Legendary

Steve's show was going to be in the world-famous reading room. As we climbed the stairs, I didn't want to think about what it must have cost to rent the space for two days--it had also been closed the day before to remove the tables, set up the runway and staging area, and arrange the chairs. I didn't know what to expect.

I gaped a bit as we entered; the runway appeared to be constructed of railway sleepers that paid tribute to the city's past as a transportation hub, elevated so that the spectators would be looking up a bit (and negating the need for more expensive risers for the seating). The backdrop was a stylized city backdrop picked out in colored lights. "Won't be turning that on until just before the press and the rest of the audience arrives," he told us as we walked toward it. "The lights give me a headache." Backstage, there was a rack of clothes for each model, a chair, and a lit mirror with a small ledge. Hair and makeup professionals had arrived with us and some of the models were plopped right into their chairs to begin. The rest of us put on our shoes and tried out the runway. I'd been worried that the surface would be uneven, but it was smooth and level, the wood absorbing the sound the shoes made so we didn't clunk around, and the wood had a little give under the heel, making it feel more secure. I looked more closely; the catwalk was lined with cork. You couldn't see it from the seats and it greatly enhanced my sense of security. Now if I just didn't trip, this was going to be fun.

To my surprise, Natasha showed up to guard the jewelry, including Martha's pearls. There wasn't time to talk, but it was fun to see her. And Hawkeye; he'd been pressed into checking each outfit to be sure it was correct and accessorized accurately before the model stepped out onto the runway. He had a binder with a picture of the outfit, shoes, jewelry, and any props the model would carry. Natasha was responsible for handing out the jewelry and collecting it again as soon as the model came off the runway. We did another run through, quickly, to be sure that the order was exactly as Steve wanted and that we could change clothes quickly enough. Some of us had different underwear for different looks and that had to be factored in along with changes to the hairstyles. For example, the Edwardian flavored dress I had required a corset, which I actually didn't hate. But then, I didn't have to wear it for long. Around eleven, the stylists got to me.

"It's fashionable right now for designers to make their models' faces as bland and unremarkable as possible so that all the focus is on the clothes," the makeup artist said as she applied foundation. "A few of them are actually powdering their models' hair to make the person recede as much as possible." The hair stylist snorted.

"It looks ridiculous; women are going to wear the clothes, you should see women wearing them. But they're still far better off than the old couturiers. Worth, Vionnet, Poiret, all that set are having to figure out how to do a runway show and let me tell you, they are lost. The Worths won't employ a makeup artist and their looks are not updated. They must be going for the audience that refuses to change their look. I'm doing hair for them later in the week," she said, and in the mirror I could see her shake her head.

"I like how Steve has taken some design elements from the past and reinterpreted them for a broad class of customers who include a lot of returnees," I mentioned as I stayed still for the mascara.

"Those dresses look charming; not really old-fashioned, like anybody would wear them," was the makeup artist's opinion.

"Thank you, ladies," Steve's voice said pleasantly. I could hear noises now, which meant that people were arriving. His eyes were a little glassy--he'd moved past panic into some sort of alternate reality overload. The stylists cooed at him, and he smiled, thanked them for their help, and went to the middle of the area where he yelled that we had half an hour left. The makeup artist finished with the wine-colored stain on my lips and moved on. The hair stylist removed the rollers from my hair (apparently some things never changed) and carefully sprayed the curls. My first looks would have my hair in a Lauren Bacall-style pageboy, followed by a ponytail for the swimsuit, and an updo for the rest. The pageboy would be artfully dishevelled for the first look, the sundress and cardigan suggesting a breeze at work, and smooth for the slacks and blouse. There was one more thing--a body painter hustled over, slapped a stencil on my abdomen, and quickly painted a design that circled my navel and went up the midline, flowers and flourishes. The paint had a multicolored shimmer that would look good with all the suits and skin tones and added fun and an unexpected touch of drama. Another stencil on my thigh, and the quick-drying paint was complete.

