Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey, Lys!" Anabel Weston hailed me in the hall between classes. I pulled my head out of my locker and smiled at her. We'd gone out on a double date on Saturday night and had fun. My parents won't let me date on my own until I'm sixteen, some months away, but going out in a group or a double date was ok. Mason Trevallen bumped into me on the way by and snickered. I frowned at him and turned back to Anabel. She looked after Mason a little nervously.

"What's up?" I asked, to prompt her. We didn't have all that much time to get to class.

"Uh, Lys..." her voice trailed.

"Yeah?" I said impatiently.

"Christian is telling everybody he saw your boobs on your date on Saturday," she blurted out.

"What??" I said too loudly. She winced.

"Your chest, anyway," Carl Burns said, snickering as he looked at that part of my anatomy. I crossed my arms protectively, holding my books over my non-existent cleavage. "I'd snap your bra strap, but you don't wear one." He was still snickering as he walked off.

"You'll get into trouble with the administration if you snap anybody's bra," Anabel called after him, but he just flapped his hand at her.

"He didn't! We were never alone together!"

"I know, but nobody wants to hear," Anabel said. "But it'll be a flash in the pan, a couple days of gossip, then everybody'll move on. There's always next weekend's parties, somebody will do something notably stupid." She patted my shoulder as the bell rang, and we had to rush to class. I kept my books in front of my body and my eyes forward, but I could see quite a few students laughing. Lots of snickering going on today.

God, teenagers suck. High school is bad enough, what with classes and all. Add other people, hormones on a low-to-rolling boil, and attitude and privilege saturating the air like all the perfume and aftershave most people wore, and it was a special kind of hell. My grandma Alex said that she thought socially we'd have evolved by now, but apparently it's human nature to establish pecking orders. I'm not special; yeah, I'm a Wayne, one of those Waynes, but I go to a private school where you're there because you're rich, basically. There are seats reserved for students who aren't rich but smart, but mostly, we're a bunch of rich brats. I think it would be nicer to have been admitted on those grounds because at least you made it on your own merits. It's not like I'm stupid, mind you, I'm just no genius. As hard as I work--and I do--there's almost always a C or two on my report card. In my family, that practically qualifies me for special ed. My sister, three years younger than me, gets a B every few semesters, and everybody else is a high achiever too. So high school is bad enough, but to be a mediocre student when virtually everybody else in your whole, extended family gets academic honors without much effort is kind of humiliating all in itself. And people know. All my cousins (and there is a massive crowd of us, all within about ten years of each other due to the Return) are smart, even if we don't all go to the same schools, and word gets around. I'm grateful to get out of class for the day and pack up my backpack with homework and drag out to the curb.

Normally I'd go to Wayne where I can do my homework in the employee cafeteria, have a snack, then go home with Dad at six. I can shadow people in different departments if I finish my homework early; anybody who works for the company can apply to have their kid do the same, but most don't, for whatever reason. But today is ballet day. Our butler Alan picks us up from school, drives us there, and then home. My sister Derinoe is already in the car with Alan's daughter Vanessa; they go to the same middle school and are best friends. They're chattering like mad, as usual, when I get in the front seat and buckle in. Alan smoothly pulled away from the curb as soon as I buckled in.

"How were classes today, Miss Lys?" he inquired over the giggles from the back seat.

"Finished studying World War I today," I said. "We're getting a speaker in tomorrow, a vet from Flanders." While the living history aspect of Returnees was fascinating, what they had to say was usually pretty awful. And I was aware that public education had a pacifist bent to it, downplaying the allure war had for some people, usually those who'd never served. It was entirely practical to stress diplomacy and trade solutions over military ones, since budgets were still strained to bursting with the sudden weight of humanity from the Return. Wars were just too costly. Even with the millions who had chosen to emigrate to the dark elf planet, and a further billion plus who had emigrated to other planets in the universe who'd opened their doors to a quota from humanity, there was no denying the situation was tight. Some races were expanding their quotas, for those who wanted adventurous lives and were willing to work hard or serve as a soldier. That got a lot of the war hawks off planet, relieving stress of a different kind. It's a lot harder to work peacefully for solutions to problems like water supplies than to simply march in, kill a bunch of people, and take what you want. There are small forces maintained by countries for law and order, but these days, armies have been mostly privatized and are usually small and maintained by various villains for their nefarious schemes. Mercs, that can be bought for the few countries who do still try the old strong arm approach.

Alan and I chatted until we pulled up to the studio. We went in and got changed; the teacher has a changing room as well as assigned cubbies for students who stick with it long enough. Fortunately, my class is different from my sister's; there are three studios in the building and classes booked all afternoon in order to keep up with demand. Our teachers are old school and I put on my pink tights and leotard with a sigh. Pink. It's either that or white, which nobody likes, so we're all attired in a narrow range of pale pink. I fix my feet and put on my pointe shoes, leg warmers, and a wispy little dance skirt, and clomp out to the studio to start warming up. I'm in the most advanced class, which is because I'm among the best in the school. But don't deceive yourself; in this class the difference between the students who have a real shot at a dancing career if they want it--like my cousin Miles--is very pronounced from the rest of us who are merely very good.

Miles is actually my uncle, the second son of my Grandma Alex, but we all think it's a pain in the neck to keep track of who's an uncle/aunt/niece/nephew in our generation so we all just refer to each other as cousins. The Return has played merry hell with family structures. Miles is the star student. He's the best of the best, and in the summer he'll try for a place in a ballet company. Nobody has any doubt he'll get one, the question is just where. There are a lot more boys dancing than there used to be, I'm told, and our class is almost half boys. It's nice because almost everybody gets a partner to work with.

You'd think that I'd also be excellent at dancing too, but you'd be wrong. I'm fairly short for a female these days, 5'5", but this is the best height for a dancer, I have long legs, high-arched feet, no chest (as we already know) and a long neck. My turnout is the best in the class, even better than Miles. I'm just missing... something that can't be taught. No matter how hard I work, I'm just lacking the spark that takes the technically proficient into a top-tier dancer. I try hard not to let it affect me, but it still bothers me sometimes. It's like another glass wall around me.

We're doing selections from Swan Lake for the next recital, using traditional choreography, which is nauseatingly overdone, but apparently you need these things in your repertoire. The costumes will be pretty, though. My partner for this one is Jake, who's kind of shrewish and mean, but he's a foot taller than me, which means that lifts are no problem and he won't drop me. We look good together, his hair darker than my mid-brown, the same pale skin. He's handsome and I can be somewhat striking when I cake on enough makeup for performances. For part of the dance, the pairs are mirrored across the floor, and the teacher selected two blondes to mirror us for contrast. It does look pretty.

We work for two hours, getting a small break when Miles and his partner dazzle us all with their brilliance (sincerely, I'm not being jealous or catty, they're both going places) and then it's back to the locker room. When I get back out to the curb, Deri and Van right behind me, we go home where we're on our own until dinner. Deri and Van disappear to do their homework together and I go up to my room. I drop my tights and leo down the laundry chute and quickly shower, then get to work. I've got a couple hours of peace until Mom and Dad get home.

It's not like my parent pick at me or anything, I think it's just that they're getting worried about me. They've noticed my mediocrity at everything I do, of course. I'm getting a tutor next week to help pull up my Cs in algebra and bio. It seems like everything involves struggle. Nothing is effortless, the way things are for pretty much everybody else. People in the family pretty much just bulldoze their temporary struggles with hard work, and they succeed in the end, usually brilliantly. They seem to think I'm just slacking even though I'm bulldozing with the best of them. With a dad like Daniel Wayne and Wonder Woman for a mom, you'd think that I'd be as awesome as my little sister, who is beautiful, smart, and talented, but you'd be wrong. Some of the kids at school say that even the best families are saddled with losers now and then. I say nothing about the rumors at school, because I don't want Mom and Dad calling up Christian's parents and getting him in trouble, which would make things more difficult for me at school. You'd think that fifteen was too young for anybody to be getting too sexual, but that's not the case, at least among the kids at school; there's always the precocious ones and the rest of us straggling behind. After Mom and Dad have finished their careful questioning, they move on to Deri, who bubbles about her classes, her friends, her activities. I eat stoically, listening to my little sister's endless successes.

Ah, Deri. I love my little sister, but I kind of resent her too. She's going to be gorgeous, like Mom. She's only twelve, but her figure is developing already in line with every other female in the family, she has dainty features, thick dark hair. Her studies are pretty much effortless, she succeeds in virtually everything she tries, she makes friends easily. She's a real Wayne. However, to be honest, part of her success lies in her... well, let's call it a gift. And this requires me to explain a bit. God-touched. How to explain? Humans can be given abilities by the gods; my Mom was blessed so by five goddesses and a god. The impact of the blessing can and usually does linger, to varying degrees, through a family's generations. This is how Grandma Alex's abilities that are related to Odin's favor could persist in the family until they apexed in her. So that's one way humans can be god-touched, the direct bestowal of a god's favor. The other way is through reproduction. When a god and a human reproduce, their offspring is a demigod. Often they have heightened abilities. See the myths, like Heracles, for examples. Unlike the bestowal of favors, the flare of divinity fades out over a couple of generations. So my mom, Diana of Themyscira, got hit from two sides; daughter of Zeus, bestowal of favors. And this means that both Deri and I are god-touched too. Like all the Waynes, actually, since Grandma Alex's family has the blessing from Odin. Where we diverge is in the expression of our gifts. Deri got smacked by the blessing of Aphrodite. Hard. Her heightened ability is attraction and love. She can make anybody love her. And I mean actually love her, to the part where they're brokenhearted when she turns them down. Fortunately for her, she can dial it up or down. Her default setting is near zero, where she makes no effort to extend her gift. It's the best that she can do, but even without exerting herself, there's a background effect, like radiation. People just really like her. She's the most popular kid in middle school with no effort. She is popular with her peers, her teachers, pretty much everybody she comes into contact with. It's incredibly useful. Mom and Dad have managed to convince her that there will be consequences to abusing her abilities, so she usually doesn't use them. She does some, of course, she's a kid, and nobody likes to get into trouble. But even then, it's just a nudge here and there to keep punishments to scoldings or to persuade someone to do something. Nothing too big, and never anything illegal or immoral.

My gift is that I can see who is god-touched and how strong it is in the person, and a resistance to the expression of those gifts. That's it. I can't tell who bestowed the power, how long ago, what the power is or how it manifests. Just whether it's there and how strong it is. I see it as an aura, sort of an extra hue. With my mom, it's so strong that I can't actually see her, just a golden haze. I wouldn't know what she actually looked like if there weren't photographs, because the aura doesn't show up in recordings. Grandma Alex is another whose face and form are obscured by the god-touch, although with her it's like looking through a veil. They're the two most heavily god-touched people I've ever seen. But you'd be surprised at how many people have some godly imprint. After a couple of generations, the god-touch that's bestowed by reproduction fades to a baseline hum, and even I can't see it in sunlight or strong artificial light. But I can see it in lower-light conditions. And there are a lot of people who have the god-touch through family descent. So that's another thing I've washed out with. The resistance part is just that I'm unaffected by the non-physical expression of gifts. I'd still be hurt if somebody god-touched with strength hit me, but Deri's gift doesn't touch me. I only love her because she's my sister. I can also tell if she's using her ability, it feels like pressure.

After dinner, we go to the library where we have tea and cookies. Alan's family sometimes joins us; Van and Deri take their usual sofa to catch up on the hour they've been separated, and I listen as Aslyn talks with my parents. Alan serves us and observes, as always. He takes butlering to the highest level. Usually there'd be other family members; it's a rare night when Grandpa Bruce doesn't join us, but he's at Grandma Serena's with their daughter Tabby, and who knows what else. They may be divorced, but they're usually like cats in heat with each other. Whatever. I always think Grandma Serena could do better. Grandpa Bruce is a great Batman, but he's pretty much a jerk as a person. I've been brought into the family secrets, but Deri hasn't, because she can't keep a secret to save her soul. So I know about the bat cave and have the same access as anybody even though I won't be participating in the family tradition. I also know the truth about Mom's parentage; Deri got the cover story where she thinks, like most people, that Mom was created by the patron goddesses of Themyscira. After I have my tea and some oatmeal cookies, I can escape, and I go to my room to put in some extra studying.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week was uncomfortable; I got asked out a couple times. One guy was really up front about it, saying he wanted to see my boobs too. I didn't accept any dates and ignored the whiffs of slut-shaming directed at me. It's not so much that my classmates are Puritans--not outwardly, anyway, even those from Returned families who have not adapted to newer morality appear to be ok with the new norms at school--but it's a way to exhibit superiority by putting somebody down. You'd think that since topless nudity is legal and widely acceptable that seeing anybody's boobs wouldn't be any kind of big deal, but it is. Sure, the girls with boobs that they like and are proud of don't wear swimsuit tops, but the rest of us--and that includes most of the girls who are either still developing or like me, apparently doomed to a life of flat-chest jokes, certainly do. And kids are really good at spotting each others' weaknesses. Almost everybody hates our school uniforms, but I'm ok with them. I think of the skirt or slacks, button-up blouse, and blazer with the school crest on the left chest as armor. Especially now, layers on my torso are good.

That weekend, I went to a movie with Jane Brown, one of my good friends, but I stayed away from parties. So I missed seeing the scandal of two drunk sophomores screwing on the patio, but recordings were made and surreptitiously shared. These days, any device that is owned by a minor--and you have to register your fingerprints, which are also required for recording--automatically blurs the faces of anybody who is completely nude or having sex and prevents transmission to other devices. There are some very complicated algorithms, first developed at Wayne, that make this possible. So while you couldn't tell from the recordings who the enthusiastic kinksters were, everybody was happy to whisper the names. This was a whole lot more diverting than my rumor, which was promptly forgotten.

Fall weather arrived with a bang and I dug my overcoat out of the closet. And by me, I mean Alan, who came upon me when I was looking through the hall closet and efficiently extracted my navy coat, automatically checking it over and whisking it away to sew on a button that was in danger of falling off. Tuesday was Girl Scouts. I wish I could have joined the troop sponsored by Valkyrie, but that was strictly for girls who lived in the neighborhood, which was mostly low-income. A few others had tried to finagle their way in too, and blamed me for their failure. Everybody wanted to join that troop. They had the cream of the city movers and shakers lecture or teach the badges. Grandma Alex's position was that girls like me had opportunities because of who their families were. I didn't even disagree with that, but our troop leaders didn't have the clout to compel the really talented to teach our badges. The Valkyrie troop got the Hawkeyes for their archery badge and Steve Rogers to show them how couture was constructed, learned how to cut out patterns and sew simple pieces with easy modifications to make them custom. In his atelier. We had an instructor from US Archery and Mrs Astor's maid taught us how to sew buttons and tack up hems. And this was useful, but we didn't achieve any level of skill. The one time I had a problem with my skirt hem at school, I sewed it up at lunch, feeling proud even though the stitches were pretty big. Alan had put it in perfectly when I saw it in my closet again. I know this sounds like I'm whining, but I'm not. It's just frustrating to have everything I try redone so that it's perfect. You'd think that with so many talented people in the extended family, it would be no problem to get lessons, but you'd be wrong. They're all as busy as they are talented, and promises to check schedules never seem to have any result. I could pester people, but I kind of feel like if they wanted to show me, they'd remember on their own. It's not like it's one or two people, it's almost all of them. Grandma Alex's Uncle Bucky showed me around the zoo, taking me to a few staff areas, but there are no exceptions for interacting with the animals, and you have to be an employee even to shovel poop in the bird cages. His wife showed me around City Hall, but as the mayor's spokeswoman, she goes to a lot of meetings, takes notes, and cultivates relationships with members of the press. I did learn about shmoozing there, though. It's another thing I'm not very good at. I can either be direct or hold my tongue, there's not much in between. It would be a good skill to have, though. Scratch being a politician off my list of possible careers. And Grandpa Mark was helping us with our Marketing badge. He had a hug for me after our work was done for the day and we started in on the snacks.

I toiled through school and activities until Halloween. I'd made arrangements with my best friends Jane, Eleanor Fitzgerald, Hope Kennedy, and Molly Sullivan to go to the school dance on Halloween. I'm not very creative, so I hit the attic for a costume. We have hundreds of years of clothes in storage, so if I could find something that wasn't too tight (wasn't planning on wearing a corset or anything) I could probably manage to tack it down enough over the bust for it to look reasonable. The clothes were stored in special closets so they weren't even wrinkled. I dreamily sorted through a huge array of styles and fabrics, and jolted when I heard my mom's voice on the house audio system, asking where I was. "What are you doing up there?" she asked, puzzled.

"Looking for something to wear to the Halloween party," I said, distracted by a beautiful dress that put me in mind of a peacock's feathers with its rich dark blue and green. I held it against me; the hem looked in the right place, so I skinned out of my t-shirt and pants. It was heavy, with the hugely draped skirt, but the waist actually fit perfectly, the sleeves perched on my shoulders perfectly, and even the bust wasn't completely awful. The woman who had worn it hadn't been excessively bosomy. There were seams where I could tack things down discreetly. I smoothed my fingers on the velvet of the bodice and moved to a pier glass, taking off its cover to look at myself. The colors made my skin look brighter. Maybe I needed to expand my color palette; I usually wore light colors. I swayed a little, enjoying the feel of the skirt, feeling lovely, I couldn't remember the last time I felt this pretty. I twisted my hair up into a temporary chignon to see the effect. I looked over when the door opened; Mom came in, accompanied by Deri.

"Oh, Lys." She sounded startled. I always had to go by vocal cues with her since I couldn't see her face. Her hand went up; I thought she might be tapping her lips. "That seems... a bit much for a high school party."

"Yeah, I like it, though," I said, twisting at the hips a bit to make the skirt sway.

"There's a big gape where the bust is," Deri said matter-of-factly.

"I could tack it down temporarily." Man, the skirt was getting heavy.

"How are you going to dance in it?" she wanted to know.

I sighed. "Nobody's going to be doing the Virginia Reel. I could just move my feet and sway." Deri rolled her eyes and scooted behind me, checking the back facings. I swatted her.

"That's an original Worth," she pointed out. "You'll probably ruin it. Somebody will spill on it or you'll step on the hem and rip it."

"Perhaps it isn't the best choice for a high school party," Mom said, sounding concerned, and asked Alan if he could join us in the attic. He had a look of horror on his face, quickly erased, when he saw me in the dress.

"Lys is looking for a dress to wear to her high school Halloween party," Mom said. "...I'm a little concerned about the abundance of skirt with this one. Would you have any ideas for something that would be fun to wear?"

Alan's face cleared and he went to a regular closet across the aisle, stripping off a garment bag as he returned. "This is a variation of a flapper dress, made for Master Mark's mother," he said. It was silver, with wide shoulder straps and a straight dress that ended mid-thigh. There was some beadwork around the neck, and there were a few rows of long fringe starting at the hips that hung down to my knees. There was a little bag with it, which contained a bandeau for the hair. "She wore it to a party when Master Mark was in school himself."

"That looks pretty," mom said encouragingly. "Go try it on, dear." I reluctantly went back into the closet where the beautiful dress lived and hung it back up, carefully, smoothing and arranging the fabric before dropping the flapper dress over my head and fastening the bandeau, which also had some beading, around my head. It was pretty, but it wasn't special, like the first dress, and the color wasn't doing me any favors. But I knew without being told that this was what I'd be allowed to wear, and truthfully, I didn't want to ruin the beautiful dress. I just wanted to feel special.

"--really should be in a museum's collection," Alan was saying to Mom as I came out. It irritated me that he was trying to tell her what to do with our things.

"Oh, that looks much more appropriate," Mom said, sounding relieved when she saw me.

"The chemise style suits you," Alan told me, which irritated me again. I wasn't asking for his opinion.

"That's one style where having no boobs is an advantage," Deri said carelessly. I glared at her.

"Girls," Mom said reprovingly. "Thank you, Alan, that's a wonderful choice." I went back to change again, putting the dress on its hanger and pulling on my regular clothes. I stuffed the bandeau into its bag. When I stepped out again, Deri had gone into the closet and was looking at a long dress. Alan was telling her that it was based on a design from the Middle Ages. She was reading The Hobbit and thought it was something an elf might wear. Alan turned when he heard the closet door close.

"I'll take that from you, Miss Lys, to be sure it's ready," he said.

"I can't imagine that it's in anything but perfect condition," I said, smiling slightly, and went down to my room to put it in my closet. I arranged the clothes hanging on the rod slightly and trudged down to pre-dinner. Dad was gone on business. Mom accepted a cocktail from Alan and started to grill Deri and me about our days. I sipped seltzer and lime. I didn't have much to report.

"And how was your algebra test, Lys?" she asked. "Have you gotten it back yet?"

I wish they'd stop pretending that they don't know what our grades are. Parents have access to the e-gradebook at the school and can see our scores for tests, quizzes, papers, and assignments right when we can, so kids can't fudge the truth about their grades if things don't go to plan. "Got a C," I said briefly. A crease appeared between her eyes. Ha. Like she ever uses algebra. Nobody does, it's mostly a stepping stone to more advanced mathematics.

"Do you need--"

"I signed up for a tutor today," I said briefly. The high school had peer tutors, and I'd known this was coming. God forbid that a Wayne should be anything less than brilliant. She sat back, looking more reassured.

"I got an A on my pre-algebra quiz," Desi bragged, and for a second, I hated her. Everything she's tried comes easy to her. She has time for a lot of social stuff, setting trends, all that shit because she's not grinding away at something she doesn't really understand. I sipped my seltzer and waited for dinner. Alan served a roast promptly, we ate promptly. We have dinner a little early, he and his family have dinner a little later, so we try not to do anything that cuts into his family time. Desi asked questions about a new artifact that Mom was examining at work. Suck-up. Mom didn't make me hang around for tea and cookies after I said that I wanted to do some extra studying, so I got to go sulk in peace.

Chapter Text

Reasonable costumes could be worn to class; it had to be that way, because how are hundreds of kids going to change for the after-school dance? And this year it had to be after school because Halloween fell on a Wednesday. The limitations were that the costumes had to be clothes that were reasonable to move in and didn't violate the dress code for school dances; makeup could be worn to class but not masks unless they were little dominos. If you didn't wear a costume, you had to wear the uniform, which meant effectively that everybody would be dressed as something just as an escape. The next morning I got up early; it had struck me that I wasn't quite ready. For one thing, all I had were flats and one pair of low black pumps that just weren't right. And it was the end of October; a thin, sleeveless dress was probably going to freeze me. Back to the attic. I found a pair of rather worn t-strap pumps with a sparkly buckle that were only a little too big and a rose-red kimono-style evening coat that really brightened my complexion. In a bureau drawer were sheer old-fashioned silk stockings. I chose a pair in light beige. That would do. I scuttled back downstairs to do my hair and makeup. There was no way I was going to bob my hair just for Halloween (and my ballet teachers would kill me) so an image search had turned up 20's vamp Theda Bara. A few pictures showed her with long curly hair, so I made big ringlets, fluffed everything out, and put the bandeau on. I didn't really like it, but it was part of the costume. I sprayed max hold hairspray carefully and turned my attention to both the tutorial I'd found for 20's makeup and my face. I was pretty good with makeup thanks to ballet, and I quickly powdered my face, used red rouge on the apples of my cheeks, and... I double-checked the instructions. My ears, too, apparently. And my knees. Huh. Weird. I emphasized my lips with an exaggerated cupid's bow, bee-stung look, in a dark pink matte lipstick. I had red for the dance. My eyebrows naturally arched, so I brushed them a little to emphasize the arch and darkened them a bit. Eyeliner went on top only, smudged into the lash line, and plum eyeshadow on the lower part of the upper lid. Mascara. I compared my reflection to the picture and nodded. Then dressing. Undies, the stockings, which were rolled and held up with ribbon garters, the shoes, the dress, and the coat. Not bad, I thought, looking into the mirror. The dress and coat were fun and different. I looked like someone else. I'd have worn appropriate chandelier earrings, but Mom didn't believe girls should have a lot of jewelry, so I put in the small garnet studs that I did have. They sparkled a little, at least, and the color was fine. I put the cosmetics in a makeup bag in my backpack (ugh) before going downstairs.

"No," Mom said sternly as I went into the kitchen to whip up my morning smoothie. Alan does early mornings with his family, and it was nice to make my own breakfast. I looked at her, confused. "You are wearing too much makeup, Lysippe. You are only fifteen. And you may not wear those stockings. If you want to cover your legs, put on some panty hose. You are too young to be looking like that. And where did you get the coat?"

"Attic," I said, glowering. "School is going to be cold, I can't wear a short, sleeveless dress. It's supposed to snow tonight. And you might recall that I didn't want to wear this dress to begin with." I turned to go remove the makeup.

"That dress is one-of-a-kind, a masterpiece," Mom said in That Tone. The Tone that said 'I'm an Amazon princess who has no idea what American girls are like and why can't you be grateful for all your advantages?' "It is not to be worn to high school all day."

"Whatever," I said.

And as a punishment for mouthing off, I had to go change into my uniform.

Because I knew Alan would report it to Mom if I just tossed the dress on my bed, I took the extra time to hang it up again, put the bandeau in its bag, and I had to hustle to get into my uniform with the makeup washed off. I didn't have time to put on my regular makeup so I'd have to reapply at school. I raced downstairs (at least I could wear the backpack rather than carrying it) and into the kitchen to finish my smoothie. But Mom had blended it and poured it into a cup and I thanked her automatically. There was no conversation in the car on the way into the city. Deri was texting her friends in the medieval dress she'd chosen. I texted mine too, telling them what had happened, that I had no costume, and to think about what I could do with makeup, because I was drawing a blank.

"Your hair is so pretty like that," Jane said admiringly as we convened in the second floor girls bathroom, south wing. Eleanor nodded, rooting through her backpack.

"This is all I could think of," she said, holding out a pair of vampire teeth in their packaging. She looked cute as a scientist; it was funny because she hates science.

Hope, dressed as Catwoman in a tight black tshirt and yoga pants, high heels, black domino mask, and her dark hair drawn back sleekly, held out a blue t-shirt to me. She looked quite a bit like Grandma Selena, actually. I shook out the shirt and saw that it had Superman's "S" sigil on it. "You could be Supergirl, put it on under your uniform shirt like you're ready to burst into action."

I'd met both Supergirl and Superman once when they were at the batcave. They were nice, but I didn't want anything I associated with my family right now. "Thanks, Hope, but I think I'll do the vampire thing. It'd be just my luck if some teacher made me take off the shirt. There goes two costumes." She nodded and tucked it back into her backpack.

Molly came in just then, having used a temporary dye on her honey-blonde hair to turn it black. She was in a tight black dress that showed off her considerable assets and a little black evening cape that looked retro. She too had a deep attic to plunder. The difference was that she was allowed to play with the things she found. She smiled, showing her fangs. Great. We'd be a vampire and her kid sister. I regretted turning down Hope's t-shirt but didn't want Molly to feel bad, so I adhered the long canine pieces over my normal ones and borrowed Molly's white face powder, using my own cosmetics to do a goth thing around my eyes and borrowed dark red lip stain, since the fake blood that Molly had spilling off her lips stained the skin and I didn't want to get grief from my mom for my costume choice, such as it was. She's very against impersonating evil. God. Whatever. It's just Halloween.

"Your mom is really strict," Eleanor observed as we talked about my crisis.

"But would you really have worn a Victorian dress?" Hope wanted to know.

"No, actually. I can't believe anybody ever did. There is so much fabric and construction in the skirt that it's really, really heavy. I'd be exhausted by the time of the dance. But we've never been really allowed to play around in the attic and it was the first time I'd had one of those dresses on. It was just so beautiful. The fabric is divine, so soft and luxurious, and the design perfect. I liked the fantasy," I sighed. "It was fun to pretend that I had a closet full of beautiful things." My mother had always very carefully supervised us up there and the way she winced whenever we handled the old dresses was enough to quash any fun. We're not not allowed up there, but it's kind of off-limits, every time I go up there I feel like I'm trespassing.

"Your mom is nice and all, but I don't get why she doesn't let you have nicer clothes," Hope said, puzzled. "You guys are the richest family in town, one of the richest in the world, and when your parents show up in the media she's always gorgeous."

"I'm still young, she thinks I might still have a little growing to do, and she was brought up in a less consumer-driven society," I said, thinking of Themyscira. There is no consumerism there. She might have left the islands for the most part during WWI, but she'd always visited every year or two and had gone back to live a few times for a few decades from time to time.

"It's not like Greece is isolated," Molly said, fluffing my hair. "It's really a shame, though. Most kids think that the Waynes are putting up a front and that the business has gone south. You're stuck out in the middle of nowhere in that mansion, not even in the city." I frowned. Everybody hated trying to get a ride out to the mansion, so my friends rarely visited.

"You're going to be 16 in April," Jane said, checking her reflection. She'd dressed up as Marilyn Monroe in the famous white halter dress. "What's she waiting for?" All I could do is shrug. "But wait," she said, digging in her backpack. She beamed, handed envelopes around. "Invites to my Sweet Sixteen party." I opened mine with anticipation. It would be the first of these parties I'd been invited to this year. It was to be held at the Gotham Metropolitan, the city's newest luxury hotel, in early December. Wow. I'd have to get her an especially great present. "My mom is taking me to get a dress at one of the ateliers this weekend. She won't tell me which designer, it's a surprise." We talked about her good fortune until the warning bell rang and we scattered for class.

Classes went fine and soon it was time for the dance. Most kids had full-on costumes, but there were more than a few like me, who had done the minimum, and a few who hadn't bothered. Not everybody came to the dance, but a lot did, and it was fun. We had dances like this in the theater because there was a big stage, and backstage, and you could sit in the seats and socialize or mingle in the aisles. I made sure to wash my face before leaving the school. Alan was there to pick me up, and there wasn't much conversation; I poked around my communicator so that I wouldn't have to talk. At home, I changed and went to the closet to get the flapper dress to return it to the attic, but of course Alan had done it. My closet was also straightened, each hanger a specific distance from its neighbors. It was an odd distance, not quite two inches; I suspected that Alan used his finger as a quick guide. I shut the closet door more firmly than usual and went down to dinner. Dad was back and listened benevolently to Deri's chatter before asking me how the dance had been.

"Fine," I said briefly, adding a little more salad dressing. Alan's awfully sparing with the good stuff. Dad frowned.

"Did something happen?"

"She's still angry with me," Mom said tranquilly, and explained the whole costume fiasco. He looked flummoxed.

"I got the invitation to Jane's Sweet Sixteen party today," I said after swallowing. "Can I get a new dress? Her parents are having it in the Metropolitan's ballroom."

"That is extravagant." Mom's voice had a hint of censure.

"It's a big deal, especially since there aren't debutantes anymore," I said.

"Hmm," Mom said. "I think it's possible that you'll still grow some. Is it necessary?"

I looked at her, trying not to have too much attitude. I wanted her to listen, not dismiss me because I was irritated. "Well, the kids at school figure that Wayne is tanking and we don't have the money to spend on the kids." I frowned. Maybe they knew something I didn't. "I do have a college fund, right?"

Dad let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course. But the company is doing better than ever. We just want you to understand that you don't have to be a conspicuous consumer." I looked at him in disbelief.

"You wear handmade suits and shoes. We live in an ancient family mansion with a butler. Mom wears designer clothes and accessories. You're always saying that we need to blend in with our peers, but I don't have a lot of tools to do that. I'm not smart enough to stand out, Mom won't consider letting me have cosmetic surgery so that I can have any kind of bustline, and people wonder what's wrong with Mom that she doesn't let me have nicer things."

"There is nothing wrong with the way you look." Mom's tone was mortally offended. "It is an affront to the gods to amend your appearance artificially."

"I'm the plainest of the cousins," I said. "Every damn thing that makes somebody stand out in this family has skipped me by. The least I could have are nice clothes from nice-feeling fabrics."

"Language, Lys," Dad said sternly. Deri munched, listening wide-eyed. And the conversation dropped, Mom and Dad talking about what was new.

"Daniel, Alan pointed out while Lys was in the attic that many of the garments are fragile and in need of special treatment. I thought we could donate them to the Costume Institute, so that they could be properly cared for and that others could study and see them. It is a shame that they are put away in a private collection," Mom said. My jaw dropped.

"That's a good idea, Diana," Dad said, nodding. "Free some space up there, too."

"Do we really need another flashy donation with the family name on it?" I asked. "Why do we have to give away everything that's nice?"

"Lysippe, the garments are in danger of falling apart," Mom said sternly.

"The original couturiers are working, it's not like the supply of their designs has dried up," I argued.

"That's enough, Lys." Dad's voice was stern. "Don't speak to your mother like that."

"May I be excused?" I asked, already pushing back from the table. Mom hesitated a moment. "I'm not allowed out for any Halloween parties with my friends because of my grades, so I might as well get back to work," I said, my tone biting.

"I don't like your tone, Lysippe," Dad said warningly. I just looked at him, trying not to frown. "All right, go on." I got up and headed upstairs.

I was hitting the algebra, my tutor had suggested a strategy that seemed to be helping and I was cautiously optimistic, when there was a tap at the door and Deri came in. I looked at the clock; it was later than I realized. I stretched. "How was the party?"

"So fun," she said briskly. "Want some candy?" I rooted around in her basket; apparently they'd gone trick-or-treating. I found a Tootsie Roll mini and unwrapped it. "You can have more," she said. I smiled at her and took an orange Tootsie Pop.

"No more, Jake will give me hell if I put on any weight. He says it's like trying to lift a buffalo anyway."

"Jake's an ass," she said, and I nodded agreement. "So what's the deal with the clothes upstairs, anyway? They're all wildly outdated. It's like you've turned into a typical teenager overnight."

"It's not so much that I can see working them into my wardrobe," I said slowly. "It's just that they're unique and beautiful, made with care, specifically for someone to look her best in, from quality fabrics that feel so good. Somebody who was related to me. I don't have any of that. The closest I get is the ballet costumes for our recitals." She considered that as she nibbled a Snickers mini.

"It's true that when Mom takes us shopping, she gets what's practical, and then we have our school uniforms. We look fine, though." We sighed in unison. "For somebody who's lived in New York as long as she has, she really has no grasp of teenage girls. It's one thing for her to look for the best in people and judge their character, rather than their possessions, but she doesn't seem to get that kids don't do that." Then she grinned and poked me where I'm ticklish. I swatted at her. "You're such a typical Taurus, though, always feeling things, you and your fabrics."

"We've been brought up to appreciate quality. I just want some of my own. It makes me happy. It's not like I'm careless."

"So Jane's party is really at the Metropolitan?" she asked, and I nodded. "It looks so glamorous," she said enviously.

"Doesn't it? I can't wait, her mom is really creative. It should be an amazing party. They're going to a designer to get her a custom made dress."

"Wow." There was a pause. "You know Mom's not going to do that for you, right, get some gorgeous dress?" My lips twisted. Mom keeps saying that we shouldn't rush to be adults, that we should enjoy being girls. Nice sentiment, but in three years I'll be going to college. There isn't a lot of girlhood left, and high school is not what she apparently thinks it is. She nodded, then took herself off to her room.

Chapter Text

The next week I had to go to be fitted for my costume for my ballet recital. There are a lot of costumers in town, and you can tell at a glance how good the dancers are by their costumes at the recitals. The beginners are in leotards with a basic tulle skirt. How elaborate your costume is depends on how advanced you are, and my class rents its costumes from the best theatrical costumers on the Eastern seaboard, rivaled only by a couple in Los Angeles that cater to the film industry. Professional ballet companies sometimes use their things too. We're white swans, of course, with the traditional fluffy 'romantic' style tutu. But because we're awesome, the body part of the garment is separated into the proper separate bodice, which has beautiful embroidery and beading on it, boning, and a sweetheart neckline so that the girls who are more bosomy will have the most coverage, and a lace-up back, and the classical tutu has a basque, pointed ruffle edges, and the new cruelty-free artificial feathers that look indistinguishable from real feathers but don't break as easily and stay pretty and fluffy for longer. The fluffy feathers aren't swan-like, but they sure are pretty. The basque, panty, and the bottom layers of the tutu are modern synthetic high performance fabrics, harsh to the touch, but the top two layers of the tutu are silk net, beautiful and soft. The costume is better than anything I have in my own wardrobe. We have feather ornaments for our hair. Then Alan drives us to a different company where Deri and Van get their costumes ordered; they have long, less-fluffy tulle skirts that are white, overlaid with blue, no basque, with white leotards with blue and silver lace for decoration. They're pretty. From there we have to go to a ballet supply store for shoes. Deri and Van aren't in pointe shoes yet, but just like me, needed to get white shoes for the performance because we all have ballerina pink for classes. I head to the pointe shoes. There are a lot of them, in lots of grades of quality. I need help with the fitting, having to switch brands because my usual ones don't come in white, so I look around while I'm waiting to be served. I'm not worried about Deri and Van, they love the store too and will poke around happily for as long as it takes.

"Hey, Lys." I turn at my cousin's greeting and smile at Miles. "Getting ready for the recital?"

"Yeah, we just ordered our costumes. Now I've got to get the shoes to match." He nodded.

"Gotta say I enjoy getting dressed up," he said without a trace of self-consciousness; he's a bit of a peacock. "Mom's not thrilled with the ballet." We both snickered. The story of Grandma Alex and the Norn's swans is family legend. He took a look at the wall of pointe shoes and shook his head. "I have no idea how you girls decide." He took a closer look. "Oh, hey, they have those new Peterov ones." I perked up and went over to the display he indicated. Peterov was a new company and was making a splash using new technology and materials to make what was being hailed as a revolution in pointe shoe comfort and performance. The sales clerk turned to me with a smile and I explained what I needed. "Try the Peterov ones, Lys," Miles urged. "Just try." I caved. It didn't take much, everybody was curious about them.

I tried a couple of brands made with traditional construction; the shoes were pretty white satin with the satin ribbons, easy to break in. I always felt bad about roughing them up to break them in, but that was the nature of the beast. Then I tried the Peterov shoes, which should have been brought out on a velvet pillow carried on a silver tray, given the reverence with which the clerk treated them. I put them on and gasped. They looked on the outside just like other pointe shoes, but the lining inside gently conformed to my feet, providing support and carrying away some heat so my feet would sweat less but still be warm, a pressure that was notable but not intrusive. They were actually insanely comfortable. I gingerly rolled up en pointe; they stayed firmly in place even without the ribbons being sewn on yet, even when I changed positions. My toes were cradled in something that felt downy but cushioned on an industrial level. I wouldn't even need toe pads and I could feel the floor perfectly. My arch popped perfectly, better than I could manage with my regular shoes. "Wow," I breathed. The clerk explained that they weren't the most durable shoes--yet--having a useful life of about half a regular pair, but extolled their virtues and then delivered the price. It was almost ten times what my usual shoes cost, and while Mom had given me money for the shoes, even with my allowance it wasn't really doable. My face fell.

"How much do you need?" Miles asked quietly.

"Miles--"

"Come on, Lys. Your mom keeps you on a pretty tight leash. I understand, this isn't her background and she wants you to be humble and appreciate your advantages, but these are your feet. You've got to take care of them."

"The Peterov model reduces the incidence of blisters in our professional dancers by 97%," the clerk said. "Bunions by 78%, damaged toenails by 89%, and has virtually eliminated stress fractures with the supportive technology." Miles nudged me, and I bit my lip and nodded.

I fretted, though. It was a crap ton of money to spend on shoes just for a recital. But the satin, although a high performance, highly durable fabric, looked fragile and felt like silk, and... oh, who was I kidding? They were beautiful and special. Miles nudged me as my shoes were borne away to be boxed up.

"Look, I know you Amazons are tough, Lys, but you don't need to keep with the bargain basement shoes. Your mom is minimalist, but you should have your own style. I bet if you have better shoes, you'll dance even better." I gave him a wry smile.

"I'm not an Amazon," I said quietly. "We're sort of affiliates, according to the chief priestess on the islands." Miles looked surprised. "We don't come from there, I'm never going to live there, so I'm not really one of them. They have a tradition of healing women who are found in the sea--the Neriads bring them in--but then they're returned to the mainland. That's like Deri and me." My status had been clarified the summer before. Besides, all the Amazons trained all the time and did useful things that directly contributed to the health of the society. My dancing and hobbies and schoolwork were pale in comparison. It wasn't said--it didn't have to be, the attitude was plain to see--that the world of man was a substandard sort of place and its influence meant that I'd never measure up. Deri was beloved by the priestesses because of the strength and usability of her gift and her athletic accomplishments. My gift was also said to be strong, but just like the rest of me, not very useful.

"That's harsh," he muttered, but the clerk was back with the shoes in a glossy white box, so severely plain and perfect that it was obvious that it held something extraordinary. We went up to pay, and I grabbed some rosin on the way up to the counter; Miles let us practice in his studio whenever we wanted and it was my turn to replenish the supply, which kept our shoes from sliding on the wood floor. He smiled at me as the receipt was prepared. My shoes had a serial number that had to be registered. "Callie is going to have to watch out if she wants to stay the best female dancer in the class." I smiled back. I wasn't a threat and he knew it. The box was reverently placed into a bag and handed to me.

"Miles!" Deri gave him a hug, clouting him with the box with her slippers and hangers with a couple of dance shrugs.

"Easy there," he said, rubbing his side. They chatted a bit and Miles left. He'd gotten one of Uncle Tony's first personal conveyances, little pods with limited aerial capabilities that had one seat and a small trunk. They were great commuter vehicles and very popular with teenagers because you didn't need a license. They were self-driving; you input the address and off you went. No distracted driving or poor judgment. Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian had gotten it for him for his sixteenth birthday. I had some hopes that I would get one too; sixteen was the minimum age for operating one because there were concerns about the maturity of younger users. I was reliable, though.

