Legend

The days stretched into a little over a week before Alfred told me that my car was done. Damian had to go into the city with Bruce for a conference call with Beijing, so it was just us as he had me sit in the driver's seat and explained what an unobtrusive row of softly backlit buttons did. The first one released caltrops onto the road. Interestingly, they were held in a solution (didn't ask) and as the fluid ran off the caltrops, they would fall apart within thirty seconds. Essentially, they would puncture the tires of a vehicle close behind, then all that there would be was a damp piece of pavement with some small pieces of metal from the ones that didn't drive into the tires. And even the ones imbedded in the tires fell apart, allowing the tires to flatten even more quickly with little to show for the blown out tires.

"Ooh," I said appreciatively, and Alfred allowed himself a small smile.

The second button released a cloud of clinging, oily black fog. It worked best when the tailing car was about ten meters behind my bumper, which allowed the fog to rise enough to coat the windshield.

"If you are being boxed in by two vehicles, the bumpers have been reinforced with graphene and stabilized so that you can ram the forward car or allow the trailing car to hit the back with no damage to the body of your vehicle," Alfred instructed. "The third button releases about a cup of low friction graphite balls that break down with exposure to oxygen and create a slick surface which should send the pursuit sliding off the road. It dries within three seconds and becomes dust, eliminating risk to cars farther back." The fourth button was a homing beacon, and Alfred urged me to press it at the first sign of trouble. Activation would show up in the bat cave and on Damian's cell phone (once the app was installed) and the signal was as close to unjammable as possible. He had also installed a formidable turbocharger.

"That probably voids my warranty, right?" I cracked, and Alfred chuckled.

"It does, but any servicing of your vehicle can be done here," Alfred said. When I asked, I learned that there was an extensive shop tucked away behind the house, and Alfred offered to show it to me. There was one additional trick to learn about, and it tucked into the door pocket. I opened a pouch that contained a pair of swimming goggles, a waterproof flashlight with LED bulb, and a strange- looking bar. He informed me that if I were to bite down on the protrusion and seal my lips around it that it would concentrate oxygen, allowing me to breathe underwater should my car be forced into water.

"Wow," I said, and he looked pleased.

"I also noted that you did not have an emergency kit for less hostile events and added one to your boot," he said, so I popped out and took a look. It had jumper cables to give someone else a boost, a small unit that stuck into the 12V outlet to jump my battery, a first aid kit, emergency blankets along with a tightly rolled wool blanket, other equipment packed into a discreet gray bag.

We drove back to the shop, where I saw that in addition to normal mechanic shop tools and lift that there was a body shop as well, where sheet metal could be repaired, improved, and/or replaced, equipment for painting, and a third bay where modifications could be engineered. Alfred showed me this crazy cool metal 3D printer. I could see bins where bags of the graphite balls and caltrops were stored, ready to be installed at a moment's notice. Everything from oil changes to the installation of complicated electronics could be handled here.

That Monday was also a great day at work. Tony returned my Brass Rat; he'd had it modified. There was a band placed into the shank of the ring that could be released by squeezing and holding the "MIT" and year carvings on the opposite sides. The point of the band was sharpened and the underside coated with a powerful sedative; a scratch could incapacitate a 200 pound person in seven seconds. He also gave me an improved watch; it was about the same size as the one I had, but the tracker signal was much stronger, more precise, included elevations, and updated every other second. It still had a compass, and a small but powerful flashlight had been added. If I pulled the stem out entirely (and it took a good yank) a powerful alarm sounded. Tony told me that if used in small spaces that it could rupture eardrums, and he recommended using it only for short bursts. Replacing the pin would stop the alarm but would not stop the tracker unless I shoved it all the way in.

I knew a lot of very clever people.

We spent the rest of the week scaling up our algae experiments and settling on seaweed as the next stage. We designed a tank with a filtration system and a motor-driven system that would mimic the action of tides for realism. The next week, we built the thing. I was learning a lot about both mechanical engineering and fabrication.