"It'll wear off in a day or two," the painter told me, and moved on. I carefully touched the paint to make sure it was dry, and slipped into the dress, put on the cardigan, and stepped into the shoes, cute little peep-toe pumps in white with pink embroidery and heels. Natasha gave me a thin bracelet and clean silver hoop earrings, and I took my place in line. My breath caught as the lights dimmed and the chatter in front of the curtain died down.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Steve said as he stepped out onto the runway. He was trembling a little from the stress but his voice was calm and welcoming. "Thank you for coming to the inaugural show of the Rogers design house. I've prepared a collection for every woman. We have a great number of people living today who have different expectations for their personal style, and the goal has always been to produce designs that look as good as they ware to wear. There are new and updated silhouettes in traditional and cutting edge fabrics that make for an eclectic collection. Some of the models you'll see aren't models by profession. I want everyone to know that you can wear these clothes and look great regardless of your occupation or ability to walk a runway." Chuckles from the audience. "Thank you for coming, and enjoy the show."

The music started, modern swing that added a certain bounce to our step and brightened the atmosphere. One of the professional models who was working a show later in the week said that pompous classical music or screechy ultramodern electronica were the music styles most shows would be using. I was glad I was here instead. Hawkeye gave me a wink and a nod when it was my turn, and I stepped through the backdrop and strolled down the runway, feeling relaxed and having a good time. My pivot made the skirt flip out a little, and I made my return. Then it was backstage, blinking away the spots left from the camera flashes, a quick change of clothes, shoes, jewelry, and the stylist smoothed out my hair. With the bikini, I didn't have shoes; the cork was warm under my feet. I trailed a beach towel along behind me, flicking it out for the tallest model to sit on, then she was up, flicking the towel over her shoulder, and we ambled back. Everything went right to plan until the end, when Steve shuffled the order. The dress I wore would be the last one out, and Steve hastily told me that he'd walk out with me, I'd do the pivot, we'd walk back together, and he'd close the show from the runway. I nodded as I clasped the pearls around my neck. The pearls had always been lucky for me and I was glad to be wearing them here. He gave me a once over, critically adjusting the skirt so it was properly fluffed and straight. After the second to last model moved out, he pulled on a double breasted suitcoat and buttoned it, smoothing his tie and nervously running his fingers through his hair, which the stylist had just combed. The mussed hair just added to his appeal. Now that the show was almost over, he brightened and smiled. He stepped out after the model returned and offered me his arm. When I stepped out, the audience's 'ooh' was louder than for the other looks and we walked down the runway, chatting as we went. The dress was really comfortable to wear and the skirt felt fun, I told him.

"Glad you're having fun. You saved my bacon," he said, stopping as I took the last steps to the end of the stage by myself. After my pivot, Steve took my hand and lifted, and I turned, making the skirt flare out. He grinned and we foxtrotted back a few steps before walking back to the top. He looked enormously relieved as he gave a little speech thanking everybody for coming, then the other models came out to join the applause. Emma was practically limp now that the stress of the show was over and it was such a success. Backstage, some of the reporters had been given access to speak to Steve and the models. Most of the attention was correctly on the designer, so we were able to enjoy glasses of sparkling wine that he'd provided for us. The few reporters who asked us questions wanted to know how the clothes felt and what we thought about them, and I was glad to hear that it wasn't just me raving about them. The models who'd worn the other bikinis couldn't be happier.

"Steve ought to design lingerie," the tall model said. "It's wonderful to have a supportive top that doesn't look dowdy or... industrial."

The other model nodded. "Usually I don't bother with a top, I'm flat as a board, but this was really a fun suit. I felt pretty wearing it." The reporter turned to me.

"What can I say?" I asked. "I want that suit. I'd buy some of those dresses, too." The other models laughed and there was a wave of agreement.

"You're Alex Barnes, aren't you?" one reporter asked, and my mouth flattened. The one who'd asked about the swimsuits stepped to the side to dart a look at my back. Sorry, pal, the wings don't leave marks.

"I am," I said coolly.

"Guess mutants have to be good for something," the reporter muttered, and I just lifted my eyebrows at him.

"A couple of models quit unexpectedly, and she was kind enough to fill in," Emma said factually, coming to my rescue, still in the beautiful beaded 20s inspired dress she'd worn for her last look. "She helped Steve on his student showcases, so he knew that she could fit into the looks that had been sized for one of the models." She patted my arm. After that, the models around me turned a collective cold shoulder to the reporters.