Van and Deri were rung up efficiently, and we were on our way home in short order. I asked Alan for white silk thread to sew the ribbons on the new shoes, and with only a whiff of frustration, he got it for me. It makes him nuts that I won't let him sew on the ribbons, but even though my stitching is clumsy, it can't be seen when I'm dancing. The one time I caved, he stitched them on too tight, the knots were in the wrong places, and I got blisters on the sides of my feet. I had to redo them and it was difficult to pick out his tiny, tight stitches. I ruined the ribbons and had to replace them. I couldn't wait for the recital, with the beautiful costumes and now my perfect shoes. I took great pains and my stitching wasn't actually bad, though. Since I was alone in my room, I rubbed my cheek on the silky fabric and returned them carefully to their box, placing it carefully on the shelf in my walk-in closet. It's organized ruthlessly, which is kind of a wasted effort since I don't have enough clothes to fill it up. Shoot. In the excitement over the shoes, I'd forgotten I needed white tights, too. I'd have to raid savings. Well, I'd have to do that anyway, to pay Miles back. But there was a different supply store closer to school that also had nice tights. Campus wasn't closed for lunch although most of us stayed there anyway; there was no parking for students in the area and no restaurants. Jane would come with me; she liked the idea of being a dancer but didn't like the lessons and had quit after her first year.

And so the days passed. My algebra tutor was helping and my grade was creeping up to a B, but I wasn't as successful with bio, which remained stubbornly at a C. Just before Thanksgiving, we got our costumes; we had two dress rehearsals, one in class, and one run-through one evening with the whole school. The length of time of each performance increased as you got more proficient, and my class had the longest one. Deri's was about half the length. I almost sobbed as I danced in my Peterovs; all the footwork seemed easier and with that distraction eliminated I was able to focus more on my expression. My teacher noticed and commended me. Miles winked at me.

Thanksgiving was, as usual, at our house in the ballroom, the one place where the entire family and people like Uncle Tony and Uncle Steve, who weren't actually related but might as well be, and any guests (usually spare members of the Justice League or Avengers) could all gather. This year I was at a table with some of the cousins, my actual grandpa, dad's dad Grandpa Mark (I've never met my other grandfather), Oliver Queen (here on business with Wayne), and Grandpa Bruce. I was seated between Tabby and Grandpa Bruce; Tabby was my personal role model. Glamorous, sleek, elegant, she was in college in art history with a minor in business; she wanted to be an art expert at one of the big auction houses. That could have been a little nerve-wracking, her mom being the best cat burglar in the world at one point, but Aunt Serena had reformed and was an insurance investigator and at the top of her profession because nobody was as good as she'd been and she always tracked her insured pieces to their... liberators. Tabby was sharp and witty and classy and I loved being able to talk with her. Grandpa Bruce, on the other hand...

He'd been out late last night, Batmanning it up, and was a little grumpy from lack of sleep as well as the bad guy getting away. Although honestly he's usually at best tacturn. Grandpa grunted at something Mr Queen said about the business, then turned to me. Shoot. "I don't know why Diana doesn't dress you better," he said, running a glance over my plain blue dress. "We've got the money and she's not afraid of the competition. You look like a tween."

"Mom likes us to appreciate what we have," I said politely. He grunted again.

"What's this I'm hearing about your grades?" I froze, then stopped cutting my turkey. "I understand you've managed to improve to a B in algebra, but a C in biology? That's the easiest science. What are you going to do when you get to more advanced classes?" My mouth was dry.

"There's so much to memorize in bio," I managed. "I'm not very good with lists and taxonomy."

"Have your parents had you tested for a learning disability?" he barked at me. "They can fix those these days."

I flinched automatically and tears pricked my eyes. "Bruce!" Grandpa Mark barked. "There is nothing wrong with Lys."

"Daddy!" Tabby growled. "Don't be a dick."

"Shit," Mr Queen muttered.

"Master Bruce," Alfred hissed, appearing out of nowhere to seize his ear. I have no idea how Alfred materializes the way he does. A tear slid down my cheek and Tabby slung her arm around my shoulders.

"Ow," Grandpa Bruce complained, half-rising out of his seat, and great, the commotion was drawing attention. Mom and Dad came over to find out what had happened, and I bit my lip to keep it from trembling as everybody who was paying attention heard. I felt humiliated when the focus of the onlookers was on me, then snapped away as if I was embarrassing.

"Excuse me," I murmured, then eased away from Tabby and out the ballroom door. I wanted to be alone, and opportunities for that were scarce in the mansion. The security system the insurance company insisted that we have included the hallways inside and the public rooms. I skedaddled to my room, quickly shed my shoes and hose, pulled on an old pair of ballet slippers and a cardigan, and opened my window. I climbed out on the wide windowsill, closed the window, and pulled myself up onto the roof. The attic was under the shingles, so I didn't have to worry about anybody hearing me as I moved across the slate to a place by the nearest chimney. I leaned against it and sniffed as the tears fell. I didn't worry about being seen; I knew for a fact that the roof wasn't monitored on the security system and with the trees and the landscaping and the way the house was built, this was the most private place in the whole heap. I was careful not to come here too often, though, not wanting anybody to know where I went. I stayed until I was freezing and didn't want to cry anymore, and reversed course, ending up in my bathroom where I washed my face, put eyedrops in, and put a cold washcloth on my eyes. There was a knock on the bedroom door and it opened before I had a chance to say anything.

Chapter Text

Dad popped in, his expression clearing. "There you are, honey. I'd like you to come back downstairs for a bit. Bruce would like to apologize." I snorted. Dad rolled his eyes. "You deserve an apology, Lys. He was out of line saying that."

So Dad thought he was rude to say it, not that he was wrong to think that. Well, just because I have a hard time memorizing lists of things doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with me, it's just that my brain doesn't work the same way as everybody else's. I wondered if anybody besides Grandpa Mark had stood up for me. I kind of doubted it.

Dad took me down to the library. Mom was there along with Grandpas Bruce and Mark. Grandpa Bruce looked at me and huffed a breath out. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings with my comment," he said. I waited for more, but that was it.

"I accept your apology in the spirit it was given," I said carefully. Grudgingly, reluctantly, in other words. Mom looked at me sharply. Grandpa Bruce nodded acceptance, immediately understanding my meaning, and disappeared from the room. He may be a middle-aged asshole, but he's still one heck of a good Batman. Grandpa Mark scowled after him and followed.

"Lysippe, you need to toughen up," Mom said sternly. "Bruce is tactless, but he means well."

"Why are you always doing this to me?" I asked in disbelief. "Why do you always expect me to take whatever rude and hurtful things people say to me without complaining or commenting on it?"

"Lys," Dad said. "You know your mom's philosophy."

"Yeah, truth, love, justice. It's just too bad that she doesn't treat me with the same consideration," I shot back. "I get it, she's functionally immortal, she has a long view that I'll never have, Wonder Woman is loved by all, Diana Prince-Wayne keeps her head down, a smile on her face, and nobody says boo to the noted conservator of ancient Greek artifacts at the Met. Well, she has no idea how hard high school is. She never went. She grew up millennia ago on an invisible island where her big act of disobedience was getting her aunt to teach her how to fight. She has no understanding of the subculture of rich teenagers in this particular society because she thinks it shouldn't matter. But she's wrong. It does matter. A lot. To me, at least, it's my life. I'm the one who has to deal with it on a daily basis, and it's bad enough without my own family telling me I'm defective. Neither of you even cut me as much slack as Deri, even."

Dad looked surprised. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Before Halloween, when that Ming vase was broken and the company had been upgrading the security network so that there wasn't any recording to look at?" I asked, too wound up to stop. "The vase the insurance adjuster said was literally priceless and kept asking you to at least put it in a wall alcove instead of just a pedestal?" Dad nodded warily. "Deri and Van were tearing around, letting off steam, they ran by and it toppled off. You asked her what had happened and she said that she didn't know. I said the same thing, but you acted as if you didn't believe me." He flushed. "Deri told you the truth, she didn't quite know how it happened, but she knew it had happened when she and Van were running through the rooms, which she knows she's not supposed to do. So she used her gift a little to be more lovable and get out of trouble. You guys know that she's got a gift that influences people, but you never think to check if she uses it. She's not supposed to, but she can't turn it off entirely, and she's a kid, she doesn't want to get into trouble, so what's the harm in using just a little? She never gets into trouble for it, so why not?"

"This isn't about Deri," Mom said, a frown in her voice. "This is about you. We expect more from you because you have so many advantages that others lack."

"Grandpa Bruce has a lot more advantages than I have, but nobody's yelling at him for telling his teenage granddaughter that there's something wrong with her," I said resentfully. "Nobody's calling him a bully, even though that's what he is. And rude, for causing a scene at a family dinner where there are outside guests."

"I am not responsible for the manners of Bruce," Mom said sternly. "I am responsible for raising you, which involves teaching you to turn the other cheek, being gracious, and forgiving when others slight you."

"That's what I'm talking about. I'm expected to eat insults and rudeness without complaint. I can't. I'm not a saint. I do my best but it's never enough for you."

"You're an Amazon and more is expected from you."

"I am not an Amazon," I said curtly, and my parents looked surprised. Well, my dad did, I was just assuming that my mom did too.

"You are," Mom said sternly.

"I am not, at least according to the Amazons themselves. You are, but I'm not. Last summer, when I was in the temple helping Menalippe" the high priestess "she and Kasia" one of Mom's closest friends "were talking and they said I wasn't. I'm there on sufferance, like those women the Nereids pull out of the ocean, heal, and toss back. Speaking of the island, I don't want to go back next summer."

"What?" Mom asked sharply. "Why not?"

"Because it's just more months of being blown off. We don't practice swordwork here, so the General Aunt Antiope thinks its a waste of time for us to drill there and ignores me, I don't have any skills that are useful there, so I clean and help in the fields, I have to tend the horses." I shuddered. "There aren't any people my age, nobody there understands anything about me and they don't want to because they're convinced of the superiority of the Amazon way of life. The manacles suck, they rub my skin raw. My grandmother, the Queen Hippolyta, only sees a disappointment. Which is weird, because I thought Amazons were supposed to love kids. Iris loves remembering her visit, which was more fun than I've ever had there."

I wished I could see Mom's face through the glow of the god-touch. "When are you going to get past your fear of horses?" she asked, irrelevantly. "You must let it go. The horse had been abused and was not responsible for its actions."

"I was five years old," I said, staring at her in disbelief. "Nobody told me to stay away from it or that it was dangerous. It kicked me, broke two ribs, cracked another. It scared the crap out of me. I thought it was going to kill me, the way it acted."

"Let's not go into this now," Dad said, shaking his head. "Diana, we've got a ballroom of guests. Lys, you can be excused. People will be leaving after dessert anyway." And just like that, they stopped hearing me. I went up to my room, dessertless. I was too upset to eat anyway. I'd go down later and get something. This time when I got upstairs, I changed, put on a warm coat and sneakers, and went out the window again. I was leaning against the chimney when I saw a couple of vehicles flash down the extremely private, secret road that led out of the bat cave. The roof was one of the few places you could see the road from the house, and then only for a few seconds. The forces of evil must be at work on the holiday. I wondered if they gave their minions overtime pay or at least a nice dinner.

I stayed put until it started to get dark and the rest of the guests left. I pulled up my biology homework, wanting to give it another push to see if I couldn't do better with the taxonomy chart the teacher expected us to memorize. I mean, I understood what taxonomy was, why a system of classification for organisms was needed, and how it was done, and I remembered the broad classifications of domain, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species. The three domains were easy enough, as were the kingdoms, and I was aware that they were shifting, I started to get shaky around phylum and class, and where it really started to get specific with order, family, genus and species, is where I really fell apart with the chart and its examples and their Latin names. My teacher wasn't a complete monster (which would be outside official taxonomy completely) and did give partial credit on quizzes and tests, knew I was struggling ( I went in for help often) and was sympathetic, telling me that we'd be done with taxonomy in a couple of weeks. I freaking hated Carl Linnaeus. Why did I have to memorize this, anyway? I could always look it up in the extremely unlikely event I ever needed to know.

Deri burst in without knocking. "Thanks for telling Dad about the vase," she said hotly. Then we got into an argument, she was defensive about having broken the rules about using her gift and angry about getting caught in a falsehood and didn't react well to being told that if you do the crime, you do the time. It turned out that Mom had gone out with the Justice League and left Dad with the discipline, which was a grounding for three weeks. It seemed fair to me, the insurance adjustor had practically cried when he'd seen the pieces, and the insurance rates had jumped. Yeah, I'm nosy, so what? Plus she'd tried to shift the blame to me and knowingly tried to skive out of trouble. I'd been coming down the hall after spending some time in the fitness center and heard the whole thing. Yeah, I eavesdropped, but when something that big happens, anybody would have done the same, which is how I'd heard Deri instruct Van to say they didn't know how it had broken, because neither was sure if the vase had been bumped or jarred or what. But she was mad because now she'd miss a few after-school activities, Aslyn and Alan would be notified of Van's role in the event and Van would get into trouble, and she wasn't allowed to hang out with any friends after school, including Van. It could be worse; she was still allowed to dance in the recital because that was a commitment that had been made before the grounding and others were relying on her. In a tactical error, Dad hadn't said anything about texts or communicator privileges, so the grounding wouldn't do more than sting.

"Grandpa Bruce was right, there is something wrong with you," she said spitefully, and flounced out, slamming the door behind her. I wanted to go drop kick her out the window, but I'd get in trouble if I did and I'd had enough for one day. I skulked down the back stairs and into the dark kitchen, where I found some leftover cookies and cupcakes. I put some treats in a paper towel and went back up to my room, where I drew a nice hot bubble bath and started a new book, one that didn't look like it would mention school once. It was one of the YA dystopian books where kids have to save the world from the idiotic/corrupt/evil/uncaring adults. My mother didn't understand why they were so popular, but the appeal was that they showed kids my age doing something important despite their age and lack of mastery of skills. They at least had some control over their lives.

The next day I slept in. Our recital was that night and I wanted to be well-rested and ready to perform. I went through the bat cave tunnels to Miles' studio later, and we ran the choreography. It looked funny, I didn't have a partner to do the lifts, neither did Miles, so we just marked those places, laughed, and danced on. Finally it was time, and we got our stuff and went to one of the performing arts high schools, not mine, that had rented us their theater. There were dressing rooms backstage where we could do our hair and makeup and get into our costumes. I loved this part of the whole thing; it didn't matter how you performed, getting ready was always fun.

The performances started out with the youngest dancers whose music was only a couple of minutes, to the final performance, our seventeen minute dance. My partner wasn't even rude for once and I felt like I'd done a great job at the end. The expensive shoes had done wonders for my confidence. Being on pointe wasn't ever painless, you've got your weight squashing down your toes and it produces pain, but the dancing is satisfying. The shoes' extra support minimized the pain until my feet just ached a bit and allowed me to focus on feeling the floor and my movement, and at the end I realized I'd never had to remind myself to smile. At the end, the class curtsied and bowed at the applause, which wasn't just polite, and the rest of the classes joined us for another round of applause. Backstage, Miles congratulated me; he hadn't seen much of my performance, of course, but there were a couple of places where the corps got to shine and he'd watched that. He, naturally, had been splendid. Then I reluctantly changed out of the beautiful tutu, carefully placed my shoes in their bag--I noticed with a pang that they were already showing signs of wear, but I'd been warned about their durability issues--and went to the front of the house. Dad wasn't there, Mom said that a problem had come up at work, but she'd recorded our performances. "I got all of Deri's dance, but I was off to the side and the curtain cut off some of yours, Lys," Mom told us. My sister smirked at me. I felt disappointed.

"That's ok, Diana," Grandpa Damian said jovially, coming up to congratulate us. He kissed my cheek. "Alex and I got seats in the center; we saw that you'd let other parents have the better seats so I recorded Lys specifically." He tapped his communicator and mine chimed; he'd sent it to both Dad and me. I smiled at him gratefully. "You really shone up there, Lys," he said. Deri pouted. "You looked cute, Deri," he said to her. It was my turn to smirk, but I hid it. Deri thought she was a lock for getting the teachers to approve her going en pointe soon, but she goofed off too much with Van and her ankles and feet weren't strong enough.

Chapter Text

The next night, Dad praised our performances in the recital and the family conversation focused on our schedules for the next week. My next big thing was Jane's birthday party. Mom had caved and we'd gone shopping for a dress. My dress was still really plain, but the cobalt blue suited me and it was a knit that had some silk in with the wool and a little unnatural fiber so it felt lovely. It was closely fitting but not tight, with a flirty above-the-knee skirt and a draped neckline that helped draw attention away from my flat chest. And without even having to ask, some pretty dress pumps. For a present, I'd gotten Jane a set of books; she loved Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, and I'd hunted her down several editions that had been published over the centuries. The covers were all different, some were annotated, and there were different prefaces and afterwords so that she could deepen her knowledge of the classic and its author. And I'd received invitations for Molly and Hope's parties, at the beginning and end of January, respectively. Eleanor's birthday was the only one after mine, at the start of June. I was really looking forward to the fun; Molly's dad was an event planner, so it was sure to be really special. I was thinking hard about what I could get them that was special. Deri had nothing scheduled because she was grounded, and Mom and Dad always had the possibility of extra work.

We went to Jane's on her actual birthday to give her our presents; she loved the Sense and Sensibility collection. We had ice cream sundaes to celebrate and awaited her party impatiently. Molly, Hope, and Eleanor and I walked into the ballroom together; it was set up as a casino with all sorts of games, but there was also a bandstand, dance floor, and buffet tables set up with appetizers and desserts. There was even a bar with a variety of soft drinks and a cranberry-based mocktail specifically created for Jane. When we handed in our invitations, we were given a thick stack of fake money to bet with. After we mingled, greeting our classmates, hugging the birthday girl, we tried our hands at the tables. I was kind of sucky at everything but the roulette wheel. Then the band set up, and all our jaws dropped. Somehow Jane's parents had managed to book Chandelier, which was only the hottest band of the moment. The trio had three of the top eleven most popular songs on the chart and we all loved them. They played for an hour, and then up-and-coming local band Chrysalis took over and played sets for the remainder of the party. It was tremendous. There was a break when Jane cut the massive cake and was given her presents; her grandparents gave her two pieces of family jewelry; an amethyst and diamond ring and red and white diamond chandelier earrings. Her parents gave her a personal one-seater pod; it had rich cream interior and the exterior was her favorite sunny shade of yellow. At the end of the party, we could trade our "winnings" in for prizes, which were random and came in plain paper bags, although they were pretty, festive bags. I got the code for seven new movies and three games that hadn't even been released yet. I found Jane and her parents and thanked them for the invitation, telling them I'd had a fantastic time.

At lunch the next day, my parents asked me how the party had been. "It was fantastic!" I enthused. Then Mom's communicator chimed. We weren't supposed to use them at the table, but Mom and Dad had them in case they were needed. Dad might not be a Batman anymore, but he still helped out down in the Bat cave and needed to know if the Avengers went into action. Mom, of course, was on call for the Justice League. She looked down it and frowned.

"I am sorry, dear," she said to me. "I must go." She got up and kissed my cheek on the way past.

"Mom sure has a lot of emergencies for a curator," Deri observed. "It's a lot more exciting job than you'd think." I wished she could keep things to herself; it would be much nicer just to be able to be open about it.

"Hmm," Dad said. "You were saying, honey?"

"They got Chandelier to play, then after their set, Chrysalis--"

"No way!" Deri squealed. I nodded eagerly.

"I tried to record it for you but they had a diversionary jammer, it was in the bands' contracts, you know, they jam the communicators' signals, the program reads incoming messages for words like 'emergency,' 'hospital,' that kind of thing so you can be notified to leave the site if necessary." She looked disappointed, then rallied.

"Thanks for trying," she said. "What else?"

"They had--"

And Dad's communicator went off. Huh. Must be something big going on. "Sorry, kids, I've got to go too," he said, hastily patting his mouth with his napkin and hurrying off. Deri listened as I finished telling her, and sighed.

"You've only got a couple more years until it's your turn," I tried to be encouraging.

"That's not as reassuring as you meant it," she said glumly, and I shrugged.

"It's the best I can do," I said, and she gave me a small smile. Then we finished up fast, as Alan was hovering.

After that, we had Iris and Miles' birthday party and then it was time to study for finals. We had three days of them, two a day for three days. Deri was luckier, her finals weren't nearly as big a deal and could be done during their normal classes. Iris was graduating from high school early, ready to start at Columbia in January. Her twin, Miles, would be finishing up high school by himself and was a little mopey. We couldn't go to the graduation ceremony, space limitations (the Return caused havoc with a lot of things as a lot of people's families greatly expanded) but we could watch it remotely, then there was a graduation party at Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian's just down the road a bit. Then we could relax and get ready for Christmas. There were presents to get for my friends and immediate family, and another family dinner in the ballroom with the extended clan. This time, though, Grandpa Bruce had been placed across the room from me and the dinner was much nicer for both of us. Even if I had managed a B- in bio.

School had barely started when other invitations to birthday parties started to come in, and Molly's party was at a complex with ice skating, where there was also dancing at another part of the complex and a photo booth, and professional ice skaters had been hired to perform a brief show before the opening of presents and the cake and all. The usual array of snacks, and somebody whipped up different hot cocoa varieties for us. So yum. For her present, I'd stood in line with a copy of Molly's favorite book and gotten the author's signature (spending four hours in line and also having to pay for the autograph) as well as a copy of the script that they were using to shoot the film (I had to use family connections for that one.) Molly's pod had a silvery gray interior and flashy metallic blue exterior. Another classmate's party was held at Grandma Alex's Valkyrie building, where a DJ rocked the elegant place. There was a cruise up the Hudson, a pool party, and a masquerade one that conflicted with Hope's party, which was a red carpet type event where movies played on a couple rooms, there was dancing, another photo booth, as well as a free-range photographer, and the snacks included cotton candy on glowsticks. She loved soccer and played on the school team; hours of hunting for a present had yielded an antique photograph, underpriced because since the store owner apparently didn't know great soccer rivals, of 21st century superstars Messi and Ronaldo in the 2009 Champions League final. Hope knew soccer history like the back of her hand, and I had it framed, without a mat, so she could see both sides of the photograph (the back was marked faintly) even thought the paper was tattered and folded on one corner. She did love it; she loved the first two centuries of world competition the most. I wore the flapper dress (with inauthentic makeup and accessories) finally and got several compliments. Hope's pod was a hot crimson exterior with a midnight blue interior.

Things seemed to be going better this semester. We were done with the hated taxonomy in bio, and while dissection was equally awful, at least it was easier to do and my grades at midterm were all As and Bs, with a slight advantage on the A side of things. After the recital, I started to wonder if I was wearing the wrong pointe shoes and went in to be refitted the next time I needed new shoes. I found a pair that was significantly better than my old ones, and Miles thought that most of my problems might have been with my confidence. My teacher agreed, saying that I'd improved significantly, and that while she still didn't think I had the potential to reach the top of a company like Miles could, I could probably join a corps de ballet at a company if that was something I wanted. I was interested in that, because I just wasn't finding a career path I wanted to follow. Most of my classmates had broad interests that they could hone in our classes, but I was interested in a lot of things rather than one broad career path. And at my heart, my indecision felt worse because I knew that if worse came to worse, I'd be sent to college for a generic business degree and set to work at Wayne somewhere, or if not at Wayne, probably at a company where the owners could be leaned on to hire me. I felt like I didn't have any control over my future and that it didn't really matter anyway.

After the midterm grades came out, we sat down for a celebratory dinner (Deri had done very well, of course) with Grandpa Mark, who was interested in catching up with us after an extended trip through Africa. Partway through dinner, when Grandpa was telling us about his stops in different cities for business, Alan appeared. "I am sorry to interrupt, Master Mark," he said, sniffing ever so slightly. "But a person has arrived and is most insistent to see you." He extended what looked to me, across the table, like a business card. Deri and I perked up. This was the most interesting thing to happen at dinner in forever. Usually it's just conversation. Even Mom and Dad looked interested. Grandpa froze as he read the card.

"Immediately, Alan," was all he said, and got to his feet, eyes fixed on the door, and ignoring Dad's questions. Shortly thereafter, Alan produced a woman.

"Amy?" Grandpa said, and launched himself over for a hug. She was slightly shorter than Grandpa, with the same hair color, which was about all we could see of her.

"Aunt Amy?" Dad gasped, then threw his napkin down and hustled over to join the hug. Deri and I looked at each other with wide eyes. We'd heard of Grandpa's sister, of course, who had helped raise Dad after his mom had died. "Where've you been?" he asked, his voice muffled. "I thought you were lost. Again." When the huddle broke up, we looked at the newcomer with great interest. She looked the same age as Grandpa Mark, Dad too, for that matter, the Return having reset the returnees' appearance to mid to late twenties at that time. There was a strong family resemblance.

"It's not much of a story," she sighed.

"Aunt Amy, I'd like you to meet my wife, Diana Prince," Dad said. Mom went over and they did cheek kisses.

"We've met, my dear," Mom said, and Dad shook his head as if trying to clear out some fuzz.

"Right, when we had conferences at the house," he said.

"It's good to see you again," Mom said to Amy, who was smiling. "These are our daughters, Lysippe and Derinoe." Amy's eyes got big and her mouth opened in an O. She had a tremendously expressive face. I waved, then Grandpa removed the hand he had over his mouth and motioned us over. Each of us got a hug and a searching look. I don't know what she was looking for, but I hoped that I didn't disappoint her too.

"Come sit down," Grandpa said, looking around as Alan brought in another chair. More introductions, and a plate with dinner was produced. We finished hastily as the adults caught up and Deri and I volunteered our basic information, then adjourned to the library for her story.

"It's not terribly complex," she said ruefully. "I woke up in the hospital with amnesia, a broken skull, and brain damage, some other injuries that were less serious. Well, when I woke up, all I had was the amnesia, the physical structures had been repaired. I couldn't remember anything about myself, but I recognized things and knew about living in the time, pretty much, there were technological advances, of course. My DNA never got a match, so once I was physically recovered and the hospital psychologist thought I was capable of looking after myself, I was discharged. I got a job in the forest service in the Pacific northwest, first helping to reforest areas still recovering from early indiscriminate logging, repairing damage done by the long winter, then working in national parks to reopen them for visitors, making improvements, that kind of thing. Information from my education started to come back although I couldn't remember where I got it, and I was moved to the business side of the forest service. I missed it," she said thoughtfully. "It was more fun to be out in the fresh air, working hard. You could always see the results of your labors. Then, later, flashes of memories. And not long ago, I remembered who I was. So I took the time to sort through all the memories and I had my DNA submitted to the Returnees database, and I was alerted that I had family, and who they were. Turned out that there had been some kind of mixup and it had never been submitted in the first place. So here I am." Her smile was small.

"You should have called," Grandpa scolded her, putting his arm around her shoulder and touching heads. Deri and I listened, fascinated, drinking our tea and absently eating petit fours.

"It was a little nervewracking," was all she said, and he nodded. I remembered that Dad had found Grandpa in a hospital, having been severely beaten and in a coma.

"You've got to stay here, of course," Dad said immediately. "I've missed you so much."

"Thanks, Dan, but I've got a hotel room--"

"Amy, come on. If you stay here, you can get to know your great nieces," Grandpa said craftily, and at that, her resistance melted.

"We'd love to have you," Mom said, and Alan disappeared. So it was settled that she was staying with us, and information continued to be traded. Amy was sharp as a knife, obviously highly intelligent, another sterling example of the Wayne family DNA. Then Deri and I were dismissed to do homework.

"Well, there will be time to get to know you better," Aunt Amy said ruefully. "I've got a couple week's vacation."

"Lys's grades have just come up," Mom said. "We don't want to jeopardize that." I shot her a look of disgust before I managed to wipe it off my face. One night wouldn't tank my grades, and Aunt Amy's reappearance was really big. Huge. But if she was staying a couple of weeks, there'd be time to spend with her. We said good night and walked out, listening to Grandpa's proposal that she quit her job and come back to the city.

"That sucks," Deri said, scowling, as we walked up the stairs. "She just appears, out of the blue, and we're sent away like we're little kids." I huffed an agreement. At the top of the stairs, I patted her shoulder, an uncharacteristic gesture. As much of a pain in the ass as she could be, she was still my little sister, and watching Grandpa and Aunt Amy made me conscious of the bond that siblings share. Instead of ducking away, Deri smiled at me, so she must have felt it too. We separated at our doors and I went to work on quadratic equations, which I was actually understanding. I'd go down early tomorrow morning, see if maybe Aunt Amy would be down for breakfast too.

Chapter Text

Aunt Amy came down in time for breakfast, which I got to myself because Deri hadn't thought far enough ahead. Mom and Dad came down toward the end, and it was settled that Aunt Amy was going to come into the city with us so that she could poke around. Deri and I had ballet practice after school, which was a source of frustration, but Aunt Amy would come pick us up and bring us home. So I had something else to talk about at school; Mom had mailed the invitations for my birthday party earlier in the week but wouldn't tell me anything about it. I couldn't decide whether to be a little apprehensive or thrilled, but at one point I wasn't sure it I'd have a party at all, so I was going with thrilled. She'd even taken me to a dressmaker to be measured for a custom dress the week before. Mom thought that the parties I'd been to were too extravagant for a kid, but she also knew how important the party was for me. It would be a way of paying back the classmates who'd thought to invite me to their parties, and... deep in my heart, it meant a lot that Mom would listen to what I liked. I often felt like she didn't; everybody talked about the strength of her compassion, but it felt like it was directed outward at everybody else. This would prove me wrong. My friends listened avidly to the story of my returned aunt and we discussed it at lunch. After school, Alan picked me up to go to ballet. I wish I could just take the bus or subway like a normal kid.

We were starting to polish our performance; the spring recital was coming up fast, in mid-May; the piece we were working on was shorter and less complex than for the winter recital because we had less time to prepare for it. Kids had vacations or jobs or summer camps starting right after the schools let out for summer break, and for the first time, I wouldn't be going to the island. I was going to stick to my guns on this one, and I was researching places to submit job applications on the theory that my parents were less likely to make me quit if I wasn't working for the family business or a friend of the family. But despite my anxiety to get the class over with so we could talk to Aunt Amy some more, I enjoyed the dancing. I was gaining confidence as my technique improved. I had a different partner for this dance, a modern composition called "Le Reve," which was, as you'd expect, dreamy, graceful, and gentle. It also had a lot of lifts, so I was glad that Brian was my partner. He was a nice guy and never complained if we made a mistake. The choreography was easy to learn; the proper expression and technique was the hard part. For as easy as the basic steps were, it was technically demanding.

Aunt Amy was there when I emerged from the dressing room; she'd watched both Deri and me practice. She'd had to watch me through the door, since unlike younger kids, parents were banned from the studio while we practiced because we needed both to focus and also use the whole room. She was really complementary and asked us both questions about practice, our school, and our other activities. It was the most fun I'd had in the car that I could remember.

That weekend, we had a picnic at the house to introduce Aunt Amy to the rest of the family. It was nice to hang out with the cousins, some of whom I didn't see much because we all went to different schools. Iris was there, and she told me about college. She was still living at home because there wasn't any housing available on campus, but she'd be moving there fall semester. It sounded really exciting, but it was still a disappointing three years away for me. On the other hand, maybe I'd find out what I wanted to study by then. On the other, maybe I'd hold off on college in order to dance. There was yummy food prepared by both Alan and Alfred and everybody just kind of hung out, talking. I got to see grandparents and aunts and uncles that I didn't see much too, and collected hugs and answered questions. I kept my distance from Grandpa Bruce, though, even though I'd pulled up biology to a B, just in case it was still substandard in his opinion.

The two weeks passed quickly, and before long Aunt Amy had to go back to work. She promised that she'd come out for my birthday, though. After that, I just had a couple more weeks to wait, and spent it studying, going on a few dates, doing things with my friends, and at Anabel's party. The week before the party, Mom took me to the dressmaker's. I was a little disappointed; I thought that I'd be getting a dress, but it was a navy suit instead. I thought it was an indicator that I was ready to get a job, though. I didn't want to wear a dress I'd worn to somebody else's party, so I hit the attic again. All the beautiful clothes were gone to the Costume Institute; all that was left were replicas and pieces that were too ordinary to be of interest to them. So the selection was narrow, and I was hindered by not knowing anything about my party. But I found a pretty floral cotton dress that should be fairly appropriate; it had short sleeves, a scoop neckline, and a skirt that flared out prettily and ended a couple inches above my knees. I'd spent most of my savings on presents for all the parties I'd gone to, and I'd spent a lot on my friends, but I didn't regret it. I had a pair of white eyelet low wedges that looked good with it. It didn't even require a lot of work to make the bust fit; I could get away with pressing the seams in and carefully tacking them down. It took awhile to do so that it was satisfactory, but it was worth it. I took special are with my appearance.

I was sent away on an 'errand' before the party that didn't fool anybody, and Alan returned me to the house. My pleasure faded to apprehension; we'd only been gone for about an hour, and I knew for a fact that nothing had been going on before I left. Alan directed me out back, where my appearance was greeted with a tepid "Happy Birthday" cheer from my friends and classmates. I looked around; it was the same garden as usual, set up like it had been for the party for Aunt Amy. With the addition of some balloons around the cake that Alan had made. My classmates were disgruntled, and barely waited for me to cut the cake before making their excuses and leaving. It was as close to a stampede as they could get away with. Most of the gifts were store credit to the venerable favorites Starbucks and Amazon, even from my best friends. Only the presents from my relatives were personal. I was dazed.

"That was nice," I heard my mother telling my dad. Nice, because the kids didn't hang around much.

The indications of how big a disaster it was for me started rolling in early. The boy I was supposed to go out with that night canceled. No reason. By the time my relatives left, I'd been disinvited to almost all of the parties I'd been asked to attend. I had no idea what I was saying to anybody, but before Iris and Miles left, she hugged me and said sorry. All of the cousins were uneasy, knowing what was in store for me.

When everybody had left but Deri, Mom, Dad, Aunt Amy, and Grandpa, Mom turned to me with a smile. "Happy birthday, Lys," she said, and handed me a box that I took with numb fingers. It was from Themyscira, a necklace made of pearls. And not pretty pearls like you see in the stores, they were baroque, misshapen, only a rough match on size and there had been no attempt to match for color. I looked up at her, utterly stunned. The other presents were clothes, except Deri had gotten me a pretty silver chain with a pointe shoe on it. Grandpa had gotten me little diamond earrings, and Aunt Amy a pretty black opal ring that had a lot of strong colors in it. Everybody but Mom was looking a little apprehensive.

"What do you think, Lys?" Mom prompted me. I looked up at her, kind of at a loss for words.

"It was a lovely party for the family," I managed to say.

Deri rolled her eyes. "It was a disaster," she said to Mom matter of factly. "I've already had texts from people in my class asking if it was really that bad." Mom was really offended and asked me what the problem was. It had been an appropriate party for a teenager, in her opinion.

"Every party I went to was over the top, really fun. You could tell that there had been a lot of planning involved," I said after a moment. "The kind of parties that are so good that the problem is getting people to go when time was up. It's a big deal, the first time you get any legal rights. It's expected that all the parties are going to be really something special. This... " I shook my head.

"The expense is unreasonable simply for one birthday," Mom said stubbornly. "It's wasteful."

I shook off the dullness as my communicator announced the arrival of another text asking me if the party had been a joke, asking why my parents didn't care enough to throw me a decent party. "It's expected," I said, tears of rage starting. "I've already been disinvited to every party other than Eleanor's. People are asking why you couldn't be bothered to make an effort for me. My dates have been broken. I'm a joke. Excuse me." I got up and ran inside the house, and out the front door. I needed to hide before I did something like explode from rage or turn into a sobbing quivering jelly on the floor.

I went back to the house much later, sneaking in the side door with the intent to go up the back stairs unseen, when I heard the conversation from the dining room. "--if that's your idea of a suitable Sweet Sixteen party, I don't want one," my sister snapped. "You've made Lys a laughing stock, and me too, by extension. I'll escape pretty much unscathed, but Lys's life is ruined. You don't pay any attention when she tried to explain, several times, why this party was so important to her. And Dad, why didn't you get involved? You know what kids are like, it'll be like Lord of the Flies on Monday."

"Your mom said she had it handled--" Dad started, then broke off when I stepped on the squeaky stair by accident. Shit. "Lys?" he popped out of the dining room. Shitshit. He frowned in concern when he saw me. "Come in here, honey. Are you ok?" I gave him a look of disbelief.

"Lysippe, your father asked you a question," Mom said sternly.

"No, Father, I am not ok," I shot at her, and held out my communicator. "Read my texts and see if you think I should be ok." He took it and opened the text program. There were a lot of shit emojis attached to the descriptions of the party. The comments were hurtful, the kindest said that no wonder I wasn't more popular; even my parents didn't like me enough to throw me a proper party, that there was something wrong with me that I couldn't even operate a pod which was why I got lame presents.

"Lys, honey, come sit by me," Aunt Amy said, patting the chair that Grandpa vacated. "It's been awhile since I was in high school. Tell me what your friends' parties were like." So I told her what they'd been like, that the parents provided a bash that reflected their kids' interests--for example, Hope wanted to go to film school, so her parents had given her a red-carpet party. They'd gone to extreme lengths to make the celebrations memorable and special. Sure, a good part of it was keeping up with the Joneses, but they also had done it specifically for their kids because they could.

"Some of the girls got their first couture dresses for the occasion," I said, rubbing my scorching eyes. "I've spent most of my money on presents for the parties, so I didn't have anything that I hadn't worn to somebody else's party. I got this out of the attic." I plucked my skirt.

"Good lord," Aunt Amy said, sounding startled. "That looks like one of mine. Haven't the attics been cleaned out?"

"All the good stuff was just donated to the museum," I said, sagging. I was exhausted and dreading having to go back to school. She put her arm around me and I dropped my head to her shoulder.

"Aw, that's too bad. I loved playing dress-up," she said wistfully.

"I don't understand why this happened," Grandpa said, puzzled. "Dan, this type of conspicuous consumerism was going on even in my day, especially in our economic bracket. We've certainly got the money for over the top parties for our special girls."

"Money isn't everything," Mom snapped. "It should be enough that she was surrounded by her friends and family."

I snorted. "Former friends," I said acidly. "You've torched my social life. People will bringing this up at every class reunion until I die. If you think the way of life that's associated being a Wayne is so superficial and you're so superior, why did you even bother marrying Dad? You sure enjoy the beautiful clothes and the jewelry that Dad's given you--it's not at all like Grandpa Damian's presents to Grandma Alex, but then he's not burning through the fortune of a supervillain, either--but you seem determined to keep me at the pathetic end of the social spectrum. Even the social climbers at school dress better than me. All the kids are getting pods, Marcus Claiborne's dad is pulling down a building a block over from school so that kids can take their pods to school. I can't even take public transportation, instead I have to be driven around once we get into the city. I have no independence and no respect. You keep dragging me to that horrible island for the summers where I'm not tough enough and have no useful skills to help out there. Everybody might think you're this big fount of compassion and love, Wonder Woman, but you spend it everywhere but with me." I was so angry, I pounded my fist on the table. "And Dad's pussy-whipped, won't say boo to you. What I was really hoping for with this party was that you would have listened to me for once and done something that showed you cared. Instead...."

The silence was supreme.

"Wonder Woman?" Deri said. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, you weren't supposed to know because you can't keep a secret," I said.

"Lysippe--" Mom barked.

"But you know what?" I told Deri. "You did find out once before, on the island. Loose lips. Mom wasn't around. They panicked, and Menalippe produced some water from the river Lethe, gave you a few drops, and assisted by Athena, modified your memory so that you'd forget the name of the islands, that they're inhabited by Amazons, that Mom's one of them, all about her parentage, and most specifically, that she plays at being Wonder Woman, spreading the Amazon gospel of love, respect, and justice. To be fair, she was mad when she found out what they'd done, but I'm not sure that it wasn't because they didn't get her consent first." During this, my sister's face went white, then red with anger.

Oh, what a fuss that stirred up. Mom had to try to explain to Dad why the memory modification wasn't a big deal--"but it kind of was," I said 'helpfully.' "Menalippe said that even a little too much would erase her entire memory. That's why she entreated Athena to help." And that caused even more of an uproar. I left. Why should my life be the only one in ruins?

Chapter Text

Deri came in later, still upset. I didn't blame her. "Why didn't you do something?" she asked angrily. "Why did you let them do that to me?"

I raised my hand quickly to deflect a slap. Deri hadn't hit for years now. "You were, like, five, I was around eight. What do you propose I should have done? You know what they're like. I did the best I could, I went looking for Mom. And I was afraid to do something that would make it worse." Deri considered this and cooled off some.

"Ok," she said grudgingly. "They wouldn't have listened, they never do." We sat in brooding silence for a bit. "But I can keep a secret. I can," she insisted. "I'm not the kid I used to be. I don't want people knowing that Mom's a superhero. It's bad enough that the family is wealthy and Dad bankrolls and executive produces the Avengers." I nodded.

"So what was the outcome down there?"

"Utter chaos," she said promptly. "Dad is tearing thin strips off Mom-- I know," she said, nodding. "First time EVER. Grandpa and Aunt Amy are pissed. The good thing is that we don't have to go back to the island if we don't want to. Dad put his foot down."

