else to do.
Being in Wayne Manor felt even more like shuffled to another world. Again.
There was something inescapably akin to a museum about the disposition of Wayne Manor, and Kei's overtired brain did not want to care. Regardless of her wishes, the more appealingly cold and waterfall-equipped Batcave was not necessary for her recovery, and upstairs she went. And, yes, maybe picking up Robin like a puppy made that order her own fault, since everyone knew he deserved to sleep in his own bed after everything. She wasn't going to make a seventy-year-old man do the grunt work, no matter how spry he still was.
While the office with the trick clock entrance wasn't too creepy, given that Batman probably had to host at least a few fellow businessmen who didn't know about his double life, following Robin's directions put both of them out in the hallway. Or, to be more accurate, hallways. There were entirely too many.
Kei, whose largest residence across two lifetimes was a two-story house, wished desperately for a map clarifying at least some of the art deco maze. No doubt it was littered with secret passageways and easy escape routes in case of villain attack or a sudden need for vigilante justice. There had been a fireman's pole down in the cave area, which had to attach somewhere up here.
True to what Kei heard earlier, morning light streamed through any window not blocked by blackout curtains
"Down the hall all the way," Robin said, lifting his head off her shoulder for a slightly better view. "Then up the side stairs, then take a left."
"You should consider putting up signs," Kei muttered, upon reaching what seemed to be a foyer.
"Where's the fun in that?" This joke not only failed to land, it crashed and burned at launch with the stress hovering in Robin's tone. And the way he gripped her shoulders a little tighter, as though to ground himself.
Kei didn't push him on it. The best she could come up with on short notice was a sort of pathetic complaint about the layouts of buildings people willingly called "manors" in total seriousness. Besides, she had a guide.
There was a sigh in her ear. "Okay, stop here."
Granted, her guide had enough pride left to want to be set on his own feet and make his way unsteadily up said stairs with only the assistance of the handrail, but that was his choice. Because Kei was taller, acting as a crutch was actually more annoying than being a pack mule. Or maybe he didn't want to take the chance that Kei's strength might give out and send them toppling toward yet another concussion.
"Here" was a hallway with slightly fewer creepy portraits and more wall sconces for light, along with some windows. It was up on the third floor, though, so maybe that made it the residential wing by default. They'd certainly managed to climb some stairs between the Batcave and here. It was just that the building's first floor had a couple eight-meter ceilings for some ridiculous reason, throwing off all of Kei's calculations about how tall anything should be even with chandeliers involved. Why did any private residence need a ballroom?
Most of the way up the steps, very aware that Kei was hovering behind him and unable to stop doing that, Robin turned and said, "You can call me by my name, by the way. Might be easier to get into the habit now, instead of tripping over it during daylight hours."
Kei sighed. While Batman had already told her she was going to get some kind of civilian ID as a part of the plot to coax her out of the Watchtower, it still felt wrong somehow. Unearned. Or maybe the expectation that she might have to participate in the Bats' daily life, even as a random personal assistant (specifics nonexistent), made her want to curl up and hide at the bottom of the Gotham River—if it wasn't a chemical soup due to industrial and supervillain runoff.
I would vote for that option, but only one of us is immune to mutagens.
Yeah, Kei figured he would. It also wasn't a relevant option. Aloud, all she said was, "Okay, Tim."
Robin—well, Tim, when out of costume like this—flashed a quick grin that failed to reach his eyes, then resumed his trip up the stairs. Kei didn't quite know what to do with it. Knowing that the kid could still smile, no matter how fragile, kept catching her by surprise even when she knew it wasn't really unexpected. The sort of person who spent so much time in the darkness of a city like Gotham undoubtedly put on more than one mask at night.
Or maybe Kei's expectations were just completely off-base because she knew how bad things could've been. Her scale was screwy in both directions.