As we started to roll through April, I was also learning a lot downstairs; my ninjutsu instructor didn't see any point to instructing me in the full eighteen skills of ninjutsu--some, like meteorology, I could find out about by watching TV, and I already knew how to ride a horse (I'd taken a class in horsemanship at MIT.) We weren't doing unarmed combat because I had a good base in that from Systema and capoiera, I wasn't going to use a spear or sword or polearms, or the chain-sickle weapon, and I knew how to meditate. He was teaching me how to use a bo, which could be a staff of any material or length (anything from a metal pipe to a length of bamboo or a traditional wooden staff,) and to throw a variety of shuriken accurately. I could practice these skills at home; both Bruce and Damian knew the techniques and would spar with me or offer corrections or insight into my throwing technique. I had to learn chi-mon, or geography, which turned out to be more encompassing and interesting than I'd thought, as I studied physical and human geography, integrated geography, geomatics, and regional geography. I missed Margaret acutely during the work on regional geography as it included urban planning. There was sui-ren, or water combat, where I learned breath control, how to deal with multiple attackers in the water, how to use small boats (I'd taken a class at MIT), how to hide in water, ways to transport and purify water, and how to use water as a weapon by weakening or destroying bridges or dams, contaminating a water supply, or withholding water from captives. That last discipline was theoretical only, I didn't practice using water as a weapon. There was shinobi-iri, stealth and concealment techniques--running and walking silently, lock picking, breaking in, how to hide, timing, analysis of defenses and guards, the use of noise for distraction. My instructor recommended going up to hide, as in trees, as people tend not to look up when they're searching. There was kayakujutsu, literally the art of using gunpowder in applications other than guns. This was more historical study, but I was diligent because Batman used better, more advanced pyrotechnics. Both Damian and I studied Bruce's methods. Intonjutsu--escape and concealment, also incorporating wilderness survival techniques and field craft as well as overlapping with shinobi-iri. Choho, espionage and infiltration. Hensojutsu, disguise and impersonation for short periods of time, which incorporated sociological and psychological analysis, and finally bōryaku, tactics, which focused on unorthodox tactics and strategies as well as the manipulation of politics and the exploitation of current events. The basics were easy enough to learn, but to master them, or even get good at them was the real challenge that would take time and sustained effort. I also learned the use of devices like the shuko, a spiked iron band worn around the hand that enabled the wearer to use it as a defense against sword attacks and also to reach higher terrain, as it could be used to climb trees or walls, especially when worn with ashika which were worn on the feet.

I practiced my developing skills in a variety of settings, learning how to glide soundlessly in evening pumps and long dresses, analyzing the guards at an event at a museum. Damian was amused by it; I enjoyed trying to sneak up on him and startle him. Startled a few others as well. I couldn't indulge myself much in public, though, as I didn't want people to take note. At home was a different matter, and a test of skills as the old house was creaky and it was acceptable at work too. I stopped sneaking up on Alfred right after I startled him and he dropped a bowl of cake batter. I helped clean up, but the punishment was no cupcakes. I learned my lesson.

There was no news on the Joker, and the criminal underworld went back to business as usual. I always practiced the art of observation in crowds, but saw nobody who looked like him. Not that I really expected to. I figured that when he came after me, he'd send thugs I didn't know. So I kept an eye out for anybody suspicious looking. In New York, that actually included a lot of people on the street.

Toward the end of the month, I set up a few things and took Damian to Badass Brooklyn Animal Rescue (Saving Badass Dogs From Idiot Humans), where he fell in love with a senior Great Dane/ Malinois who was advertised as getting along well with cats. I thought he'd go for a younger dog, but he rightly said that older dogs need love too. He named the dog Hestia. Then we went to Bideawee and found a pair of cats. Damian burst out laughing when he saw an elegant Russian Blue kitten named Grayson. Belaying his aristocratic appearance, Grayson turned out to be a real ham, so of course he had to join the clan. I chose a solid, relaxed two-year old black cat with bright copper colored eyes. He was apparently a British shorthair mixed with something that had an especially thick coat; his fur was ultraplushy and soft. He had a huge purr and a tiny squeaky voice, and he enjoyed cuddling. I named him Winston. He was a bit rotund and looked very smart, so I thought naming him after Churchill was appropriate. We didn't have any trouble getting approved for the adoptions, and picked them all up the next weekend. We borrowed the Rolls so there'd be enough room for Hestia and both cat carries. Hestia got a nice black collar for her tags, and Grayson and Winston had collars as well; Grayson had a royal blue one, and Winston sported a light green one that pretty much sank and disappeared into his fur.