"Thank the gods," I muttered, falling back on my bed.

"Yup. And Mom's getting the third degree about her parenting practices from Grandpa and Aunt Amy. And Dad's being raked over the coals for being kind of a neglectful dad. So nobody's happy."

"Did they tell you the whole truth about Mom, though?" I asked, sighing.

"I don't know," she said, a little nervously.

"Her parentage?"

"I know the story about her creation from the soil of Themyscira by the goddesses," she said. "But I guess that's a lie, too."

"Yeah, but there's actually a good reason for it." And I told her what Menalippe had told me once when I was trying to come to terms with my god-sight. Enough detail about their captivity by Heracles and his men to underscore how truly awful it had been, not the full detail I'd gotten, thanks for nothing, Menalippe. I could spare my sister those nightmares, at least. About the queen's deal with Zeus, why the lie had been thought up and used. "So Mom's a demigod, plus she has all those blessings from the goddesses."

"Zeus is grandpa?" Deri asked, her face scrunching up. "Ew. Pervert." That squeezed the first chuckle out of me all day.

"Yeah. If you want the secrets, you should have them, Deri, they affect you too. But you might not want to know them all."

"Shit. Don't tell me there's more."

"There is. But for the rest, ask Dad what's in the basement."

"The basement?"

"Yep. He'll know." I considered this. "It isn't as bad as pretty much anything Amazon-related, though."

"Huh. Maybe later," she said after chewing this over. "I'm still mad."

"Join the club."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try to calm down, then assess the damage at school. I don't know that there's anything I can do," I said, considering. "But on the bright side, school's out in less than a month. Maybe something spectacularly bad will happen to someone else and everybody will focus on that instead."

"Good luck," Deri said cynically and I looked at her in exasperation as she got up. She left, and I waited until I was sure she'd gone to her own room across the hall before going out the window and across the roof. It was dark and I could see the twinkling stars, so I let my mind empty, resisting the urge to try to push the process along, until it was just me, the slate at my back, and the stars.

It was later than I'd expected when I started down the roof to my window, past ten. If things had gone according to my plans in the morning, I'd still be on my date with Josh, having fun, maybe being kissed. I scowled at the reminder, which is when I caught my hand on the edge of the rain gutter, a rough spot I'd never noticed before, cutting it. I got inside, grabbed a washcloth, and went down the back stairs to the basement and into the bat cave, where I listened carefully at the mouth of the cave before going in. I was in luck for once; either Gotham was quiet tonight or the bat denizens were all out. I didn't care which. I went to the little treatment room off the main operations area and used the handheld tissue accelerator on the cut. That quickly healed, and I tossed the washcloth into the laundry bin and washed my hands briskly before going back up the stairs to the kitchen. My stomach was still knotted up, but hungry too, making for a particularly fun kind of nausea. I poked around the refrigerator; there was some brown rice from dinner a couple days ago, some cut-up chicken that had been used for sandwiches the previous day, and covered bowls containing some sliced veggies. I'm not too fussy about what I eat, and scooped up a little of each of these things into a bowl, maybe a cup, total, and stuck it in the microwave. I ignored the leftovers from the party. I sprinkled soy sauce over the rice and ate it standing over the sink. The lights flicked on.

I turned, mouth full, to see Alan in the doorway. "Miss Lys," he said. "Have a seat at the table." I shook my head, hearing only more criticism.

"I'm almost done," I said, swallowing fast and shoving the last of it into my mouth before moving to the dishwasher.

"I can do that for you," he said, trying to take the bowl and fork from me. Jesus, what was it here? I can put away a damned bowl. I won the brief wrestling match and closed the dishwasher door, still chewing. Alan looked disapproving. I ducked around him and got a glass, hastily filling it with ice water before scooting up the stairs.

The next day I ignored my communicator and as many of the life forms around the mansion as possible. Leo, the youngest of the cats, hung out with me for awhile, and it was nice to have company that only demanded petting. I skipped breakfast and lunch, but, driven by hunger, had to show up at dinner. Luck was with me, though, and Deri and I were the only ones at dinner. Our parents, Grandpa, and Aunt Amy were down the road at Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian's. Deri was too pissed still to want to spend time with our parents. We spent dinner talking about Girl Scouts--she was still a Junior but looking forward to bridging over to Cadettes at the end of the year--and our upcoming recital. Week after next, we would need to pick up our costumes. It was nice to feel like somebody was on my side.

"You've gotten a lot better," Deri complimented me, and I smiled a little. She poked her fork at the little bit of mashed potato still on her plate. "I don't think I'm going to be allowed to go en pointe."

"It's because your feet and ankles aren't strong enough," I said. "If you'd like, I can show you the exercises I did."

"That would be great," she said eagerly, just as Iris and Miles came in.

"Great timing," Miles complimented his sister.

"Would you care for some dessert, Miss Iris, Master Miles?" Alan asked, gliding in from the kitchen. They agreed to this and sat down.

"Quite the little confab going on down the road," Iris said, snagging a chair as Alan took my plate. I wasn't quite done, but whatever.

"It's been quite a weekend," Miles noted. "Did Deri really have her memory altered?" He sounded appalled, and I nodded.

"I had a lot of fun while I was there that one time with Mom and my sister," Iris said, "and I always wanted to go back, but I didn't know that they were so ruthless."

I shrugged. "They're extremely protective of their islands. You can't blame them, given their history, but it's a little scary how far they'll go to keep the outside world from finding out about them."

"As you say, they have their reasons," Alan said, coming in with four plates. Of my birthday cake. I stared at the generous slice in front of me, my sweet tooth going into witness protection.

Deri looked offended, which is odd, because she gets along with Alan better than I do. "Would you be so supportive if it had happened to Van?" she asked incredulously.

"I am merely pointing out that their intent was not to harm you but to ensure the protection of a great number of women," he said crisply. "Now, eat up." I pushed my plate away.

"No thank you." Miles sighed.

"I'm with Lys. Nobody wants to remember yesterday afternoon."

"Waste not, want not," Alan said.

"I'm done," Deri said, pushing back from the table. Alan frowned before his face smoothed back out into its usual pleasant expression. Miles and Iris came with us as we retreated to the conservatory. It was nice and peaceful there.

"We wanted to tell you that Mom and Dad are helping to straighten out your folks," Miles said. "It sound like Aunt Diana is clinging to some outmoded beliefs in childraising and Uncle Daniel just doesn't feel like he knows what to do with two daughters and defers to Aunt Diana."

Iris rolled her eyes. "Aunt Diana's upbringing was decidedly non-standard, and when she got exposed to the wider world, it was in WWI; she apparently hung out through WWII, then returned to the islands for awhile before going back. Her impressions of childraising apparently come from that era, plus the privation that the long winter forced on everybody has made her very conscious of not wasting anything, and in her opinion, showcasing the desirability of a simple life."

"She missed the 1950's, which is when the rise of the teenager as we know it happened," Miles said. "Until the Return, really, she apparently kept to herself, didn't have a lot of friends, just variations on the Justice League and her work. So she really understands nothing about kids, especially rich kids. She's got quite a portfolio, but it's easy to save over centuries, and she indulged herself very little, from what I understand. So that huge gap in understanding coupled with a hands-off approach from your dad is what created.... this."

"Lys has tried really hard to live up to Mom's expectations," Deri put in. "Hasn't done her any favors." She snorted. "She thought Mom was actually listening. But Mom is always convinced that she knows what's best." There was a little silence.

"Tomorrow's going to be rough," Miles said. "I wish we were at the same school so I could maybe help."

"It's going to be a dumpster fire, I'm sorry to say," Iris said regretfully.

And so it proved to be.

Everywhere I went, people laughed outright and pointed. My lab partner didn't speak to me, actually moving to the opposite side of the bench. Even my friends were a little distant, as if the wretched party was going to contaminate them too, like the plague. Mom was called away for several days for a Justice League thing, and Dad was awkward when I saw him at dinners. He did apologize for the party and for not being a more active parent. The next day, even in Girl Scouts the word had spread, and I finished my work on the climate studies badge in silence and isolation. A couple days later, at least I had Miles to talk to at dance, and we talked about a ballet performance Natasha was taking us to after our recital; Firebird. We were both really looking forward to it.

But it was Friday where the wheels really fell off. I sat down with my friends at lunch, and they all turned away, excluding me right there at our table. Even Eleanor, who I'd been best friends with since kindergarten. My cheeks burned with the humiliation I felt at the cut, and I could hear laughter from the tables around us.

Grandpa came over for dinner that night; Aunt Amy had had to go back after the dinner on Sunday. "So how are things going, honey?" he asked as I poked at my dinner.

"Today at lunch, even my friends ignored me," I said quietly. "My lab partner won't say anything to me beyond what's absolutely necessary in dissection. People have been laughing at me or ignoring me. Even in Scouts, but at least at ballet Miles talks to me."

"That's ridiculous," Dad said. "You had no control over that party."

"The kids think that if my parents gave me such a lame party, then it's a sign that you guys think I'm lame too," I said flatly. "Not worth spending money on me or indulging me. The gloves are off. The kids smell blood in the water, and my name puts a target on my back. People love it when somebody from an important family is vulnerable. A lot of people are bullies at heart."

"Dad, seriously, just shut up," Deri snapped when he opened his mouth. "You guys have done enough damage."

"I didn't really notice it being that bad when I was in high school," Dad said anyway.

"You were thinking about other things at the time," Grandpa observed. Yeah, he'd been Robin to Grandpa's Batman.

"Your parents are only human, Miss Lys, Miss Deri," Alan said, checking in on the progress of dinner. Deri and I laughed in unison. Mom was decidedly not only human.

"That reminds me, Alan," I said in a respectful tone of voice. "I don't really feel comfortable with people just coming and going in my room. I'm going to take over keeping it tidy, changing my sheets and all. After all, in a few years, I'm going to be in college, and I want to be sure I can do things for myself. You won't be there to clean up after me." I was really irked at his constant partisanship of my parents, and congratulated myself on my quick thinking. Alan recognized the shot across the bow and his frame drew rigid.

"That's actually a good idea," Grandpa said thoughtfully. "Lys has an excellent point. She will need to be more self-reliant when she's on her own. And if she wants the privacy of her room, that should be respected too, she's a young lady." Alan was still offended, but he nodded.

"As you wish, Miss Lys," he said, and after checking on a few dishes, went back to the kitchen. I kept my smile off my face, the first one all week, and gave my sister a Look.

"So Dad, what's in the basement?" she asked promptly, and I sat back and listened as Dad tried to explain the bat cave. I skipped dinner and went upstairs.

The weekend was quiet. I had no texts or communications from anybody. At school, before classes, Eleanor approached me at my locker. Any hope I'd had for repairing our friendship died as she explained that the kids who were shunning me--pretty much everybody--had also started in on my friends, and it was hard for her.

"Oh, hard for you?" I said in a steely tone, keeping my voice down from the others looking on in the hall. "I'm just so sorry that our friendship is inconveniencing you. Jane, I get, we've only been friends for a couple years, the others a few years longer. But you? I really thought we'd be friends forever."

"Lys, come on," she said. "When things die down--"

"You will still have shown me what you are." I opened my locker and shoved a package at her that I'd brought with me that morning. It didn't have a bow yet, but now I wasn't going to waste one on her. "And that I'm not worth standing up for. Happy birthday. I'd have returned it, but I didn't buy it it. You're such a big fan of the Avengers, I had Uncle Tony help me get autographs from each of them on their photographs, personalized for you, and it wasn't easy since most of them don't like to sign autographs, even with Uncle Tony's urging. So have a great party, and also, fuck you." I slammed my locker door and went to class.

Oddly enough, letting Eleanor have it was strangely freeing. It felt easier to ignore the shunning from the other students, and I liked the feeling.

Chapter Text

I took to bringing a book to lunch and ignoring the stares and whispers. I'd have listened to music too, but we weren't allowed to use our communicators in the school. And I noticed that they were becoming fewer as I showed less interest in my classmates. Thank heaven school was almost over, though. On Thursday, I was dragging. It took more effort than I'd thought it would to act like I didn't care what anybody thought of me. I was looking forward to ballet, though, we had a dress rehearsal in the studio, we'd have one more tomorrow afternoon in our usual venue, and the performance would be Saturday night. Our tutus were my favorites so far; the bodice was black, with an illusion mesh insert that made the sweetheart neckline look more daring than it was, the pancake tutu had the hoop underneath to maintain the shape and shaded out from graphite gray by the body to white at the edges, delicate sparkling silver lace, and dainty silver stars, perfect for the dreamy Le Reve music. Miles had given me a new pair of Peterovs for my birthday, the beautiful white ones that looked like a million bucks. We had more of the little sparking stars on hairpins, and I had never felt more elegant or confident. The first dress rehearsal went well, and I was looking forward to the second when I came out of school, but Alan and the family car were nowhere to be seen. Shit. What else could go wrong?

"Hey, kid," a familiar energetic voice called, and my head snapped around to see Uncle Tony leaning against one of his eye-catching prototypes, casually parked in the fire lane. I hurried over for a hug--it felt fantastic to see somebody who was pleased to see me too--and to admire the pod. It was so sleek that it looked like it was moving even when it was passive at the curb, very nicely shaped, violet pearl paint that faded up to a silvery lavender at the roof part, which had a huge moonroof. The glass was discreetly tinted dark gray, and when he opened it up, the interior was a pearl silk.

"Wow, Uncle Tony, that's exceptional, even for you," I said admiringly.

"Yeah, it took a bit longer than I expected, this being a prototype, it's got all kinds of bells and whistles. We managed to make the silk upholstery durable and water and stain resistant while keeping its look and feel, and we used etched titanium throughout for style, strength, and safety. The paint is vibranium based, so it's almost impossible to damage. Cutting edge guidance and safety system, it'll drive itself back to the shop if it needs any work, top of the line entertainment system, perfect climate control, and the best part is that this function sends the pod away to park itself. You press the button on the fob and simply wait for it to find you. Directions are voice activated, just speak the address, no need for manual entry. It's got an account that automatically pays any parking fees. The first generation of the new guidance module is in my pod and Ann's, this is second gen." He showed me the features, the array was staggering. I listened to more as he described them. "What do you think, sweetie?" he finally asked.

"Words fail me," I said honestly.

"Excellent," he said, preening a little. I laughed. "Sorry I didn't get it done for your birthday, but but I've been fiddling with bits of it, I wanted it to be perfect. It's the first pod I've made in years that's completely my own design and fabrication. A true Tony Stark original."

"Wait, what?" I asked stupidly.

"Come on, Lys, you didn't think you wouldn't be getting one of these for your 16th, did you?" he asked impatiently. "I have to admit that it was really fun to get my hands dirty again. I want your notes on its performance. Maybe I'll put it into production. Maybe not, I'd have to compromise a lot to get the price to the right point, even for the luxury market." We stood and contemplated it. I heard whispers as other students edged in for a closer look.

"Thanks, Uncle Tony," I said, giving him another hug. He squeezed back. "This is.... amazing. Beyond amazing."

"Amazing car for an amazing niece," he said briskly. "Your dance bag is in the back, you'd better get a move on. I'm looking forward to your recital tomorrow night. I've still got to upload the AI, but I can do that remotely." He patted my back, then let me go, nudging me forward before taking my backpack and opening the trunk, dropping it in . The gull-wing door opened smoothly and silently and I sat in the seat. Amazingly comfortable. Uncle Tony laughed and flipped me the fob. The door automatically whispered close, and I named the high school I needed to get to. The pod waited for the light, then set off smoothly, leaving my gaping classmates in the dust. In the rearview camera, I saw Uncle Tony smirk and his own pod come up. I spent the rest of the short drive checking out the features hands-on, presetting the music stations and my favorite video channels. The drive to the theater was way too short. I reluctantly exited, feeling the smooth silk of the upholstery as I slid out, took my dance bag and the tutu out of the trunk, and hit the fob. Smoothly and silently, the pod slid away to arrange itself just so in the parking lot.

Bemused, I found my way into the school and went straight to the theater, where I changed backstage and did my hair and makeup, lovingly putting the new Peterovs on my feet. The rehearsal went smoothly, with minimal corrections needed. Ms Kerry didn't own the largest studio or employ the most teachers, but it was one of the best in town and she had a great reputation, with the wait list to prove it. I sidled up to my cousin while the class before ours did their run through. "So guess who showed up at my school this afternoon?" I asked quietly.

"No idea," Miles said, looking at me with interest.

"Uncle Tony. With a new pod, just for me."

"No way! What does it look like?" Quietly, I told him. His face was a mixture of envy and relief for me.

"Suddenly I feel like I've got an old clunker, and mine was top of the line two years ago. I can't wait to see it. Uncle Tony's cars are the best in the country."

"I thought you might know something about this."

Miles studied my face. "You don't think he was telling you the truth?"

"Uncle Tony is a slippery one," I said, and he nodded. "I believe that he did the work on it, it's obviously new and cutting edge, it just screams his aesthetic," I shivered with pleasure at the thought of all the awesomeness packed into that tiny pod "but I don't believe for a second it was supposed to be ready for my birthday. His showing up at school was pretty cool, though."

"I'll ask Dad," Miles offered. "He works with Uncle Tony, he'll know. I want to see it after rehearsal, so wait for me." I agreed with pleasure, then it was our class's turn on stage. My partner, Brian, actually spoke to me, for the first time in two weeks.

"I didn't know you were related to Tony Stark," he muttered as I extended.

"He's my uncle," I breathed, balancing carefully until he lifted me.

"No talking," Ms Kerry yelled.

After we finished and got our notes--not many, she was very pleased with our class--we were dismissed and I raced backstage, carefully taking off my shoes and tutu, taking out the stars but not bothering to take off the makeup or undo my hair. I threw on my uniform again and bolted out to the curb, where Miles, Deri, and Van were chatting.

"Did Uncle Tony really make you a pod?" Deri demanded to know. I smiled with pleasure and hit the fob. My little pod purred up; it was a curiously appealing sound, I had been too stupefied to notice before, and had to be an audio enhancement since pods were noiseless unless there was something really wrong with their propulsion systems. We beheld its magnificence in silence.

"Jeeze," Miles finally said, and I hit the button to open the door.

"I'm so jealous," Deri said. I hugged her.

"You've got your 16th to look forward to," I said. "Mom and Dad will be sure to get you one too."

The longing on her face was wiped away with a smirk. "Bet the kids at school just about shit themselves sideways," she said, and there was a throat being cleared. Killjoy Alan.

"I didn't look, actually," I said, and all three of them laughed.

"I wouldn't either," Van said.

"I'm coming up tomorrow for a better look," Miles said, and shook his head. "I've got to walk over to mine." I grinned as he sloped off, and carefully put my things in the spotless, perfect trunk.

"Can I play with it at home?" Deri asked. "I can't drive it, the parents would have enough cows to restart the dairy, just play with all the buttons?"

"Sure," I said, eager to share my good fortune with somebody. "I'll see you at home," I settled in as she and Van trudged off to the family car, and activated the guidance system. "Wayne Manor."

The AI spoke in Uncle Tony's voice. "Just say 'Home,' Lys," AI Tony directed. I laughed as it told me that I had the option of the guidance system pointing out landmarks and items of interest if I wanted, so I left it on. AI Tony's snark was perfect, and I was still laughing as the pod set down in front of the mansion. "The owner's manual has downloaded to your email account," AI Tony said before the subtle lighting came up and the door nearest the mansion opened. "Read it, love it, live it."

"Go park yourself in the garage," I told it fondly.

"Time to get a little shut-eye," AI Tony said, and yawned. I was grinning as the pod purred down the road to the garage and I turned for the house. I bolted upstairs for a shower, and when I went downstairs again, the family had started to gather. Grandpa was there with Aunt Amy.

"I didn't know you were coming back so soon," I said, coming up for a hug.

"Well, I've made some changes," she said as we sat down on a sofa together and Alan handed her a martini and me a club soda and lime. "I resigned from the forest service and got a job here with the Parks department. I'll be concentrating on urban forestry, replanting areas, extending the trees into the city as much as possible. Central Park will be my first area of concentration."

"That sounds interesting," I said, sipping my drink. I was so excited about the rehearsal and my new pod (ok, mostly the pod) that I'd neglected my hydration."Will you be here for the recital tomorrow?"

"Sure am," she said, putting her arm around my shoulder. "I can't wait for the opportunity to get to know you girls." Then Deri came in and we got more information; she was staying with us until her things were shipped from the west coast and she could find a place of her own. Then the parents came in.

"How were your days, girls?" Dad asked, relaxing into his favorite chair. "Ready to go for tomorrow night?"

"Rehearsal was great," I said. Then my lips curved up. "Uncle Tony showed up with a pod for me. Thank you."

"That was fast," Dad said, then he smiled at me. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," I said at the dumb question. "It's leagues better than anything on the road so far. And its aerial ride is awesome."

"That good?" Dad asked indulgently, which irritated me. To be fair, since the party, most of everything that my parents did irritated me, and he didn't even have the wit to pretend, like Uncle Tony, that this had been actually planned or that he'd bothered with any input.

"It's got stuff that he doesn't even have in his own pod," I said. "So, yeah. It's so beautiful and perfect."

"I can't wait to see this," Grandpa said, grinning at me, but it would have to wait for dinner. Alan summoned us, and for the first time in a couple of weeks, I was really hungry. We all ate a little faster than usual, then I led the family out to the drive, where I stopped.

"Where's your pod, Lys?" Mom asked, puzzled. I held up a finger and hit the fob, and quickly the pod purred up. In the lower light of the setting sun, the paint had a faint iridescence to it.

"It's so gorgeous, Lys," Deri groaned.

"Wow," Grandpa said, grinning like a fiendish leprechaun. "That is stunning, Lys."

"Isn't it?" I said eagerly, and opened the door.

"Where'd Tony catch up to you?" Grandpa asked as everybody else stampeded over for a look inside.

"After school," I said blissfully. Grandpa laughed. Then Mom called me over to explain some of the features, including the safety system, which included not only physical safety features but also alarms, automatic messaging to my parents if the pod was damaged in an accident, and an emergency signal to the authorities.

"It's really quite beautiful," Mom said. I could tell she was practically strangling on the urge to say it was far too extravagant for a teenager, but to her credit, the words didn't escape her teeth. She was right, probably, but I didn't care. The registration of the pod was in my name, and if you could afford the pod, the law let you have legal ownership of it, so there really wasn't anything she could do about it.

I let Deri sit in the seat and brought up AI Tony, which was interactive, not just a set of responses to commands, which pointed out some of the features, including the projection of a little avatar that looked exactly like Uncle Tony. "GODS, Lys, this is amazing!" she said.

"Well, of course," AI Tony said, the avatar buffing its fingernails. I basked in the reflected glory of the pod for awhile longer as everyone examined it, then finally we went back inside; I watched my pod glide off back down to the garage, then rejoined the family in the library for tea and cookies. It was the first day since the party that I wasn't seething, furious, hurt, or at least highly irritated with my parents. With my wonderful pod, the recital tomorrow night, and the end of school looming, I felt that things were finally looking up.

Chapter Text

After more conversation and I was done with my tea and the single cookie I allowed myself--the recital was tomorrow, after all--I went upstairs to read the owners manual that Uncle Tony had sent, but found myself too keyed up to concentrate. So it was out over the roof to my spot by the chimney to stargaze and relax so I could get some sleep. I was feeling calmer when I heard the front door open and Grandpa and Aunt Amy came out. During the post-dinner thing in the library, Alan had brought Grandpa's two seater pod around so that he could leave whenever he wanted. "I wish mine had that summon feature that Lys has," he chuckled.

"So who leaned on Tony Stark?" Aunt Amy asked.

"Well, he and Alex are still very close," Grandpa said. "After that nightmare party, I told Dan that he had to try to make amends and told him to get her a pod. I know that she likes purple, so he took that and ran with it. She hates being stuck out in the sticks, reliant on somebody else to go anywhere, so this gives her some independence. She's got good judgment and is really reliable, so this is a reward. Tony was at the party, you met him there, and when I contacted him, he offered right off the bat. I didn't expect that he'd go so over the top or have it done so fast, though," he said musingly.

"It's about time something good happens to her, I think," Aunt Amy said. Grandpa sighed.

"I can't remember the last time I saw her look so happy, which makes me mad at myself. I should have seen it before and done something."

"Well, teenagers are a moody lot to begin with," Aunt Amy said bracingly. "Don't beat yourself up, Marky-Mark. Her parents have to shoulder their responsibility." She paused. "I wonder if Tony'd make another one." Grandpa laughed and I heard the door open.

"I know. Up until an hour ago, I loved my pod." The doors closed and there was a whisper of displaced air as the pod moved down the drive. I peeked over the peak of the roof to see Aunt Amy stroll back into the house, then walked down to the edge and swung myself into my room. I wasn't ready to go to bed yet, though, and took a celebratory bubble bath and started in on the owners manual. It was a lot longer than I'd expected.

The next morning, Miles and Iris showed up after breakfast and I took pleasure in summoning my pod to show it off. They laughed at the Uncle Tony avatar and I explained some of the other facts I'd learned about the pod from my reading so far. "If I go on trips, there's an integrated chiller; I can fill up a reservoir with water and have a cold drink as we go along," I said. "And if I get sick when I'm in the pod, it can take me to the nearest hospital if it's bad enough."

"Wow," said Iris. She was sitting in the seat, touching the luxurious, stylish appointments. "Can I take it for a spin around?" She looked for the start button, but there wasn't one.

"Propulsion engages only when the door is shut," AI Tony informed us. "Which Lys would know if she'd finished the manual last night."

"It's almost a hundred and thirty pages! In dense print! Hasn't Uncle Tony heard of formatting docs for readers?" I protested, but the avatar waved this off.

"She'd also know that I'm a one-person pod," the avatar continued. "Only Lys can operate me. Safety feature. I'm not going anywhere without her."

"Mom's going to be after Uncle Tony to put one of these programs in our pods," Miles said. "What else does it do? I'm sure he built in all sorts of weird things."

"If by weird, you mean unique, fantastic, and useful, of course... Miles," the avatar said. We looked at each other in surprise. "I can match voice prints against a database of known family members. There's a feature that allows Lys to put the perfume of her choice in a little bladder to gently scent the air." On cue, a lovely scent insinuated itself; it was lightly floral, but had a lot of green notes like violets, pretty and mysterious, but not heavy.

"I love that," I said, leaning in and sniffing a bit. "What is it?"

"You can get it at Effinger's, a custom scent place in Midtown," AI Tony informed me. "It's called 'Lys.'"

"Good lord," I said, startled. "This pod is worth the awful party. I could practically live here."

"No bathroom, Lys," the avatar said immediately, and we all laughed. "And the seat can't fold flat, it can only achieve about a hundred forty degrees at its fullest recline."

"Still..." Miles said.

After a little more exploration, the twins left, and I patted my pod and regretfully sent it back to the garage.

I put in study time for my finals that afternoon, had a light early dinner, and it was time to go to the recital. I took my pod early, enjoying the aerial ride and even the ride through city traffic. I could see the expressions of interest on the face of pedestrians when they saw my pod and smiled. The nameplate for Stark Automotive was ornate and a second design element, but the pod didn't really need it to announce its specialness to the world. I got to the theater early enough to snag one of the stations backstage with the best lit mirror to help me get ready. A whisper of the pretty perfume clung to me, and I felt on top of the world. We were supposed to stay backstage when not performing, but those of us with siblings in other classes could watch those performances if we stayed absolutely silent, so I got to see Deri's performance from the wings, then it was back to the dressing room for two other classes, then it was my turn. I really felt the music and moved through the choreography with the perfect mix of languor, grace, and technique. After the applause and curtsies, the curtain dropped and we went back to the dressing room to put our street clothes on. I took off the beautiful tutu reluctantly, but brightened up as I found my family waiting for us. There were hugs and compliments dispensed freely, and my teacher came over to congratulate me too, telling my parents that she was very pleased with my progression and that my performance had been one of the very best of the evening.

"Great job, Lys," Uncle Tony said briskly. "How are you liking your pod?"

"It's the best thing ever, Uncle Tony," I said earnestly. "I keep finding all those clever things you put in there. It's amazing." Aunt Ann smiled at me.

"Well, I wouldn't say it was the best thing I've ever done, I've done some pretty terrific things," he said modestly, and laughter bubbled up in my throat. Aunt Ann smiled indulgently at her husband, then rooted in her purse before handing me a cool twist of green and violet glass. It turned out to be the perfume that was in my pod, and I thanked her enthusiastically.

"It's something that's exclusively for your purchase, Lys," she said cheerfully. "They'll keep the formula until you die, then it will be destroyed, and you'll have to show them ID in order to buy more." She patted my shoulder affectionately. "I told them I wanted a beautiful perfume for a lovely and talented young woman, described you a bit, and this is what they came up with. I think it suits you."

Wow. What a day.

I was floating when I got home. I put my stuff away, the perfume taking pride of place on my dresser, then joined the family gathering in the library to celebrate. I took the opportunity to sidle up to Alfred, who was surveying the gathering benignly. After some chatter, I got to the point. "I've taken responsibility for maintaining my room," I told him. "I'll be going to college in a few years and don't want to be the spoiled rich girl who can't take care of herself." He nodded. "I wondered If I could come by one day this summer and get your take on housekeeping. Alan does a great job, but there's always more than one way to do things." Alfred's eyes twinkled at me.

"Of course, Miss Lys. Very forward thinking on your part. When you have your summer schedule, we will set aside some time." I thanked him and moved on. Alan really did do a good job, but I liked Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian's house better. Alfred must use different cleaning products because it smelled better. Just a warm, happy sort of background smell.

I spent Sunday studying hard, and on Monday, all the teachers had last-minute review sessions. The school was doing things a little differently this semester, having finals for four days, spreading them out sightly more to ease the stress on the students. You'd have one or two finals a day, and since we had seven periods, you had one morning or afternoon to use as a makeup day if you were sick, or to study, or whatever. You had to show up to school, though. I was one of the unlucky ones and had two finals on Friday; my half day was Thursday. We had an hour for lunch each day, though, a real luxury. And Mom asked if I'd like to come down to the museum Friday; she'd have lunch for us in her office. I accepted eagerly. The museum wasn't that far from the school.

Finals were hard, but I felt that I was doing ok. On Thursday, we had our end of class party at the dance studio, which was pretty much refreshments and mingling among all the classes. Ms Kerry made a speech where she congratulated everybody on our progress this class. She spoke privately to several students, including Miles. And me.

I was glad to make it to Friday, with the promise of the special lunch between geography and algebra. It actually took less time to walk than to take the pod because parking was non-existent around the museum and it would take my pod too long to find me. I bounded up the stairs; Mom had left notice with the security guard that I as expected and they waved me in and let me into the staff area. Mom wasn't in her office; I was taken back to the workroom she shared with a few other curators. She was examining two swords. "Just a moment, dear, just let me finish these..." she murmured distractedly.

A moment stretched into thirty minutes, and I had to leave. There wasn't any food to be had back there, so I grabbed a hot dog from a street cart and wolfed it down on the way back to school. I had to work hard to tamp down my anger and focus on algebra, and I didn't have much time to do it in; I made it back to campus with only a few minutes to spare.

We all had to hang in class, even if we finished early, until the teacher called time and collected the tests from the few who didn't finish before. We were released and had to clean out our lockers. I took my time, sorting through the inevitable layer of debris that accumulates over a year, before finally going out and calling my pod. I was glad to be done with school this year. Good riddance. On the way home, I stopped at Barnraising, Grandma Alex's mom's coffee house, the best in the city, for a latte and a pastry. I couldn't stay as long as I wanted, though, Miles and his parents were coming up to the house for dinner. Mom and Dad had been out on a date the night before, and Deri had eaten with Van and her family, so it was the first time I'd seen most of my family for awhile. I didn't say much until Deri asked me how lunch had been.

"I got a hot dog on the way back," I said briefly. She stopped chewing, looking confused, and Grandma Alex turned toward me. "Mom forgot," I said quietly. "I had to hustle to get back to school."

"What?" Deri asked, drawing everybody's attention.

"I don't understand this," Grandma Alex said briskly. Aunt Amy looked between me and Mom and sighed.

"I went to the museum after my geography test," I said, poking my fork at a honey and balsamic glazed carrot. "Mom was examining a couple swords, asked me to wait. But eventually I had to get back to school. It's a fifteen minute walk to the museum each way." I skewered the carrot and ate unenthusiastically.

"Diana," Dad said in exasperation.

"I'm sorry, Lys," Mom said, contrition in her voice, but also a thread of irritation. "You should have said something."

"Why?" I asked bitterly. "You asked me to wait. That it would only be a moment. You didn't have any food in your office anyway. Why do I have to keep reminding you that I'm still in the room?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, the irritation getting traction. "I have to decide whether to authenticate those swords. They were found in an odd burial mound, and there are rumors that they date from the Trojan War. We have to decide whether to purchase them or not. We don't have much time to determine if they're real."

"You should have cancelled, Diana," Grandpa Damian said. There was rare censure in his voice and his face was stern. "Lys shouldn't have to go on a fruitless errand during finals. Or be overlooked by her mother like that."

"One of the swords looks like junk," I said frigidly, cutting into another, larger carrot chunk fiercely. "The other one might be legit." That cut off whatever anybody else was going to say.

"What?" Mom asked.

"One of the swords has been exposed to the god-touch."

"What?" It could have been a Greek chorus.

"I see the power of the gods, Jesus," I said irritably. "Doesn't anybody remember that I can't actually see my own damn mother? It's like a residue, a taint, that exposure to some sort of divinity. If somebody who has been god-touched strongly enough has something that they keep with them enough for long enough, there's a shadow of that power that transfers to the object. So at least one person with god-touch kept the one sword with them for a long time. And then there's that blade." I shuddered.

"What, Lys?" Miles asked into the silence.

I pushed my plate away, suddenly uninterested in food. "It must have stabbed something.... really uncanny. It's gross."

"What do you mean?" Dad asked.

"It's like color coding. So people like Mom, those touched by the Greek gods, have a golden glow to them. The Roman pantheon is less intense, probably because their gods are more or less copies of the Greek gods. Grandma Alex is kind of greenish. Those from the Abrahamic traditions are kind of white. There's a priest in that little Catholic church between the high school and Wayne who's probably a saint. The imam for the mosque on the way home. There are a few rabbis I've seen on the streets. Anybody who has a direct relationship of some kind with a god has the faintest possible glow to them, they're essentially colorless, but those ones are special. I don't know what all the other pantheons are like, though. There are flashes of different colors here and there. More than you might think. That sword that Grandpa Damian won off his grandfather crawls with the weird. That kopesh that Grandma Alex picked up in Egypt is another kettle of fish too. But that sword in the museum is like nothing I've ever seen or want to again. It must have stuck something really nasty."

That all set off a lively chatter. "Lys, honey, could you come to the museum with me this weekend?" Mom asked. I looked at her incredulously. "It's just that the pharaoh is making his first visit to the White House and the UN. He's going to stop at the museum and wants to see our collection. It would be really helpful if we knew--"

"No." I was adamant.

"Lysippe, it would only to identify--"

"What part of no don't you get?" I said loudly. "You're perfectly happy to ignore me until there's something you want. I should have known this past week or two was too good to last. I can't even remember the last time you called me 'honey.' It's always just Lys or Lysippe, depending on how irritating you find me. Maybe a 'dear' if you're feeling particularly generous."

"She has a point, Diana," Grandma Alex said, her tone clipped. "I'm a little ashamed of you." Wow. That was new. She doesn't have any authority over Mom, she's Dad's however-many-great grandma.

"So, Lys, what did Miss Kerry want to talk to you about?" Miles said, seeing to change the subject. "She's set up an audition at American Ballet Company for me. I saw her take you into her office. It must have been really something." He smiled at me.

I burst into tears.

Chapter Text

"Is it that good?" Desi asked, tugging my sleeve. "She told me that she's going to advance me to pointe shoes. Finally. As long as I keep doing those exercises to strengthen my ankles. And you've really made progress. I bet you're going to be the lead dancer in your class next year now that Callie's also auditioning for companies."

I swiped my cheeks and nose with the back of my hand, still staring at my plate. "She's kicking me out."

"What?" Dad bellowed.

"Eight of the eleven guys in the class said that they were going to transfer to Ms Madelyn's school if they had to dance with me. Ms Kerry's got a wait list, but mostly girls, she can't replace that many boys, and being able to offer partners for so many girls is one of the big selling points of her school," I whispered. "So I can't go back. Excuse me." I shoved away from the table and ran up the stairs to my room, where I locked myself in the bathroom and finally let it out. It had hurt too much to cry about last night. That humiliation, coupled with the one from today on top of all the rest for the past month, was just too much.

When I came out of the bathroom, Dad was waiting for me, sitting on my bed. He patted the bed, and when I slumped down, put his arm around me, smoothed my hair back, and kissed my head like he used to do when I was a kid. "I'm so sorry, Lys," he said remorsefully. "I thought the worst was over for you. I wish I could do something. What do you want to do about ballet?"

"I don't know," I muttered, taking the handkerchief he offered me.

"Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Time travel," I said hoarsely. "I wish I'd never said I wanted a damned party. You can't fix this."

"I know." Dad's voice was quiet. "I can't undo what's been done. You're being hurt because I didn't get involved and your mom is stubborn."

There really wasn't anything to say about that. Dad stayed with me for a bit longer, then left, closing the door behind him. I was glad. I hated my life right now and the last thing I needed was anybody's handwringing around. I may have to suffer through this, but I shouldn't have to have an audience.

But at least I had some things to look forward to, I thought as I curled on the bed and tried to find something in my life that hadn't completely turned to shit. On Monday I was starting summer school, taking geometry and an elective, sociology. If I took summer school for the next three years, I could cut off a semester of high school, like Iris had, and start college early. Anything had to be better than this. And I'd succeeded in finding a part time job for the summer, at a fabric store. I'd thought that if I couldn't have the kind of clothes I wanted, at least I could work around the nice fabrics. The store was being featured in a revival of some moldy old TV show where designers competed against each other for some sort of prize, and historical records from the store showed that there had been an uptick in sales as a result, both directly in the store and indirectly through shipping the fabrics to consumers, so they'd been seeking some extra help.

And tomorrow afternoon, I had an appointment with Alfred to discuss housekeeping. I envied my cousins a lot, but Alfred was probably the top of the list of reasons why. He was unafraid of showing his displeasure with misbehavior in ways large and small, even to adults, which endeared him to me a lot. Not many people did with the adults in my family. And he had ways of making you feel like he was on your side. He was just warmer than Alan, who tended to treat the house and its inhabitants like a bullet train depot that he was responsible for running smoothly and efficiently. He had a great respect for hierarchies, and kids were at the bottom of that. I didn't dislike him, exactly, but I didn't really like him despite him being Van's dad. Van herself took after her mother Aslyn in personality.

I woke up around eleven, having fallen asleep while I brooded, feeling disoriented and nauseated. I bolted to the bathroom just in time to be viciously sick until I was just dry heaving. I felt awful, so I padded downstairs and into the basement, where I passed through the bat cave. Silent tonight; either Grandpas Bruce and Xander were out, or they were taking the night off. I went past the centuries of mementos in glass display cases and exited into the corridor. When I went in to the med suite, the lights came on automatically and I was scanned. "Good evening, Miss Lys," the medical AI said in Alfred's comforting voice. "I see you have a bit of a fever, 100.9 degrees Fahrenheit. What are your other symptoms?" I described my nausea, and the AI talked me through drawing a blood sample for the analyzer. I crawled up on the table for a more detailed scan as the AI asked what I'd been doing for the past couple days. I sat up when the scan was done, then got off to get a blanket. Despite my fever, I was shivering.

"I regret to say, Miss Lys, that you appear to have a listeria infection, most likely from that hot dog you had for lunch," the AI said, and I groaned. What else could go wrong? I'd ask, but I was afraid of the answer. " Quite. You're slightly dehydrated, so I shall walk you through administering an IV, or I can summon you some help, if you'd prefer."

"I can do it," I muttered.

"I'm certain that you can," the AI said warmly, then told me where to find the IV bag, the tubing, the needle (yikes, it looked huge), and some antibiotics to put into IV. The AI had me try drinking some water first, but it wouldn't stay down, so IV administration was the way to go. I had added the medicine to the bag and managed to insert the needle into a vein on the back of my hand (not my favorite thing to do, but at least I could do it) and was sitting there waiting for the liquid to drip into me when the actual Alfred came in.

"I receive an alert whenever the suite is in use," he told me absently as he listened to a quick report from the AI, then checked my IV. "You did well with the needle, Miss Lys, especially for your first time, with no real training. I might suggest that if you allow me to use the vein in your arm that the liquid will discharge faster, helping you feel better a little sooner." And after some discussion, we went to the room down the hall where injured batmen were usually stored and he efficiently tucked me into the bed, although he left the sides of the bed down in case I needed to get to the bathroom in a hurry. It was a big bed, at least a double, so it wasn't like I was going to roll off. After I was settled, he cleaned the bend in my elbow with an alcohol wipe and deftly inserted the needle in the vein. He gave me two bags of fluids, and I started to feel a little better. And really tired; it was past midnight and it had been a crappy past couple of days.