After a minute or so, Tim stopped at a door amid a hallway of other, identically polished and ancient oak doors that made up the family wing. There were about a dozen, with the last being a set of double doors for a master bedroom likely larger than her entire apartment back home.
One of them was already open, nearest the stairs. Seeing her own curiosity reflected in Tim's expression, she led the way and peered inside.
Apparently, Mr. Pennyworth hadn't been exaggerating about his housekeeping arrangements. Due to the lack of personal touches, the room reminded her most strongly of hotels from a hop, skip, and a lifetime ago. The white-and-blue sheets were tucked under the edges of the mattress, with all the pillows arranged on top in a pyramid and a bigger blanket folded at the foot of the bed. The bookshelf was empty, which suited Kei just fine for now. The wooden floor was covered by a rug long enough for Kei to do yoga if she wanted to (or just to lie down and contemplate the unforgiving universe for giving her this strange gig). The writing desk, too, was bare of anything but a lamp, notebook, and cup of pens, and the dresser across from the bed had a boxlike TV on top, but the cords weren't plugged in—likely because no one used this room in the first place. Despite that lack of use, there wasn't a speck of dust in sight.
Oh, and the world's most patient butler had stacked a bunch of clothes on the bed. That was useful, too. She'd been asked what kinds of clothes she normally wore, between everything else going on, but "a local concept of combat fatigues" probably counted as one of those answers that made people sad. So, she'd made some vague noises about jeans, T-shirts, workout clothes, and the like. Anything comfortable that didn't require a lot of coddling.
"There's a bathroom opposite the closet," Tim said from the doorway, while Kei inspected the clothes on offer. "All the towels and soaps are kinda generic, but…"
"It's fine. I'm not picky." Kei got the feeling she'd be saying that a lot in the near future.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, a household in…whatever time-locked setting superhero stories favored, there was a distinct retro feel to some of the fashion options. At least, that was the main explanation Kei had for the impressive flare jeans she'd just unrolled. Otherwise, everything else down to the three-pack of T-shirts would suffice. At least, until anyone extended her leash and her funds enough for an actual store run.
She kinda felt bad for making Mr. Pennyworth try to find a store this early in the morning. Hopefully, they were making do with things left over from Target runs in the recentish past.
Oh, who was she kidding? Trying to imagine Mr. Pennyworth inside of a WalMart voluntarily felt like seeing a zebra on a highway. Just too weird.
"Did Alfred get everything on the list?" Tim asked from behind her.
When Kei twisted to look at him, he was leaning against the doorframe. Maybe he thought the threshold of this glorified guest room was sacrosanct, and Kei didn't really blame him for that. They'd both had a shitty time recently and wanted to avoid stepping on each other's triggers.
Kei didn't know how to do that any more than he did. Going through hell together didn't make her better at coping with what had happened. Isobu did—by excising the memory.
She didn't know how to explain that either.
At last, Kei just said, "Yeah, it'll work."
Tim's shoulders dropped a little in relief. With an awkward huff, he eased off the doorframe and said, "Then…well, I'm gonna take a shower. Just, y'know, hospital gunk and all that."
Kei nodded and turned her back toward the door, folding the clothes on offer as his footsteps faded. Even with a task to occupy her hands, a part of Kei's brain kept listening for any sign of distress from the room across the hall. It could be something as mundane as crying, but Kei was around and wasn't willing to let him go entirely unsupervised. Something, something, ethical obligations.
Also, if Tim cracked his head on a bathroom counter due to the damage left over from being tortured by electricity—such as a seizure—while Kei was the nearest responsible party until Mr. Pennyworth showed up, she would explode from stress.
More interesting than dying from boredom.
See, I feel like that's debatable.
It was interesting to observe people here, though. And decide what information she could pass on. How many hints could she pull out of her hat before people started asking too many questions about rabbit logistics?