We thought we'd surprise everybody, and we succeeded. Bruce dropped his coffee cup when we introduced Hestia, who was polite but not really impressed and curled up in front of the fireplace. The cats were a lot more cautious, investigating the library carefully and cautiously before braving Bruce. Winston decided he was trustworthy enough and flopped down on the desk, right across the paper that Bruce had been reading. This encouraged Bruce to pet, and once Winston felt that Bruce had been swayed to his side sufficiently, hopped off the desk and meatloafed on a sofa. Grayson let everybody pet him, then cuddled up with Hestia, who poked him with her nose and nudged him closer with her paw. When Alfred came in with coffee and cinnamon rolls, he was charmed by the new family members, especially Winston, who took to him immediately. Damian snapped a picture of the kitten and sent it to Dick, who was a little irritated to have a pet named after him but he liked the lithe look of the silvery creature.

Damian left the room to set up litterboxes and I went through the bags of extras, popping price tags and plastic loops off grooming tools and toys, setting aside packets of treats. Bruce observed this silently, then opened a cabinet at the base of one of the bookshelves, removed a few things, and offered it to me. Grayson scuttled in when he heard the treats being opened, and I gave each of the kitties a few Greenies and Hestia Milk Bone before putting everything--barring some of the toys--into the cabinet. Winston seized a green gingham mouse and immediately took charge of it, retreating under a sofa to try to kick the stuffing out of it, and Grayson batted a ball with a jingle bell into the hall. The sound gradually faded. We were going to need more toys. The manor was big.

Right after tax day, I got a text from Damian that he'd had to go to the doctor for a new cough that was making him miserable and that the diagnosis was bronchitis. Alfred said he had everything covered, so I waited until work was over to rush home. I was forewarned; Alfred had said his manners had retreated to his childhood behavior. A lot of guys did, making vast mountain ranges out of a molehill illness. I had to stop for some personal products on the way home, so I went to a supermarket and picked up some Otter Pops as well. Damian had told him once that he liked them as a kid when he had the flu.

I hustled up to our bedroom and found Damian in his pajamas, looking mulish as he lay in bed, the sheets and blankets twisted and disarranged. Bruce was there as well, arms folded and cross-looking. Alfred had a thermometer and was trying to talk Damian into putting it under his tongue. I surveyed the scene, took the thermometer, and sat on the side of the bed. "Damian, honey, we need to take your temperature," I said, and when he opened his mouth to protest, stuck it in, keeping it in place. He swatted at me, but I gave him a stern look until the thermometer beeped. He was running a slight fever. I gave it to Alfred, who shared it with Bruce. "Honey, let me help you feel better," I said, reaching for his pillow to fluff it up.

"I don't see how you can," he said bitingly, coughing. When he got more air, he continued, "I'm sick. I don't want to fuck." Behind me, I heard a glass hit the hardwood floor and shatter. I just stared at him, not quite sure I'd heard correctly, but he was glaring at me.

"Damian Thomas Wayne! That is not acceptable language," I said sternly, slitting my eyes at him. My hand itched to slap him and my skin was tight with anger. "Being ill isn't an excuse to treat the people who care about you badly, young man. You can just lie there and think about what you said." Oh my dear and fluffy lord. I was channeling my mom. She said exactly those words to J when he'd been laid up with an appendectomy. And he'd mostly been whiny, hadn't even said anything nearly that bad.

I got up immediately, stuffed some lingerie into the grocery store bag, marched into the bathroom for cosmetics and shampoo, hit the walk-in closet for clothes and shoes to wear to work, and stomped out of the room, closing the door behind me. I hear Bruce shouting as I started downstairs. I stopped on the second floor, wondering which rooms were vacant; I didn't want to just poke around. Alfred, that lovely man, caught up with me as I stared down the hallway.