"We shall reschedule our meeting later in the week," Alfred said as he gently disengaged the IV, although he left the needle in in case I needed more fluids later. "Delara has taken John to visit his grandparents in New Persia, and you know that Darius and Zahra attend boarding school there, it will be the first time since John went to school in Britain that they've seen each other. They are lovely people, but I have to admit that I do not care for the heat, and they are having a prolonged heat wave. I shall be available whenever you feel better and have the time from your other activities." We decided on Thursday afternoon; with the medicine available, the listeria should be cleared up in a couple of days. He made sure I had water on the table by the bed, then turned out the light and I went back to sleep. I woke up around five to use the bathroom and found that I couldn't keep water down quite yet, then went back to sleep. I woke up just after eleven; Alfred was about to reattach the line with another IV. "How are you feeling, Miss Lys?" he asked solicitously.

"Better," I said. "Thank you."

"I have informed your parents of your whereabouts," he said. "They will be down presently. Do you need to use the bathroom before I start the new IV?" So I got up and hit the potty first, and the line was reattached and the drip started.

"I do feel better," I said.

"I am pleased to hear it, Miss Lys," Alfred said, offering me some water. I tried a few sips, and when my stomach seemed friendly with it, drank more. "Excellent. I shall bring down some broth, and we shall see how that works for you."

He reappeared with my parents. Yuck. "How are you feeling, honey?" Dad asked, sitting on my bed.

"Not great, but better."

"Do you know where you picked this up?" he looked between me and Alfred.

"Probably the hot dog I had for lunch on Friday." And my eyes cut to my mother and back to my dad.

"I have informed the city's board of health, Master Daniel," Alfred informed him austerely. I sipped the mug of broth that he had brought and it tasted pretty good. After I'd finished, Alfred was of the opinion that I could go back to my room if I wanted, which I did. I liked to see out my window. So we took the elevator up and I settled back into my room. I really was feeling better. Those medicines are really amazing. They left once Alfred had produced another pitcher of water and I took another nap, after which I called the fabric store and talked to the manager. She was sorry to hear I'd gotten food poisoning and agreed that I should not come in for training Monday afternoon; it would be fine to start my training on Tuesday afternoon.

People mostly left me alone; Deri came in to see how I was doing once, and Alfred came up with some homemade chicken and noodle soup, weekends usually being Alan's time with his family. Technically, it was Alfred's too, but with his family away he liked to keep busy. Dad came in a couple of times, but I really was starting to feel a lot better. Physically, at least. I still felt fairly crushed by prior events. I took it easy Sunday too.

I went to summer school on Monday, not wanting to get behind right from the beginning. Sociology was going to be ok, it would be interesting to study how humans behaved in herds, but to my vast surprise, I thought that I would actually like geometry. I didn't go straight home after class, having stopped in a little cafe I'd visited before with my former friends for lunch. No more street food for me. I did my assigned reading when I got home and the first geometry problem set before taking a little nap.

****

Miles listened carefully to the people from the ballet company who were evaluating his performance. The first one smiled, and he smiled in response.

"You show quite a lot of promise, Miles," the woman said. The other ballet master agreed, and they discussed his audition with him.

"I attended your last recital," the artistic director said. "Excellent work. There were a few others who have potential as well. Your partner, of course, we're auditioning her later in the week. There was also another girl, the couple who were front right when the corps was on stage."

"Lysippe," Miles said, smiling. He liked his cousin and was glad that others recognized her quality too. "But I don't know if she's going to keep dancing." The smile dropped off his face.

"Why not?" the first ballet master asked. "She's obviously quite talented. I don't know if she's soloist material, but she could fit into our corps."

"Well, she'll only be a sophomore next year, so... But there was a scene at a party, and even though it wasn't her fault, she's taking the heat for it. Most of the boys in the class told Ms Kerry that they wouldn't partner her next year, they'd go to another class if she tried to make them dance with her, so she kicked Lys out." Miles was furious every time he thought about it. "And she tried to bribe Lys into keeping silent to her parents about the reasons by saying that she'd put her little sister en pointe next fall. But she's not ready. She never will be if she doesn't take her strengthening seriously."

"That's shocking," the artistic director said, looking quite shocked. "The bones of the foot aren't fully developed until the late teens, early twenties. If this girl attempts pointework without the required strength and correct technique, the forces created by the combination of body weight and momentum can damage those bones for life, setting up problems like early osteoarthritis. Even now, bone repair is a tricky subject and not all damage can be fixed."

"If I may ask, how do you know this?" the first ballet master asked.

"Lys is my cousin. She's really upset. I don't know if Deri--that's her sister--realizes that the offer was a bribe, she's precocious, but still just twelve, and like all the girls, dreams of dancing on her toes."

"I can talk to your aunt and uncle about the danger to your younger cousin," the second ballet master offered. "It's unconscionable that the offer was made before the dancer is ready. They should at least understand the dangers before allowing her to continue."

"Thank you. I'll give you my uncle's contact information. My aunt is pretty busy at work right now." And Miles was grateful for his own parents. They weren't perfect by any stretch of imagination, but they always paid attention to their kids.

"It's a shame about the older girl, though," the artistic director said. "But perhaps she'll join another class. I can recommend some good teachers to your uncle."

Chapter Text

I reported to work on Tuesday after summer school, and the manager, Ms Clark, gave me a tour of the three floors of fabric and stuff--I would have called them accessories and tools, but she called them trims and notions--and my first task was to learn the stock and where the fabric was displayed. There were fabrics for clothes (or apparel, there were special terms I'd have to learn) as well as home decorating. Sewing was apparently experiencing a renaissance since the Return; sure there were stores full of ready-made clothing and soft furnishings, but plenty of people preferred to make their own. And within each category there were fabrics made from different fibers and for different uses. I'd be picking up that information as well, so I could better serve our customers, and I had a map to help me return the bolts of fabric to their places after cutting. After learning where both staircases were, I made a quick sort of the bolts from the cutting table, taking the ones for the top floor first. I spent all afternoon doing this, and it was both fun and interesting. The feel of the fabrics was wonderful, and it was fun to replace each bolt and tidy up that table or rack. Additionally, in response to revived interest from consumers, TV stations were rerunning old sewing and design programs as well as starting production on new ones, and the store played them on screens located in several places so I listened to them as I did my work. After my first couple of trips, I got a little hand vacuum from the supply closet and started cleaning up little drifts of threads and lint as I went along. Fabrics that had been left to trail on the ground picked up this detritus and it irritated me.

School continued to be interesting, and I loved that there were fewer students in class They weren't any nicer to me than they had been during the last month or so of regular school, but there weren't as many, so it wasn't as bad. There was more homework and we were going along at a faster pace, so I had a fair amount of school work to keep me busy. Nice because I didn't have any friends any more.

Free from having to go to Themyscira for the summer (and I wondered how Mom explained that to her mother but not enough to ask) Deri was going to Girl Scout summer camp for a month and a half with Van. I hoped they would have fun. She'd leave at the first of June. Dad and Alan took the two girls to REI to get their equipment Wednesday after work. They had dinner while they were out; Alan had left a delicious pasta salad and veggie tray with whole grain rolls for Mom, Aunt Amy and me. It was a fairly silent meal. Aunt Amy did her best to keep the conversation flowing; the city was so crowded that she was having difficulty finding a place to live.

"We love having you," Mom told her, and I suspected she even meant it, because without Aunt Amy, there'd be no conversation for fun dinners like these.

"How's work going?" I asked, curious.

"It's interesting. I'm learning more about the trees themselves, there are some insects that kill different species that we haven't been able to eliminate yet, so it's beneficial to be able to spot infestations and include that in our plans for revitalizing the park," she told me. "And how about you, honey? How's work going, do you like working in the fabric store?"

"I do," I told her. "There's a lot to learn about the fabrics and the...whattayacallum, the notions, and it's very satisfying to handle them. Next week they're going to start rotating me in on the cutting table, which will be different and a break from putting away the bolts of fabric and stocking the notions. The people there are nice, and the owners have a couple of little black and white French bulldogs who are kind of like the store mascots. Regular customers know them and they're really sweet."

"How's school going, Lys?" Mom asked.

"It's fine, it's interesting, I like the faster pace and fewer students," I said.

"Are they treating you any better?" Aunt Amy asked.

"No, but there aren't as many around and they have to work harder too to learn the material since the session is shorter than a regular semester."

"We've been talking to a couple of dance teachers at other studios," Mom mentioned. "If you're still interested, Ms Madelyn and Calvin Scopes would like you to attend a class and dance for them to see if you'd like to go there."

I considered this. "When are the classes?"

"Quite early," she said. "An hour before school, four days a week."

"OK," I said. There was no harm looking into it, although I was wary of the reception I might get from the other students. Mom said she'd call the teachers and set them up. The silence that followed was a little stiff, but it was broken up by the return of Dad and Deri, hauling in all sorts of gear. The scouts were housed in old converted barns, four girls in bunk beds to each stall on the lower level, with ranks of wooden bed frames in the hayloft; the bed frames and some shelves were supplied, but the girls had to bring their own sleeping bags and gear for any activities they wanted to do that required it, so Deri also had a backpack and tent with lightweight cooking utensils for a special week-long backpacking trip into the public lands beyond the scout camp. There was also riding, but she had boots for that already; she rode with Dad and Grandpa Damian frequently. They'd be working on badges and doing arts and crafts as well as sports like swimming and volleyball and such, and it sounds like she was going to have a great time.

After dinner, over tea and gingersnaps, Dad told Deri and me that we were getting raises to our allowances to bring us more in line with what our cousins of about the same ages were getting. We both perked up. Dad waved off our thanks and he and Mom started talking about a joint meeting of the Avengers and the Justice League to discuss going after HYDRA again. They had the organization on the ropes, at least for now, and were hoping to deliver the knockout blow. The meetings would start on Friday and continue through the weekend. That meant that essentially Deri and I were on our own. She'd hang out with Van, mostly. I had shifts at work on Friday after school and opening for the first time on Saturday. After that... I'd see. With my pod, I wasn't tied to a schedule, and my lips curved in a pleased smile.

"Lys, I wanted to ask which troop you wanted to join for Senior Scouts," Mom said, abruptly remembering. "There are two around here."

"I don't think I want to do scouts anymore," I said. Everybody looked at me in surprise. "The girls had the attitude at the end of the year, and besides, I'd rather go to my job instead."

"But it's so much fun!" Deri protested.

"It can be," I acknowledged, smiling at her. "But it isn't for me anymore."

"Oh, Lys," Mom said, sounding contrite. Well, that and a fiver will get me a medium almond mocha at Grandma Rose's.

"Speaking of next year, I wondered if maybe we could look into switching my school," I said, looking down into my tea and then swirling it, trying to get the loose leaves in a clump in the bottom. I hated sipping the leaves. "The kids will probably have heard, but they won't necessarily know me personally." It wouldn't hurt as much to be excluded by strangers.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Dad asked me after a moment where he and Mom exchanged looks. I nodded. "Well, I'll look into it, honey."

The next couple of days passed nicely, with no horrible surprises. When I got home Thursday after a four hour shift at work, I went down to Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian's house and found Alfred waiting for me. He had an array of cleaning products in a carrier and we went to the guest suite and he showed me how to clean it from top to bottom. The order mattered, and I'd thought if you dusted, that was it, but no. Windows had to be cleaned, sometimes polish applied to wood, and cleaning the bathroom was a lot more thorough than I'd been doing. The instructions I'd gotten off the web were insufficient, I realized. After the instructions on how to clean, tidy on a daily basis, and make the bed according to Alfred's expectations (it was going to take practice,) we went down to the utility room, a nicely lit workroom instead of some windowless dank closet, and he showed me how to gently heat beeswax with a small amount of olive oil in a double boiler that was dedicated for the task. "I also add a few drops of lemon oil for a faint fresh scent," he said. "But this is something that you can customize for yourself." He had several other essential oils, and one that was a blend of several oils smelled green and fresh, kind of like the green notes in the perfume Aunt Ann had given me, so we used that. The batch was smaller than the jar that Alfred had taught me with, but when he popped it into the carry, removing the lemon-scented polish, he said that with the olive oil it could go rancid and I only had my room to do so the smaller quantity was perfect. "When you run out, come down at any time and help yourself," he said encouragingly, and showed me a folder where he kept his household recipes. Most of them were for kitchen and outdoor use, which I didn't need, but there was also a cleaner for sink, tub, and tiles, one for the toilet, and one for windows. "These are all in here," he said, handing me the cleaning carrier we'd used. "When you run out, they are easy to make and refill your bottles." He also gave me a bag with a duster, sponges, and polishing cloths for the wood and windows. Thanks to him, I knew how to do it all, including taking care of the wood floor. He offered another class, how to make minor furniture repairs, also of interest because sometimes I scratched the furniture and it would be nice to know how to fix that. I thanked him profusely, which he didn't wave off because that would be rude, but said that he'd enjoyed teaching me. We had honeycakes and tea after.

"If I may ask, what led you to this interest in cleaning?" he asked. "It's not something that people generally want to learn about, voluntarily."

I thought about prevaricating, but this was Alfred. "It just seems ... I just feel kind of oppressed these days. And Alan is always on my parent's side, which I really don't need. I know they have their own issues and nobody's perfect, but I'm really tired of the disapproval and upset from all sides. So by doing my own cleaning, I have a place that's a lot more private, and I don't go back to a room where the hangers are precisely distanced from one another, my things rearranged. It already feels more like my room, where I can put things and come back to them exactly as I left. And I wasn't lying, I really don't want to be a useless rich girl. College is three years away, which is a good chunk of time, long enough to maybe become proficient at things I'll need to be able to do. I don't know what I want to study right now or where I want to go, but I do know that I want to do it a decent distance away."

Alfred nodded in understanding. "Well, to further your knowledge, perhaps later this summer I can show you the basics of wardrobe maintenance. Everyone should know how to sew on buttons, pick up hems, deal with stains and tears and such. I remember that you had some work in that for a scouting badge, but that information is more of an introduction, and there are tips and techniques you could use to improve your work if you choose."

I felt really good when I returned to my room. There wasn't really room for the carrier in the bathroom, so I set it on the top shelf in my closet.

When I got home Friday evening I was a little surprised to see the house lit up. Right. The superhero meeting. I went in through the side and up to my room to dump my backpack, clean up, and switch out the T shirt that had the store name on it to a blouse before going down to greet the guests. Nobody was in costume, but I knew them, nevertheless. We were hosting Superman, Aquaman, Flash, and Hawkman and Hawkwoman. Martian Manhunter and Green Arrow and Black Canary were down with Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian, because even after the events in Egypt, Grandma Alex still clashed with the Hawk people somewhat. Too bad, because Mr Queen and Ms Lance were always nice to me. The Hawkpeople always overlooked me, but that was ok because they were kind of jerks. I got hugs from my relatives, including Uncles Bucky and Steve, who were there to give advice and information as Avengers Emeritus since they'd retired. Aunt Emma wasn't there, unfortunately; she was finishing a particularly challenging commission. But Uncle Tony was, and I saved him for last because he wanted to talk about my pod, what I thought of it now that I was settling in and had finally read the entire owners manual. He's always fun to talk to, never blows you off because you're a kid, and he's interested in almost everything. I always felt like he cared about what I had to say.

To my surprise, the Hawkpeople came up to me after the excellent dinner, and I braced myself for incoming. Deri excused herself to go to the bathroom, the coward. Or maybe I was just irritated because I hadn't thought of the excuse myself. Grandpa Damian had said once that they'd improved a lot after the Egypt mission that had revealed the ancient Egyptian pantheon, which made me wonder just how bad they'd been. "I understand from your mother that you refused to accompany her to the museum and identify objects that have been in contact with what you call the god-touched," Hawkman said to me. "I would beg you to reconsider."

I blinked at the beg part. He wasn't really acting like a supplicant, but on the other hand, he usually acted like he was expecting everyone around him to do the begging.

"The reason is this," he said before I could respond. "Pharaoh Ramesses-Ra, first of his name and the progenitor of the restored line of the rulers of Egypt, will be arriving here in two weeks and will be touring the museum as part of his visit to the UN and the President. My fear is that if he sees that there are objects of power in the collections that he might do one of two things; either make a highly public press to have these objects returned and use them as an excuse to repatriate other items in the collection as well, or serve the gods and establish temples in this country."

"Ok," I said, puzzled. "I can see why the Met wouldn't want to return its collection to the Egyptians, it's a huge draw. The Egyptian gallery is my favorite, in fact. But why wouldn't you want them to be worshipped here? Aren't they your gods too?"

"The gods are disruptive and greedy for worship," he said simply. "I believe it would be wrong to allow them a foothold in this continent." Oh. If he put it like that, I understood it better. Everybody knew about the return of that pantheon, how ruthless they could be, the damage and lost lives that had accompanied their reveal. "We have over thirty thousand items in our collection now. It would not be possible to examine the entirety of our holdings, but even just the most important ones would be a help. I am anticipating a fuss over the temple of Dendur, even thought it was a gift, not something that was taken."

"The temple doesn't have a lot of juice to it," I said. "I don't know why, you'd think with all the worship that goes on in them that the gods would be fonder of the sites where their followers gather, but the buildings themselves don't get attention from the gods, apparently, no matter how pretty they are." Hawkwoman looked interested.

"Curious," she said.

"Ok, then," I said. "I don't work next Wednesday afternoon. I could come over and look at things."

Uncle Tony, who was the chairman of the board that oversaw the museum, had come up as Hawkman spoke. "The trustees are nervous about this visit, even though we couldn't refuse the request. We could maybe appease the pharaoh by offering a selection of antiquities as a gift; maybe we could find some that would be very appealing to him but wouldn't gut our collection to lose."

"Nothing on display now has a lot of presence to it," I said. Tony nodded, and it was arranged that I'd go over to the museum after morning classes, look at the things Hawkbrother would lay out, and then I could go do my thing, whatever that turned out to be. Uncle Tony would be there too, as a representative for the museum, and he'd get the ball rolling. Uncle Tony nudged the Hawkpeople along, and as I was getting ready to go back upstairs, the party showing signs of adjourning to the bat cave, Grandpa Bruce came up.

"Good for you," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "All we don't need is more chaos in the city." Then a slightly awkward pause. "I hear you're taking geometry this summer. How do you like it?"

"A lot, so far, at least. I like it because I can see that it's actually useful in daily life, unlike algebra."

A rare smile lit his face. "I find it very useful myself," he said. "If you'd like to know more, there are a few books on geometry that have been placed in the bat cave reference library; I've consulted them more than once over both lifetimes and find them both helpful and interesting." We chatted a bit, then Alfred and Alan circulated, discreetly clearing up the cookies and napkins, and Dad directed the guests downstairs. Deri went to her room to finalize her packing as she was going to camp the next day, and I went upstairs to clean my room and bathroom.

Chapter Text

I went with the family to see Deri and Van to the bus taking them off to camp. They were going to have a great time. The camp didn't allow the use of communicators aside from Sunday afternoons unless of an emergency or accident, so she'd be focused on her activities. After waving goodbye as the bus pulled out, my parents took me to breakfast, and from there I'd go to work.

"I'm a little surprised you agreed to help Carter after telling me you wouldn't," Mom said after we'd ordered. Her tone was mostly neutral, with only the faintest whiff of displeasure.

"He got my attention when he said he begged me to reconsider. A guy like that doesn't beg. And he really doesn't want the gods of Egypt to get a foothold here, which I thought was weird. At first I thought that he was afraid of the pharaoh, and he might be. The gods had stopped appearing to the people by the time of him and his dad, and although who really knows what happened in the temples, it's certainly not outside the realm of possibility to think that maybe the pharaoh and the priests didn't actually see them much themselves. But Dr Hall doesn't seem afraid of the gods themselves. Deeply respectful, yes, and wary of their power. So there's something going on. After you guys all went downstairs, I did a little research. There's only one temple to the Egyptian gods in this country, and that's in Missouri, it's small, they're trying to see if they can get the gods of the Nile to work some magic on the Mississippi. But I think that Dr Hall is concerned about what would happen if his gods got a toehold here. The Mayan and Aztec pantheons aren't getting along, they and their followers clash, so do the Toltecs, but they might unite against the Egyptian gods, and that could hurt them, which would in turn affect Egypt if their gods are injured or killed. And the theocracy in Egypt is not terribly kind to those who don't at least observe the forms. So I think it's a good thing to keep the pharaoh at bay. Besides, even Uncle Tony is nervous."

"I was going to explain some of this to you ," she said.

"You blew me off in a very hurtful way," I said flatly. "And you didn't even have lunch the way you promised, so I ended up getting food poisoning from the one type of food that I had time to eat. On top of the fallout I still get because the world is not what you think it should be like."

"Lys--" Mom started.

"No. Look. You don't have the faintest idea what growing up here, in this city, this time, is like. You were the only kid on the islands when you were growing up, and everybody paid attention to you and fawned on you. Maybe your mom was loving to you, but she strikes me as a pretty cold fish. I get that she's the ruler of her people and all, but she hasn't been interested in me once I started to grow out of my brief cute phase. Even now, my life sucks, probably will for the next few years when hopefully I can get into a college where it doesn't matter. You don't say it, but your attitude is that I should rise above it, that it's silly to be upset about the party. Well, it isn't and I can't." I shut up as the server put our plates in front of us. Oh, yum, just the way I like it. Scrambled eggs, slightly underdone, link sausage, overdone, wheat toast, medium brown, and a bowl of fruit.

"I'm never going to be able to forget the humiliation I felt at the party. My friends stopped being my friends because they still want to go on dates and have fun. Nobody wanted to dance with me. The girls in scouts weren't as obvious about it, but nobody voluntarily wanted to finish up the badgework with me. Right now, the only good thing in my life is work, where only my boss knows my last name and all anybody cares about is if I get the fabric back on the racks and the notions stocked. So one person asked me, pretty nicely, for a favor. It's the only time that's happened for a while."

"Lysippe, while it's true that I don't understand what it's like to be a girl at this place and time, people are going to be envious of what you have all your life. You need to learn how to deal with it without letting it affect you."

"No, they're not envious of what I have, because right now I don't have much. The name is what has prestige and wealth and inspires that envy. That's what they see, and it doesn't have much to do with me, who I am as a person. Kids are gloating because I have what they see as those advantages but there's been this big awful thing. And no, I can't overlook it because it makes me miserable. You can't tell me that you've never been hurt by the actions of others and taken out a little anger on somebody." Her head inclined down. "You chose your life. I have to take what I'm given. Right now that includes a clueless father who assumes that the parent with the uterus knows best--pro tip: no--and a mother who is just so out of touch I can't even. I've been miserable and you couldn't be bothered to take an interest, offer to do something to make it better or anything. It wasn't even your idea to get me a pod. I'd bet cash money on that." And I knew I'd win that, thanks to what I'd overheard Grandpa Mark say. "And it was Uncle Tony who did the work and made it special, made me feel like somebody cared that I was hurt." Dad's eyes dropped.

"We won't make the same mistake with Deri, at least," he said. I rolled my eyes.

"Great for her. You'd have made sure she had what she wanted anyway. Doesn't help me any. I know that parents often favor one kid over the other, but it stings a bit to have it shoved in my face that you like her more than me." I shoveled my breakfast in as fast as I could chew.

"We don't love Deri more than you," he said. "I love both my girls equally." I snorted.

"You sure like her more. Just once I'd like to be somebody's favorite."

"I do not," he said sharply. "Lys, we've talked about this. I can't change what's happened." I swallowed with difficulty.

"And I don't know how to get past what happened." I drank the rest of my juice quickly, pressing the button on the fob. "I need to go to work. Thanks for breakfast." I got up and left. I didn't have long to wait until my pod showed up

I was twenty minutes early for work, so I stayed in my pod, listening to music, until it was time to go in. I was interested in learning what got done before the doors opened to the public and didn't want to mess this up, so I used the time to calm down and by focusing on how much I liked the work got in a better frame of mind.

What happened in the hour before we opened was that any bolts of fabric that might have been missed were put out, new fabrics that had been priced and processed into the system the day before were brought out and arranged at the front of the store, the notions were completely stocked, the checkout counter was stocked with blanks for the receipt printer, things were dusted, the floor gone over very thoroughly. We had a short employee meeting, where our manager told us that filming on that TV show would start this week and to be helpful. We had a lot of staff today because weekends were always busiest, and I was assigned to shadow one of the assistant managers, learning what fabrics would be appropriate for what uses and how to help the customers. They had a house publication that they used for training, but you can't learn everything in books, either. I shadowed Carla for a few hours, then I had my lunch break, spent time putting fabric back, then was told to go study the book. I needed to learn basics about clothes construction, upholstery, and what went into making things like cushions, bedding, and draperies. What interfacing was and how to use it. How to select a thread for a project, both how to match the color and how to select the right kind for the application. That the kinds of fibers used were and what their best uses were. It was a lot to learn, and my scout badge barely scratched the surface. I clocked out at six, my first eight-hour day. I got a nice surprise at the cash register when I bought a book on sewing that was meant for students at Parsons or FIT. We had an employee discount: cost plus 1.25% for everything in the store. AI Tony got me laughing on the way home.

I was just in time for dinner. Shoot. I'd forgotten that we'd be eating a little later because of the meetings. I found myself talking to Grandpa Bruce during cocktail hour; he was interested in my job, never having worked retail himself, and he liked learning new things. You never knew what might come in handy as Batman. He's a good conversationalist when he wants to be, and talking to him meant that I could keep my distance from my parents. After dinner, everybody else went downstairs; Alan gave me some cookies and a mug of tea and I went upstairs. I don't really like tea but coffee at night time keeps me awake too long. I poured it down the drain and ate my cookies while looking at my new book. After a bit, I brushed the crumbs off my front and went up to the attic. It took a good hour of searching and moving things around, but I found what I was looking for, an old sewing machine. It was an elegant black thing, with elaborate gold designs painted on it, "Singer" on the arm, and mounted in a cabinet that probably weighed half a ton. A very delicate manual was in one of the drawers. I considered my surroundings.

It wasn't illegal to want to learn how to use a sewing machine, but I didn't want to deal with the hassle that would come with anybody knowing. I spend another hour looking for a place to set up, and finally realized that the best place was the closet that had held all the beautiful clothing that had been donated to the Costume Institute. It was completely bare, had its own light source and climate control, and was certainly spacious enough. I pushed and pulled the sewing machine cabinet across the wood floor; even with some discs that I liberated from the supply in a cabinet by the door that reduced the friction between furniture and floor, it was hard going. But at least it didn't mar the floor. I got the sewing machine placed where I wanted it, then looked around for a small table that I could use to cut fabric on. I really lucked out and found an old sewing basket, misplaced in with a bunch of chairs. It had a wide range of silk thread colors along with needles, pins, and a couple of different sizes of scissors. I brought that and a straight chair into the closet and shut the door to investigate my findings. The thread was perished, unfortunately; I unwound some from the spool and tugged; it sort of disintegrated. But the needles, pins, and scissors were sharp and ready to use. I took the spools of threads with me downstairs along with the manual for the sewing machine. In my room, I dumped the thread into the trash can and scanned the manual, printing it out for a more durable copy. I spent the rest of the evening reading about how to operate the machine and maintain it; there was historical information about fixing the things on the net too. I learned that it was something called a treadle machine and that I'd be pushing on the bottom paddle-shaped thing to operate it. I liked the sound of that, being the force behind the operation. I went back to my sewing room briefly to ascertain that the machine worked. It was going to be a workout in itself, pushing on the treadle, but I'd see what they recommended at work. Maybe it needed a little oil? Of some kind? I decided on making a couple of throw pillows for my first project, and researched the supplies I'd need for it. And a pattern, but simple patterns like that were all over the net. I stumbled on information that told me how to clean and condition the machine so that it would work, and added the specific products that were recommended to my shopping list.

I was only scheduled to work one day each weekend, so I had plenty of time to study the next day. The sociology was pretty easy to pick up; geometry needed more work but it was easier than algebra had been. The Justice League left after breakfast, and I returned to my room, opening the window and enjoying the breeze as I studied. Just before I packed it in to get some lunch, there was a tap on my door and Aunt Amy stuck her head in. "It's a gorgeous day. I wondered if you'd like to have a picnic with me in the gazebo down by the lake?"

Chapter Text

It really was a gorgeous day. Aunt Amy had raided the kitchen and packed the lunch before coming up to get me, so we went straight out to the lake. It was pretty to look at, but not much fun to swim in due to the difficulty in getting in the water; there was no nice beach, just squishy mud and some grasses leading up to the water's edge. But the gazebo shaded the sun and gave us a nice place to sit. We distributed food and attacked it before Aunt Amy spoke. "I wanted you to know that I found an apartment in the city," she said.

"Oh." I mumbled, then swallowed. "Wow. Congratulations. Where is it?"

"It's about four blocks from my work," she said. "So that's nice." I nodded. "So I'll be moving out next weekend, that's when it will be available. But I wanted to talk to you about it before I let anybody else know. Things aren't good for you right now, and I don't agree with the way your parents are handling it. I'm not going to go against them, precisely, but I do want to take this opportunity to point out some factors that you might not know about or might not be considering." She took a bite of pasta salad. "One good thing about the Return is the reevaluation of what it means to be an adult, legally. You know that as a sixteen year old, you can operate a pod, you can own real and personal property, you could become emancipated. In two years, you will be considered an adult, with all the legal rights that entails. You will be able to vote, and I would personally urge you to register on your birthday because it's a core right of being a citizen, you can go into a bar and order and drink alcoholic beverages, the whole shebang. For our family, this also means that your share of the family educational trust is open to you and your share of the family general trust will be transferred to you. I bring this up because I didn't know what provisions Dan had made and the family attorneys brought me up to speed when I returned to the fold. I want you to know this so that you realize that your options won't be limited by what your parents want for you. You still have to deal with their opinions and feelings, but legally, you can chart your own course.

"I know you aren't happy with your body unless you're actually dancing and your mother has strong opinions about that, but if you want, at that time, you could see doctors, have your genome evaluated to see if it is possible to develop a more pronounced bust with manipulation of your genome, or if physical sculpting would be the way to go. I am not advocating this, but you should know that you have options. You might still have a late growth spurt, you might become more comfortable with the way you look. But ultimately, it's entirely up to you.

"Second, while it is traditional that Waynes go to Ivy League universities and major in business, the sciences, or engineering, you do you. Study what interests you and what you want to work in. My parents were not terribly supportive when I wasn't thrilled about going to work for Wayne, but I did. They'd be really upset that I've gone into forestry. Fortunately, Mark was really interested in the business, and he's quite gifted in that direction so he was able to take over the company, but I still felt that there were other things I would have preferred to do. So I want to be sure that you understand that you have options. You don't know what you want to do yet, and that's perfectly ok. Take your time and figure things out. There are so many Waynes in your generation that one or several will step up to take over the company."

I blinked at this flood of information, then finished my sandwich. "So... are you not going to be around anymore?"

"I'm not going to vanish," she reassured me. "But since I won't be living here anymore, there will a little less contact. But I still intend to be involved with the family and I hope that we'll continue to develop our relationship. Call me if you want to talk, we can have lunch, do stuff. But I wanted to reassure you that I understand what you're going through and I sympathize. I've had talks with your parents that you haven't been privy to, but I am hoping that I'm getting through to my nephew. I've known Diana for awhile," she said as she took the wrap off some brownies. "I was a little dismayed that Dan married her, to be honest. She's always nice and you can't doubt her devotion to the greater good, but the fact that her lifespan is so long worries me. Things like what you're going through are momentary irritants in her view. She's not unsympathetic to you, but she literally doesn't see things the way you and I do. It's not just a culture gap, it's a lot more than that. A lack of shared experience, of common reference points. You can't really understand her perspective either. And while I don't doubt that she and Dan love each other, a marriage isn't just about the love between the two people. You also have to consider goals and values, each other's families.

"And I have some pieces of advice to offer. Check with your guidance counselor at school this summer, take some aptitude tests. I think you feel directionless right now and it might help if you felt like you had some ideas about what you want to do, what you want to study. And when you get to your new school--great idea, by the way, I think you'll be happier in a school with no bad memories--do the same there. And I had a thought; you may be quitting Scouts, but I know you really liked the badges. So why not make your own? Look around, decide what you'd like to learn about, make your own badges, find people to help you learn. You'll need to be proactive and more tenacious. Things slip people's minds, so if they say they'll talk to you or whatever, follow up. You'll need to do that all your life, from education to jobs, so it's a good habit to get into." I turned that around in my mind, and for the first time since Aunt Amy said she was moving out, smiled. She smiled too. "And now that you've got your own transportation, use it. Be safe, but look around the city for opportunities to do things you're interested in. The good side of having no friends is that you can do whatever you want--see whatever movie looks good to you, shop wherever you want. And don't be so concerned about what other people think about you, in general. Most people don't notice us as much as we think; we're all more self-conscious than others are conscious of us. So go to a restaurant by yourself, go to the movies, whatever. Enjoy what you're doing. Start to take control of your life. Pick up the reins and start directing it in the ways you want it to go. You've got a lot of ability, you just need to develop confidence in yourself and your choices."

"That's a lot to chew over," I said slowly, popping the last corner of my brownie in my mouth.

"It's a big world," she said peacefully. "Those little snots at your old school are just a tiny part of it." I was struck by something, the way she was talking.

"So how long was it really between when you recovered your memories and when you came back here?" I asked. She choked on her brownie and I thumped her back helpfully. Ok, I know that if they can breathe, it's not actually helpful, but I felt responsible.

"How did you figure it out?" she asked once she'd cleared her airway.

"Just the way you were talking. It sounds like you don't really like being a Wayne either."

"I love my family," she said. "But you're right, being a Wayne can suck. People think that the money is enough, that you're not entitled to be hurt or to have problems because of all the money." I nodded. "And it's nice to have. We'll never have to worry about being homeless, for example." She paused a moment. "It's been about six years since I remembered. By then I'd found work that I loved, and I loved the life I'd made for myself. But I also missed my brother and nephew, and after I ascertained that my parents haven't turned up, I finally decided to make myself known again. But I haven't changed my last name, I'm still legally Amy James, which was one of the big last names that they give to amnesiacs. It's nice and neutral ." She looked at me sideways.

"I'm not going to tell anybody," I reassured her. I didn't blame her for not coming back immediately. We each had another brownie in companionable silence. I wanted to share something with her too. "I set up a sewing space in the attic," I volunteered. She looked interested. "I'm going to make some throw pillows. Maybe do more, if I like it, maybe make some clothes." She looked pained.

"Honey, we can go shopping. You don't have to make your own."

"It's not necessarily that I have to, it's just that maybe I'll want to. I've got to wear these stupid uniforms to school, even for summer school, and it doesn't really make sense to get really high end stuff for hanging out. The stuff I get is from good department stores, they're not horrible. I just don't have as much as my friends do, and their parents indulge them more, they're getting designer ready-to-wear. My former friends, anyway. But I'm working in the fabric store now, and I get a great discount, so why not take advantage of that? My allowance will go a lot farther, plus there's my paycheck." I considered this and started to smile. "Plus I could make exactly what I want, not just what's available in stores." She started to smile too. "And now that I've gotten control of my room away from Alan, maybe I'll spruce it up some."

"That does sound interesting," Aunt Amy said, looking interested. "Maybe one of your badges could be interior design. Don't forget that there's all that furniture in the attic if you want to change things up."

"Alan will have a cow if I disturb the order up there," I said, wilting a bit. "And Mom will back him up."

"Alan is the butler," Aunt Amy said crisply. "He knows the family secrets and we depend a lot on him, but don't forget that he doesn't have the final say. You're entitled to use the furniture if you'd like. He's not like Alfred, who really is a member of the family. Alan separates his personal life from his professional life. Let me know if you want to change things up and your mom is giving you static." She got a familiar look on her face, one I often saw on my relatives, that focused, take no prisoners look. For the first time in quite some time, I felt that somebody was on my side. We talked a little more, then packed back up and returned to the house.

The next day I had class at Ms Madelyn's before school, then work. I danced first for Ms Madelyn, who said she thought I could dance in the corps of a ballet company if I wanted, more than that and we'd have to see but that there were three years of work before I'd make that decision. She was more analytical in class than Ms Kerry was, and I felt like I could learn a lot from her. At work, it was a very slow day, and during a period of inactivity I told the senior staff member I was shadowing that I'd found an old sewing machine and was fixing it up. He was excited for me, gave me some tips about sewing pillows, and during another time when we had no customers in the store at all, took me to the home dec floor and we talked about upholstery fabric, what weight and types of fabric made good pillows, how to evaluate the sturdiness of fabrics (for example, some of our velvets had been tested for abrasion and were guaranteed to retain their pile--the fluffiness that characterized the fabric--for a hundred thousand rubs, or double rubs, or half a million rubs). It was a lot to consider, and of course I had hundreds of choices.

At dinner, Aunt Amy told my parents that she'd found an apartment and would be moving over the weekend, thanking them for their hospitality. "And of course I appreciate the opportunity to get to know your daughters," she told Dad.

"It's my pleasure, Aunt Amy," he said sincerely. "I'm just so glad you're back. If you want, take some furniture from the attic, some books. There's plenty to share."

Tuesday I had class at Mr Cal's studio. His assessment of my ability was in line with Ms Madelyn, and his class style was very different. He was demanding and could be difficult, but he put up with exactly zero shit or attitude from the teenagers in his class. One of the boys was from my school and protested my presence. "You will dance with whom I partner you," Mr Cal said evenly. "If you're lucky enough to dance with Lys, you could improve. She's a better dancer than you are. If you don't like it, you are, of course, free to quit." The final 't' was said with emphasis and some disdain. Gary shut up and partnered me in a simple pas de deux silently. That night I told my parents I'd like to take classes at Mr Cal's studio.

Wednesday, I went over to the museum; Dr Hall was waiting for me with Mom. Yay. They took me back to the staff area again where four tables were covered with stuff and their accession cards. Some of it was literally junk, excavated from trash dumps, other things had been found in tombs, or, more accurately, robbed tombs. A couple of pieces of alabaster had a faint glow that Dr Hall speculated might come from what the intact container might have held, ritual oils, perhaps. A spearhead had a stronger glow that was like the blade of the sword Mom had examined, suggesting to me that it had killed some gnarly creature. But that was all, and Dr Hall was taken aback, I think. He looked like he'd expected half the collection to light up like an old-fashioned pinball machine. He took me back to a storeroom where crates were arriving that had been sent by the Cairo museums, a blockbuster exhibit that would travel internationally, showing some of the treasures that had been found. Some of them were uncrated and being prepared for display, including one of the great colossi of Ramesses the Great. I wondered if it was a good likeness, if Dr Hall was glad to see this reminder of his dad, but didn't dare ask. The visage of the statue was enigmatic and from my perspective, was just another chunk of...I read the card. Basalt. But some of the items from Tutankhamun's tomb were almost as bright as my mom.

"Those are canopic jars, each with the visage of a different son of Horus," Dr Hall told me. "They contained the king's stomach, intestines, liver, and lungs. They thought that he'd need them in the afterlife. The heart was left in the mummy because it is the seat of the soul, and in perhaps a mistake, the brain was hooked out through the nose and discarded." I wrinkled my nose. "Exactly." The other item that had god-touch was a gold-handled dagger with a rock crystal pommel and an iron blade. "The iron is from a meteorite and was more precious than gold," he told me. "It was found on the mummy itself." And that was that. Dr Hall could include the three items I'd pointed out from the collection as well as a small selection of null objects as a gift for the pharaoh, not damaging the integrity of the museum's collection, and he thanked me before going back to work. Mom walked me out.

"Have you had lunch yet, dear?" she asked.

"Yeah, before I came," I said, and she smoothed my hair. I couldn't tell if she was disappointed, but I'd learned to eat first. She said she'd see me at home, and I was free for the afternoon. So I did my shopping, getting the items needed for the sewing machine and including a thin box made from archival paper to store the original manual which was printed on paper that had become brittle and fragile. I'd picked up some additional notions at work, including a pin cushion, seam ripper, and measuring tape, as well as a book on home sewing.

I went up to the attic at night, both on my own to clean and fix up the sewing machine--it had needed a new belt as well--and with Aunt Amy to evaluate the furniture. She chose a small table with two chairs and a bed frame. I saw several pieces that I liked better than what I had. I started to think about ways to change my bedroom and checked out some materials from the library about interior design. I started at Mr Cal's on Thursday. Miles was living at home for awhile longer, not being in a rush to establish his independence (or, I suspected, do without Alfred just yet) and he came down frequently as I practiced in his little studio. We talked about my new studio and when he was scheduled to start at American Ballet Company (the first of August), and he partnered me some, partly so he wouldn't fall off his game and partly because he just liked to dance. Saturday I helped Aunt Amy move to her new place, not hard because she had held off acquiring a lot of stuff. It was nice, in an older building that had thick walls and floors, nice big windows, an elevator, amenities like a fitness room and nice commons.

Sunday I dealt with my first customer complaint, a guy who'd bought a fabric labeled as cotton but that had turned out to be very difficult to sew and had blunted his needles. We looked at it, both of us puzzled; it was a tight weave but shouldn't have been so hard to sew. The label on the bolt said that it was just cotton, but I filled out a customer contact evaluation asking if the fabric content was mislabeled, said I was sorry that he'd had so much trouble, and gave him a free pack of sewing machine needles for his trouble, waiting until he'd left before putting the money for the needles in the till myself. But my boss saw, and asked what was going on. She nodded afterward and returned my money. "Five bucks isn't much to keep a good customer happy. He's a tailor, well respected, and shops here a lot. You did a good thing; he feels like we care about his business--which we do." She took the contact evaluation and asked me to show her the fabric; she was also puzzled but took a sample to test it. The next day, there was a new policy posted in the break room, replacing our previous policy allowing staff to handle complaints on their own; now staff were to fill out an evaluation for anything more than a cursory complaint, and where appropriate, the manager would provide a freebie for the customer.