Snatches and snippets were less reinforced by clown trauma, and had thus faded somewhat. Knowing names was easy—and consistent across multiple reinforcing stories—but she couldn't remember some of what was supposed to happen next. Like, sure, Batman-the-sequel awaited in the distant future, but she'd…kind of hoped none of that would be immediately relevant to her experiences here. Then again, she could recall at least two time travel adventures…and if time passed at the same rate as at home…
Nope, not thinking about that.
Pushing aside one aspect of this world's super-science, "Project Cadmus" kept blaring in her head, but all Kei remembered about it right now was that Amanda Waller was the one in charge. There was…something about a Suicide Squad iteration rattling around in Kei's brain, but the rest was fuzzy hell. Government-sponsored death squads could definitely lurk in the undefined ether. At least the chance of getting black-bagged by a local government was somewhat lowered by proximity to the Justice League?
No, wait, something had happened to the Question. And there'd been an incident where Green Lantern got arrested for destroying a planet, hadn't there? Some other thing meant the Justice League fought a magical uberzombie, only Kei blanked entirely on the details.
She was going to be great at this. Might as well preemptively hurl her figurative crystal ball out a window at this rate.
By the time Mr. Pennyworth showed up, she had a headache for the second time today. Probably. At least it wasn't as bad as the one from earlier.
"Are you decent, Miss Gekkō?" Mr. Pennyworth asked, muffled by wood solid enough to annoy a fire chief.
"Yes." Kei opened the door and bowed again as she stepped out into the hall. As she straightened her spine, she asked, "Do you need help with anything?"
"Oh, nothing a guest need concern themselves with," Mr. Pennyworth demurred, like he wasn't well past retirement age and somehow the only staff member running this ridiculous house. "At least, not overly so."
He was holding a tray with a breakfast spread—toast, little dishes of jam, butter, some cut melon, an omelet, and a bowl of what looked like plain yogurt with granola. Most of it was food that could be stowed in a refrigerator until the residents of the house finally made their way home, and was probably a lot lighter on a recovering stomach than a real English breakfast. Sausages, bacon, ham, and things like pancakes were notably absent.
She'd weasel a task list out of him eventually, if only to stay occupied. "Well, let me know if that changes. My schedule's, uh, pretty open nowadays."
Technically, it would remain so until one of the Justice League's magic experts wanted a chance to consult with someone who'd ruined their magical circulatory system as badly as Kei had. It was the same kind of attitude one found in doctors whose patients would probably be worth at least one research paper. Zatanna, at least, didn't seem to be the kind of magical expert who approached her discipline as more science than art. It made things less awkward, if more uncertain.
A miniscule frown formed underneath Mr. Pennyworth's neat mustache. "I shall take that under advisement, Miss Gekkō. Now, if you would knock on Master Tim's door for me."
Tim's was two down and across the hall from Kei's, already swinging open at the sound of voices. As Tim emerged, his hair still damp and his eyes only a little red, he said, "Alfie, is that for me?"
"Unless Miss Gekkō elects to pick from your plate like a bird, I imagine so," Mr. Pennyworth said, heading to him with Kei in his wake. "Try to eat. Once you have, I give my blessing to sleep through the daylight hours."
Tim's smile only looked slightly hollow.
Unable to address that directly, Kei paused at the door as the room past it came into view, a little wrong-footed.
Tim spotted her hesitation. "What?"
"Is that a conspiracy board?"
Tim, hand still on the brass doorknob as he took the tray from Mr. Pennyworth, took a second to glance back and see what Kei was seeing, then ducked his head in clear embarrassment.
It was a teenage boy's bedroom. She'd seen unmade beds and random belonging strewn around Obito's apartment plenty of times growing up, and he was the strongest example in her head because Hayate tended to keep his space clear and Kakashi's only organizational sin involved his dogs taking naps on his comforter when he wasn't around. Kei's own room was kept relatively neat because she kept her fūinjutsu experiments in there, and doing otherwise constituted a fire hazard.