"Will you get my zipper?" one of them asked me, and the reporters got the hint that we were done. We changed, and I went back out where a crew was already disassembling the catwalk. Steve and Emma came with me to see the family.

"The women looked beautiful," I heard my uncle say. "You look like shit, though, Stevie. Take a nap this afternoon. You looked great, doll. Make sure he gets some sleep." Emma laughed and kissed Bucky's cheek.

"I'm afraid once I get to sleep I'll be out for days," Steve told him ruefully. I was getting hugs and compliments and tuned out of that conversation. Daniel, Mark, Thomas and Martha had to get back to work, but the rest of us went to lunch. Steve had employed a crew to clean up and get everything back to the workshop, so he and Emma were able to join us. It was a light-hearted lunch, full of praise for Steve's work. Toward the end, the first reviews started to post.

"The inaugural collection of Steve Rogers' design house is, simply, a smash," I read, scanning the first article. "Stellar use of fabrics, deep exploration of technique and design, and confident exploitation of color started Fashion Week with a bang..."

"Rogers' models were full of praise for the wearability of the clothes and were eager for the pret a porter line to hit the stores--" Damian read.

"Even Emily Moore, a model who is a fixture in Fashion Week and who rarely comments about designers and their shows, raved about both the look and the feel of the garments she showed--"

"A judicious blend of inspiration from the past and forward-thinking, modern looks, this surprising collection from recent FIT grad Steve Rogers was a smash--" Emma read. "Oh, look, honey, they have a picture of you and Alex. They're calling the dress the Rose gown."

"Guess you did ok, punk," Bucky said to Steve affectionately.

"Thank god," he mumbled as he rubbed his face with his hands. "I was worried I'd have the shortest fashion career in history." I rolled my eyes.

At the end of the lunch, Steve said he was going to take a nap. As we disbanded, he gave me a hug and thanked me again for filling in.

"No trouble," I assured him. "It was fun. Congratulations on a big hit, Uncle Steve. Bask in your awesomeness. Really enjoy your success, you've earned it. And let me know when you're ready to take orders. There are a couple of things I'd kill for."

"No death and destruction necessary," he assured me grandly, smiling, and on that note, we went our separate ways. Damian went back to work, but I took Bucky and my daughter, who had come over to see the show, to look at the building I'd bid on. Serena and I agreed that it would be easier to have a single owner for the property. It meant more risk for me, but I was in a better position to assume it.

"Wow, Mom, what a dump," my beloved daughter said critically, looking up.

"The good thing is that it'll be a real showcase of your ability, sweetie," Bucky said. "It doesn't look like a good neighborhood, though." He glanced around. "Let's add another hand-to-hand session each week. Keep you sharp."

"That's a good idea, Uncle Bucky," Martha said. "It must be a breeding ground for crime after dark."

"Crime rate's low here," I said briskly. And it was; I suspected it was a combination of crime not being reported and the fact that this was a pretty deserted area. "But my offer's been accepted, and once people see what's going on, there will be more interest in the neighborhood. Some of the buildings are still on the historic registry and the city doesn't have permission to tear them down. But we will have good security," I conceded.

"How's your schedule for tomorrow around one?" Bucky asked, unimpressed. We set up a practice schedule.

"When do you close, Mom?" Martha wanted to know.

"Three weeks," I said eagerly. "They couldn't accept the offer fast enough, but there was a question about a past owner in the title search, and that has to be cleared up. But Dagny's already been out to measure the park site and do... some other landscape things."

"Have you signed the papers on your corporation yet?" Martha asked as we turned away.

"I have, I wanted to give my friends time to think it over. While I think it's going to be a success, a new business is always risky, and I wanted them to have some time away from the excitement of the moment to consider it rationally. Serena is already at work on the blueprints and elevations for the remodeling, though. The shape of the building is weird, since the sides slope back in a trapezoid shape. It's going to be tricky. And I'm not sure how to attract the businesses we want for the first three stores--retail. Or the businesses for the floors under ours, actually. Tony's already gotten a couple of things on my work list accomplished, bless him, and I'm having acoustical testing done on the stabilizing agent for the wood and masonry."