Chapter Text

I got into a routine pretty quickly. I went to class, ignoring and being ignored by my fellow students, got a lunch (on Wednesdays, I went to Central Park and had lunch with Aunt Amy), and either went to work or to the public library. Interest evaluations that the guidance counselor had given me showed that I had interests all over the map, so I was doing some reading to investigate, and the counselor had some names that I could contact once I'd learned more to set up informational interviews. I wasn't surprised at how silent the house was with Deri gone--even when she's not talking, the house seems to hold its breath waiting for her to start--but I was kind of surprised by how much I missed her. She talked to Mom and Dad each week, but we mostly communicated by emails; she wrote a little several days during the week, saved it, and sent it on Sunday at the beginning of the hours that they had for contacting the outside world, and I did the same. She was disappointed that Aunt Amy had moved out but she was having the time of her life.

I too was having fun. One thing I loved the most about my job was talking with the customers, asking what they were making. Sometimes they didn't want to talk, but mostly they did, and a lot of them explained how they were going to make their (clothes, draperies, slipcovers, do their upholstery) which was educational for me, and also inspirational. One day on the way home, I stopped by Target to pick up a steam iron and pressing pad, having learned the importance of pressing seams flat, and that night cut out the fabric for one square cushion and one roll. I had two fabrics that were complimentary, a silver upholstery-grade velvet and a lavender brocade, with slightly darker purple piping for the edging. It took a couple of hours (I was nervously sewing slowly, not wanting to have to rip out stitches and pressing the seams at each stage) but when I went downstairs again after carefully unplugging everything and cleaning up, I had two really nice pillows. I took pictures and showed them off at work the next day. Everybody was kind enough to say that they looked really good. Emboldened by my success, I started looking around to see what else I could make for my room. I talked to my coworkers and hit the internet, and, inspired by this research and the makeover shows that were constantly on the viewing screens at work, came up with a plan.

"I wanted to know if I can paint my room," I said to my parents one night at dinner. "Maybe change some furniture."

"What color would you want?" Dad asked. I passed over a paint chip, a pretty light purple called Fairy Garden that I'd gotten at a hardware store on the way home.

"And this one for the wainscot," I said, sliding over a pretty off-white that had rosy tones to it.

"Huh," Dad said, and passed them to Mom.

"These are nice colors, not too dark," she said after a moment where I thought she'd refuse out of habit, the existing ivory paint being in good condition.

"Ok, honey," Dad said, so I started my plans. He said that he'd pay for the paint, so that was a great savings to me. I held off a week because it would be an all-day project, possibly more depending on how slow I was, and Grandma Alex was having a birthday party for the nation and Uncle Steve on the Fourth of July. Her house is gorgeous and it was fun to talk to my cousins, play horseshoes and other games, eat barbeque, and play with Eira, Sigurd, and Torburn. That last alone is worth coming for. But I also had an agenda, and after awhile, my target was alone, so I sidled up to Grandpa Henry, Grandma Alex's dad and the only person I knew who had power tools and the knowledge to use them. We talked a little, then I asked for a favor.

"It's pretty big," I warned, and he looked interested. So I pulled out my plans from the pocket of my shorts and showed him what I had in mind. My room was kind of long and thin, which I loved because there were so many windows. There was a bay window down by the fireplace, and I wanted to make a window seat for it. Additionally, I wanted to make my bed cosier by kind of enclosing the space with decorative screens to sort of frame the area. There were two electrical outlets where I could put lights for reading in bed. It would make changing the sheets a little more difficult, but I loved the idea of sleeping in a special sort of nook. I'd had some ideas about how to attach them to the walls and ceiling with minimal damage, which Grandpa Henry refined, and said he'd be pleased to help me with it. I asked how much the wood would be, and he promised to text me the estimate. I'd learned from all our customers that budgets were critical because there was no end to how much you could spend on a project, and done some research to figure out how to prepare one.

After that I waited until it looked like most people were done and went over to wish Uncle Steve a happy birthday. He gave me a hug and said it had been a pretty good day. Cousin Chris had tried to make his dad breakfast but burned it and had to be rescued by Aunt Emma. "It's the thought that counts," I said, and he grinned.

"Good thing, because the place still reeked of burned French toast when we left to come here," he said, and I laughed. "So what are you up to these days, honey?"

"I'm taking summer school and I have a part time job at a fabric store," I said, which got his attention.

"I worked there for awhile when I was at FIT," he said. "It's such a nice place." During our conversation, I showed him the pictures of my pillows and he thought they looked well done. One thing about Uncle Steve is that he's totally a straight shooter, especially about things he's familiar with. If he hadn't thought they were good, he wouldn't have said so. I described my plans for my room makeover and he had some suggestions. "Come by next week with the dimensions of your windows and I can help you with your designs," he said, and we agreed on Thursday afternoon, when I didn't have to work.

So I had plans and firm commitments for help, and I went ahead and planned. At work, another employee who'd been there for years helped me learn about drapery fabrics, why they should be lined, and how to choose the fabrics for specific looks and styles. Thursday I went over to Uncle Steve's atelier, where he had materials he'd pulled out from his student days, and I explained the look of the room that I was trying to achieve. Right now there were blinds with slats underneath what he called a pelmet, a ruffle of fabric that concealed the top of the window casing and the blinds. I wanted long, luxurious draperies, but he cautioned me against the ones that puddle on the floor because they collect lint and dust bunnies. I had my window measurements with me and we worked out the yardage that I'd need for simple panels; I had six windows but they were narrow enough that I could get by with one width of fabric to cover them (plus one was in the bathroom) and I agreed that they should be simple; I didn't want them to dominate the room. We talked about tie-backs, which he said would be a great place to put some detail like a decorative trim, and he gave me a copy of the instructions he'd gotten in school. "I'd like to see your room when you're done," he said. "It sounds like you have great ideas."

And on Saturday, I spent the whole day at Grandpa Henry's workshop. His wife, Grandma Rose, is the one who owns the Barnraising coffee shops. She had the day off and came in periodically to give us coffee and lunch. And Grandpa George, Henry's dad, came by to help. It was a huge help because he graciously did the sanding for me. We dry-fit the window seat, which was placing the pieces together to make sure they'd fit; we didn't use my actual bay window, obviously, but we marked the area on the floor with masking tape and we used clamps to support the pieces, so it looked good. And best of all, Grandpa George said he'd deliver. I'd been a little concerned about how I was going to fit all the pieces in the trunk of my pod. He made the time to deliver on my next afternoon off, on Tuesday.

I was so excited. And even better, Alan was going to be working with Alfred in the apple orchard next week, so I wouldn't have to deal with him.

Sunday I bought the fabric for my draperies, more of the plain silver velvet I'd used for my cushion (I ran the math several different times to make sure I had the numbers right) with the right type of lining, and I found a pretty lavender crystal trim for the tiebacks. Three spools of thread, there were a lot of hems. It was expensive, even with my discount, but I'd saved a lot on the screens because they were constructed from strips of wood cut down from 2 x 4s and thin laser-cut panels that we'd picked up at the lumber yard. The window seat hadn't even required a full sheet of plywood although we were going to attach some decorative molding to make it special. I bought a dark silver velvet, thicker, for the window seat cushion. There were a lot of hems for the draperies, but they were all straight and I was surprised at how fast it all came together. All except the tiebacks, they were fussier, what with the trim.

Since I didn't have to buy the paint, I got two small plug-in sconces for my bed area with a bit of conduit to cover the ugly cords and a low rack of candle holders made from wrought iron that I could use in the small fireplace and burn some candles. (Mom wouldn't let Deri and me actually have fires in our fireplaces, worried that we'd be careless and burn down the house. I could understand that, but I wanted to use it, so the candles were a compromise.) I bought five scentless pillar candles for that and long matches. Monday I calculated area and priced the paint I wanted, and Dad gave me the money. Alan showed me where painting supplies were kept in the utility room, told me which roller cover was best for the smooth wallboard in my room, and went over basics like masking off areas, to cut in before rolling, and tips like using an extension handle for the roller to make the work go faster. I'd read some of this in how-to articles online, but it never hurts to have more information. And better yet, he didn't try to take over the project. I did wish that we had the texture- and color-changing panels that Uncle Tony had devised for Grandma Alex's business, but oh, well. I took a ladder upstairs with me, took down the blinds and the pelmets, and ran the masking tape around where needed so I'd have a head start. I brought up the items I'd need for the work, including plenty of drop cloths to protect the floor and furniture.

Tuesday after work, I stopped off at the hardware store to pick up the paint. I'd moved all the furniture to the center of the room before I went to school in the morning, so got the cutting in done before dinner, then got the ceiling and walls rolled before bedtime. The paint dried fast and there was no odor, so I was able to sleep soundly. Plus I was tired.

I raced home from school on Wednesday, eager to get going, bolting a sandwich and chips before going up to change. I emptied the dresser--I didn't really need one because there was enough shelving and drawers in the closet (I hadn't painted that, it was a white that wasn't too different from the white I used on the wainscot). I quickly put that stuff away then used the furniture gliders from the attic to push the dresser into the elevator, detached the headboard, and shoved that in too. Up in the attic, I unloaded the elevator and repacked it with my choices, having to make a few trips. Decorating is exhausting. I had just gotten the furniture out, leaving it in the hall, when I heard the front door open and Grandpa Henry calling out. I ran down the stairs for hugs, then helped him and Grandma Rose unpack his van. She was curious about my project and had come to help out. I helped him find the wall studs and screw cleats into the wall where we'd attach the screen panels and window seat.

Grandpa looked at my bed and asked if I was going to use a bigger bed. "You've got room for a double bed," he pointed out. "I think a queen might be pushing it, but if you want something other than your twin, now is a great time to switch out." I chewed my lip and Grandma Rose went up to the attic with me. We found a base for a double mattress that was the right height, and a mattress that had been encased in a plastic case, so she helped me wrestle that into the elevator and down into my room. We scooted it into place and got the mattress (so floppy!) into place. It just fit with plenty of room to change sheets, retrieve things that fell down between the wall and the bed, and accommodate the duvet, which was now too small. Well, if there wasn't a bigger one in the linen closet, I could get one later.

Grandpa had primed all the wood; I was crestfallen, not having even considered this, but he said live and learn, and Grandma offered to paint it so that I could have the fun of helping Grandpa install everything. It only took a couple of minutes for the paint to dry, so she was actually done with it all before we were ready for it. Grandpa's absolutely meticulous, so the installation was perfect. I filled the nail holes and would touch up the paint once that set. "This is lovely, Lys," Grandma said, looking around. "You have a good eye for color." Grandpa tossed me a small pot.

"That's silver wax," he said. "You can use it to highlight detail, like in the molding on your window seat where you don't want to add another color of paint." They helped me bring in the furniture and arrange it, then left. It wasn't even quite five yet. Wow. I touched up the paint, carefully rubbed the wax over the highlights on the molding the way Grandpa had described, then looked around, smiling. This looked awesome. I went to the linen closet for bigger sheets; I didn't see a larger duvet, but after making the bed, I wasn't sure I needed one. The twin one hung over the edges enough that no parts of me would be hanging outside when it got cold, and you couldn't see more than a couple top inches of the bedding anyway. The crisp white bedding looked really nice. I went upstairs and brought down my curtains. I had to take a break for dinner; I was starving.

"How's your painting going?" Dad asked as we ate.

"It's all done," I said happily.

"I'd like to see it," Mom said, actually sounding interested. So after dinner we all trooped up.

"I thought you were just painting," Mom said, taken aback as she looked around.

"Well...." I looked around, then just admitted it. "I took advantage to make some changes."

Dad laughed. "It's very different," he said. "But I like it."

"Grandpa Henry helped me, and we made it so that the window seat and the screens can be removed without causing a lot of damage. It's all held in with screws, so it would just be hole filling if or when it's reversed."

"It's very creative, Lys," Mom said. I showed them how the sconces worked in my bed nook. "Where did you find the draperies? In the attic?"

"No, I made them." For some reason I felt nervous. "Uncle Steve helped me plan them and gave me some instructions."

"You made them?" Dad was surprised. I nodded.

"I found an old sewing machine upstairs and fixed it up in the empty closet. I'm making a cushion for the window seat but it's not done yet." They both looked around some more; I'd found a mirror with a silver-gilt frame and hung it above a graceful vanity that Grandma said was French Provincial style. There had been two of them in the attic, and I'd repurposed the second one as my desk, adding a small Gothic-style bookcase next to it. There was a wing chair and footstool and a little table where I could leave a book and perch a water bottle. "I want to reupholster the chair and its footstool, but that's down the line."

"I have no doubt that you could do that," Dad said, "but your room looks so pretty, why don't we send it out to be done? You could have it sooner." I wavered, and agreed. Despite what my book said, I didn't really think that upholstery would be as easy as it looked in the photographs or in the videos I'd seen online.

"I think I remember seeing a small chandelier up in the attic," Mom said thoughtfully. "And you might want a rug to warm up the floor a little." We trooped upstairs then, and Mom located the small crystal chandelier that she'd had in mind. It was really pretty; the old Victorian had high ceilings and this was small and graceful, so it would look right. Better than the streamlined lighting fixture that was there now, for sure, and I realized that I could highlight the detail in the ornamental ceiling rose with the silver wax. It seemed appropriate to the new light. We checked some of the rugs that had been rolled up and tucked into the corners before finding a rectangular Oriental one in shades of ivory and soft blue; some accents in red had faded over time to a deep pink. Dad asked if he could see my sewing room, and I showed them my cushion in progress. I had enough scraps from that and the curtains to make a few more throw pillows. We went downstairs with these finds and unrolled the carpet, placing the chandelier on the window seat, and they helped me finish putting up the curtains. The tiebacks weren't all finished either, but it still looked good.

"Where's your dresser, Lys?" Mom asked suddenly, looking around.

"I don't really need it. I put my undies and sweaters and t shirts in the closet organizer," I said, showing her.

"I'm proud of you, honey," Dad said. "It's so cozy and nice in here, pretty and well planned." And to my shock, Mom gave me a hug. I couldn't remember the last time she had, come to think about it. "Deri's probably want to redecorate her room when she gets home and sees this. You've created a monster, Lys," Dad said, teasing me. I laughed. Yeah, I couldn't imagine Deri not wanting a fun room too.

"We'll ask Alan to change the lighting, then you'll be set, Lys," Mom said, and they left. I took my cleaning caddy and polished the wood, bringing it up to the standard I imagined Alfred would expect, and then I had to do my homework. At my new desk, which made it feel kind of special. My old desk chair was silver colored mesh, and it fit in well. I'd have to wait to put the books in the book case and arrange my vanity and all, finish moving back in, but I had to get some sleep. I doubted my teachers would care about my stab at interior design when there was sociology to discuss and geometry problems to solve.

Chapter Text

The next day when I got home, the new chandelier had been hung; I admired the play of light in the glittery cut crystals. I put my books away, put writing instruments in the drawer of the desk along with other things of a desk-y nature, and arranged the computer system better. Then I had fun putting my makeup away in the drawers of the vanity and played a little with the vial of my perfume, placing it just so. The chair and footstool were missing already. Alan is really efficient. He'd added a couple of things; a pewter candle snuffer, placed the matches in a silver container that had an abrasive strip in an unobtrusive place, and set another silver cup to the side with a burnt match in it; nice to have some place to deposit them. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I thanked him when I went down for dinner.

"You did a lovely job with the room," he said, thawing a bit as he handed me my pre-dinner seltzer and lime. For the first time I wondered if he'd been offended or hurt when I said I was going to clean my own room. My reasons were still valid, plus I enjoyed it, but maybe I should have been nicer about it?

Dad was running late, so Mom and I chatted, a little awkwardly, about how I'd fixed up my room and done the things. Alan handed me some upholstery samples, and I chose a really nice dark silver satin that had a narrow lavender stripe through it for the chair and a solid light silver satin for the footstool, with piping to match for each piece of furniture. The conversation was a bit easier with him joining in too. We'd given up on Dad and went in to dinner, but he came in just as we were sitting down. He looked grim.

"What's the matter, Dad?" I asked as I spread my napkin on my lap.

"Carol Osborn's son has been kidnapped," he said bluntly as he sat down. The Osborns owned Oscorp, a large corporation that at one time had given the old Stark Industries and Wayne a run for its money, but had declined in quality and relevance between now and the first half of the twenty-first century. Ms Osborn seemed to be rebuilding it, according to things my dad and Grandpa Damian said, a more capable executive and leader than her father and grandfather had been.

"What?" Mom asked anxiously.

"She got a ransom notice just before noon. The note threatened that this is only the first kidnapping," Dad said tightly. "She was kind enough to notify me and others in the city of the danger. Lys, I don't want you taking your pod anymore. I think it's safer if Alan drives you."

"I actually think my pod's safer, Dad," I said, then hurried on before he could say anything. "Uncle Tony built a huge array of safety features into it. When it's waiting for me, it settles flat to the surface so that nothing can be put under it. It only opens to my fob with either my or Uncle Tony's fingerprint, it won't drive anybody but me, the windows are reinforced, it will call emergency services if it's hit, and if it detects a threat, it will hop ten meters in the air and go forward until it sees a clear space in traffic, set down, then do it again until I'm at a police station. Uncle Tony says that's a gray area in the law because it's under the height required for aerial transportation and it doesn't go very far, under the limits for use of the aerial capability, which you're not supposed to use in the city anyway. The ten meter height is less than emergency vehicles travel at, they go around at fifteen meters. And it's got a tracker." He listened to what I said, looked at Mom, and asked Alan what the safety features on the family pod were. They weren't as extensive as mine, relying more on the skill of the driver to keep the occupants out of trouble. I cheered AI Tony's badgering me to read the whole owners manual to myself.

"All right, Lys," Mom said. "You can continue to use your pod, but please, I'd appreciate it if you'd curtail your other activities. Go to ballet, summer school, and work, but come home right after."

I was so relieved that I didn't have to abandon my precious pod that I agreed. I didn't know the Osborn kid, but I hoped he'd be ok. I listened to Mom and Dad talking about it; the ransom was to be paid at one o'clock in the morning, no tricks. I was moved to object when they considered bringing Deri home.

"She's only got another week and a half, about," I protested. "She's having a great time. And does anybody even know where she is? I know that she's at Camp Lowe, but come to think of it, I'm not even quite sure where that is. And I know Deri just said she was going to camp this summer when anybody asked. I mean, yeah, she can be irritating, but unless there's a real threat, can't she finish up?"

Mom sighed and Dad rubbed his eyes. "I'm talking to Alex, Damian, Tony, the other parents in the family later. I'll ask for a risk assessment then." Mom squeezed his hand. "Alan, you'll want to talk to Aslyn and come to your own determination, just in case. You keep quite a low profile but Aslyn is well-known as being an important member of Valkyrie. You're welcome to come to the teleconference too." And for the first time that I could remember, after dinner there wasn't any tea in the library after dinner. That part was fine with me; I grabbed an apple hand pie and scooted up to my room. I finished my homework, glad that summer school was coming to an end in a couple of weeks, then went upstairs to my sewing room to finish the tie backs and work on the cushion. My coworkers had advised me to tuft the cushion with buttons so that the fabric and the batting that I wrapped the foam core in would stay put. I'd bought some pretty buttons with rhinestones to add what I hoped would be an elegant sparkle. I worked in silence, a little worried, and for once glad that I didn't have a lot of outside activities. The remaining tiebacks were easy to finish, and I worked on the cushion, placing the stuffing part inside and hand sewing the edge closed. My hand stitching was still rough, but it was designed so that it was on a short side that was against the wall, so nobody would see. I had just finished marking where the tufting was to go when there was a knock on the door and Alan poked his head in. He looked around with interest.

"This is very pleasant, Miss Lys," he said. "Efficient and well organized."

"Thank you, Alan," I said, turning toward him.

"Your parents would like to see you; they're down in the bat cave." I stood and picked up the cushion, putting the needle, thread, buttons, and scissors into a bag. I'd finish it in my room. As we walked through the attic and down the stairs, Alan said, "If you intend to pick up sewing as a hobby, may I suggest some shelving and perhaps a cabinet? You'll want to keep yardage and remnants organized, perhaps start a library of sewing books, that sort of thing."

"That's a good idea," I said thoughtfully, and detoured to dump things in my room. I caught up with him again. "What would you recommend?" We chatted on the way down to the bat cave. My folks were in the conference room with the really big viewscreen; as I came in some of the people on the call dropped off. I waved at Uncles Bucky and Tony. Uncle Bucky smiled at me as Tony finished reiterating the safety features on my pod. When he'd finished, he gave me a virtual high-five for remembering them.

"Nothing's known about the kidnappers," Uncle Bucky said to my parents. "There's been a rash of kidnappings like this in Asia, Africa, and Europe, but not in the western hemisphere, and hopefully this is an anomaly."

"Kids being used as bargaining chips isn't anything new," Uncle Tony said with a sigh. "But as long as Lys stays inside until her pod is right there and hurries right out, she's safer than pretty much anybody. The pod automatically scans for threats and won't set down if it thinks something is hinky, like a threat between you and it. If it goes by without setting down, kid, call the cops and get away from windows and doors."

"How does it decide if there's something weird if it is just going by?" I asked curiously, and Uncle Tony gave me some doublespeak that apparently meant that the pod tapped into security cameras for monitoring purposes. Huh. The adults ended the call and we went back upstairs. I was given permission to continue with my schedule, but until more information was developed, it was ballet, school, work, home, and that was it. I'd have to suspend my lunches with Aunt Amy. But as least I wasn't going to be locked up on the estate, so that was a victory, and it had been decided that Deri and Van were most likely safe at the camp. It had monitors and a system so that campers couldn't sneak out at night (why would they? It's apparently in the middle of nowhere) and, like a lot of places these days, to separate people with business, like food deliveries, from those who did not or were lost.

Ballet was going great. I felt like I was improving my technique and started to wonder if maybe I really could dance professionally and whether I'd want to. Well, I had a couple of years to watch Miles and figure out whether it was for me. We didn't have a recital at the end of summer because most people went on vacations at some point, but for the winter recital we'd be doing selections from The Nutcracker, and I was hoping to have a shot at dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy.

At the end of the week, Mom and Dad presented me with a choice of three schools for next year. Two were private, but interestingly, one was not. It was a fairly new school, built within the past twenty years, located in the revitalizing Hell's Kitchen neighborhood. I had cousins in both the private schools, but nobody I knew went to the public school. I looked through the brochures that they'd gotten for me. The private schools were typical prep schools, all around academic excellence but oriented with a module of classes for those expecting to be business leaders in their careers. HKHS was also highly rated, strong academics without the prep school uniforms and a wider range of electives.

"Are you sure, honey?" Dad asked a little doubtfully. "You won't know anybody there." I gave him a pointed look and he sighed. "Ok, I'll get you enrolled tomorrow," he said, and I smiled. Things were looking up.

Chapter Text

The next couple of weeks went by pretty smoothly. It took eight days for the chair and footstool to be returned, and they looked wonderful. A lot better than what I would have done, because the cushions and padding had also been replaced and refreshed. It was so nice. I loved sitting in the chair, looking out over the trees and the back garden or reading. I made one final adjustment; in my bed nook I got some glow in the dark paint and an astronomy book and put the constellations on the ceiling so I could see stars even if I wasn't on the roof. It wasn't to scale, of course, and I made sure the zodiac signs were included. The Amazons made a big deal about astronomy, predicting great things for me because I was a Taurus born on the Aries cusp, supposedly a sign of great power, but it hadn't materialized. Another good thing about the nook is that I didn't have my alarm to hand; I had to actually get up to turn it off. Mom and Dad had made me use one rather than the house alerts because I ask for the snooze reset too much and I get a late start. I had to pull myself out of the coziness of my nook to turn it off and then I was up.

Finals seemed to go fairly quickly and easily; one thing I like about finals is that the computer scores everything as soon as you submit, so maybe a minute and you've got your results on objective tests. The essay questions take longer, about ten minutes. But sociology used multiple choice for all the answers, same with geometry, you just had to solve the problem to select the right answer. I went home feeling good about two As. We had Grandpa Mark and Aunt Amy over for dinner that night and they praised my grades when Mom said I'd had my finals.

"Are you going to work full time now until school or keep it part time?" Aunt Amy asked.

"I'm going to keep it part time, I'd like to have some fun for summer, but they're going to schedule me differently, three full days and one half shift so that I actually have some whole days to myself. And Mr Cal shuts the studio for most of August so that everybody gets a break and he can take a vacation. I can sleep in." I gloated about this.

"So Dan tells me you're going to go to Hell's Kitchen High next year," Grandpa said, and I nodded.

"It sounds like a good school, I don't know anybody there, it's bigger than the other two, and I think I can blend in better." I'd also done some research on the school. Plus this way my cousins wouldn't feel obligated to hang out with me. I don't want to be anybody's charity case. And the ones in the other schools weren't ones I was particularly fond of. I didn't not like them, we just weren't close. There are so many of us, we can't all be buddies. "And I can wear regular clothes." That also cheered me up. Deprived of individuality in clothing choices, at my old school girls showed their wealth and taste with accessories including jewelry that I couldn't compete with.

"I understand you've decorated your room really nicely," Aunt Amy said. "Rose said it was beautiful. Will you show it to me after dinner?"

"Sure," I said. "Be happy to." And after that, conversation turned to the Osborn kid, who had eventually been recovered. Ms Osborn had paid the ransom, of course, but her son hadn't been returned and she'd been stuck up for more money. This had happened twice, and finally she quit screwing around and hired a team of operatives to find her son and rescue him; there had been threats to kill the boy if she brought in the authorities, and she'd received a body part after the third time, apparently to try to keep her in line. It would have been painful and traumatic for the kid, but with modern medicine, pretty much any body part could be regrown so at least he wouldn't be permanently disfigured. There'd been a firefight and one of the kidnappers killed, but the other two that the kid had seen got away. And he'd never seen whoever masterminded the operation.

After dinner, Grandpa came up with Aunt Amy and me to look around. "This is fantastically cozy," he said. "This winter you can snuggle up in the window seat and watch the snow fly. And that bed nook is so pretty with the screens on either side and the top."

"I used solid plywood across the bottom because I don't want to see the bed or the mattress," I explained. "Grandpa Henry had some great suggestions and he really helped with the construction. It wouldn't be half as nice if I hadn't had his guidance. The screens let in light and airflow, so it's more an illusion of privacy than anything else." I considered for a minute. "I might get some fabric when it starts to get chillier to line the screens. Contrast but holds in a little warmth. I hate to be cold when I'm sleeping."

"I'm kind of surprised that you don't have posters or anything up," Aunt Amy observed.

"The view outside is what I like to watch. There are squirrels and birds, sometimes deer, skunks, other animals, and of course bats at night. Some of the posters I used to have weren't very cool so I took them down and didn't replace them. But I would like to get a few things for my vanity." My friends had laughed about the celebrity boys in the posters, and I'd been embarrassed that I didn't have better taste.

"I know that in a trunk upstairs are a bunch of things from vanities of the past," Aunt Amy said thoughtfully. "Mirrored trays, perfume atomizers, that kind of thing. Pretty things to play with and use."

"Do you know where?" I asked hopefully.

"I think I do," Grandpa said, his eyes narrowing as he thought. "I found it once when we were exploring but it didn't really have anything for boys." So we went upstairs and after a couple of trunks, found the right ones. There were a lot of accessories; I had my choice. I picked a tray that was very simple, just a small rectangular mirror with silver handles that Grandpa said were Art Deco, a standing mirror that would make doing my makeup easier, a gorgeous blown-glass atomizer for my perfume, a table lamp with a glass shade with tiny faceted crystals on the bottom for lighting for doing my makeup, and a set of a silverplate hairbrush, comb, and hand mirror with a stylized iris design on them. I also chose a small porcelain dish with pansies painted on it to hold little things. In another trunk there were bookends; I took some black painted ones that had fun cutout images for my bookshelves. And I showed them how I'd converted the closet into a sewing room.

"Wow, Lys," Aunt Amy said, looking around. Alan had helped me put up some shelves with pretty carved corbels and he was fixing the hinges on a cabinet. I explained my plans, and both of them smiled.

"You're a clever girl," Grandpa praised me. "Those pillows downstairs look great. With more practice, you could be a professional." I flushed a bit at the praise.

We went back downstairs for tea and sweets, and Mom asked Aunt Amy if she'd like to come with us when we went shopping for school clothes. I blinked. I hadn't really thought about school clothes, which was stupid because I wouldn't have a uniform. Aunt Amy said she'd love to, and we all agreed on the upcoming Friday afternoon.

The next day we went to pick up Deri and Van. They'd had a lot of fun, earned a few badges, learned a lot, made new friends. They chattered steadily all the way home, and Deri kept it up all the way into the house. I helped carry in her stuff, then retreated once I'd dumped my share in her room. Wow. I forgot how sometimes she just rattles on. I'd gotten accustomed to quiet. I was glad she'd had such a good time, though. Dinner was more of the same, and I listened to the seemingly endless stream of activities and achievements, asking questions when I could get a word in.

I went upstairs after tea and settled into the window seat with my reader. It was nice to have the tranquility after the verbal assault that was my little sister. I'd barely gotten a chapter read when she came barrelling in. "Knock first," I requested firmly. "You're not at camp anymore."

"Geeze, Lys, this is great,' she said, looking around. "When did this get done? My room could use a face lift too." She started to poke around.

"Thanks, I did it a few weeks ago. And stay out of my stuff," I said, frowning a little as she opened the drawers in the vanity and desk.

"Why? You don't have anything good hidden away," she said.

"How would you like me barging into your room and riffling through all your stuff?" I said. She frowned at me.

"Lighten up, Lys, you're really no fun at all." She petted the draperies.

"It's called privacy, Deri, and I expect you to respect it."

"You sound like Queen Hippolyta," she said. "Stick up your butt a mile wide."

"I can't believe I missed you," I said through gritted teeth. "If you're going to insult me, get out."

"Fine," she shot back and flounced out.

Somehow my peace and quiet felt spoiled after that.

The next day was a full eight-hour day at work, and although I didn't see the need for it, I obediently brought my lunch rather than going out. It was my first encounter with the TV show that was using our store as the source for the fabric, and I tried to stay away from the cameras that followed some of the contestants around. Putting things away, I found one kind of twitchy guy looking at the fabric that had caused our other customer to complain. It had been tested and it really was just cotton; nobody could explain why it was so hard to sew. "We've had some customer comments that it's really hard to sew," I mentioned as I passed by.

"Really?" he asked. "But it's cotton, and it seems to resist wrinkling to an extent. It's just what I need."

"I don't want to tell you your business," I said, smiling. "I just thought you should be aware of a potential problem."

"It's the right color and weight," he said, testing its hand. Then an airhorn sounded, causing both of us to flinch. The guy looked rattled. "That's the warning on time," he said. "I have to get down to the cutting table before time's up or I won't have anything to sew." He grabbed the bolt of fabric and trotted toward the stairs. After they'd all gone, we had a lot to pick up; trims were out of order, notions rifled through, bolts of cloth to put back. They were apparently kept short on time because... it made better watching if they were stressed out and making mistakes? Nobody really knew, we just worked to fix it all up.

When I got home, I went upstairs for a bit before dinner. I'd found a nice insulating lining fabric in home dec that had a satin weave on the facing side and was contemplating using it behind the screens around my bed for winter, but maybe it would be more fun to make curtains, install a curtain rod? I liked the idea of a completely enclosed bedspace, cozy and private, although I didn't need it, really, it wasn't like I was going to be entertaining any guys there. Maybe a colorful fabric that faced out, then, with the lining facing the interior of the cubby? I could make some throw pillows for my inner sanctum too. I started to get more enthusiastic about the ideas. I measured the width of the cubby and notated the dimensions of the opening so that I could figure out the yardage. There was a knock on the door. "Come in," I hollered as I put the measuring tape in the desk drawer. Deri came in.

"Your room is so nice," she said. "Would you help me with mine?" There was a chime, and it was time to go down for pre-dinner.

"Sure," I said as we walked down the stairs. "Come up with some ideas. I can use my discount at work to help with the fabric, so you can work that into your budget too."

"Budget?" she asked as entered the library.

"Yeah, you need to allocate money to each part of the project, because if you don't you'll be spending a lot more than you wanted to," I explained.

"I'll be spending?" she asked blankly.

"Well, yeah. I used my paychecks and allowance. And Dad bought the paint, and Mom had the chair and footstool covered for me, big savings. Grandpa Henry used offcuts from other projects, so he gave me a reduced price for that. And there's a lot of stuff up in the attic, so that frees up a lot of cash," I said encouragingly. "I'll send you some links that explain budgeting."

"That's very nice of you, Lys," Mom said approvingly. Then Dad came in, with thin silver bangle bracelets for Deri and me.

"They've got trackers in them," Dad explained, and I nodded. The clasps were really sturdy so they wouldn't come off easily. I wondered if Aunt Emma had made them. Then they had to explain what happened to the Osborn kid to Deri. Then Deri remembered that she'd made presents, and raced upstairs, returning with bracelets made from leather thongs with glass beads on them for Mom and Dad--Dad's was wider, with bigger beads--and a little pottery dish glazed bright pink for me. It wasn't excessively symmetrical and the color was really bright, but it was pretty and I was glad to have been remembered.

"Thanks, Deri," I said as I examined it. "This is really cute." She explained how they made it and how it was fired as we went in to dinner.

"I can't believe you didn't post pictures of your room on social media," Deri told me when we sat down in the dining room. "You're on Buzz, Wire, and Connect, right?'

I took a sip of water. "I deactivated the accounts."

"What? Why?" she asked, aghast.

"What people were saying about me and to me... I just didn't want to see it anymore." I drank more water, grateful when Alan came in with the salad.

"Why didn't you say anything, Lys?" Dad asked, frowning. "It's illegal to bully people online, and those sites are supposed to have filters."

"I guess they don't work," I said, taking some salad and passing the bowl. I bit the tip of my tongue to keep my eyes from watering; I didn't like to think about what had been said even with some distance.

And wasn't that just a conversation buster. "Uh, so, Marissa invited me to hang out with her on Friday and she's having a sleepover that night. Can I go?" Deri asked.

"Vanessa has also been invited," Alan said as he brought in bread rolls. "Miss Deri can come into the city with us; Vanessa going to spend some time in the Valkyrie building with Aslyn, they're going to lunch, then over to Miss Marissa's home."

So that was agreed, to my relief as I'd been a little worried that Deri would want to horn in on my shopping time with Mom and Aunt Amy.

Chapter Text

When I went in to work the next day, I bought the lining fabric; other people would be starting to think about getting their homes ready for fall and winter and I didn't want to lose out because I procrastinated. I didn't see any fabric I wanted to use for the part facing into the room, but that was ok, it was only August and new fabrics came in a few times a week. I kept the paint chips in my purse so I could be sure to match them. I was thinking maybe some kind of floral because all the other fabrics in my room were solids or stripes. I also got a few more pillow forms since I could start work on more throw pillows, for the window seat as well, and tucked these things into my sewing room when I got home.

The next day the show contestants were back, and the twitchy guy found me. "You were right about that fabric," he said. "It sucked to cut out, even, I was lucky not to be sent home. This time we're doing swimsuits and a dress/coverup that a woman could wear out to dinner after a day on the beach. I'm looking for something really graphic for the swimsuit, but I don't see anything that really catches my eye. Is that all there is?"

"Let me check in the back," I said. "We might have something that's not out. What color do you want?"

"It doesn't really matter as long as it's bold," he said, so I hurried back to the workroom where everything was added to inventory and priced. As luck had it, we had two new fabrics, one a geometric print in royal blue and white, and a Klimt-style, gold swirls on black. The clerk said that these were probably the last swimsuit fabrics for the year since it was late summer, and I took them out to the front where Twitchy looked relieved and chose the blue one and zipped off to see what we had in gauze for his dress. I went to add the black bolt to the other swimsuit fabrics, where it was snapped up by another competitor who practically ripped it out of my hands. I was glad to hear the airhorn as the contestants stampeded toward the cutting table and we started picking up again. I'd be glad when the show was over, but the publicity was good for the store. We'd already seen an uptick in customers who'd heard about the show and wanted to see why we'd been chosen to provide the fabrics, and the first episodes hadn't even aired yet.

After this excitement, however, the day was kind of boring; traffic was light and we didn't have much to do. It was a perfect time for one of our senior clerks to help my education in sewing garments, which I hadn't really started. So we looked at patterns and I learned why weights or types of fabric were specified. I learned what the markings on the patterns meant and a general sequence of steps to use for construction. How to lay out the patterns and cut them out. When pinking shears should be used. Just that little bit of knowledge took all afternoon to learn, and it was just the tip of the iceberg. Even on the way home my head was still buzzing with all the information.

I'd been reminded by Deri's questions that I'd thanked my relatives for their help, but since it seemed likely that we'd be leaning on them for help with Deri's room, it would be nice to do something to show my appreciation. I didn't know what to do for Uncle Steve, I'd have to give that some thought, but I knew that Grandma and Grandpa liked flowers, so I went to a florist and got two pretty bouquets, one for Grandpa Henry's workshop and one for Grandma Rose to put wherever she wanted. Grandma was at one of her coffee shops, but Grandpa was pleased to take delivery of both and arranged one on his desk. "You didn't have to do that, honey," he said. "I was glad to help. It was fun and easy." I showed him pictures of the finished room and he said it looked wonderful, and that he'd be happy to help Deri as well. "I had an idea, too," he said. "How do you feel about making the top of the window seat so that you can lift it and use underneath for storage? I can just run a saw across the back part to split off a bit, attach some hinges. You could store some extra pillows there, whatever you'd like. It would take about half an hour." I agreed, of course, it was a great idea.

After dinner, Deri handed me some papers. I unfolded them to see a couple of photos of a professionally decorated room, with squares of paper that she'd colored in with pencils attached. The colors were bright and there were a lot of them. And the design had no relation to the actual space in her room. "Uh, I don't think this is going to work, Deri," I said.

"Why not?" Her lower lip jutted out pugnaciously.

"Well, your room just isn't big enough, for one, the ceilings aren't nearly high enough. And how are you going to pay for all this? There isn't any furniture like this up in the attic."

"You could help," she suggested. "You've got a job."

"I'm willing to use my discount to help with your fabric, sure, but I'm not paying for your room. There are still things I'd like to do for mine. You get an allowance, same as me."

"I don't have much left," she said. Mom had a frown in her voice when she asked where all her money had gone. Here, there; Deri was spendthrift and she had twice as much dance gear as I did, even with the first pair of Peterovs I'd gotten.

"Speaking of that, did you do those exercises for your feet and legs the way you were supposed to?" Dad asked.

"No, it would have looked weird at camp," she explained. "Besides, I forgot. But I can start, Ms Kerry said she'd put me in pointe shoes this fall anyway."

"She said that if you did your exercises, you could start," Dad said. "And apparently you haven't. We've been warned by experts about the damage you could do to your feet and legs if you tried before you were ready, and if you don't care enough to prepare according to the directions you were given, you will not be getting toe shoes. And you're not going back to Kerry. You can join Mr Cal's studio."

"Why?" Deri wailed. "I like it there! My friends are there and Ms Kerry's nice."

"She tried to bribe your sister into not telling us why she was told not to come back by offering something that you're not ready for, and you think she's a nice person?" That was Mom, and she sounded wrathful.

"I can't believe you're being so mean! You're ruining everything," Deri complained to me, and grabbed the photos back. "You're just jealous that my room will be so much better."

"It looks like a unicorn barfed up a bunch of rainbows," I said, and she slit her eyes at me. "Whatever, tween." She couldn't argue with my word choice, but it was killing her that she wouldn't be a teenager until November.

It got unpleasant from there, and Dad caved, like I worried he would. Not about the dancing, that was non-negotiable, but about her room. Deri would have to tone down the design, but the parents would pay. "What happened to all that talk about us learning the value of money?" I asked, offended. I hadn't asked for help buying things because they felt it was important for us to understand that. Deri smirked at me.

"We'll reimburse you for your room, dear," Dad told me. "Deri, don't look at your sister like that. We've got enough on our plates that I don't want to deal with this."

"Then I'm not going to help," I said, standing up. "As usual, Deri's given whatever she wants. Way to teach discipline."

"Lysippe," Mom said. "Don't speak to your father like that."

"Why don't I get whatever I want, then? I plan and use my own money, do most of the work myself, learn how to do it, and I get rewarded with a chandelier and a rug out of the attic. You say that we're supposed to be learning all sorts of good values, but that apparently doesn't apply to your favorite, who's going to get all new stuff."

"What other values are we applying unequally?" Dad was sarcastic.

"Mom's always preaching historical authenticity, but when I had to wear that dress for Halloween, I did the research so that it would all look as right as I could, and she said it was too much and I couldn't even wear the stupid dress." Mom sighed. Yes, I can hold a grudge.

"It was a school party," she said impatiently.

"And I didn't even get to choose. You and Alan chose the dress I could wear, while the brat got to choose her costume. And she ripped it, but I bet nobody said boo about it." Deri looked annoyed.

"It was just a stupid party," she said snidely. "Who cares?" I do.

"And let's not talk about the party. I bet Deri's Sweet Sixteen will be freaking awesome." Dad rubbed his head, Deri rolled her eyes, and Mom... just sat there. It's a pain not to be able to see her face. I shook my head. "And the whole 'of course we don't play favorites, we treat you equally.' Do even you guys believe that anymore? You know, this summer was going pretty well. I really thought that---well, it doesn't matter. Deri's back and nothing's changed."