Tim's bed and desk space were kept neat, and someone had stuck an afghan over the couch across from some TV-linked game system Kei didn't recognize. There were two skateboards piled against one wall, one without all its wheels, and the trash can was piled a little too high with chip bags next to them. Band posters for several punk rock and metal groups lined the walls, and blackout curtains preserved them. And prevented a half-nocturnal kid from getting flash-blinded by the morning sun at the moment. All of it was pretty normal.
But the wall above the desk, diagonal from the window, was a corkboard with a dozen photos and newspaper cutouts of Batman and the first Robin, running around Gotham and getting caught on various cameras.
"It's a collage," Tim corrected, while Kei bent to examine some of the headlines. "I'd call it scrapbooking, but I don't have a book."
Mr. Pennyworth, who could have driven the kid to a craft store any time he wanted, didn't say anything for or against Tim's hobby. Kei wondered if how many kids it took to make being adopted by Batman normal.
Tim sat on the bed, slumping a little. "I didn't know Bruce Wayne was Batman back then. But I knew he was a hero, and that…if things went bad, there was always a chance he could show up and save me. That first time—and a lot of times after—he did. Him, and Nightwing, and Batgirl…"
Maybe it was Mr. Pennyworth's presence that killed that train of thought. If Kei thought his microexpressions leaned sad before, she'd been wrong. This was sympathy and grief and made her want to avert her eyes.
Tim swallowed hard. "Sorry. I didn't mean…"
It could have been so much fucking worse. Which would absolutely not be something she, as a relative stranger, was allowed to say right now. Everyone knew it already. Especially not with Mr. Pennyworth right there, with a look in his eyes as though his heart had just cracked in half. That might tip something over a ledge and into the abyss, and Kei knew damn well that was not her reason for being here.
Instead, Kei threw Tim a desperate distraction in the form of honesty. "You're not the only one who got taken in by someone they admired. Sensei was…younger, I guess, but he was there after my mom died."
Tim eyed her, likely all too aware he was being coddled a little, but too interested in the new tidbit to call her on it. "No photo collage for you, though," Tim said after a moment, letting the information drown the anxiety.
"Not as many cameras." Kei shrugged, as if spilling this kind of information was no big deal. Ghosts of shinobi missions past could spin in their graves all they liked.
"I have to admit, when you describe your teacher as 'Sensei,' I am put in mind of an older Japanese man with your same skills." Mr. Pennyworth clearly didn't intend to leave this mystery undisturbed, either. Which was fine. "And you say he had a hand in raising you?"
"Yes, sir." Kei watched Mr. Pennyworth's mustache twitch again. After a moment's deliberation, Kei tried to clarify with, "Sensei chose me as one of his students when I was nine, which was after my dad died on a mission. But he wasn't solely responsible for me until a few years ago."
"And he taught you magic?" Tim asked, curiosity engaged.
"And he taught me magic." Though not all of it. And Sensei definitely hadn't taught Kei everything she knew, because that was impossible to a degree abnormal even for shinobi. He'd done okay, all things considered. "Technically, I can take my own students now, but I'm…new to the idea."
Tim made a point of looking Kei's generally bedraggled self up and down, then said, "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that teaching degrees aren't a thing where you come from."
Kei sighed. "It's more like an apprenticeship system. Even Sensei only has three students—or three successors, according to some people. What was impressive was hitting 'mastery' before adulthood, but I guess I did, so…" Kei waved a hand dismissively, because there were exceptions and then there was the First Hokage's legacy. "Prodigies."
Oh good, now two people were clearly trying not to ask a bunch of concerned questions.
Well, at least that took Tim's attention off his problems? A little? Even if he and everyone else affected by the incident probably needed counseling.
Kei had at least three concerns before recommending a therapist. First, hers was a giant scorpion, and people couldn't always deal with that. Second, being from another world meant that Kei had basically no contacts here other than the ones she'd met in the last day or so, and she was pretty sure none of them were conveniently qualified. Third, Gotham was kind of a psychiatric shitshow and the only two psychologists she could even name were Harley Quinn (pre-clownification) and Hugo Strange (just evil). Thus, all (two) of her options were incredibly useless.