"I apologize for Master Damian, Miss Alex. I did mention he had reverted to his childlike habits."

"I didn't fully realize what that meant," I muttered. "You guys deserve Nobel Peace Prizes for putting up with him."

"He could be difficult," Alfred conceded. "Might I ask what your intentions are?"

"Finding a bedroom until Damian pulls his head out and isn't contagious," I said, sighing. Alfred relaxed slightly. Then he smiled with a definite edge of smirk. "Allow me to show you to an unused room, miss." We went down the hall a bit and he opened one of the doors. "This was Master Damian's room when he was growing up. He hasn't really used it since he went to college." I looked around.

"I can't believe I never thought to ask where his room used to be," I said, turning around. Alfred smirked, then left the room briefly. I looked at the posters on the silk-covered walls, then started to laugh. It was a bizarre assemblage of some martial arts posters, models in extremely scanty lingerie, and some images of girls from popular TV shows of ten years ago. All the girls were cute, wholesome girls-next-door. Including, I was amused to see, Buffy Summers and Hannah Montana directly across from the bed. On the wall by the closet were tacked pictures from high school dances. He looked cute but not fully formed, usually in a tux, always with a series of blonde girls. Alfred came back in with sheets, and I helped him make the bed; he disappeared briefly into the bathroom with fresh towels.

"Dinner will be at the usual time, Miss Alex," Alfred said, and left just as Winston came in, curious about a new room. I hefted him in my arms for a snuggle, and he purred as we both looked around. The walls were gray, the wood the same pretty cherry as upstairs, but the floor had been considerably scuffed. When Winston began to wiggle, I put him down on the bed, a four-poster with dark blue curtains, but smaller than the one we usually shared. The bureau and desk were walnut, also rather battered. I shook my head and hung my clothes in the closet, empty but for the cedar lining. I pulled out a bureau drawer to put away my lingerie and came across an opened but unused box of condoms, seven years expired, as well as some designer tighty-whities. I was glad he'd graduated to boxers. The bathroom was tiled in white with black accents. This room was under the conservatory, so it had a different view than the one I was used to.

I went down early to take care of the litterboxes and to take Hestia outside before it got too dark. I threw a tennis ball for her until she got tired of it and it got chilly. Dinner was trout, homemade dinner rolls, and a hearty salad with brownies for dessert. I had no idea how Alfred had managed it with dealing with Damian at the same time. Afterward, we repaired to the library. I groomed Hestia and Grayson while Bruce checked on his offspring. "He's very subdued," Bruce reported, "but he's not apologetic." I rolled my eyes. Damian was going to have to apologize. Feeling awful wasn't an excuse to be rude. "Where did Alfred put you?"

"Damian's old room." Bruce and I smirked at each other.

"He had a fascination with sit-coms," his father said, picking up a sheaf of papers to review. "They helped him understand American social mores a bit when he first got here, then I think he was curious about how kids without a bat cave lived." Darn it. Now I felt some sympathy toward him.

I got my tablet from my bag and started to read, pausing after a chapter to check my email. I must have made a noise, because Bruce asked if everything was all right.

"Yeah, I just got an email from J," I said.

"How is your brother doing?" he inquired.

"Gearing up for finals," I said. "He's stopping in the city afterward before going up to see mom and dad; he's got a couple weeks between finals and summer session."

"It doesn't sound like you're really excited to see him," Bruce observed after a moment.

"I'm still a little upset with him," I admitted reluctantly. "He still doesn't seem to understand why I don't want some stranger poking around my DNA, and I'm still a little hurt that he rejected our plans." I sighed. "I'd been looking forward to working with him. I missed him when I came here for high school. It's his right to change his mind, though, and I don't want him to be unhappy."

"I don't think that's all there is to it," he observed.

I scowled. Bruce was too perceptive at times. "I'm kind of mad at him about that, though," I finally admitted. "I worked hard to find a way to make it possible for us to work together. And now my whole masters is going to be wasted."

"What would you have done instead?" he asked curiously.