"What did you think, Lys?" Dad asked. I shook my head again. "Lys."

"I thought that you were starting to see me. You asked real questions, you were interested in what I was doing. But now the questions I get are routine. 'How was your day? Work go ok? Good. Let's hear another fascinating half an hour about Deri's thrilling conversations about idiot stuff and what she's going to do with her friends."

"At least I have friends, loser," she shot at me, and I turned swiftly and had my hand raised to slap her. I realized what I was doing just in time, though, and stepped back.

"You're not worth getting into trouble for," I snapped, and left.

I wondered what had happened at camp as I stomped up the stairs. Two months away and she was insufferable. Before, she at least always tried charm first, and she'd been sensitive about what had happened. Whatever. I went out the window to my happy place.

I'd been tempted a couple of times to tell Deri about how awesome it was out here on the roof, but I didn't want to be responsible if she slipped on it. And times like these made me grateful that it was only me seeing the stars. Ok, well, it wasn't dark enough for that, it was just getting on to twilight. But I stayed out, drowsing, letting the hurt dribble out of me. The boldest stars started to glimmer and I felt a little better. I know that the light is billions of years old, that it comes from dying or dead stars, but I just love the starlight. It helps me feel more connected to the universe, it's kind of reassuring that in the grand scheme of things, my disappointments and hurts aren't anything. I sat up and leaned against the chimney, preparatory to going back inside, when some movement on the treeline drew my attention.

Holy crap, that was one big owl. No, wait. What the hell? I leaned forward and watched as a bird person flew around the orchard. Was that Hawkwoman? No, the wings were beating and hers only changed angles. The figure did a playful serpentine through the trees and my jaw dropped. The next time she turned in my direction, I stood up and waved. The figure drew up, hovering briefly, before flying over and settling on the roof next to me.

"Hi, Grandma," I said.

"Lys, baby," she said, stroking my hair. "How'd you get up here?" Grandma Alex looked around.

"My room's right over there, and the windows are large enough to get out of, the screens retract so that the winter storms don't damage them. There's a large ledge running around, the stone edges on the corners are prominent, it's easy to climb up onto the roof. I thought your wings were gone."

"I just never said that I still had mine," she said. "Let people assume what they want."

"Can I...?" I waved my hand and she smiled and wrapped her wings around herself. "That is so cool," I said, astonished, and touched the soft feathers.

"They're a lot like bat wings, it turns out," she said. "Except that they have feathers." And as if on cue, one drifted away and landed on the roof. I squatted carefully to pick it up. "Grr. I hate molting."

"Can I keep it?"

"Sure, honey, just don't say where you got it. I need to keep the secret. So what brings you out on a lovely night like this one? I'm personally just stretching my wings."

I found myself telling her all my troubles. She's a great listener. "You couldn't pay me enough to be a teenager again," she said, shaking her head. "I've got a few thoughts, if you'd like to hear them." I nodded. "Younger siblings are uniformly a pain in the ass a lot, but part of that is because they look up to their older siblings. We just don't always appreciate it." A sour smile twisted my lips. "She wouldn't have asked for your help if she didn't think what you did wasn't amazing. Is that too many negatives in there?" She sighed. "It's just been a long day. For what it's worth, I think you going to a new school is a great idea, a fresh start. You might want to consider going by a new nickname there. Wayne isn't an uncommon name, and if you ask, the school will probably use it in the classroom records. It'll give you some distance." We chatted a bit about my parents, and she urged some patience. "They're only human, doing the best they can. They wear a lot of hats. And being a parent isn't easy itself. I'm on my second go around and Damian and I aren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, and we have a lot of experience. Before I go, though, can I see your room?"

"If you're quiet," I teased a little. "Deri's across the hall and I don't want her knowing where I go." Grandma laughed and we walked down to the edge. I tucked my feather into my shirt for safe keeping and swung down, Grandma watching, then she followed. She looked around when she got in.

"This is wonderful," she said softly, looking around. I showed her the little special parts, explaining how her dad was going to make the window seat into a storage unit, and she smiled, complimented everything, then stroked my hair again and told me it was going to all work out, then launched herself out the window. My grandma is even cooler than I thought. I stroked the feather once more and carefully placed it in my vanity drawer.

Chapter Text

The next day was my half day, and the manager on duty gathered us for a huddle before we opened. "When the contestants come in, we can cut their fabric, ring them up, but we're not supposed to offer help," he said. He patted my shoulder. "Lys here did a great job with customer service yesterday, but some of the other contestants complained that the one she helped had an unfair advantage." He shrugged. "Any of them could have asked us to check the back room and we would have done so, but they didn't." Ugh. I was glad I'd be off the next time they came in. It was the shopping day with Mom and Aunt Amy, which I wasn't looking forward to as much as I had been. We were going to stop by the high school first to get me registered. I'd already checked out the website and read the dress code. No uniforms, but there were minimal expectations for both boys and girls. I looked at the yearbook and saw that the students wore mostly jeans and slacks, some skirts, and anything from t-shirts to dress shirts. Nothing too ornate, which was nice.

On the way home, I swung past a store and went to Uncle Steve's to drop off a thank-you gift. I'd gotten him some beautiful rich watercolor pencils and a sketchbook. I dropped it off with his directrice, who was happy to pass it along, and I went up to the next floor above where Aunt Emma had her shop. She was working and glad to see me. I explained my errand, and that I'd come here as a customer, looking for some special earrings. I'd decided to treat myself, not having much in the way of nice jewelry, and honestly, I needed a substantial pick-me-up. Aunt Emma popped out from the divider that shielded the safes from the customers, and I went over eagerly. "Let's start with these three," she said. "I think they'd look pretty on you."

One set were fancy-cut amethysts, another pair were peridots, and the last pair was small dangles of enamels. They were really pretty, like little stained glass windows in purples and blues. "It's plique a jour enamel," she explained. "The backing metal is ground off so that the thin metal that makes up the little cells is the only thing keeping the enamel together and the light shines through."

"It's so beautiful," I said, holding them up to my ears and looking in the mirror. She gave me a friends and family discount, making them really affordable. I went home feeling a lot better. When I got home, Deri was down at Van's, so I was able to eat my lunch in peace. Then I went upstairs and installed the curtain rod I'd gotten so that when I found my curtain fabric I'd be ready to go. I went over to Miles' studio and got in some practice time, and spent the rest of the afternoon out on the patio reading a book on sewing that I'd gotten from the library. I went in for dinner only reluctantly.

"How was work, Lys?" Dad asked. I shrugged.

"It was fine, the show that's using the store complained about the help I gave to one of the contestants so now we're not allowed to help even when asked."

"What happened?" Mom asked, and I summarized concisely.

"So unless there are customers who aren't contestants in the store, we'll be at the registers for checkout or on the cutting tables or in the back room. That's probably going to cause a ruckus too, because Casey and Matt have seen some of the contestants hiding fabric that other ones might want to use. We put them back when we see things out of order, but it seems like cheating."

Dad shook his head. "It's a shame that a few people have to spoil things. So what is your next project going to be?"

"I'm going to make some bed curtains and throw pillows," I said, more interested. "We're already out of the lining fabric I want to use, so it was good that I bought ahead. I've got fabric for the pillows, though, so I'm ready to go there."

"Planning ahead, Lys," Dad said in approval.

"Oh, before I forget, Deri, a decorator is coming on Monday to talk to you about your room," Mom said, and my good mood took a hit. Deri looked smug. "And Lys, here." I took the chip she gave me. "It's the sum we've agreed to pay to have Deri's room done. You can spend it on more things for your room or save it, or spend it as you wish. And don't forget we're getting you registered tomorrow--"

"Public school," Deri muttered, and I rolled my eyes.

"And then we'll meet Amy and go shopping for your clothes and supplies."

"What?" Deri demanded, getting to her feet.

"Lys won't be wearing uniforms, she needs things to wear to school," Mom said, and it was my turn to smirk.

"I want to go too," Deri said immediately. "I can skip going with Van."

"You've already made commitments and I expect you to honor them," Mom said firmly. "In any case, this trip is for Lys. Your uniforms are the same for this year, and you have sufficient clothing already."

"But--" Deri tried.

"No, Deri." This was Dad, and I was kind of surprised. People don't generally tell Deri no flat out. "You have plans that you were excited for just two minutes ago. Your sister is older than you are and needs thing that you don't, and these plans have been made for some time. You don't have to go everywhere Lys does." Deri sat down, sulking, and Mom and Dad talked until Alan called us to dinner.

After tea and cookies I went up to my sewing room to cut out the fabric for my pillows. I cut the fabric carefully to minimize the waste, put the fabric face to face, and put the piping between the two layers, pinning as I went so that the tape that the piping was attached to wouldn't show when it was all sewed. I'd gotten a few more tips at work for making my work better. I was sewing slowly, using a different foot on the sewing machine to really snug up to the piping (one of the tips), when the door opened and Deri came in.

"So this is where you're hiding," she remarked, looking around. "Why don't you get a decent room? We've got guest rooms."

"I like it here. And besides, we often have guests who will need the guest rooms. What do you want?"

"Wanted to see what you were doing. I might want to sew too."

"Don't be a copy cat, Deri. Besides, you don't have the attention span." She frowned at me and started going through the fabrics I'd carefully folded and placed on the shelves. "Don't touch my stuff." And we had a little argument, but I prevailed and she left. I finished up the night with one pillow completed--and my hand stitching was getting better too--and the pieces for two more ready to go later. I neatened up, turned off the lights, and went to my room, placing the pillow on the window seat before curling up there and opening the windows. I'd decided that Grandma was right and it wouldn't be a bad idea to try a new nickname. The new school was a chance for me to reinvent myself, be a new person. Maybe I could create an alter ego for myself, smarter, cooler, better with people, more competent, and less loser-y than the real me. But what could it be? Lys was already my nickname, so... Sip? Sipee? No. Pee, Gods, no. Alex? No, there was already an Alex Wayne, the one and only, even if I'd been named after her. Lex? Lexa? Lexie? Naw, I didn't want the L to start both nicknames. Andra? I considered that one. Andra Wayne. I just didn't like it. I was running out of options, though. Dra. Ra. D. An. Ann? I rolled that one through my brain. Anna.

Anna Wayne. That sounded nicely anonymous. That could be anybody. I tapped my fingers on the windowsill as I thought about who she could be. Her style would be better than mine. Different colors, definitely, more style-forward. I had a thought and went to the computer, asking for elective choices at Hell's Kitchen High; I'd already selected some to request when I went to register, but that was before Anna. I had to take English, math--trigonometry this semester and precalculus in the spring, and history, the parents were demanding chemistry this year, four semesters of a language (I was thinking about petitioning this since I spoke pretty fluent archaic Greek, the legacy of the summers spent on Themyscira) and a year of gym, but I got credit for my ballet classes and that requirement was already taken care of. There were so many electives. Mythology? Ha, no. Journalism? Well, Anna might be interested, but we needed to work with my skill set and I didn't like poking around in other people's business. Business, no. I had a family full of people I could consult if I needed advice, and it wasn't something I was interested in, career-wise. Anna might be interested in IT. I read course descriptions. There was one on designing, building, securing, and maintaining networks that sounded interesting. This photography class that I'd already decided on would fulfill the cultural education requirements, which was performing or applied arts. I needed one more. International relations sounded interesting.

I went to bed really looking forward to the shopping trip.

Deri was grumpy the next morning, but I didn't pay attention. She'd be distracted with the activities she had planned soon enough. Mom and I also left at the same time Deri went to meet Van and Alan on the driveway, and we took Mom's sleek little two-seat pod in. While I adored my pod, I was anticipating being able to take the driver's class when I was eighteen that would enable me to drive myself. Maybe Uncle Tony could convert my pod to a standard system that permitted either driver mode or AI controlled mode at that time. Then I could borrow a family car and take passengers with me. By then I'd have friends. "I spoke to Alex yesterday," Mom said unexpectedly. "She said she bumped into you in the orchard." I nodded. "She said she'd recommended that you might select a new nickname for school. Are you thinking about that?"

"Yeah," I said, a little warily. "I thought maybe Anna. It's part of my middle name, so it's not entirely different. It still belongs to me, just... new. A fresh start in a new school."

"Anna." She rolled that around in her head. "I like it, and actually, your father and I feel that it might be a good idea to play down your family in light of the kidnapping risk. Your school has good security, but it's also true that it fronts the street, which is unsecured. So a little confusion as to your identity could be beneficial." Well, smack me over with a feather. Actually, with Grandma Alex's feather, that wouldn't even be hard. We arrived at the school and went in. This was registration day for new students, and it turned out that I was the first one to show up. Mom showed my birth certificate and gave the registrar a file that had my vaccination record. There was a momentary wait while my academic records were transferred, then the registrar scanned my classes from last year.

"Ok. Lysippe Wayne. Do you want your teachers to call you Lysippe or is there a nickname you prefer?" Here it goes.

"I'd like to be called Anna," I said, and just like that, Anna Wayne became a reality.

"Ok. Do you have preferences for electives? You've been placed in Honors English and Honors history, trigonometry, and chemistry."

"I was hoping for networking, photography, and international relations, sir," I said tentatively. He looked at his screen and frowned.

"Networking and photography fit in your schedule, but IR meets during your English class. Do you have another preference?" He turned the screen so that we could see available classes. Nothing looked particularly interesting, darn it.

"Look, dear, comparative world religions." I could hear her tone warm, which meant that she was smiling. "You could do well there."

"It's not a religious study, if that's what you're worried about, Anna," the registrar said, mistaking my being done with gods with hesitation. "You'd be learning about different pantheons and monotheistic religions, the tenants of faith, but it's not an attempt to convert anybody, just increase knowledge, understanding, and tolerance. It's actually one of the most popular classes in the school." Well, there were aspects of that that I'd already know, so maybe it would be an easy A. I agreed, Mom paid my fees, I got my student ID and my fingerprint recorded, and I was given my locker number along with a map of campus, a list of school supplies, and my schedule. After thanking the man for his help, we located my locker, which I opened using my fingerprint. Standard locker, two coat hangers and a shelf with ventilation slits top and bottom. It was on the second floor, across from some windows, and fairly centrally located between my classes, so that was good. Then it was shopping time. We were meeting Aunt Amy at the first store, not the Macy's and Saks that we usually went to, but Flip, an upper end store focused on teens and their money.

Aunt Amy was early, and we followed her ping to a display of blouses. "Man, I feel old," she said wistfully. "These are so cute." And they were. An hour later, we had two pairs of jeans that felt amazingly good and looked almost as good, two short skirts (not minis, but a few inches above my knee) several shirts and a few sweaters, a couple pairs of shoes, boots, socks, and some underwear. The only real benefit from not having boobs was that I could wear bralettes, dainty fine fabrics and lace. A couple of new nightgowns because my room was upgraded. Then we went to Whiplash, the other similar-quality teen-driven store, and got three more pairs of jeans, three pairs of slacks in black, gray, and navy, a couple of longer skirts, a few more blouses and sweaters, a leather jacket in a soft green, a few more pairs of cute shoes. We dumped everything in the pod before going to a restaurant for a late lunch.

"How did registration go, Lys?" Aunt Amy asked after we ordered.

"Good," I said, feeling positive about it. "I got most of the classes I wanted, and the other class I ended up with is comparative world religion, which shouldn't be too bad. My locker is in a good place."

"She's changing her identity a bit," Mom said. "She's asked them to call her Anna in class."

Aunt Amy smiled at me. "Anna. Huh. I like it. It's kind of a blank canvas name. Do you want to be called that all the time?"

"Not necessarily. I just don't want the baggage of being Lys at school. I'll be answering to both." I was hoping to keep Anna kind of a pristine identity until my new classmates knew me as that and Lys, with all her issues, just wouldn't be a problem. "I just really don't want Deri knowing about it yet. I want to establish myself, not be the dumpster fire. Hopefully my new friends will understand the reasons and not feel like I'm being deceptive. She'd spread the word, not really knowing" or caring, probably "why I want this."

"Your sister is being a little... willful," Mom allowed, and Aunt Amy's eyes opened wide at this criticism too. "She needs a little time to remember that she's not free to act however she wants." And with that, the subject was dropped but I felt even better. The final stop was just a couple blocks away, so we walked.

To Uncle Steve's atelier. Where we were expected. "Thanks for the sketchbook and pencils, Lys," he said. "That was an unexpected pleasure, but I enjoyed helping you with the draperies. How'd they turn out?" So I showed him pictures of the room and he was kindly complimentary. And then I was taken to a small room where I undressed and was scanned for the creation of a personal dress form, and measured precisely by one of the craftswomen working there. Then I dressed again and went out, where Uncle Steve was talking to Mom and Aunt Amy. When I joined them, he showed me samples of beautiful, lustrous fabrics, and dress patterns, and we decided on a peacock blue raw silk for a dress with a straight skirt, shawl collar, v-neck, and three quarter length sleeves, and a rich silk and wool blend in black for an A-line skirt with two elegant silk blouses, one in raspberry and one in a peridot green.

"That looks like the earrings that Aunt Emma has," I said involuntarily, and mentioned that I'd gotten the enamel earrings.

"Good eye, Lys," Uncle Steve said, and after a little more chatting, hugged him goodbye. But we didn't return to the car. We went upstairs.

"You had a point when you said that you weren't equipped like a typical teenager, and it's also true that Lysippe Wayne has social expectations," Mom said. "So a couple of pairs of earrings that are pretty but not too precious that are appropriate for a young woman should get you started."

We left Aunt Emma's with the peridot earrings in gold, small octagonal rhodolite garnet earrings in silver; their rich deep pink color would look good with my new blouse, some thin stackable silver rings, some with texture and some plain, a narrow gold Byzantine chain, and a small diamond pendant on a white gold chain. I could wear the chain with or without the diamond. I was dazed when we left. Aunt Amy thanked Mom for letting her come along, and there were hugs all around before she departed.

"Thanks, Mom," I said once we got back into the pod.

"I realized that you were correct, in fact, that your father and I don't acknowledge you equally with your sister," she said after a few moments. "It isn't because we don't love you, it's more that Deri demands interaction and you don't. But we are very proud of your accomplishments and your drive. I can't make up for the party, but I can address your complaints now. And make sure that you have what you need and want for school that's appropriate for someone your age." She sighed. "It seems like just a few years ago that you were starting school, but here you are in high school. I haven't paid enough attention to the passage of time."

"I appreciate it, I really do," I said. "And I know people are sick of hearing me harp about the party, and yeah, in the great scheme of things it's not a big deal, but it kind of devastated me and it's not something that just disappears after a couple of months."

"I am realizing just how profoundly it affected you. And again, I am sorry for not taking it more seriously. I didn't realize you had to quit your social media accounts."

"Well, people probably would have unfriended me after the fun of.... teasing me wore off, so I just got ahead of everything." She nodded, and we stopped at a store to get my school supplies and the bank so that I could deposit the funds Dad had given me. I stuffed the receipt in my purse and we set off again. The thing about the decorator still rankled me, but I was also feeling diverted by my new clothes. I couldn't wait to get them home, try them on, play with combinations. And Deri was at her sleepover, so she couldn't burst in and ruin it. I could play in peace.

"Anything else, Lys?" Mom asked, and I hesitated. But why not push my luck a little?

"Do you think I could get a couple new leotards? Mr. Cal allows any color in class, he's not as strict as Ms Kerry, and I'm awfully tired of pale pink." Mom smiled, and we stopped at a dance store. I came out with a mid-purple one with a solid body and sleeves with sheer fabric over the shoulders and two bands on the arms, a green sleeveless halter top leo with cutouts on the back, a black cap sleeved one with twin clusters of straps gathered together at the center of the back in two places, and a second black tank style that had the back made of a geometric flower patterned mesh. I also had a couple of colorful shrugs to wear during warmups and a couple new dance skirts.

Most amazing day. Ever.

Mom helped me carry things into my room. "This is such a pleasant room," she said. "I know that you're upset with Deri getting a designer to do her room, but I can't imagine that you'd want to do this over."

"No," I said, a little grudgingly, because I had really enjoyed doing it. And told her that Grandpa Henry was coming over next week to convert my window seat.

"Clever," she said, then patted my shoulder and left me to sort my stuff out. I started with the school stuff, it was pretty much the same stuff I'd gotten for freshman year, and put all that away neatly. Three weeks before school started, I didn't want to think about it more than I had to, with or without the armor of Anna. I smiled as I put my new jewelry in their boxes neatly in the drawer of my vanity, rearranging the bottle of perfume and the atomizer on the mirrored tray just a little, brushing my hair smooth with the silver-backed brush, then putting it back in its place. Then I dove into everything else, snapping off tags with reckless abandon, taking shoes out of boxes, stuffing the trash into the bags before taking them down to the recycle bins. I found Alan in the kitchen, working on dinner. I hadn't realized that it was so late.

"How was your shopping, Miss Lys?" he asked as I dumped the bags.

"It was awesome, thank you for asking." I hesitated. "Alan, I'd like to apologize if I hurt your feelings. I do want to learn how to take care of myself, I won't always have an ace butler around, but I think I was kind of mean about it. It's just that you always seem to take my mom's side."

He stopped his preparation and turned to look at me. "It is not my intention to take sides, Miss Lys, but I can see where you would feel like I do. I am a parent myself and I find myself responding in that manner without perhaps making it clear to you that I am also here for you. And your point about not always having a butler to hand is well taken." He smiled at me. "You certainly seem to have a talent for creating and maintaining a calm, but interesting and cozy space for yourself. Perhaps the next thing you could tackle would be clothing and shoe maintenance. I could show you how I do things." I smiled.

"I'd like that. Thank you." He smiled back.

"We'll make sure you're well prepared for your next steps once you've graduated from high school, Miss Lys. And thank you for explaining your concerns with me. I would hate to be at odds with you." Then he gave me a cookie and shooed me off.

Chapter Text

Sunday I went to work for my half day, then spent some time in my sewing room finishing the cushions. Deri had had a really good time and had elected to ignore my shopping trip, which was fine with me. I worked all day on Monday, so I missed the designer coming. Not sorry about that. Deri was a little disappointed; the designer had taken the dimensions of the room, talked to Deri about what she wanted, Deri had shown her the pictures but had been told that while those ideas wouldn't work in her room, the designer promised that she'd love the end result. Deri had to be happy with that. The contestants came into the store, and I was put on the cutting table. Twitchy Guy apologized when I was cutting his fabric. "I hope you didn't get into trouble," he said, and a person I'd been told was a producer hustled over to listen to our conversation. I kept my eyes from rolling.

"No, my manager just said that we aren't allowed to do anything for contestants but cut your fabric and ring you up. We'd have helped anybody who asked. If people are too dumb to ask for help when they need it, it's no skin off my nose," I said, and Twitchy laughed. Even the producer grinned for a second before wiping it off his face. "And in the interest of fairness, maybe you didn't know that our clerks have observed some contestants hiding fabric. I don't mean like the time I saw one woman change her mind and dump the bolt that she had on the floor apparently because of the time constraint, I mean taking a bolt and putting it behind others or putting a sheer in with the felts, for example, where nobody would think to look for it," I said to the producer.

The producer frowned and Twitchy looked enlightened. "Can you prove this?" the producer said as I folded the cut.

"Nope, I haven't seen it myself. But other clerks have and Dave and Donna have been dispatched today to keep an eye out, retrieve anything that's been diverted." The producer rubbed his face and charged off as I handed the cut fabric to my customer, who headed over to the register. I turned to the next customer with a smile. Oh, gods, those were ugly color combinations. Well, the guy was a designer, maybe he could work miracles. I cut for a few more contestants, then my smile for the next in line turned into a grin.

Uncle Steve put three bolts of vibrantly colored flannel, new this week, on the cutting table. "Lys, honey, what's all this?" he asked, gesturing to the cameras. "I'd like three yards of each, please. Buck's worn the nap off his favorite flannel shirts but is being stubborn about replacing them." I flipped fabric off the first bolt, explaining the show, and Uncle Steve nodded, enlightened. "I'd heard about it, but I didn't realize they were filming." We chatted about general things as he was recognized and people started staring at him. He hadn't been Captain America since shortly after I was born, but sometimes people still recognized him for that. In a fabric store, though, Steve Rogers, renowned international fashion designer, was huge, like a rock star. After I folded the last length of flannel (Uncle Bucky was going to love them) and pushed them across the table to Uncle Steve, some of the contestants literally couldn't contain themselves and charged over for autographs. He was polite as ever, scrawling his signature on pages from a notepad I silently slid over to him. I motioned the next customer in line over to the side of the table and continued cutting. The other clerks weren't bothered by him at all; he came in sometimes to get fabric for work that didn't go out under his label, like the flannel for Uncle Bucky, cloth for his son Chris--Chris had the same general shape as Uncle Steve, really broad through the shoulders and a narrow waist, making it hard for him to get tailored shirts and jackets that fit. He dealt directly with fabric manufacturers to supply his atelier, but he'd worked here once and made a point of patronizing the store for his other needs. Once everybody left him alone, he'd go find the manager, who had been here for a quarter century and hired him, and say hi. That was one of his most admirable qualities, that he was still a genuinely nice guy even though he was famous on a couple of fronts.

After Uncle Steve and the show people left, we were still busy but it was a lot calmer and work resumed as usual. I told the story at dinner, and my parents were amused. Deri was interested in the cameras and the filming of the show. I wasn't, really, and it frustrated her that I didn't know more details. "I'd ask. It would be fun to be on TV."

I shuddered. "Some of those people are jerks and back-stabbers. I don't think it would be fun at all."

"Not for sewing clothes, just to be on TV, be famous," Deri said. Honestly, I don't understand her sometimes. Then she remembered that she had news of her own and told us about working with the designer. In detail. She shot a few smug looks at me, which I didn't understand. I liked my room.

The rest of the week buzzed along and I was conscious of the summer nearly being over. The pharaoh arrived for his anticipated visit, and because I was interested, Mom had arranged for me to be one of the crowd at the museum when he came by. There was a careful selection of museum officials, including Tony and other directors, city and state officials like the governor, mayor and his PR specialist Aunt Nessa, Uncle Bucky's wife, and some regular citizens like me. The pharaoh wore a long pleated linen skirt, sandals, a wide gold pectoral collar, bracelets, and the well-known blue and white striped nemes head covering held in place with a wide golden band featuring a jeweled cobra called a uraeus. He had a fairly intense god-touch to him, but interestingly not as strong as Mom's. Creepily, the haze that signified the god-touch was concentrated in his eyes, making them kind of glowy. If his gods were responsible for that, then yeah, they were a whole different kettle of fish than the ones I was used to. There were greetings from the mayor and governor, Uncle Tony made some remarks on behalf of the museum. The citizens waited as the pharaoh toured the Egyptian gallery with the officials, and we watched as he was presented with the selection of artifacts from the museum collection. I knew he recognized the god-touched bits by the way his eyes widened, just slightly, as he saw them. So did he see my mom the same way I did? I'd love to ask him, but he seemed, like the Hawkpeople I knew, not really the type to answer questions, even if I was allowed in shouting distance. And did I really want his attention? It was kind of funny to me that the haughty Hawkbrother, in his current guise as Dr Carter Hall, internationally known Egyptologist, seemed kind of cowed by the pharaoh; I'd never seen him deferential. After this presentation, the pharaoh made a little speech, translated by his interpreter, who was wearing a linen dress that was less fine than the linen her boss wore, with a few strands of beads and an amulet around her neck. As she spoke of his pleasure at the reception he was given and the gratitude he felt for the return of these objects, he scanned the crowd with those uncanny eyes, and toward the end of her speech his eyes settled on me. Eep.

But he didn't point me out or denounce me as some kind of freak, which was something I greatly appreciated since there were still a lot of people who were touchy about those who weren't 100% vanilla human. The little ceremony concluded, we clapped and the crowd began to disperse, me scooting along in the middle. I was nearly at the door when my communicator pinged with Mom's request to return. I fixed a pleasant look on my face and went back; a security guard took me to the staff area where the museum personnel were working on the upcoming Egyptian exhibit on the other side of the room. The politicians had taken the opportunity to speak with the press about the pharaoh's visit, and the mayor was already heading for the door. The governor had bigger political aspirations and he was pontificating on the importance of the visit and his pleasure that the pharaoh was seeing one of the jewels of the city before speaking at the UN. Blah blah. Dr Hall, Uncle Tony, and Mom were with the pharaoh and his people. "Pharaoh Ramesses-Ra, this is my daughter, Lysippe Wayne," Mom said, putting an arm around my shoulders. Those weird eyes studied me, flicking to my mother and back.

"Superficially there is not much resemblance, Dr Prince-Wayne," he said, his light tenor heavily accented. I was surprised, given his use of an interpreter, that he spoke English, and fluently. Maybe it was a gift from his gods, and if so, why didn't I get something like that? Greek had been a struggle, even when you're young and it's supposed to be easy to pick up. "In outward appearance, not much, but in the gifts of the gods, it is easy to see. You were blessed by many," he said to my mother. "You by two," he said to me. I frowned.

"I'm pretty sure I only have the one gift," I said, and bit my lip, unsure whether this was too flip. But to my surprise, he smiled.

"Two. That one has six." He studied me. "What is your blessing?" I looked at Mom, who nodded.

"I can see people who are god-touched," I said.

"How do you perceive them?" he asked, and I explained the haze and how he was different.

"Very interesting," he said. "I sense different types of energies, but I do not see them physically. My travels to other lands show me the influence of many other gods, but I have never met another who can also perceive their traces of power. Be cautious, young woman. Not all gods want their influence to be known. And stay away from Egypt; my gods are jealous of such abilities." He turned slightly to one of his people, who opened a surprisingly modern briefcase. "From one to another," he said, turning back to me, extending his hand. I took a necklace composed of three strands of turquoise, lapis, and carnelian beads, held together at intervals with gold spacers. At the center, a plaque with a flowering plant was depicted in enamels. Crucially, it was just a piece of jewelry. "It is a depiction of the papyrus plant in the traditional style. You know it?"

"It's a very useful plant, I understand," I said. "It makes papyrus, of course, but the reeds also make boats, baskets, rope, and can be eaten." We'd had ancient history in eight grade, and we'd learned a lot about Egypt. The pharaoh nodded.

"It is also a symbol of the delta of Lower Egypt, life, and eternity. The papyrus fields are dark and mysterious in nature; several of our important stories of the gods are set in them. They represent light over darkness, the imposition of order on chaos. The balance between the two is of critical importance and my primary duty to my country, its people and its gods."

"Thank you," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"I would tell you to go with the gods, but under the circumstances..." his voice trailed off and he grinned at me. At that moment I remembered that he was only about a dozen years older than me. He carried with him the weight of ages. He turned away, accompanied by Dr Hall, his people trailing after, and soon it was just me with Mom and Uncle Tony.

"Two?" Uncle Tony said alertly, and I shrugged.

"I only use the one," I said. "And at that, his way of perceiving things is a lot better than mine."

"You've been given what the gods want you to have," Mom said sternly. "And the expression which is most useful. To them." And that's the crux of the thing. The gods tend not to be too kind to mortals.

"It's not really useful."

"It is a gift from Athena, the wisest of the goddesses, even the gods," Mom said. "She will have her reasons. But I wonder what the other gift might be."

"Well, I'm not much of a gardener, obviously Deri scooped up the blessing of Aphrodite, I'm not particularly fast, animals don't like me excessively," I said, and shrugged.

"The gods are not usually so straightforward," Mom said. "Obviously this is a more subtle gift."

"You got to meet the pharaoh because of it," Uncle Tony said to me, taking the necklace and putting it around my throat. "And this is quite a souvenir. Better than any I got when I was there."

"And what did you bring home, Uncle Tony?" I asked, and he grinned back at me.

"A lot of sand in my armor and a burning desire to keep my distance," he said promptly, and Mom walked us out, both of them waiting with me at the door until my pod presented itself. "Still like it?"

"More every day," I said, and hugged him and Mom before going outside.

Back home, the decorator was at work. Deri and the parents had approved the design and work was going forward. I wasn't sure what all was going in and wasn't too interested, to be frank. I had time to get changed, putting away the new necklace after examining it more closely--the official seal of the pharaoh was on the back of the papyrus plaque along with his cartouche. Grandpa Henry was due to alter my window seat, and I went down to meet him. We took the elevator back up because he had a lot more gear than I'd anticipated, all in carry-alls, convenient.

Working together, we unscrewed the seat and I held it still as he deftly cut a three-inch slice off the back face. Then we flipped the pieces and he marked out where the hinges were to be, carefully removing a small amount of wood with a chisel in order to let the hinges be flush with the surface of the wood. I screwed in one hinge and he got the other. But before he put the seat back on, he pulled one of the carry-alls over. "I've got some cedar planks in here," he said. "I thought we could line the inside, making it like a cedar chest."

"I love the smell," I said. "Thank you!" The pieces had been precut based on the initial measurements he'd made when making the window seat, so it was a matter of using little nails to attach each board. Then we placed the seat back on and screwed in the back board. I lifted the front and the lovely cedar scent wafted out. We exchanged a smile and I placed the cushion back on. I'd fill the old screwholes later. Then Deri burst in, hugged Grandpa, and pulled him over to her room, chatting about the changes.

"I thought Lys was going to help you," I could hear him say, puzzled.

"Mom and Dad got me a decorator," she bragged, and I put tools back into the carry-alls and tidied up the sawdust. I took bags down to his van, then joined him in Deri's room. The workers had smoothed the walls, filled holes, primed a few places. She was boxing up her things so that the workers could do the painting and everything else over the next couple days. "I'll be staying in one of the guest rooms," she said with pleasure.

"I was looking forward to working with you too, Deri," Grandpa said. "It's too bad you don't need me."

Grandpa for the burn, however slight.

Deri looked taken aback and didn't know what to say. For that matter, I didn't either.

"I took your stuff down and put it in your van, Grandpa," I said after a moment. "Thanks for your help."

"Glad to help, Lys," he said. "Deri, let me know when your room is done and I'll bring Rose over to see it too." Deri brightened and came downstairs with us.

Chapter Text

I went to work and did sewing, mostly, for the next couple of days. I was getting a delightful assortment of pretty throw pillows for my room and I was really feeling a certain level of accomplishment, but I was getting bored and was anxious for school to start again. The decorator was in and out, and once I wandered over to see what was going on. The room had been painted in turquoise, pink, and white, a little bright for my tastes but I wasn't going to be living there and it was pretty. Deri pointed out where new furniture was going and showed me the rug, a blue and white rectangle that I really did like. "I bet it will be really nice," I said. She scowled at me.

"What would you have done?" she asked, a sneer in her voice.

"I was thinking like a bunk bed there, something big and interesting, where you could have Van for sleepovers, if you didn't want a window seat in that narrow nook, there's a great chair in the attic that could be recovered, and Grandpa Henry could have helped build an awesome desk/ bookcase assembly on the other end of the room. I know you're pretty much done playing with your dolls" (she wasn't, but she was also kind of embarrassed about that) "but there could be some shelving here where you could display a couple, then replace them later with whatever other interests you get into."

The decorator pressed her fingers to her temple, and I felt a little sorry for her. Deri looked crestfallen, looking around as I gestured, then got angry. "You should have said something!" I shrugged.

"You were the one who was all about having a professional decorator come in," I said cuttingly. "You didn't want to listen when I shot down your first ideas, and you expected me not only to do the work but also pay for it. Your loss." I turned and went back to my room.

I'd gotten some "candles" that collected light and used it to power the candles and I arranged them (hopefully) prettily on the vanity. I was really looking forward to the fall when it got cooler and I could light the real candles in the fireplace. I'd tried once in July but they put out a measurable amount of heat. I thought they were romantic and added to the ambience. But looking around, I thought that it did look a little impersonal. Maybe some kind of art on the walls? There was art up in the attic, but it was in its own locked, climate controlled room, the work of masters through the centuries. Not exactly what I wanted for my walls. I'd have to think about it. Meanwhile, on my next day off, (the next day, actually) I was going back to Mr Cal's for an audition for roles in our (very abridged) version of The Nutcracker. Miles had worked with me to develop an audition piece; he'd actually talked to one of the soloists in his company who'd been happy to give him some choreography from their version that he'd modified (Miles looked a lot like his dad and never lacked for female attention.) It was a little more difficult than what I was used to, but I wanted to stand out. Deri would be evaluated by one of the other teachers for her placement at the school at the same time. I chose the leotard I wanted to wear and tried on both pairs of Peterovs to see if I could get one more performance out of either one. My first pair felt a little more close to failure, but there was still some dancing left in them. Then I went outside for the rest of the afternoon; it was too nice to be cooped up indoors even with the window open. There hadn't been any more kidnappings and I was getting bored with the restrictions my parents had put on me. I thought about asking them to ease up a little.

At the cocktail hour, Mom and Dad sipped their drinks as they listened to Deri complain about her room and blame me somehow for not insisting on helping. Right. I rolled my eyes. Dad sighed. "I did get a call from the decorator," he said. "Deri, you had your chance to get what you wanted, and you agreed with the decorator's vision. You wanted something grown up, and that's what you got."

"But it's not fun!" she protested. Dad took a big gulp of his whiskey.

"Honey, what did you describe?" he asked me wearily.

"Bunk beds; the bottom one comes out into the room, while the top platform has the bed at right angles to the bottom one, accessed by a staircase rather than a ladder," I said. "The stairs could contain drawers, paint them white with color on the risers. Put padded panels at the head and the side on the wall, and she and her little friends can use it as a couch when there's not a sleepover. Some shelves with decorative corbels, a big desk unit with integrated bookshelves that could double as an area for her craft projects. There's a big overhead lighting fixture upstairs that has a big glass shade; she could have painted birds or something on it." I shrugged. "But I'm not a professional."

"Oh, shit," he muttered.

"That does sound fun," Mom said, a little wistfully. I shrugged again.

"She had her chance," I said briskly. "And Grandpa Henry had carved out some space in his schedule to help, but once he heard that you guys had hired a professional, he accepted another commission and he doesn't have the time." He'd described the piece, a bank of cabinets for a small luxury apartment that contained a Murphy bed as well as the closet, storage, bookshelves, and a desk. It was going to take a lot of time to do with all the small components. Deri produced a huge pout.

"She said that the furniture she was going to use was standard, not special order and could be returned," Dad said, and I rolled my eyes.

"You're kidding, right?" I said testily. "You're not really giving in on this, are you?"

"Honey, it does sound a lot more fun," Dad said.

"Gods, isn't anybody going to say no to her? Ever?" I asked incredulously. Deri smirked at me.

"The designer asked for just a couple of sketches," Dad said.

"No," I said immediately. "For one, I only had a general idea. And second, I can't understand why Deri gets so much indulgence. These changes are only creating more work for the designer, and it was set to be done this weekend. Built-ins mean a rise in the noise level, and school starts next week." Shit. Apparently my desire to rub Deri's nose in what I could have done has backfired in a bad way. Why does Karma seem to backslap only me?

"That's ok," Deri said eagerly. "She can work off that description."

"I'll talk to her tomorrow," Dad said, and I glared at him. "If she can work so that the noisy parts are done while you're at school, it should be doable. Lys, honey, we want both of you to be happy."

"What you're doing is creating a spoiled brat," I said hotly. "You guys should adult up and deal with the whining. She got what she wanted, she "won", in whatever game she thought she was playing. She should have to live with what she chose."

"Lys, you get what you want too," Mom said. "We just went shopping where you were allowed to select your wardrobe."

"In what universe is a sixteen year old getting to choose her own clothes an enormous indulgence? And I haven't changed my mind and demanded all sorts of changes. I haven't called up Uncle Steve and caused a ruckus."

"Wait, you went to Uncle Steve's?" Deri said, frowning again. "You're getting custom clothes?"

"A few pieces," Mom jumped in, eager to head off another tantrum. "Lys takes care of her clothes, unlike you, Deri. You're quite hard on your garments." Mom shot me a look for stirring up the hornet's nest. Well, tough.

"But I needed clothes for school," I said, frowning myself. "That's not the same thing as a makeover of a bedroom, which is entirely optional."

"Lys, dear," Mom said through gritted teeth.

"No. So there's what Deri needs, then what she wants and what I need are on the same level, apparently. Well, thank the gods that I did my room myself, because my wants are apparently nor to be indulged," I fumed. "You'd never have hired a decorator just for me."

"You're talented enough that we didn't have to," Dad tried to placate me, but he just riled up Deri some more.

"Lys, your wants are indulged plenty," Mom said. "You got earrings that you wanted, you take dance lessons, you keep your job even though your safety is more at risk."

"Oh, wow, I didn't think that a couple of pairs of semi-precious earrings were such an indulgence in a family worth a trillion dollars," I shot back. "And the dance lessons--Deri gets them too. And now you're saying that my work ethic is an indulgence?"

"Oh, my god," Dad muttered, massaging his forehead with both hands. "Lys, just.... this isn't the time. I'm very proud of your work ethic."

"Lysippe, this tirade isn't becoming," Mom said. "I expect better from you."

"Why don't you expect better conduct from Deri, then? But the baby can throw all the temper tantrums she wants. Nice double standard," I sniped. Then I got up and stalked out. (It really wasn't a flounce at all.) Alan, coming up from the kitchen, looked at me with a certain degree of compassion and reminded me that one of the doors to the outside was in the kitchen. I stomped down the hall, shoved some of the succulent roasted pork loin in a bread roll, put a handful of baby carrots in a napkin, and exited, going into the woods to the folly that the original owners had installed. Over time, the columns had tumbled, making it picturesque as hell. Nobody visited it much because that's all there was to the area, which was perfect for my (fully justified) sulk.