She decided to keep her mouth shut about all of that. It wasn't relevant unless someone outright asked her. "Anyway. Time to eat."
There was something almost funny about how, despite circumstances slamming Kei into these people's lives, she was still as face-meltingly awkward as ever. There were probably so, so many self-help books and motivational speakers for that. And supervillains probably weren't behind more than a third of those seminars.
Still, Tim accepted the redirection and Mr. Pennyworth pretended he wasn't compiling a list of red flags as long as the day ahead. Maybe there was something to be said for just keeping one's thoughts internal for a little while longer. Not that Kei was an expert in that or anything.
"What do Japanese people say before eating?" Tim asked while putting the tray on the desk.
"Itadakimasu" was an easy enough answer to give. She did offer two translations after Tim's first pronunciation attempt, with both "thank you for the food" and "I humbly accept this meal" being workable.
And Kei punctuated this with yet another bow to Mr. Pennyworth, who for all she knew was the only one in this household who spent any time cooking. Tim didn't quite go that far, but the sentiment came across anyway.
There wasn't that much conversation while they ate. Well, while Tim ate. Kei sat on the couch in his room, legs over the armrest and back to a wall, figuratively twiddling her thumbs until she was called upon to eat anything he didn't, in the name of not wasting food. Melon chunks would tide her over in the meantime.
Then again, maybe that was more a thing for people who couldn't buy out the entire stock of an American supermarket on a whim. Konoha didn't even have a concept of "supermarket." No, just produce stands and markets that barely had a stockroom.
Mr. Pennyworth didn't leave, though neither Kei or Tim was going to spend time in a dining room anytime soon. Actually, he insisted on cleaning up after them—which made Kei squirm in anxiety—and getting Tim to go to sleep with as much efficiency as possible. Like, on one hand: holy shit, yes, the kid needed to rest and kept nodding off anyway. On the other: pride stinging might've interfered with being bustled through a bedtime routine like that at age fifteenish, at least for any normal teenager.
Tim, however, obeyed. He put up only a token protest, because any kid around Hayate's age would, but not much.
And Kei kicked herself out into the hallway, because that was one of many things she didn't need to supervise. After a moment or two wherein the butler and the grandson talked in quiet tones, she wandered back to her borrowed room with just a tinge of relief. She wasn't responsible for anything—but also she was. In spirit. And it was a little exhausting.
Sure, Kei wasn't any more physically tired than her mission-ready normal state. It was just a touch of emotional exhaustion. And homesickness. All the usual drama, forming cosmic background radiation to her entire life.
Zoning out a little with the door half-open, Kei was sitting on her bed when Mr. Pennyworth knocked and leaned around the gap to check on her. Presumably.
"I hope you realize," he said after a while, "that you do not need to earn your keep in order to stay here, Miss Gekkō."
Kei looked back at him, not entirely sure what layer of desperation Mr. Pennyworth read in her face. And frankly, she didn't really want to have this conversation with him. Or with anyone. At all. "Mr. Pennyworth?"
"Yes?"
"If I don't find some way of being productive, I'm going to end up literally climbing the walls."
That drew the faintest snort of laughter. "Well, should you require some activity, I would ask you take a washcloth along to clean your footprints as you go."
Oh, he didn't believe her. That was a new one.
He will learn.
"Deal."
Notes:
Alfred Pennyworth may be the biggest enabler of Batman's nonsense in all of existence, but he's also a not-insignificant factor in Bruce surviving some of his decisions, despite being the only guy-in-the-chair character this version of the Bats have.
Athletic tape varies in effectiveness, with the best being proper, solid taping to reinforce joints, but some people do swear by the newer elasticized type you see sometimes. Others say it's pure placebo effect.