"Why, sweetie?" Bucky asked, looking puzzled.

"It won 't be important for this project, but when you live in a space long enough, you get used to how things sound in a room. Replacing wood, in particular, is going to alter the way that sound reflects around a room. The techboard that's already in use has been tested too; it's pretty null, sound reflection-wise, less than plaster, about the same as old-fashioned drywall. Little changes to acoustics mean that people report feeling a little less at home until they get used to the new sounds, so this sort of smooths the way for them."

"Huh," my daughter said, staring at me. "I would never have thought of that."

"That's why I'm the historic preservationist, dear," I said complacently.

"Who do you have doing legal and the nuts and bolts of the business?" Martha asked, curious.

"Your godmother, Aslyn."

Martha grinned. "I'm scheduled to have lunch with her tomorrow," she said. "I'll have to congratulate her."

"Do you have any ideas for businesses on the lower level?" Bucky asked as we turned onto a busier street.

"Yeah, I'm going to ask Mom if she would be interested in opening a branch of her coffee shop. we need coffee, and hers is the best, plus she's got the best snacks." He grinned. "There's also a grocery store chain, Oasis, that specializes in compact stores in urban food deserts, which fits the bill pretty well. Our street and the ones on each side aren't zoned for residences, but a block over on the west side is, and there's not much there for food options. Plus I bet people working in the neighborhood and the building, once we start to get tenants, would stop by on their way home because it would be convenient. Other than that, I'm open. It needs to be a mixed bag, though, I don't want all of one type of store."

"You need a PR firm, sweetie," Bucky said. I sighed; something else to put on the list. I needed a meeting to get everybody together and get their decisions. Since Aslyn didn't have her bar results yet, I'd gone to a firm Mark had recommended and had them draw up the paperwork for the incorporation of my business and the partnership agreements. I'd be bringing them to the meeting and getting signatures, hopefully, on all of them. Martha and I said goodbye to Bucky, who had to go back to campus for class, and we went to a large furniture store. Martha had been disappointed that we didn't have a guest room ready at the new house, so Damian and I had agreed it was time to get cracking. He had less interest in a room that he wasn't going to be using, and in the hopes of luring Martha back a little more often, had proposed that she help pick out furniture and the mattress for it. She was thrilled that the bed my dad had made me and that she'd used growing up too was out of the mansion's attic and available for her use, so we got a few things to supplement that and the cedar chest; a small recliner, a side table and bedside tables, and a vanity, small and sleek. The closet was much smaller than mine and Damian's, but still a walk-in, and I'd ask Alfred if he had time to work his organizational magic there too. She chose two area rugs, one by the bed and one to delineate the seating area, a couple of lamps, and a heavenly soft mattress, and then it was on to other stores to choose bed linens and towels.

After our shopping excursion, we went home, threw the towels into the laundry, and went up to the main house to talk to Alfred and maybe cadge some cookies. We found him in the kitchen with Daniel and a strange man who resembled Alfred in the appearance of strength and the overall impression of competence.

"Miss Alex, Miss Martha," Alfred said, smiling. "May I introduce Alan Einion. We met while I was on vacation, that little incident in the jungle."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Einion," I said, extending my hand. His grip was firm but not like he had something to prove and not limp. Martha smiled too and shook his hand after me.

"The pleasure's mine, ma'am. Do you prefer Ms Barnes or Mrs Wayne?"

"Either's fine, but you can call me Alex. There are a lot of Mrs Waynes around here," I said, distracted. Something was up. I suddenly wondered if we'd burned poor Alfred out and he was quitting.

"What brings you to the city?" Martha asked casually. "Love your accent."

Einion smiled. "Thank you, miss. I'm from Wales, originally. I've kept in touch with Alfred since our adventure. There's no room in my old agency, so when Alfred said he might know of a situation over here, I thought I'd investigate further."

Martha looked entertained. "Where did you use to work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Security Service, miss." Einion's face was bland.

"Didn't that used to be MI-5? Were you an operative?" Martha asked excitedly. "Like James Bond?"