I sat on a column stump and ate, listening to the insects hum and buzz, and calmed down. There's nothing like a late summer day, twilight creeping up, the air warm and soft, and solitude to make me feel better. The only time of year I really liked better was mid-autumn, when all the trees were changing colors and the afternoon light was warm and thick, like honey. But after I'd calmed down some, I brushed the crumbs off and wandered off, ending up in the gazebo, remembering when I came here for a picnic with Aunt Amy. Maybe I should call her. I missed our lunches. I sat there watching ducks on the pond. I loved the wildlife on the estate. I heard footsteps on the stairs and looked over to see my cousin Iris, coming over with a water bottle and a reader.

"Hey, Lys," she said, coming over for a hug. "How's your summer been going?"

"Overall, pretty good," I said.

"Miles told me about your job. That sounds fun."

"For the most part, but I'm looking forward to school starting. How's your summer been?"

"Busy, I was interning at Valkyrie with Aslyn. It's really interesting, but I'm also looking forward to going back to school. I'll be living on campus this year." Her pretty face, a daintier version of Miles and their dad, brightened up.

"Lucky," I muttered, and when she prompted me, spilled about Deri.

"Ugh," Iris said with distaste. "I hate rich princess types. But your room sounds cool. Can I come by sometime to see it?"

"Yeah, of course." And we chatted a bit. Then I heard my dad shouting my name and made a face. She patted my shoulder.

"Courage," she said, standing up with me and giving me a quick hug. I slogged off to meet my father.

He studied me as I came up to him. "Did you get some dinner?" I nodded. He sighed. "Lys, honey, right now things are a little difficult. Your mom is going off next week for a couple of weeks for her work at the museum, and I'm going to be having some late nights at the office getting a merger ready. Next month I've got to go to New Babylon for the paperwork, the signing, all that. There's also some league business for your mom; the UN has asked Wonder Woman to be a UNESCO Special Ambassador promoting culture and development in the service of peace, respect and human dignity. And we've got some movement on the Avengers team, some retirements coming up and slots on the team to fill. It's just easier right now to let Deri have her way on this particular thing."

"Except that it's not just this one thing. She's been pulling this crap steady since she got back from camp. I don't know what happened there, but it sure wasn't improving for her. And I'm not getting cut the same slack. Or is Mom up confronting Deri?" Dad was silent. "I don't even know why you bothered to have two kids. It's obvious that Deri's your favorite. I don't know even what I did."

"Lysippe, listen to me. We love you very much. You're a different person from your sister, quieter, more introspective. I respect that and I think that you're mature for your age. But I also expect more of you because you're older. Look, when I get back next month--"

"There'll be something else," I said dully. "There's always something else." We reached the house and I went inside and up the stairs to my room. I poked around, straightening things, making sure that the dance clothes I wanted to wear were clean and ready. Since they were new, yeah. My door opened and Deri came in.

"Knock first, and get out," I snapped.

"Can I see your earrings?" she asked, and rather than waste my breath on a negative, pulled a Nerf water pistol out of my bookcase and shot her a few times. She sucked in her breath in disbelief at the big spots of water on her midsection.

"Get out. Don't come in without knocking and receiving express permission," I said, and when I pulled the slide back again, she left without an argument.

That made me feel a little better.

The next morning I dressed in my audition outfit, packed my bag, and had a light breakfast. Mom came in as I was heading out. "Where are you going, Lys?" she asked. "I thought we were going to the studio together."

"I'm going to work afterward," I said coolly. "I got a call last night asking me to cover Candace's shift, she's got a family emergency." She stood there a moment.

"Well, good luck on your audition, dear," she said, sounding slightly defeated. "I'll see you at the studio." I turned away and heard her shouting for Deri.

"So what's up, Lys?" AI Tony asked as we started off down the driveway. "You seem down, but you were really looking forward to the audition." Sometimes it feels like the AI unit of my pod is the only one really interested in me, and wasn't that just pathetic. I told him about the upset last night.

"And school starts next week. It's still going to be hard, even if I have a new nickname, starting over, finding friends. What if Anna is as crap as Lys is?" The little AI figure pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Look, Lys, you're not crap. You're laboring under some handicaps, is all," he said, and proceeded to give me a very vigorous pep talk. I was glad to pull up to the studio to halt it, actually. "Can't wait to hear how you do," he said bracingly, giving me a thumbs up as the door lifted. I exited hastily and the pod rolled away. I dropped my bag in the changing room and went to the studio to warm up and stretch.

"Good, glad you're prompt, Lys," Mr Cal said as he came in with a pad that would record the audition. "So what music would you like to dance to?"

"Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy," I said with a smile, and he pulled up the audio file I'd sent and sat back. I wasn't going to be so bold, but Miles said why not go for it, make it clear what I wanted, so I did. He had some notes and corrections for me, and I ran through it again, incorporating his notes as best as I could, and he nodded thoughtfully when I finished.

"Nice work, Lys," he said, and I dropped a little curtsy and went to change. I could hear faint music in one of the other studios as I left. I felt a lot better after the performance and got to work early. I spent the time poking around, hoping to find some fabric I liked for the bed curtains, but I was coming up empty. No rush, though, it was still summer and too hot to be enclosing myself in the bed nook.

Chapter Text

I felt a lot more tranquil after work and stopped at an ice cream store for a treat. Nothing says great job than a glob of rich, delicious premium ice cream. When I paid for it, the receipt from the bank deposit fell on the floor and I glanced at it on the way to the garbage can, then stopped dead. Nine thousand dollars for a freaking kids bedroom??????? My parents were freaking nuts. I went out to my pod feeling stunned and kind of pissed. I'd spent several hundred on mine (so far), which didn't include paint or the upholstery, but still. And the clothes that we'd gotten on the school shopping trip didn't come close to a thousand. It was pushing it to that threshold with the jewelry, and I didn't know what Uncle Steve was charging, but it couldn't be eight thousand dollars, I knew from the media that his pricing for couture was quite reasonable and he always gave the women in our family a little break because they were photographed in his clothes a lot. And that wasn't including the costs from the revisions to the design. I snorted, then licked my cone quickly to avoid drips. I went outside, my pod pulled up, and I'd finished the ice cream by the time we pulled up to Weller Craig, a jeweler well known for their striking designs. I walked out with a beautiful round tanzanite in a dainty ring sugared with tiny sparkly diamonds.

And on the way back home, we detoured to a woodworker's supply store, where I bought two locks for the drawers on my vanity and desk. Not that I had anything in the desk that needed to be locked up, it was the principle of the thing. Now that Deri knew I had nice things, she'd go trespassing. The guy very kindly helped me select a lock that was both sturdy and not hard to install and told me how to do it. I bought a chisel, a drill, and the special screwdriver needed for the screws. I also found a silver toned slide bolt latch that would keep Deri out when I was in my room.

Turned out to be too little, too late. When I opened my door, I found her sitting at my vanity, trying on the garnet earrings. Everything else was out of the drawer. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked in disbelief.

She spun around and tried a bright, panicky smile. "You're home early!"

"I'm not," I said grimly, scowling at her. Ok, it might have been more of an outraged shout. "Take out my earrings. Now."

"I was just trying them on," she said as she hastily removed them and slapped them on the vanity. "I wasn't going to take them."

"They're mine, you little creep, and you ask before coming in here and putting your grubby paws on my stuff. STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!" I grabbed her ear and pulled her up, then gave her a shove out the door, slamming it shut, then dragging the dainty vanity chair over to wedge under the doorknob.

I was so mad that it took several minutes to calm down, but my temper flared up again when I saw that she'd gotten all my things out of the vanity and had apparently tried everything on; even the clasp for the ugly pearl necklace was open. My earrings and the opal ring Aunt Amy had given me for that disastrous birthday were laying carelessly on the table. The little diamond had come off the chain. As I watched, the pharaoh's necklace slithered off and fell on the floor. She'd pitched a fit over the gift when she'd found out about it. And Grandma's feather was in the trash, a little worse for wear. I picked it out and smoothed it down, then closed the clasps for the necklaces, cleaned the earring posts, and put everything back in their boxes. Then I got one of the locks, followed the instructions precisely, and in half an hour, I had successfully installed the lock on the drawer, wiping up the sawdust with a damp cloth. I smiled, feeling victorious, as I turned the key smoothly both ways, then replaced the boxes and locking the drawer again, adding my new ring. Mom would probably have a fit, but they'd said I could spend the money as I pleased. It took even less time to install the second lock since I was familiar with the process now, then it was on to the slide bolt. I had to remove the chair, but that was ok since I was seeing to my security. That was easy too, and I felt a lot of accomplishment as I tidied up and put away my new tools on a shelf. Maybe I should get a container for them too, that way they'd be organized and neat. And I needed something for the Egyptian necklace; I could sew a pouch to keep it protected. I had that velvet that would be really pretty....

I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my room and bathroom, finding the perfect hiding spot for the drawer keys, and went up to my sewing room, where I made the little pouch out of the remnants from my pillow-making, lining it with some of the gray satin I'd used on some of my pillows. I made it a drawstring bag and would need to get cord to put through the casing, but it was really pretty and would protect the delicate beads and enamel. Not that I expected them to get damaged sitting in my drawer with little velvet boxes, but it was an important piece. I felt a lot better when I went down to pre-dinner.

As expected, Deri tattled on me, but she didn't get the support she was clearly expecting. "While Lys could have been calmer, you have no right to go into her room without her permission and go through her things, Derinoe," Mom said sternly. I kept my jaw from dropping just in time, but Deri didn't. "You must consider how you'd feel if your sister did the same thing to you."

"If I had nice things like that, I wouldn't have to look at hers," Deri said defiantly.

"I found the necklace that the pharaoh gave me on the floor," I told Mom. "The little diamond pendant was off the chain and I had to look around for a couple of the earring backs."

"You will not be given expensive jewelry if you don't treat it with respect, Deri," Dad said. "If you want to be given more responsibilities and privileges, you have to earn them with your conduct." Then to head off Deri, who was drawing breath, asked me quickly, "How did your audition go, Lys?"

"Pretty well, I think," I said, pleased that he'd remembered. "He gave me some notes and I ran through it again, so we'll see when he makes his decision."

"How about you, Deri?" Dad asked.

Her pout increased tremendously. If she started walking, she could trip over that lip. "I don't think I want to take dancing anymore," she said, tossing her head. I blinked. She loved performing.

"Cal won't allow her into his pointe class," Mom said. "Deri, you didn't do the work, so you don't deserve it."

"Whatever," Deri said sulkily. "I don't know anybody in that school anyway."

"Well, that's your choice," Dad said after a moment. "I'm not going to make you go if you don't want to. What do you think you want to replace it with? You need to develop well-rounded interests, Deri."

"I don't know."

"Well, give it some thought. Maybe there'll be an activity in school that catches your eye. Otherwise we'll find something for you." Deri looked a little worried. I covered my smirk by sipping my club soda.

The next few days, the last of summer, flew by. I finally found the perfect fabric for my bed curtains, a soft white with little sprigs of lavender and violets on it. It was a nice weight and the purples were perfect with my wall color. I found it when replacing the fabrics, and there was just enough left for my project. I would have high-fived myself, but that would have looked silly. I'd work on it next weekend as a reward for completing the first week of school, it would give me plenty of time get them done before it actually got cold. I remembered the time when I was in first grade that the insulation on the exterior walls had been replaced, the windows just before I started middle school, but inexplicably there were still drafts occasionally.

Monday came too fast/not fast enough. I was eager to get started, but at the same time kind of queasy nervous. I'd spent time Sunday memorizing the diagram of the school so I knew where everything was and how to best get from class to class. There was a parking garage connected to the school with an aerial walkway, so getting in and out of my pod was more secure than going around to the front. The parking fee had been part of my school fees and Dad really liked that aspect. I thought I'd see how the food was, so I didn't bring a lunch with me. I packed my backpack the night before, nervously rechecking it twice before I told myself to just stop. The next day, I put on one of the short skirts with a cute top and sandals, ate a light but filling breakfast, and set off. AI Tony was enthusiastic, wished me luck as we pulled into the parking garage, and then there I was. I summoned up my courage and went through the walkway into the school, where I took extra materials out of my backpack and kind of loitered, looking to see if other kids took their backpacks to class with them. There were ten minutes between each class, which should be more than sufficient to get from class to class, even if you needed to pause at your locker. Finally, sick of dithering, I took my tablet and went to my first class, trigonometry. I was torn, since I wasn't sure whether it was better to get the worst over first or whether it would just make me want to skip school. Not that AI Tony would be on board with that option.

At the end of first period, I had the uneasy feeling that I was going to hate trig even more than algebra.

But fortunately the rest of classes promised to be more interesting. We were going to start with Beowulf in English, and Comparative World Religions might actually be the winner of the bunch. Ms Romano had surveyed the packed class and smiled. "I have thirty-five students enrolled in this class. The other five periods I teach have no fewer than thirty students each, which is a lot since the class size in this school is about twenty students. Over a hundred eighty students, almost one ninety. But I'm always heartened to see the interest that kids have for this subject. Each and every one of you has a different conception and understanding of religion. This is based not only on your personal beliefs, which vary from person to person even within a belief system, to your knowledge of other religions, and your misconceptions about specific belief systems. And now we know for certain that gods exist, and that there isn't just your particular god, or just your pantheon. That kind of knowledge can actually be a little scary. It's not just a matter of belief in a god anymore. Some people have been dismayed to find that their conception of an afterlife is not at all what they were expecting, for example.

"Now, it's impossible to talk about and study each and every religion. This is a survey class, and we're going to focus on many of the biggest religions. I teach a second year of this topic every other year, so if you're interested, I cover less popular religions in that one, and I'm also available for independent study. We don't study religions chronologically; I've found that it's more helpful and interesting to study the most influential religions at this time. We'll be studying the Chinese pantheon, the Abrahamic traditions, subdivided into two of each of their major sects, the Norse gods, the Greek gods, Buddhism, Hinduism, sub-Saharan African pantheons, the Aztec gods, and the Egyptian pantheon. If you're interested, in the second year we cover the Incan, Mayan, Celtic, Chinese traditional religion, Zoroastrian, Shinto, Jainism, Sikhism, Mesopotamian religions, the Romans, and atheism and agnosticism.

"Religion is, at its core, an organized system of beliefs and practices revolving around, or leading to, a transcendent spiritual experience. There is no culture recorded in human history which has not practiced some form of religion. In ancient times, religion was indistinguishable from what is known as mythology and consisted of regular rituals based on a belief in higher supernatural entities who created and continued to maintain the world and surrounding cosmos. Theses entities were anthropomorphic and behaved in ways which mirrored the values of the culture closely or sometimes engaged in acts antithetical to those values. Religion, then and now, concerns itself with the spiritual aspect of the human condition, gods and goddesses (or a single personal god or goddess), the creation of the world, a human being's place in the world, life after death, eternity, and how to escape from suffering in this world or in the next; and every nation has created its own god in its own image and resemblance.***

"So in all this span of history, you can see where beliefs have a huge variety of differences and we know from our history that people are willing to kill for their religion. The root purpose of this class is education, so that you understand the beliefs of the kid sitting next to you and vice versa. Diversity can cause friction, but understanding helps reduce that friction. You don't have to agree with somebody to understand where they're coming from, and religion is an important component of many peoples' lives.

"It's not a requirement to share your beliefs in this class. All the information I present has been gained from my conversation with acknowledged religious leaders, careful study of their texts, and my own studies. I have a Master's degree in comparative religion and I'm working on my PhD. If any student objects to what I'm saying, I'm open to discussing it with you, but probably after class, because we have a lot of material to get through, and as I said, there's a huge difference in the various denominations, for example, in Christianity alone. If you have a direct experience with a god, I'd be interested to hear about it, but you should feel in no way required to tell me and I will never pressure a student to talk about their personal beliefs."

So that sounded cool.

Chemistry.... well, at least there's the promise of lab work to look forward to. History follows the state curriculum and we're picking up in the 21st century, right where we left off in my other school last year. Networking was going to be interesting, although we were going to get a solid chunk of obsolete technologies to study too. I guess it's to make us grateful for speed of our current networks? But we were also going to learn how to set up and troubleshoot networks, so a good chunk of theory with actual practice. And the photography class was going to be interesting; there were twenty of us in class. There were only ten cameras, though, and we were told that if we wanted to bring in our own camera that we could use them in the class. The teacher also noted that he understood if we didn't want to invest money in something that we weren't sure we'd use past this course, which is why we could share the cameras.

Unlike my last school, we had seating charts, usually alphabetical, although in chemistry we were randomly paired with a lab partner and in world religions we were assigned to a team of four students for research and project purposes. That was nice because I didn't have to worry about asking somebody to be my partner and being turned down. But my positive mood had taken a hipcheck at lunch, where the first group of people I approached to sit with said no flat out. I'd retreated to a table where kids were reading or staring into space or listening to music. Nobody said anything against me sitting there, but they hadn't welcomed me, either. That was enough for the day, though.

At dinner I was happy to describe my first day as Anna to my parents (although I didn't mention the new nickname because: Deri) and listen to Deri's account of her first day back. She was starting to notice boys, and this added a new area of interest in school for her. Geeze, was I glad that I wasn't in middle school anymore. After dinner, I went upstairs and started homework. Yep. Tomorrow I was going to ask about tutoring for trig.

*** This description of religion is quoted from https://www.ancient.eu/religion/

Chapter Text

The next few days went pretty well. Dad had agreed that I should have my own camera for the course, so that another student who might not be able to afford one could have more time with a class camera for his or her own work. "It's too bad that they don't have more cameras, though," he said. "Wayne could probably donate some to the program."

"Not right away, though," I requested, alarmed. A sizeable donation from the Wayne Foundation or even the company itself could draw unwanted attention my way. Dad smiled and said no, it could wait. On Tuesday he had a surprise for me, a really cool prototype from the labs. Dad said that they'd like my notes on how it worked.

It wasn't at all like I was adverse to having a new and fun toy to play with, but I couldn't take a prototype into class without explaining it and I couldn't think of a cover story that sounded legitimate. So right before dance class on Wednesday, I went to a photo supply store and bought a model that the teacher had recommended. It was modestly priced (for a camera that still used external lenses) and was completely unremarkable, a beginner's camera. I'd have to take pictures with the prototype too, so that I could say something when Dad asked for comments. It was kind of doubling my workload, but I didn't want to say anything to Dad because he'd done something really nice and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Besides, it was more practice. I went to dance with a positive outlook. Classes (barring trig) were shaping up to be interesting, a blessing to the student. And dance was always something I looked forward to. Mr Cal was going to do a little more evaluation of us in class, and announce our roles at the end of it.

I was warmed up and stretching when other students came in; there wasn't much chatter; everybody's school started at the same time and it was kind of wearing to get back into the discipline of classes and new subject matter. Everybody was a little tired. So I was somewhat surprised, when Mr Cal came in, clapped his hands and got us over at the barre to perform our exercises before the evaluation, to see we had some students who hadn't been in the summer class. Specifically, we had five new boys. From Ms Kerry's class. I ran through some curses mentally; I'd heard Uncle Bucky go off when he accidentally hammered his thumb instead of a nail once and had been impressed with the depth and richness of his profanity but didn't dare say any of it aloud myself. At the end of the barre work, Mr Cal called us in to the center. "You might have noticed that we have some new students, and that's great because it allows more of you girls to have partners. I'm sure that you'll all be willing to help them and answer questions if asked. Now, we're going to run through some combinations, and switch partners a few times. Then at the end of class, I'll announce the roles everyone will be dancing in our performance of The Nutcracker, and we'll begin learning choreography next week, so come prepared to learn and be focused. We don't have much time to learn it. I can always dumb it down a little if necessary, however." I wanted to smirk at his blatant manipulation, but he was announcing the first pairings, and I was stuck with Jason, one of the worst boys from my last class. He'd taken special pains to put me down after the party.

"Hey, Lys," he said as we waited for another pair to run through the combination. We were all going to dance the same one, so it would pay to pick it up before I had to dance it.

"Jason." I spoke but kept my eyes on the dancers, evaluating it to see if I could find places to showcase an extension, my turnout, anything to set myself apart from the other girls.

"I'm sorry for being so mean last spring," he said quietly, and I rolled my eyes. I continued watching. Mr Cal gave some notes, and the pair ran it again.

"What do you want, Jason? I'm not going to forgive you, you knew you were being shitty when you did it but you thought it was fun to kick somebody when they were down. I'm surprised you're actually willing to dance with me. You were one of the ones who threatened to quit Ms Kerry's class if you had to, and because of that she kicked me out."

"Mr Cal said that if I wanted to take lessons here I'd dance with whoever he assigned without an attitude."

"Poor thing," I said mockingly. "Well, fortunately I don't have to like you in order to dance with you."

"Lys and Jason," Mr Cal called, and I smiled and stepped out. Apparently Jason hadn't been watching, because I had to endure his mistakes, although I kept the smile on my face. I pretended that he was Miles, although my cousin took dancing very seriously, and that kept me from 'accidentally' kicking him on a turn. Mr Cal had notes for Jason, we ran the combination again, then stepped aside for the next pair. This was repeated a couple more times, then at the end, Mr Cal called us in again.

"None of you kids is blind, and I'm sure you've seen that some of you are more advanced than others, and that some of these more advanced dancers are new to the studio. I realize that there might be some hurt feelings from some of you who have been dancing here longer. You have the opportunity to learn from each other, however. Everybody has something that they do well, and no dancer is ever perfect. I expect that you will be asking questions, trying to improve your own performance, rather than sulking. This is one performance and there will be another next spring, so there is a lot of opportunity to improve and be competitive for the parts you want.

"Now, most of the most important roles will be filled with the students from this class. The performance will be about an hour total, with more of that time in the second act. In the first act, there will be the party scene where Clara gets her nutcracker, then the fight with the Mouse King, and the Waltz of the Snowflakes. These simplified roles will all be performed by students in the lower classes. In the second act, we'll have 'Chocolat', 'Cafe,' and "The", and the boys will perform a version of the Russian dance. Then there will be the Waltz of the Flowers, which will be the only unabridged dance in our ballet and your opportunity to shine as a class. Then there will be a pas de deux with the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier, then the final waltz. Aside from the Nutcracker Prince and Clara, all the roles in the second act will be performed by dancers from this class, so you all will have plenty to do. Now. The Cavalier will be danced by Jake." I kept a pleasant expression on my face as one of my former tormentors got this prize role. "The Sugar Plum Fairy will be danced by Lys." I kept a pleased expression on my face but limited my celebration to an internal party as he announced the dancers for the featured character dances. I didn't want to rub my good fortune in the faces of the girls who hadn't gotten the role they'd wanted.

Once I'd changed and got in my pod to go home, there was a celebration with AI Tony, who seemed to feel that my success had been largely encouraged by his little pep talks, and at home I floated upstairs to drop my backpack and new camera before going down for pre-dinner. "So did you hear about your role in the ballet today?" Dad asked after we'd all been handed our beverages and settled in.

"Sugar Plum Fairy," I beamed.

"Congratulations, honey!" he said. "That's a real achievement."

"It's just a school recital," Deri grumbled. "It's not like she's going onstage for the Bolshoi."

"That's enough, Deri," Mom spoke sternly. "You decided not to do the work that would have advanced you in the classes and quit. Lys did the work, persevered and learned, and she has earned this role. Who will be the Cavalier, Lys?"

"Jake MacCormick," I said, with less enthusiasm.

"Wasn't he in Kerry's class?" Dad asked, frowning. I nodded.

"But Mr Cal won't put up with his attitude, at least," I said. "And he's not as good as Miles, but he's the best of the boys in that class."

"Congratulations, dear," Mom said warmly. "That is a real achievement." I beamed.

"The first act is being performed by the students in the less advanced classes," I said. "So they'll get to have fun roles too. Clara and the Prince will have a little to do in the second act, but mostly it's my class in that one. I'll get a tiny role as Louise in the first act, because the Fairy and the Cavalier are modeled in Clara's imagination on her sister and her boyfriend." What I liked the most about that is that I got a costume change out of it. And the tutus would be beautiful; Mr Cal used the same costumers as Ms Kerry. Deri looked pissed; if she'd stuck with it she could have competed for a role and I knew she was imagining herself as Clara. Ha. She'd never been near the top of her class. Then I answered some questions about school, and they asked Deri about her day, and she brightened up as she described her activities. She thought she might want to go out for swim team, and Mom told her to send her the link so she could sign the permission slip.

The rest of the week passed pleasantly enough (Except for trig, I HATE it so much! And Beowulf is kind of hard to read) with good shifts at work. My off day this weekend was Saturday, and after sleeping in and a leisurely breakfast, I planned to go do some sewing on my bed curtains and then go outside to take my first batch of photos for class. We'd been studying the basics of composition and I was eager to get started. We were supposed to take ten images in nature for Monday. When I opened the door to my sewing room and flicked on the light, I stared in horror. Deri had helped herself to my stuff and my pillow forms were unwrapped and scattered on the table where she'd hacked big squares out of the lining fabric and the facing fabric. On the sewing machine, she'd left a cover in progress under the needle. When I went to investigate, I saw why; the fabric had been driven down into the bobbin case and the needle was broken off. I ran downstairs, but Alan said that Mom had been called to the museum and Dad was down at the stables with Deri and Grandpa Damian. I ran back upstairs and took pictures of the disaster on my communicator before sitting down and straightening out the mess on the machine. It was hard to extricate the fabric and find the piece of the needle that had been broken off down in the bobbin case, and when I tried, I saw that Deri had even managed to damage the connection with the treadle. So I checked it by spinning the flywheel by hand, but it still wouldn't sew. This was a nightmare. I detached the machine from the table and lugged it downstairs, where I put it into my pod and went to the store. On Saturdays, we had technicians who fixed sewing machines come in for our customers' convenience.

When it was my turn, I explained that my little sister had messed it up, showing the pictures I'd taken, closeups of the sewing area on the machine with the fabric wadded up, describing what I'd done to remove the fabric and troubleshoot the problems. The technician listened closely, then hefted the heavy machine up to the table. "I haven't seen an old-fashioned Featherweight in over a decade," she said, pulling up a chair and magnifier before delicately disassembling the machine. "They produce a beautiful stitch. Where did you find it?"

"Up in a relative's attic," I said. "I reconditioned it myself following advice on the internet."

"You did a nice job," she praised, then poked around while I waited anxiously. She sighed and I flinched. "Your little sister couldn't have done more damage if she'd tried," she said. "Apparently she broke two needles, didn't get the broken one out where it was stuck in the bobbin. So the bobbin case is just trashed." She looked at me and shook her head. "I'm really sorry to tell you this, miss, but I don't think that this can be fixed. Like I said, I haven't seen this kind of machine in years, so replacing the parts isn't an option, there isn't a market for them to be purchased. We could try 3D printing, but I'd put the chance of success at about 50%, maybe lower. The process just isn't sensitive enough. It might be possible to commission somebody to make them, but it would cost a lot of money. Hang on a sec, we'll get a second opinion." When another tech finished writing a customer a receipt so that he could take the machine to his shop to do more intensive work, she beckoned him over. He listened to the account of the damage, looked it over himself, and shook his head.

"I've got to agree with Christina, young lady. It's really a shame, these are wonderful machines. I did see one about six years ago, there was a problem with the bobbin although not nearly this bad, and the cost to custom make the parts ran about a thousand dollars. We could do that, or you could buy a really good new one for that price." The two techs put their heads together and came up with a list of recommended manufacturers and models, ranging from the most basic model to the fanciest. I thanked them both and the man went on to the next customer. The lady handed my her card.

"I'm awfully sorry about this," she said compassionately. "It's obvious that you took really good care of it. There are a lot of places where you can buy a machine, but if you come to my store, I'll give you a five percent discount on the purchase of a new or reconditioned machine since I couldn't fix this one." I thanked her and trudged out. Even AI Tony couldn't make me smile on the ride home.

Chapter Text

Mom pulled up at the same time that I did. "What happened, Lys?" she asked, and I burst into tears. She got the basic part--that Deri had broken the machine and it couldn't probably be fixed--and took it from me, grunting a bit at the weight. Featherweight, my butt. We took the elevator up to the attic and she looked around at the mess in the sewing room, carefully putting the machine back on its table. I showed her where the treadle had been damaged, likely from Deri's attempt to force the machine, and the photos I'd taken of the whole mess. She pulled me in for a hug, then gave me a tissue. Or three. She listened as I wailed about the fabric, which I couldn't replace.

"All right, Lys, dear," she said, patting my back and letting go. "Why don't you go down to your room and I will investigate this." So I did, and I watched from my room as she exited from the back of the house and started off down the trail that led to the stables. But scarcely had she disappeared into the trees when she came back, accompanied not only by Dad and Deri, but also by Grandpa Damian and Iris, who had apparently come over to practice dressage with her dad. She was so good that she might make the US Olympic team someday; Grandpa Damian had an uncanny eye for picking the right horses from the rescue organizations and he and dad had outstanding trainers. The group paused on the trail as Mom gestured up toward the attic and put her hands on her hips. Dad's head whipped around like he was possessed to look at the house, Deri scowled, glaring at my room (well, probably. You can't see into the windows up here unless there's light from behind), Grandpa Damian went really still, and Iris shook her head, said something to Deri, and walked off. Grandpa said something to Dad, and followed his daughter. Deri and the parents came inside. I had just packed my camera bag with my cameras (so I could practice with both) when there was a knock on my door. I went over and slid the bolt, opening the door to Dad. He came inside my room, clearing the way for workers who were starting the work on Deri's built-ins.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said, touching my cheek. "I know how pleased you were with the curtain fabric and you do such a good job sewing."

"Excuse me, Mr Wayne," the designer said, tapping on the door. "I just had one question about the work in Deri's room." But she looked at me. "May I see your room, Lys? From what I've heard from your mother, it is pretty great."

"Sure," I said, summoning a smile for her. She was just trying to be nice. Dad and I moved aside and she stepped in.

"Wow," she said in a different tone as she looked around. "The color intensity is perfect. Not so light as to be boring, not too dark to be heavy, but it is a presence in the room, taking advantage of the space, high ceilings, and amount of light from the windows. The use of white is nice and fresh but without being too crisp or sterile. Highlighting the molding with the silver paint--"

"Silver wax, actually," I interjected. She nodded.

"Is a beautiful touch. The draperies are rich without being overwhelming. The furniture is eclectic and welcoming, the candles kind of romantic. The window seat is lovely, with inviting toss pillows. I love the way the bed is built in behind the pierced wood screens. So cozy. And it smells nice in here." She smiled at me. "Usually teenagers' rooms smell like dirty socks or too much perfume, depending on whether it's a boy or girl. I'd be happy to claim this as one of my designs," she said, and patted my shoulder.

"Lys, honey, why don't you go on down to the library; I'll answer the question and be right down."

"Thanks," I said to the designer, and followed them out into the hall, turning down toward the stairs as they went across to Deri's room. I had my camera bag with me so I could go out afterward. Mom and Deri were already there. Deri looked petulant and turned away from me when I came into the library, but that was ok; I didn't want to see her face either. We waited until Dad came in, the bootheels of his riding boots distinctive on the wood floor.

"All right, Deri, what on earth possessed you to go and ruin your sister's fabric and break the machine?" he asked, coming over and leaning on the desk.

"I just wanted to make myself some pillows," she said sulkily. Mom pinched the bridge of her nose, I think.

"The decorator that you insisted on is taking care of that, and the color scheme is different in your room," she said sternly. "You took things that didn't belong to you and spoiled them. The sewing machine, which your sister worked hard on restoring while you were having fun at camp, cannot be repaired. Your father and I agreed that Lys could have that space to work on her hobby. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Well, if precious Lys wants something, she gets it," Deri snapped. "A second room of her own, an expensive camera for a school class, then she pitches a fit because I used some of her fabric. So what? There's yards of it."

"I bought enough to do the bed curtains, no more," I snapped. "And now we're out of both the lining and the other fabric, so there's not enough for my project, you moron." Deri's eyes bugged out.

"Don't call your sister names, Lys," Dad said. "Deri, you need to learn respect for other people's property." He looked between us. "Is that why you have that sliding bolt on your door, Lys?"

"What?" Mom asked. I nodded.

"She doesn't even bother to knock, she just comes in whenever she feels like it. I'm entitled to some privacy," I said stubbornly. "I didn't want to drill the door for a deadbolt, or I would have used that instead, to keep her out when I'm not around. You can see why I wanted it."

"It's not like you do anything fun anyway," Deri muttered.

"All right, Deri. Your allowance is going to be docked until you've repaid your sister for the price of the fabric," Dad said grimly. "Lys, either your mom or I will go with you to look at machines, but it might not be til next week. Additionally, Deri, you're grounded for two weeks. And if you don't learn to respect other people's privacy, I will take the door off your room until you do."

"Oh my GODS," Deri bellowed. "That's so unfair!"

"It is not," Mom said firmly. "You are growing heedless and callous, my daughter, and these traits must be corrected before it is too late." Deri switched tactics.

"But two weeks of being grounded? That will interfere with tryouts for the swim team," she said warmly. "And you guys wanted me to pick up another activity."

And unbelievably, I felt her push, gently, gently. "Well, perhaps a week would do," Mom said. "You come home right after school or swim team."

"Mom, she's using her gift!" I said loudly. Deri glared at me.

"Derinoe!" Mom said, shocked. "Is this true?"

"Why would it be?" she countered. "I'm not supposed to use it."

"She did," I stated angrily.

"Derinoe Rowan Wayne," Mom said, her voice clipped. "Do not make me use the Lasso of Truth on my own daughter. You will find it unpleasant to have the truth compelled from you."

In the end, Deri confessed to a 'really little' use of her gift to lessen the time of her grounding. That increased her grounding to a month, but she was allowed to try out for swim team, I think in the hope that the discipline of the sport would do her good. Then I was excused and went outside for my twenty pictures. The ten I did for class were of trees, the lake, nothing that could be tied specifically to this estate, but the ones on the prototype camera had the ruins of the folly, a view from the gazebo, and I approached the stables close enough to get a nice shot of some of the detail, but not close enough to run into a horse. I tried hard to use the information we'd learned in class to compose the shots well, and let it distract me from the family drama. My outrage was still present, but it had been blunted somewhat by Deri's punishment. And the loss of the sewing machine, which I realIy liked and felt some ownership for still hurt. I didn't know what to do about the bed curtains, though. I decided to ask around at work; some of my coworkers were really creative.

"Do you have any fabric left at all?" my manager asked. "I've tried, but I can't reorder it. But maybe you could get a solid and use the flower-sprigged fabric for a border."

"My sister used a beaded curtain around her bed when we were teenagers," Gary reflected. "It was so cool. I used to sneak into her room when she was out to play with it." That was a knock against that idea but it sounded interesting.

Those were the two top suggestions I'd heard, and when I got home, I went back up to the sewing room to clean up. It was kind of soothing to restore order to the area, and I took one of the chunks of floral fabric with me after I was done. I'd bring it into work and see if I could find a match with a solid. I looked at fringe and beaded curtains online, but they wouldn't provide the warmth I wanted. They were pretty, though... I ordered one as a test case, long strands of small translucent iridescent beads. I could pick it up in the store after school the next day.

When I got home, I tried the beads behind the screen; they were pretty, but it kind of distracted from the design of the screen, which I didn't want. But I tried tacking them to the window casing behind the velvet draperies. The drapes were pulled back during the day, exposing a slice of the window, and the facets of the beads twinkled slightly in the light but didn't obscure the view. I loved it, and ordered enough for the rest of the windows. It was swanky, I thought.

The next day when I went to work, I saw a white moire cotton fabric that was a perfect match with the white of my sprigged fabric. Better yet, it was an easy reorder if something... untoward happened. I thought that it would look pretty with a thin dark purple border between the two white fabrics, and it would look lovely behind the purple painted screens.I also bought some of the bigger, firmest pillow inserts that I could use with the cut-up fabric. Waste not, and they would provide some nice support when I was reading and relaxing. The other pillows were small and soft.

Wednesday, I got the critique back for my first photographs, and felt buoyed up by the teacher's comments. They were great first shots, I was told, and my parents were pleased when I told them after ballet. Then Mom had to leave for her business trip.

And, probably best of all, one of the girls in class asked me to eat with her and her friends at lunch.

Chapter Text

My lab partner, Imogen Flores, seemed nice. She didn't seem any more brilliant at chemistry than I was, which was both good and bad. My bio lab partner the previous year had been really smart, which was great in terms of our projects, but he also made fun of me because I wasn't as bright in class. Imogen seemed reserved, but not snide. We got our lunches and I followed her over to a table. "Jinx Johnson, Phoenix Chesterfield, Aristotle Elliot, Justine Valentin, Mark Carlton," she said, pointing out each kid before we sat down. "This is Anna Wayne."

"Call me Ari," Aristotle--well, Ari--said, and I nodded. "I'm named after my dad's favorite philosopher." He looked disgusted, and I smiled. We chatted about classes; the only class I had in common with any of them was chemistry with Imogen, but we were all taking the same history and English classes.

"I took networking last year," Ari said. "I really liked it. I like practical things, things that you can use, rather than knowledge that just takes up space in my head and I'm never going to use. I mean, Beowulf?" Justine and Mark joined me in laughter, and the others smiled.

I felt a little worried when they asked about my family; I admitted to the parents and the bratty little sister, but was vague. That seemed to be ok, though, they weren't too forthcoming either and there were a lot of absent dads. Imogen was in foster care; her mom was dead and there was no mention of her father. We were still talking about hobbies when the warning bell for class rang. Jinx made a face. "Yuck. Gym,' he said. "Whoever put gym classes after lunch should be forced to work out themselves." I smiled as we all picked up our trays. "See you tomorrow, Anna," he said.

"Sure," I said, and went to class feeling the best I had about school and social encounters since my friends dumped me. Excuse me, 'friends.' Maybe I might even get a date some time this year.

The rest of the week went pretty smoothly. Work was fun, in ballet, the choreography was easy and Mr Cal said he'd bump up the difficulty once we'd learned the blocking and everything, which gave me something to look forward to. Jake looked a little worried, which made me meanly glad. I had a lot of schoolwork, but there was a math lab before school with peer tutors, which was proving to be helpful.

And it was nice to have something to look forward to at lunch. Imogen and her friends were nice, if quiet. That suited me fine. They were all reserved to some extent; well, I was hiding things too. I did learn that Jinx had been named by his birth mother, and his adoptive parents had been chosen for both their eagerness to love a child as well as their willingness to let his name stand. "I see my birth mother every so often," he said, shrugging. "She likes to see how I'm doing. She's nice, but really quirky."

"My parents are not quirky," I said. "Solid citizens, hardworking. It might be nice to have some whimsy."

Jinx shrugged again. "My birth mom's not altogether stable, so I'm glad for my folks," which was all he had to say, and I was happy to leave it.

"How long is your hair, Anna?" Justine wanted to know. "You never wear it down, it's always up in braids or something."

"About hip length," I said. "It gets messy if it's just left to its own devices. But I need it long for ballet."

"Neat freak," Nix said, grinning.

"Nothing wrong with order," I defended myself. "Plus, if you had to comb out the knots, you'd be on my side."

"So do you want to be a dancer, you know, for your career?" Mark asked.

"I'm not sure I'm good enough," I said. "My teachers say I have a lot of potential, but so do a lot of girls. Competition for spots in companies is really fierce. I really love dancing, though. Even when other things go to shit there's always that to look forward to." Jinx grunted. He was the quietest of the group and seemed to communicate without words a lot.

"So we're going to the Star Wars reboot this weekend, Anna," Mark said. "You want to come?" It turned out that it was on my day off, and I was delighted to be asked. We'd meet at the theater. I practically floated on to class. For the first time in a long time I had social plans with people my own age to look forward to, not just the occasional pity outing with a cousin or two.

And on Saturday morning before the movie, Dad took me to the store of the tech who'd tried to help me with the Singer before he left on an overnight business trip. Mom was already gone on the trip for the museum. She showed us several models, and I chose one that was in the mid-range, that could handle heavier fabric better and had some embroidery functions.

"You sure, Lys?" Dad asked. "This one had a lot more functions, honey. You could really go to town. My daughter is becoming a proficient sewer," he bragged to the lady. "She's really good with color and you should see how she planned her bedroom. She's done curtains and pillows. A professional we had in to design another room said that it was very good work."

"The model your dad is talking about does have a lot more embroidery capabilities as well as the strongest motor in any sewing machine. You could practically paint with thread, if you want to do things like clothes, comforters, sheets, or if you want to liven up your cushions or drapes. You can also sew quilts, leathers, multiple layers of heavy, dense fabrics like denim and canvas. The stitch is very smooth and even, it threads itself, it uses a second spool of thread rather than having to wind bobbins, and it comes with an enormous selection of feet for different applications."

"It's a lot more expensive," I said.

"I know you were upset at how your sister ruined the machine that you'd fixed and used up the fabric you'd chosen, honey," he said, putting his arm around me and rubbing my arm. "As far as I'm concerned, you've demonstrated that you're willing and able to take care of a sewing machine, and you really do nice work. And if sewing is something you'd like to continue with, it's always nicer to have really good tools." I wavered, then caved. There was a huge variety of embroidery patterns available, but you could also, with some manipulation in a special program, make a pattern out of an original design or photograph. My hands fairly itched to maybe make a duvet cover with a pretty design. Maybe embellish my sheets and pillowcases on the top hem? The lady threw in two free classes to teach me how to use all the functions, and the purchase price included online tutorials as well.