"I would have liked to have spent another year at MIT," I said wistfully. "I've been really focused and on a time line since high school. It would have been wonderful just to relax slightly, take more classes just for fun and the knowledge, maybe minor in something, not simply to be done in four years and off to the next step. Maybe taken a gap year before grad school, traveled some. I could have done my grad school at MIT, with some of my old professors. I wouldn't have studied kinesiology, that's for sure. But that's my own fault. I expected J to know what he wanted then too. We'd have both been better off not making plans, I think." And now I was sad about the missed opportunities too. I told myself to buck up, at least I'd been able to find a job in my field that I really enjoyed.

I looked up, startled, when Bruce patted my shoulder. "I'm sorry things didn't work out the way you'd have liked, but you don't seem unhappy now to me."

"I'm not unhappy," I said, "Damian's current behavior notwithstanding." Bruce smiled. "It's not what I thought I wanted, but I really like my life, and I'm fortunate, really lucky, to have the job that I do. I get to work out, help others, then go upstairs and really use my brain. Hopefully we'll be making a real difference there too."

"Worried about Stark at all?"

"Not this time," I said, thinking about it. "He seems a lot more stable than he used to. It's like he's made peace with things in his life, and now what he's doing is making him happier. His natural state is to be wound a little tight," I offered, "but he's not so tight that he's going to break. He's driven, but he's not letting his ghosts drive him, I think. His anxiety's under control finally."

"That's good," Bruce said, then handed me the papers he'd been reviewing. "Take this to him tomorrow, would you? The Watchtower has picked up some signals that indicate that we might be getting interstellar company again."

I sat upright, dislodging Grayson from my lap. "What's the timeline?"

"Too early to tell," Bruce said, frustrated. "If it is even Skrull and/or Kree signals. But forewarned is forearmed."

"Indeed," I said. Tomorrow I'd talk to Uncle Bucky, see what Kree and Skrull weakness were and how we could best train the Avengers to defeat them. I didn't bother to look at the papers; I didn't have the background to interpret intercepted signals. Then I asked Bruce for his opinions on the Kree and Skrulls; all knowledge is useful and he might have different ideas than the Avengers. We talked until we were closing in on midnight; Bruce told me about how the superhero community had responded the last time and advancements that had been made in weaponry since then. The Kree were particularly hard to take down. I was just starting to think about bed when the front door opened and there were quick, light footsteps in the hall, turning into the library.

"Dick? Barbara?" Bruce asked tensely, rising as they entered the library. Both were disheveled and reeked of smoke. Somehow I knew what they were going to say.

"Got burned out of our apartment," Dick said grimly, escorting Barbara to a leather-covered chair. I noticed she was cradling her hand and gently took it, scowling as I saw the burns. I hopped up and went for my kit. When I got back, they were telling Bruce that the doors to the stairs had been locked. Residents had been stuck on their floors. "It was ok for us, we have skills," he said angrily, "but the people on the upper floors couldn't get out. And we couldn't help anybody." He flicked on the tv as I treated Barbara's burns, which also went up her arm. Late-night programming was preempted by live footage of the fire-fighters at the high-rise. Alfred came in, stayed long enough to understand the scope of the problem, then melted away to prepare a room for them. I remembered where we were and took Barbara down to the bat cave and the tissue accelerator. But first I had her scanned to make sure nothing was missed; she had some mild symptoms from smoke inhalation, and I started that therapy before tending to her burns. She asked where Damian was, and I explained about his bronchitis and disgrace. We rolled our eyes simultaneously, and I chuckled. After finishing the treatment, we went back upstairs and I slipped into the suite where Damian was sleeping, collecting a few things for Barbara, like a nightgown. Damian coughed in his sleep, but didn't wake so I didn't disturb him.

I didn't sleep very well that night. The news had confirmed that the latest arson was the work of the S'mores killer and that there were fatalities. And I hated being estranged from Damian, missing sleeping with him. Hestia came in to claim the other half of the bed, but it wasn't the same. Plus the bed wasn't as big as mine and Damian's, and Hestia is a large dog. I woke up in the wee hours of the night clinging to the edge. I wished I could tell her to go find Damian and sleep with him instead.