"Ah, yes, Bond," Einion said bemusedly. "Everybody expects us to run around in tuxedos with a martini in one hand and a gun in the other with a beautiful woman on our arm. But really, nobody has a license to kill. They wouldn't do any good in foreign countries, which is where the Security Service operates, since the government has no jurisdiction. Also, it deprives one of due process." I noted that he hadn't said one way or another what his position had been.

"Are you quitting, Alfred?" I asked in a small voice.

"Tut, Miss Alex," Alfred said reprovingly. "I simply need some assistance as there is more to manage on the estate these days." Shit. I should have thought about that. And here I'd been about to ask him to take on another task.

"Actually, I was about to interview Alan," Daniel said to me. "Would you mind sitting in, Grandma? I'd appreciate your input." Martha and I exchanged clueless looks, and I agreed. We went to the library, and Daniel seated himself behind the desk, Einion on the other side, and I pulled up a chair on one of the short sides and sat back. Daniel and Einion chatted a bit about the challenges of running the estate, then Daniel asked if he'd mind submitting to a truth serum.

"I've nothing to hide," Einion said bemusedly.

"That's one of the reasons that I wanted Grandma to be here," Daniel said. "She's a paramedic, in case you have a weird reaction. Nobody ever has, though." He handed me a vial.

"Is this Emma's?" I asked, and he nodded.

"My aunt Emma made this during her first life," I said, carefully uncapping it right by Einion's face and keeping it at arms length. "It's quite effective and has no side effects that were ever noted. It can't make you speak, but if you do, you'll feel compelled to provide the true answers to the questions. I've had it used on me and my experience wasn't unpleasant."

"I can't answer any questions about my former work in detail," Einion said, and Daniel nodded.

"I have a couple of general questions, but if you feel like they would violate security considerations, just mention that." Einion nodded, and took a good snootful of the serum. I capped it and resumed my seat. Daniel started out by ascertaining that Einion was here only in response to the feeler that Alfred had put out and had not competing interests. Or, as he put it, he wasn't serving two masters.

Einion had joined the Security Service in the middle part of the 21st century, a time of great global upheaval. He'd been seriously injured during the course of his employment and had shifted from fieldwork. The government had sent him back to school to study engineering, and put him to work innovating for the field agents. He'd done that until retirement, then had an uncomplicated afterlife. He'd done some bodyguarding, but hadn't found that this kind of work provided enough scope for his interests and abilities.

"Well, hmm. We don't just need a butler here," Daniel said, then seemed to founder a bit.

"Below us, through secured access, is a secret facility," I said. Daniel slid a piece of paper across the desk. Einion signed a confidentiality agreement. "It's not terribly complicated but there's some cloak and dagger going on. Cape and gadgets, more accurately. This is the home of Batman, we actually have three generations of active Batmen and a couple of former Batmans who have gone out on their own. The facility is called the bat cave, and it requires quite a lot of time and attention to maintain. Specialized expertise."

Einion blinked. "I knew something was different about this job, but I wasn't expecting that," he said.

"Want to see?" Daniel asked, and so we trooped downstairs.

"What do you think?" Daniel said as we stood in the computer area.

"This is unexpectedly sophisticated," Einion said, looking around in surprise.

"The family works with Alfred in maintaining the cave and making upgrades. We also have a medical suite, which is operated by Alfred and Alex, but it is straightforward enough that almost anybody can use it." We showed him around to the other areas, and periodically he stopped to look at some of the displays that generations of batmen had added.

"There are actual bats in the cave," I said. "Do you mind them? Once a year we mist the cave so that they get vaccines against diseases, so they're not harmful."

"I don't believe that should be a problem," he murmured. After Einion had seen everything, we went back upstairs into the kitchen, where Daniel and Alfred discussed what would be required.

"You would be mostly responsible for the mansion," Alfred told him. "I plan to focus on the new house with Miss Alex and Master Damian. I would provide extensive training and we would work together concerning the facility downstairs and the estate as a whole and well as any entertaining needs." He looked at me. "If that is acceptable to Miss Alex and Master Damian." I smiled.

"I think we're totally on board with that," I assured him. He relaxed a trifle. "Martha and I actually came down for cookies. Now we've got Alfred," I gloated, and he smiled. "If you'd like to move down to the new house, you could have the guest suite."

"That would be quite agreeable, Miss Alex," he said.

"Great," I said, grinning. "What type of furniture do you like?"

"I have no particular leanings beyond comfort," he said. "But extensive furnishings aren't necessary. I require very little." He looked a little apprehensive, and I smiled.

"Ok, Alfred," I agreed. I kind of tuned out Einion accepting the position, but shook his hand again. "Welcome to the family," I told him. "And I don't mean that in a Godfather type way, just our extended family. We're peculiar, but mostly harmless."

Martha burst out laughing. "Mostly," she agreed. "Welcome, Mr Einion."

"Please call me Alan," he requested, and Daniel, Alfred, and he went off to the library to do the paperwork. I grabbed a couple of cookies and hustled outside. Martha caught up with me peeking into Alfred's rooms. I'd never go in uninvited, but the draperies were open.

"Wow, it's kind of boring in there," Martha said behind me, making me jump. She smiled and patted my back before taking a second look. "Furniture store?"

"Yep," I agreed, and we hustled back to the car. She drove back to the city while I called Damian. He was ecstatic at the news but couldn't get away to help us choose furniture.

"He said once that he prefers a firm mattress, but not too hard," he said, frowning. "I visited him once when he wasn't feeling well--exactly once in the whole time I knew him--and he had a squishy recliner that was well used. Other than that, he seems to pay more attention to function over form." He considered. "His favorite color is red, but I don't think he likes it in large quantities."

"Thanks Dad," Martha said, and I blew him a kiss before hanging up. "Good that you have that adjustable wallboard, Mom," she said to me. "We can choose mainly neutral things and he can customize as he pleases."

We picked out a bed with a blocky headboard with an upholstered panel and storage cubbies on the sides, a mattress that was firm but not hard, a dark stained cedar chest with silver fittings, a wingback recliner upholstered in a a friendly gray chenille, bookshelves for his personal collection, and lamps. Martha proposed some clean-lined bedside tables from the attic and an elegant side table for the recliner, also from the attic. We chose a subdued rug in autumn colors and another in in grays with flashes of reds in the pattern, and I paid extra for next-day delivery. Then it was off for bedding, and we chose thick soft towels and crisp white linen sheets, having seen them on his current bed. Soft warm blankets and a plain dove gray comforter, and we bought both firm and soft pillows, reasoning that the unused ones could go up to one of the spare rooms. A few welcoming touches, like a carafe and glass for water on the nightstand, and we were done. We started the sheets in the laundry when we got home, following combining procedures I remembered from my first life and Valhalla: first washing the linen with baking soda and vinegar, using the mild acid/base reaction to soften the sheets slightly, then following with fabric softener, and a final wash with just a bit of detergent. Martha helped me iron them while the towels washed, and we dusted the bedroom and cleaned the bathroom, setting aside the freshly laundered sheets until the next day. We went up to the main house for dinner and learned that Alan would be starting the next week. After dinner, Damian and I went home and I made some cookies myself. It didn't seem sufficiently welcoming to plonk down purchased cookies.

"I understand why Alfred would move down," Dick said, stopping by before he and Damian went out on patrol and snitching a few cookies. "You two are his favorites, not that he'd admit to having favorites. Alex I understand, but you'd think the trauma of trying to civilize you as a kid would have done away with any lingering fondness, Nightgown." Damian rolled his eyes and slugged his brother. I sighed.

"Stay safe out there, you guys," I said, kissing my husband goodbye, then I went back to Alfred's suite to fiddle around with the wall color. Martha showed up with her brother and the tables from the attic. They'd stolen up to the attic and back outside without Alfred seeing them. We wanted everything to be a surprise for him, and we felt that mixing pieces from the attic with the new things, like we'd done for the other rooms, showed that he was part of the family. I made them polish the furniture before placing them along the wall in the suite.

"If Alfred's going to come down here and run things, I kind of want to move back," Xander said, helping himself to a cookie. I left out a few more on a plate then removed the rest to storage.

"Those are for Alfred," I said sternly to my pouty children.

"Do you really want to bring your dates home to Mom, Dad, and Alfred?" Martha said doubtfully as she took a cookie. "If you could get a date, that is." They began to bicker amiably and I took the last cookie. Suddenly I missed J.