It wasn't nearly as heavy as the Featherweight was, and was much easier to lug upstairs. When I got to my sewing room, I was surprised to see Alan and Alfred at the door, installing a new lock. "It was a bit tricky to get set up, Miss Lys," Alan said. "But it will open to your handprint or your parents'. Let's get your biometric data entered." It took a little work; the attics weren't wired for signals and the lock on the door to the atmosphere-controlled art storage room was hard-wired, an old-fashioned approach.

"We didn't want to take the time to actually run cable over here, Miss Lys," Alfred said absently as he finessed something with the lock. "Try again." This time it accepted my handprint and successfully screened out both Alfred and Alan when they tested it. "The wireless models always are more delicate to set the parameters with, but once they finally work, you shouldn't have any trouble." To be nice since they had done such a nice thing for me and because Alfred hadn't seen it, I showed them the sewing room. Alan hadn't been in since he'd helped me with the cabinet and shelves. They both had kind things to say and helped me take out my poor Singer and its table. None of us wanted to throw it out, perhaps somebody in the future could fix it, so I wrote a note detailing the damage (and laying blame where it was due, I didn't want future Waynes to think I was that awful) and we tucked it away again where I found it. Alfred knew where there was a sturdy table, long and fairly narrow, that I could put my new machine on, and they carried it into the room for me. And after a rather broad hint from Alfred, they came downstairs with me and I showed them my room as the workers finished up in Deri's. They were really complementary about that too. I was really liking it. It was a work in progress, but I liked that better than having everything just plopped down. I could add to the overall effect as I wanted.

The movie was fun; it captured the feeling of oppression by the Empire, the tension, and the exhilaration at the rebel's victory from the original, but the casting for the princess and Han Solo wasn't as good. Luke was kind of callow, but that was also in the original, so it worked fine. After, we hung out in Central Park for a bit, including visiting the zoo. I was a little nervous, but Uncle Bucky was the chief vet and wasn't just wandering around the zoo so I didn't have to worry about inadvertently blowing my cover. He was really sharp on the uptake and could come up with a story quickly, but it would be hard to explain how Anna Wayne knew the former Winter Knight. I wasn't sure if he knew my new nickname, even. Her background was carefully bland. But he wasn't there and we had fun. I was in a really good mood when I came home, my pod neatly avoiding the vans of the workmen who were just leaving. I went up with Dad to check out Deri's new room.

"This is really nice," I said, looking around. It was, too, I wasn't just being overly generous because I was happy. It was bright and cheerful, the bunk beds looking like a really fun place for her and her friends to hang out, and the desk unit had a concealed cover that could be stretched out over the surface to protect it when Deri was doing crafts. There were bins in the bookshelves for her supplies, and her school stuff was neatly arranged. Three dolls were on the shelf, with plenty of room for other things too. It wasn't quite as good as I'd envisioned it, but it was still nice. There were some places where the carpentry wasn't quite as expert as Grandpa Henry would have done it, but it was still acceptable, and Deri wouldn't even notice. And as a surprise, Iris and Miles showed up to take a look around. Deri took pleasure at pointing out the fun features (and not giving me credit for thinking them up, the brat), then we left her to gloat and poke around while the cousins looked at my room.

"Wow," Miles said. closing the door and peering around. "I think of lighter purples as being girly, but this isn't. It looks really comfortable in here."

"Dork," his sister abused him. "It's not girly, but it is feminine, at least the details are, not necessarily the color. Lys, I love those beads over the windows." She stroked them covetously. "My dorm room looks like a dump," she said. "We can't paint, the furniture is supplied, all we can really do is put up some pictures and personal items. I'm so jealous." I showed them the window seat storage.

"Grandpa Henry does such good work," Miles said, peering in and feeling the cedar lining. "You'd never guess by looking that this isn't an original feature. It smells nice in here," he said after he dropped the lid and put the cushions back on.

"Alfred showed me how to make the furniture polish he uses in your house," I said. "I just use different essential oils than he does. And it's really nice on the floors, it doesn't make them slick." It was a pain to apply to such a large surface, though, but at least I'd only had to do it once so far.

"I don't invite any of the family to my room," Iris said. "I am a shitty housekeeper, Alfred would be sad for me. I think I'm doing ok if I pick up the trash and do my laundry."

"You bring it home mostly," Miles said, jaundiced. "Alfred is still stuck doing your washing." She stuck out her tongue. He looked closer at the vanity and laughed. Iris went over, smoothing her fingers over the silver hairbrush. "There wouldn't be a reason named Deri why there's this new-looking lock?"

I rolled my eyes and explained. "I'd have thrown such a fit if she'd come rummaging around through my stuff," Iris said flatly.

"Because you're such a drama thing," Miles said lazily. "Lys is a lot quieter. It's restful. There are reasons why she's my favorite cousin," and he smiled at me.

"So what was the thing with the sewing machine?" Iris asked, her brow furrowing. I explained that too. Miles rubbed his temples.

"Deri." He shook his head. "Look, Lys. You may not see it for yourself, because you've never been a younger sibling, but there's a tendency to look up to the older ones and want to be included in what they do. When we were younger, we thought Martha and Xander practically walked on water." Iris nodded.

"Part of the way she acts is just her nature," she said. "But it's also because she's worried about being overlooked with you around. And she can be really charming when she wants to be, that's not her gift, right?"

"No, it's just to be lovable," I said with a twist of my lips. They snickered.

"She looks up to you and wants to be included, is what we're saying. It doesn't excuse her behavior at all, and she's big enough not to be so rude and heedless, but that's what drives her. She worries about you leaving her behind. And she is really spoiled. It doesn't help that your parents are so busy. But Aunt Diana can't give up being Wonder Woman, and unfortunately Uncle Daniel does an unparalleled job of running the Avengers and the company. He's spread out responsibility to a lot of the family, but it's still his hand on the tiller."

"How's school going?" Miles asked, changing subject. "And can I see that necklace you got from the pharaoh?"

"Ooh, I'd like to see that too," Iris said, lighting up. So I got the key and pulled it out. "This is so pretty, Lys, something you could actually wear. Egyptomania is still going strong in fashion."

"It's got the ruler's seal and... that must be his name in the oval thingie," Miles said, examining it. "That's really cool. So what's he like?"

"Weird. His god-touch is unique, he's got glowy eyes, but he was nice, all in all."

"I'll take your word about the eyes, they just look normal to me," Miles smiled. "But school?"

"Really interesting." I told them about my classes.

"Mom said you were using an alias," he said. "Aren't there kids there who know you as Lys?"

"I have a new nickname," I acknowledged. "And there are some kids, it's a really good school, so even though it's not private some of the rich kids still go there. I've seen Thomas Rockefeller, Marty Rocheforte, Sarah Rothschild, Peggie Carnegie, a few others. But they leave me alone and they haven't said anything about the name change, but then they also know about what happened last spring. I've got Briana Morgan in history and she didn't think twice about calling me Anna." I frowned as a thought struck me. "Either that or I'm not worth remembering." Maybe she really didn't recognize me. Or, gods forbid, Dad had a word with their parents. I shrugged. "Whatever. But I'm making some new friends anyway. We just went to the Star Wars remake."

Miles hooted as I put away the necklace and locked the drawer again. "Mom and Uncle J think it's heresy." Iris started to laugh too.

"The special effects are so much better," I said. "I thought it was a really good movie. You should tell Grandma not to knock it til she's tried it."

"Yeah, that'll go over well," Iris muttered. "Since your dad's going out of town and your mom's gone too, Grandma actually sent us over to invite you guys to dinner tomorrow night. You can tell her yourself."

Chapter Text

So I told Grandma Alex that the Star Wars remake was really pretty good. She looked completely offended. "Lys, dear, I don't think you have the proper respect for the original. When it was first released--"

"You weren't even alive then, Petal," Grandpa Damian said, winking at us. Man, I wished his eye color hadn't washed out of our gene pool before I dipped in. She rolled her eyes. "I hear that you got the lead in your school's version of The Nutcracker, Lys. Congratulations; I'm really looking forward to seeing you perform."

"As am I, sweetheart," Grandma said. "We're very proud of your accomplishments. How is school going?" So I got to tell about my classes and the grandparents seemed interested. But then, as Miles and Iris had reminded me, this wasn't their first rodeo and they would be very skilled at feigning interest. I can't imagine that high school is very interesting if you're not in it.

"I'd like to see your photos some time, Lys," Grandpa Bruce said, coming in late for dinner. Alfred gave him a cold stare and he sat down hastily. "And Deri, what are you doing in class?" I could have sworn I saw Alfred roll his eyes. But that wasn't possible, it was beneath his dignity. And Deri perked up, started chattering about classes and the swim team tryouts, which had been Friday afternoon.

"Deri, we're a little disappointed in you," Grandpa Damian said, sternly but gently. "The incident in the sewing room, invading your sister's privacy, quitting dance because you didn't get what you wanted... that doesn't sound like the girl I know and love." I sat there in awe, listening to him working his technique.

"Lys is getting everything!" Deri burst out. "It's not fair! She gets a pod, pretty jewelry, nice clothes, a whole second room to herself."

"Deri, honey," Grandma said with compassion, "there are things you get when you're sixteen that you don't get at twelve, or thirteen. You can't have a pod until you're sixteen, legally. It's appropriate for a sixteen year old to start acquiring some nice pieces of jewelry, and you will too. She doesn't have a uniform at school, of course she needs something to wear, and why shouldn't she have pretty clothes? She's got a hobby that is going to require some space, and she fixed up the... it's the old closet, isn't it Lys?" I nodded. "A twelve by six closet. With no windows. It's hardly a room, Deri. But even if it were, she has the right to fix it up and use it for her projects. There's a lot of space in the mansion."

"First in time, first in right," Grandpa Bruce muttered as Alfred set his plate and place setting down. "It's an established legal principle." Grandpa Damian gave his dad a 'you're not helping here' kind of look. Grandpa Bruce shrugged. "Look, Deri, I'm sorry to see that Damian's brattishness has skipped a slew of generations only to resurface unpleasantly, but if he can be corrected, you can be too. And you will, one way or another. I'd think you could have some compassion for your sister, after that disaster of a party. It was so bad that she had to switch schools, she lost her friends, she lost pretty much everything. She got some equilibrium back this summer, which you've been chipping away at with your whining and actions. You have things she doesn't, but she's not trying to take them away from you. You will get the things you desire in time, if you're patient and earn them. Your parents are fair, too lenient with you, but generally fair. And there's this whole thing with the bedrooms." He shook his head, baffled. "I'm the first to say that apparently I don't understand little girls. Why would you want your parents to spend all that money on an outsider when your sister had agreed to help you and did such a good job on her own?" He took a drink of wine, savoring it. "Miles and Iris said that your room is nice, but Lys's is lovely and attractive. In the literal sense of the word, it attracts them, makes them want to stay put."

Deri's face got red and she stuck out that lower lip again.

"Careful, kidlet, you're going to trip on that thing," Grandpa Bruce advised. "Deri, you have a slew of your own talents. I'm hoping that you're not so insecure that you begrudge your sister her skills and abilities." His voice acquired some of the razor-edged gruffness that he used as Batman. Grandma caught my eye and flicked her gaze to the door. I kind of oozed out of my seat and out the door, followed stealthily by her and Grandpa Damian. We faded down the hall to the library. Grandpa went right to the conversation sofa, dislodged a cat, and sank down on it.

"Gods, my dad," he muttered, shaking his head. Grandma smiled, drew a chair closer for me, then sat on the opposite side of the sofa, taking Grandpa's hand over the division.

"Well, maybe Bruce will be able to get through to her. Someone's got to. Aslyn told me that there's been a breach in Deri and Van's friendship, and it took a crap ton of prying to find out that Deri's been a troublemaker, a ringleader with her little band of friends, but somehow she's skinning out of the trouble and leaving her friends to face the music while she gets off with a slap on the hand. I'm worried that she's misusing that power of hers. Can you tell, Lys?" My jaw had dropped at this intelligence, just like my heart.

"Not unless I'm there," I said, biting my lip. "But she tried it on Mom and Dad when they first grounded her." Both grandparents exhaled gustily, and Alfred came in with a tray. Honeycakes, a pot of Grandpa's bland white tea, and a French press of coffee.

"It's decaf, Miss Lys, if you'd like to switch from tea," he murmured, then handed me a cup with a wink when I brightened, adorning the saucer with three little cakes. I thanked him and he served my grandparents. We chatted about other things and were having a good time when Deri came in with Grandpa Bruce. He was holding her hand and she looked like she'd been crying. I knew the feeling after talking to him sometimes. I rubbed my eye.

"Deri, do you want to come sit by me?" I asked. There was another armchair that could be easily drawn around, and this might be the last kind thing that happened to her after our parents heard what Grandma had to say. They were going to blow a gasket, whatever that was. She hesitated, looking up at Grandpa Bruce, who nodded encouragingly, and she came over, adjusting the chair. I offered her the last honeycake on my saucer as Grandpa Bruce sat on the regular sofa. I imagined that the new coffee press that Alfred was wielding had caffeine. Deri tried some of Grandpa Damian's white tea as Alfred set a plate with more honeycakes between us.

"Hot leaf water," Grandma said, shaking her head and sipping her own rich coffee. We smiled at each other. When Grandpa Damian wasn't looking, Deri made a face at me and it was hard not to laugh.

But whatever humbling Deri had accepted from Grandpa Bruce faded over the next couple of days. She wasn't as overt about it, but she was on that downhill slide into mean girls territory. I just tried to keep my distance. If she wouldn't listen to Grandpa Bruce, she sure wasn't going to listen to me, and I had my own things to do. I was getting to know the new group of friends better, but it was a slower go than I'd experienced before with the girls from my other school. But then, my new friends had jobs too, and other activities, and nobody seemed to hang out at each others' homes. That was totally ok by me; there was chatting on our communicators or texting outside of school. The choreography for the Sugar Plum Fairy was easier to pick up than I'd thought it would be, so I was glad that Mr Cal would make it more challenging. Meanwhile, it was announced that Miles' first performance with American Ballet Company would be in October, and we were planning to go in support, along with most of the family.

Work was enjoyable. I liked helping the customers, and it was wonderful to work with all the beautiful fabrics. My coworkers were fun, too. The tv show had wrapped up so things were back to normal, and I was learning a lot. On Thursday, I encountered two men in the special occasion fabrics; one was into the fabrics, his friend seemed to be along for the ride, waiting patiently for his friend to find what he was looking for. "Darling, could you help us, please?" the interested man asked in a British accent, but it wasn't a put-upon tone, like he was demanding service from the peon, just asking for help. I popped the two bolts of brocade back into place and waked over.

"Of course. What kind of fabric are you looking for, sir?"

"I want something spectacular for a suit coat, or a jacket. Really kind of wild, but not really vulgar. It's for a public appearance. People have expectations, you know." He winked at me. He wasn't terribly concerned about color, and I showed him several different types of fabrics, darting into the back to see if we had anything new, but we were between shipments. I felt bad that I couldn't come up with anything really cool as he stroked his fingers through the velvets. "I'm sorry, darling, but these are just bland," he said, frustrated. I thought hard, then smiled.

"One more thing, sir. It's in the upholstery section." I led them over to the sales rack. "This is actually a manufacturing defect, the pile is almost twice as long as it should be, so it's not really useful for upholstery, but it's so beautiful. It's stiffer than velvets for garments, but if you're making a jacket, that structure could be used for your benefit. The color's a little out there" it was a rich flashy crimson "but it is pretty special." The man stroked it, evaluating it against his vision.

"Come on Fred,' the other man said. "Get it or not, but we need to get moving. John and Roger are waiting for us." He had long curly hair like Isaac Newton's and was taller and rangier than his friend, who had short black hair, a determined mustache, and a pronounced overbite.

The man named Fred broke out a sunny smile. "How much on this bolt, love?"

"Ten meters, sir. It's a meter and a half wide." He started to cackle.

"Do you have any heavy white satin for a lining?"

"We sure do. Both in upholstery and fashion fabrics."

"I'll take the lot, then, and enough lining for the whole thing. It's been a long time since I've had a robe. A mantle, darling." I blinked at him. The other man turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, come on, Brian. It's for the show." To me, he said, "We're getting ready to go on tour. All the old favorites, new material too." So we found a red lining that he liked, his friend having pointed out that white shows dirt, white fake fur for the trim around it--he was a little disappointed we didn't have anything that looked like ermine, but I suggested large black beads that would also add some sparkle, and he was thrilled. The taller fellow looked resigned as I measured everything--there was actually a little more of the velvet than expected, ten and a half meters, so that plus fifteen meters of the narrower lining fabric and thirty of the trim, plus all the oval centimeter-long black beads we had in the store, and the purchase was close to a thousand dollars, even with the sale price for the velvet. But the man didn't blink and I helped them carry the bags out to wait for their taxi. I had the names of a couple of costumers who used the store as recommendations to make the robe thing as well.

"Dear, you've been super, I can't thank you enough." He smiled at me engagingly. "Now, can you keep a secret?" I nodded. "We're kicking off our tour tomorrow night at the new Rosebud Ballroom." He patted the pockets of his jacket, pulling out an envelope and counting out four pieces of paper. "It's a surprise, nobody yet knows that we're the performers." Brian smiled at me, then turned away as a taxi pulled up. "Here you go. VIP section. For you and some friends."

"Thank you, " I said, astonished, and they disappeared into the cab. With the bulging bags, it was a tight fit. I turned back toward the store and looked at the tickets. Along with the date and time was a detailed design in holographic ink. It looked familiar, and I let it sit in my head as I quickly sent a group text. "Who's free tomorrow night? I have four tickets for a concert at Rosebud Ballroom. Performers a surprise, customer gave them to me, the three first responders get to go." Imogen, Jinx, and Ari were the first positive responses. Justine couldn't go, and Mark and Nix were just late.

Chapter Text

When I got home, I found my dad in the library and told him about the tickets. "So can I go? The concert will be over by 10:30, and that's inside my curfew for weekends, but with the traffic, it might be a little longer."

He smiled at me. "Sounds like fun, honey. I'm glad you'll get to go. Some of the acoustical experts from Wayne worked on the ballroom, so the sound is state of the art. This concert's the grand opening of the ballroom, so it should be quite a show. It was nice of that gentleman to reward you for your work. He's not expecting something in return, is he? You stay with your friends at all times."

"No, Dad, he just seemed really nice," I assured him. "My manager asked the same thing when I asked her if it was ok to accept the tickets. We aren't tipped employees, so I didn't know if I really could, but she said it was fine."

"Well, go and have fun, then. It's nice that your new friends are getting to go too, at least some of them."

"I wish we could all go, but..." I shrugged my shoulders. It wasn't as if I could ask for more tickets. I was beyond lucky to get the ones I did. I looked the seats up on the way home (or more precisely, AI Tony did) and found that they were in the boxes to either side of the stage. Dad nodded.

"So how is ballet going? Are you going to like your role as much as you thought?"

"Yeah, it's awesome. Mr Cal is showing me how to put in little touches of my own so that I'm not just doing the choreography but also interpreting it. He said that it isn't always appropriate to do that in the corps, but this is a solo role. I'm getting more complexity in my choreography than Jake." I gloated about that quietly. "Mr Cal said that if I tried out for a company now I might not make it, but with a couple more years of practice, he thinks that I wouldn't have any trouble getting offers. Maybe not ABC like Miles, but not a poky little company either."

Dad thought about that. "Is that something you really want to pursue, Lys?"

"I'd really like to work for it, Dad. I'm not a bad student, I get As and Bs, but compared to virtually everybody else in this family, I'm not very good. The only way I'd get into a top notch university would be because of my name, and I don't want to trade on that. And sure, Miles is probably a better dancer than me, but this is something that depends on my talents only, the family can't help me during practice or a performance."

"I want you to be happy, Lys. So if this is something that you want, of course I'll support you. But you shouldn't compare yourself to the other kids in the family. Each of you is unique. And while a lot of us find ourselves working for the company, you don't have to. I want you to develop your own gifts and interests. And don't sell yourself short. You may struggle with some aspects of academics, but you're still getting good grades. It might surprise you to know that Grandma Alex felt that same pressure when she was in high school, according to Aslyn, and you know how successful she's been. While she felt pressure not to let her parents down, it's not the same thing as having this whole Wayne legacy on your shoulders. I happen to love what I do, but you wouldn't be happy running the company, and I want you to love what you do. You can be successful on your terms, and in whatever manner you choose. You don't have to go to an Ivy League school to get a great education."

We talked more before I went up to bed; it was rare to have so much one-on-one time with my dad. While he wasn't distant, he was really busy, and there was also Mom and Deri around usually. She was upstairs, working on her first badge for Cadettes. I remembered how fun that had been, but I didn't really miss it. I'd run into one of the scouts I'd have been in Seniors with when I'd popped into the corner deli on my dinner break on evening, and she was still snotty. My badge vest, with all the patches and pins that denoted three years of little successes, was folded away in my closet, with the vests from Juniors, Brownies, and Daisies.

The next day, my friends wanted to know the story of how I got the tickets, and there was speculation about what band it would be. The design on the tickets was still tickling my brain, but I let it ride; it was fun not to know and I wanted the enjoyment of being as surprised as my friends when the band came out. We arranged to meet in front of the ballroom--it was really a theater, but they called it a ballroom because it sounded evocative, according to an interview the owners had done-- a half hour before the doors were scheduled to open; there was a covered arcade outside between the ballroom and the parking structure, and there would be opening-night merchandise and (more importantly) snacks on sale. I kept the news about the location of our seats to myself, not wanting the other three to feel even more left out. But they seemed ok; first come, first served had been the fairest way to decide who came with me. And photography was permitted, but no video or audio, so we could at least take pictures to share with them.

Deri had a fit at dinner when she found out about the concert, wanting me to take her instead one of my friends, but Dad squashed that flat before I could say a word. I was relieved to make an early exit, get dressed (jeans, a camisole, and a light jacket--the evenings were cooling off) and gave Dad a hug on my way out. I'd locked the tickets in my sewing room, knowing that Deri might defeat the lock on my vanity some day but not a lock that had been installed by both Alan and Alfred, and they were securely in my jacket pocket with some money and my ID. AI Tony was so excited for me.

"I feel bad that I'm not more interesting," I said dryly, and he rolled his little eyes and made a face.

"Speculation is huge about who the mystery band is," he said briskly. "So it's great that you'll be there first hand to see for yourself. You work too much, you should have more fun. You're only young once."

"This from the AI alter ego of Uncle Tony, the infamous workaholic," I said with an eyeroll of my own.

"Learn from his mistakes, Lys," AI Tony pronounced dramatically. "He may not be the best role model, but he can still be a bad example." I laughed, and it wasn't long before he dropped me off at the entrance to the parking garage. I loved the programming that allowed the pod to pay the parking fees on its own. I wandered around a bit before my friends arrived and I passed out the old-fashioned paper tickets, a neat touch that the ballroom owners were bringing back for situations like mine, where the tickets were a gift. They were apparently chock-full of anti-theft features, in the ink, the bar code, even the paper itself. The others took their tickets and we explored the offerings, nibbling on snacks like warm flavored almonds. Then the lights above the doors lit, with specific doors for each part of the ballroom, and we automatically checked our tickets. There was a special door for the box seats, and we joined the few people at it. As the usher took our tickets, inserting them into a gizmo that cut off the end while allowing us to have the rest of the ticket as a souvenir, "VIP" displayed on the reader, and another usher came forward to take charge of us. He escorted us to the stairway that went to the boxes on the left side, took us right to ours, which was the lowest and closest one, and took orders for complimentary drinks (non-alcoholic, he mentioned tactfully.) There were six seats there, I didn't know who had the other two, but there were tables between each of the very comfortable seats, and more snacks on trays on these tables. There were t-shirts on the back of every seat in the house as a commemorative souvenir of the opening of the venue. We settled in, chatting, excited, as the two other people showed up, looking just as happy as we were, and the usher returned with our drinks. He said he'd be back periodically to keep us well hydrated as the service was a feature of the box seats, and said that he'd keep bringing the same drinks if we wanted or he could bring different ones if we'd like. We asked him to surprise us, not really knowing what was on offer, and so that was a thing. About fifteen minutes later, the lights flickered and dimmed and the crowd went silent. Everybody leaned forward as the curtain opened on a black stage. It wasn't just that the stage lights were out, they had the screening 'lights' that absorbed the frequencies of light, reflecting nothing, making what was onstage a real mystery.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a female voice said over the speakers, sounding calm but energetic. "Welcome to the inaugural event at the Rosebud Ballroom. We hope that you enjoy the cutting edge sound system and lighting; please note that if you find the music too loud for your comfort, there are small headphones in the right arm of every seat where you can adjust the volume to your liking without any loss of clarity or frequency. Similarly, if the lights are too bright, there are glasses in that same compartment that can filter the effects for you. As there is no opening act for this performance, there will be an intermission about halfway through. Comment cards will be available at that time, accessible by a button in that right arm console. We value your comments and patronage. Enjoy the show!"

The noise in the ballroom fell to almost nothing; in fact, I could hear my friends breathing on either side of me. The stage stayed mysteriously black.

A man laughed over the sound system, and I recognized that as Freddie.

"Here we are! Born to be kings," voices sang in perfect a capella harmony, and the the lights exploded. "We're the princes of the universe!" The band began to play and my customer strutted out onto the stage, wearing black leather pants, an ornate purple military-style jacket with gold accents, a huge crown, bracelets, and the mantle of red velvet, lined in red satin, with a white fur edging that sparkled as light hit the black beads for the desired 'ermine' effect. It looked like they'd used the entire length of fabric for the thing. Over the top and spectacular, the collective mouths of the audience gaped at the completely unexpected appearance of Queen. There hadn't even been any rumors that they were going out on tour, just vague ones that they were recording again. Then we roared in response, that wonderful synergy between performer and audience. Between us and the band, I was surprised the roof didn't rise. Every person I saw, me included, had their communicators out and were taking pictures of the performance. I was mortified that I hadn't recognized Freddie Mercury and Brian May when they were right in front of me.

"Are you enjoying our surprise?" Freddie asked at the end of the song, and we yelled and applauded. "Well, we do love the grand gesture. The announcement of our world-wide tour will just have gone live on our web presence, dates and times and all, but we couldn't resist the opportunity to open a new house." As he spoke, two stagehands came out unobtrusively and removed the mantle as he stalked around the stage, putting his arm around John Deacon, messing up Roger Taylor's hair (to his irritation), patting Brian May's shoulder. "It's too bad, really, that we've already had a tour named "The Magic,' albums named "The Miracle," and "Made in Heaven,"" he said, and we laughed. "So welcome to the opening night of the 'Restoration' tour." And with that they launched into some of their greatest hits, including many of my favorites like "Keep Yourself Alive," "Seven Seas of Rhye," "You're My Best Friend," "I Want to Break Free," "Fat Bottomed Girls," "Killer Queen," "Don't Stop Me Now," "Bohemian Rhapsody," and ending the first half with the plaintive "Who Wants to Live Forever."

At the intermission, we saw ushers in all the boxes, including ours, handing out Queen Restoration concert t shirts with the US tour stops on the back. Our usher also brought in a fresh round of beverages and some throat lozenges; we'd been cheering a lot. "Mr Mercury's compliments, miss," he said to me. "He hopes that you're enjoying the performance and invites you and your friends backstage after the concert." I accepted, after looking at my friends to be sure that they could go too, and hit the restroom, changing into the concert T shirt as well. On my way back to the box, I ran smack into Jane and Molly. It was the first time I'd seen my former friends face to face since the day that they cut me dead in the cafeteria. And I looked a mess, sweaty (everybody was up and dancing) and my braid with wisps of hair escaping, my makeup mostly gone.

"Lys," Molly said, surprised. "Um, wow. How are you?"

"Good," I said.

"Where'd you get the t-shirt?" Jane asked.

"It came with my seat," I said. And as Jane opened her mouth again, I added, "And no, my daddy didn't buy it for me. Freddie Mercury actually gave me the tickets because I helped him at work." She looked shocked.

"Where have you been?" Molly wanted to know. "I was surprised when you didn't come back to school."

"I transferred," I said with an eye roll. "Like I wanted to stay there with everybody, including my former friends, acting like I had a disease. But it's for the best. I like my new school better, and certainly my friends are nicer."

And right on cue, bless their hearts, said friends came bounding up. "There's a little bathroom tucked away by the box seats," Imogen told me. "I totally missed it, but the usher pointed me in the right direction."

Ari, the most handsome of the boys who were my friends, tugged my braid and put his arm around my shoulder. Jinx surveyed the situation, and I made myself uncross my arms. "Let's get back," he said. "This is amazing, there's the whole second part of the concert plus backstage to look forward to." Ari steered me away, leaving Jane and Molly in our dust (figuratively speaking) and we hurried back, getting in just as the lights flickered to summon everybody back.

"Those girls looked bitchy, so we thought we'd see what's what," Imogen said as we sat down again, hastily filling out the comment cards with superlatives.

"Thanks, they were just from my last school," I said, and they didn't press for details. I hoped they hadn't heard the conversation.

The lights came up again and the band launched into "We Will Rock You," which they certainly did. There had also been a costume change, the band in outfits that looked like they were straight from their 1970's-era shows. The music was a mix of their old hits as well as tracks from their new album, also titled "The Restoration," which sounded like they had no few new hits on their hands. And at the end of the set, after two curtain calls, the usher led us backstage. The band wasn't back yet, but there were tables with food and beverages, and we were urged to help ourselves. There were other people from the concert, looking as overwhelmed as I felt, plus some people in suits who looked official, and soon the four members of the band came in, accompanied by the other musicians who were touring with them. It looked like they'd had hasty showers and they'd changed out of their glittery costumes into jeans and shirts. The band members split up and worked the room. "Here's my little fabric fairy," Mr Mercury said jovially as he bustled up to us. "What did you think of my mantle? It's not quite finished, there's going to be be gold embroidery before the tour really kicks off."

"It looked spectacular," I said. "The whole thing was such... a huge experience." He laughed.

"That was the point of it all," he said indulgently.

"I can't thank you enough for the tickets. The whole thing was just stunning," I said, but he waved off the thanks. "It's so embarrassing that I didn't recognize you. I'm actually a big fan of your music," I apologized. He laughed again and the drummer came up, curious.

"What did you think?" he asked us.

"That was the best concert I think I will ever see," Ari said sincerely.

"Well, I happen to agree," Mr Mercury said modestly, and Mr Taylor grinned.

"We've probably set the bar higher. We're lucky that music executives finally realized that there's still a market for legends, or we'd still be sitting on our asses."

"Music from musicians who came after the Return are more about the light shows and the spectacle, but you guys had the music to match," Imogen said. "Your hits are classics for a reason. I can still feel the bass in my bones." There was a little more chatter, Mr Mercury told us to enjoy ourselves, and they left to do press.

We stayed awhile longer, enjoying a light late dinner and sweets, then left. There were hugs all outside around as they thanked me for the tickets and I thanked them for going with me (it would have been humiliating to have gone by myself) and we split up. My pod met me as I went into the parking structure, then it was a short drive home, there not being too much traffic at that time of night.

"So who'd you see?" Dad asked as I came in. I was a little late for my curfew. Ok, well, a little later than late.

"Queen, Dad," I said enthusiastically, and told him about the concert and backstage.

"Well, I can understand why you're a little late, honey, but next time something momentous happens, I'd appreciate a text or something," he said, smiling. "I do worry, but I'm glad you had a good time with your friends, Lys."

Chapter Text

Mom finally got back; she'd authenticated and purchased a few pieces for the museum, been to a symposium, done... museum stuff, I guess. She'd also stopped by Themyscira since she was so close, and brought back some souvenirs, including a beautiful embroidered wool saddle blanket for Deri and a short dagger, iron blade with a bronze hilt, for me. I didn't quite know what to make of it, but Mom said that the General Aunt Antiope felt that it was a good weapon to have in a crowded city with a lot of crime and that I could practice knife skills with the crimefighters of the family. I had no idea what she thought New York was like; the crime rate wasn't that bad. But the little dagger was pretty and well made, and Grandpa Xander said he'd teach me how to use it. I didn't know what all the fuss was about, there hadn't been any more kidnappings, not even a busted plot.

Shortly after she returned, and before Dad left for his big business trip, after Alan had served the after dinner coffee and retired (he'd taken to making me decaf, which was so much better than tea), she stopped me when I was going to go up to my room. I was tired, it had been a long day and I was wrestling with yet more trig that I didn't understand. "No, stay, Lys. We have to have a conversation as a family." I sat right back down. Shit. Were she and Dad going to get a divorce? They both traveled a lot, so maybe their marriage had fallen apart? Mom wasn't the demonstrative type, so I couldn't tell anything from that.

"Derinoe, it has come to our attention that you have been using your gift away from home. I have investigated some complaints from your friends' parents, and it seems as if you lead them into trouble, but evade the consequences yourself with little or no punishment." I relaxed a bit. This wasn't as bad personally for me, but geeze, my little sister can be a dumbass. What on earth was she thinking?

"This is problematical on several levels," Dad said. "One of those friends is the daughter of our butler and and your Grandma Alex's close friend. The other children are not so close to our family, but they deserve no less respect. That's not being a good friend, Derinoe, that's being a user, and you know how I feel about that."

"You know that you are not to use this gift lightly, my daughter," Mom said, her voice like granite. "Yet you persist. Your reputation is is changing to something I don't like to hear, at least among the parents, and a few of them have told me that they are going to forbid their daughters to associate with you unless things change. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Deri, incredibly, rolled her eyes. "I don't see what all the fuss is. It was just a few little pranks."

"Pranks that embarrassed other kids," Dad said, frowning. "That's not right. That's not what we're about. We try to give our girls all the advantages we can, but balance them out with expectations and responsibilities. There are some who feel that we've been too easy with you, and I think that perhaps they're right. I'm ashamed that my daughter is a bully, a troublemaker." I thought back to what Grandma Alex had told me and wondered how strongly she'd put it to Dad. Probably pretty much a lot, because she has high expectations since she has a real soft spot for him.

"Both your father and I have been alone or lonely for significant parts of our lives," Mom said, and reached out to Dad, who took her hand. Whew, it didn't look like their marriage was on the rocks. "Family is a treasure that means everything to us. And I know that I am more reserved with you girls than perhaps I should be. It is not due to lack of love, but a feeling of isolation. While I love you dearly, you do not have my lifespan, and I know that I will see you in your graves while my years go on, that I only have you for a short time, overall. But I have had conversations that have changed my perspective, and I vow to show you more how precious you are to me. However, I cannot allow you to misuse your gifts, Derinoe. And tomorrow, both of you will be excused from school to come with me. We will take the family sub-orbital to Greece, where we will be meeting with temple representatives, priestesses who communicate with their goddesses, and action will be taken. If you will not voluntarily curb your abuse of your gifts, Derinoe, they will be bound. And Lys, I am concerned about what the Pharaoh said to you. I would know what other gift you have. It worries me that you have power that you don't recognize or understand."

"No, you can't take it away from me," Deri said, both angry and fearful.

"No, only the goddess can, and it is not clear that she will. Yet what the gods give, they can also take away, a lesson I thought you would have learned when hearing of the history of our people. But misuse of the power of love, a great and necessary good, cannot be tolerated, and it can be taken out of your reach through the use of a binding. But we will see what the priestesses say, and what Aphrodite directs. I give you this time so that you may think on your actions and urge you to be contrite. Regardless of your personal feelings, you will be polite and humble tomorrow."

I went to bed with mixed feelings. Finally, the Deri smackdown she deserved. But yikes, I didn't really want to be the focus of any god. I'd been hoping that that second blessing thing had just slipped her mind. I racked my brain to think of some impressive godly power that I had demonstrated, but nothing came to mind. Well, I would find out tomorrow.

I got to sleep in a little, dressed nicely, and had a good breakfast before the reluctant Deri was herded down by our implacable mother, and Dad drove us to the port. I didn't realize he was coming with us, but he said that he needed to shoulder his responsibilities as a parent too. The ride was mostly silent, and I read the class assignments that had been forwarded to me by my teachers as they got the notification that I wouldn't be in school today. I'd texted my friends that I had a family obligation so that they wouldn't worry that I was gone. It took about an hour, start to finish, from going to the port to exiting in Athens. We took a cab to the Classical Agora, where the Altar of the Twelve Gods had been rebuilt, home to the Olympian gods.

When we went inside the building, we found a few surprises waiting for us. The first was my grandmother the Queen Hippolyta, dressed in a traditional linen chiton and himation. Delicate small gold brooches held the chiton on her shoulders and arms, her golden hair was curled and artfully arranged, and only her wide silver metal bracelets detracted from the perfect elegance of her appearance. The expression on her lovely face was serene. She had a trace of god-touch to her, the residue of having carried Zeus' child, Menalippe had once told me. But everybody else there matched my mother in the strength of the god-touch. I couldn't see them at all, and the only way I could tell male from female was their dress; since they were here on business, they wore classical garb. The light emanating from the person obscured the fine details of their dress for me. In contrast to my grandmother, each priestess wore a peplos, which are traditionally made of thicker woolen fabric and had a lot of over-girding.

We were greeted in ancient Greek, language of the gods, by the priestess of Athena, who indicated that the other figures were the priestess of Aphrodite and the priests of Apollo and Hephaestus. It was explained that the priest of Hephaestus was here in case an artifact needed to be made for the constraint of Deri's ability (since Hephaestus was Aphrodite's husband, he knew more than a few ways of dealing with her) and the priest of Apollo was here to represent the god in his identification with truth, prophesy, and healing. That seemed ominous.

But after the greetings, I was up first, I guess to get the small matter out of the way. The priest of Apollo took my chin and was maybe looking at me? I couldn't tell, his face completely obscured by the power of his god. The power flared, and the priest's voice was warm when his hand dropped from my chin. "The lovely Lady Hestia is sadly neglected in the modern age," he said. "It would benefit all to honor her more faithfully, for is the hearth not the center of the home? She concerns herself with the right ordering of domesticity, from the home of the family to the state, home of all families. She also concerns herself with the physical embodiment of domesticity, the hearth and architecture. Fortunately, she cares little for acclaim, and do not mistake her concern with the domicile with passivity; the woman has the strength of iron at her core! She chose to refuse her seat on Olympus because of the tiresome, quarrelsome nature of gods, so often in opposition and conflict with each other, refusing marriage and the concerns of her own hearth for the concerns of all, and Aphrodite's arts cannot sway her. Her gift to you is something of her true essence; the creation of the home as a sanctuary for the family, where all will wish to gather. But be aware that this gift also has its harder side, expressed as a ruthlessness to keep the family well-ordered, some disruption in the present for the future stability of all.

"Your gift from the Lady Athena is much more straightforward in general; principally clarity of the gaze that reveals the workings of the gods in mortal life. Straightforward, yes, but be aware that not all gods wish to have their influence known. The influences of the two goddesses can work to your benefit, as Lady Athena also has her domestic attributes, like weaving and handicrafts, and also of the strategy of warfare; there is certainly that in families. You have been distinguished by her power, and although clarity of sight is your primary gift, you have faint echoes of her other attributes in your life." He seemed to study me. "And there is the influence of my student, Terpsichore, as well. The muse of the dance has brushed you with inspiration and ability." He turned to Deri.

"Your gift is also plain and true, one great blessing. But so troublesome! The power of love is vast and primordial, having its light side in unselfish and sacrificing love of one for another, but also the darkness of obsession and oppression. Since the gods themselves cannot tame it, it is unsurprising that mortals fail as well. It is a difficult gift, and I wonder at Lady Aphrodite, giving such strength to a child. She has much faith in its power and what it can accomplish. Still, you will grow to womanhood, and perhaps you will understand the balance and grace of your gift better with time."

"Toy not with the hearts of others, child," the priest of Hephaestus said, a faint echoing of his voice indicating the presence of his god along with the brightness he wore as a shroud. "Love can inflict great pain and suffering and despair. If you cannot be gentle in its use, you should not use it." Deri looked completely cowed, but then gods can do that. The presence of their power is so heavy that even people who aren't god-touched bow before it.

"Leave the child out of your complaints with me, husband," Aphrodite said sharply. Yikes. It was getting crowded in here with all the Olympian power being thrown around. I edged to the side, back by Dad, although he wouldn't be much protection if there was a godly brawl in progress. Mom and Queen Hippolyta stood by Deri. "At heart, she is a good child and can become better. A check for her powers is present in the gifts of her sister, for love is strongest where it is not compelled. Love may be the greatest gift of all, providing strength and support, a beacon where hope is lost. And there may come a time when this child's gifts are needed. She must learn not to abuse her gift."

"And here is the heart of the matter," Athena said, getting up and pacing over. "She lacks self-control. The power corrupts her rather than her controlling it. What do you propose to do about it, Aphrodite?"

"I thought you were the goddess of wisdom," Aphrodite shot back.

"But this is not my doing. I chose the child with strength of will, not airy vanity, to bear my gifts."

"The younger is not weak, but perhaps simply tempted beyond her restraint." She--or rather, the vessel of her priestess--walked over to Deri, who started to tremble. She seemed to regard my sister, and Dad's arm went around my shoulders and drew me close. Apollo's priest came over.

"Shall I?" he asked, and Aphrodite nodded. His power flared uncomfortably, and I averted my eyes.

"I see it," he said after the moment had stretched out, the voice of the god light and merry, the strength of the sun in its core. "It is insecurity at its heart, fear of being left by those she loves, unsure if her abilities are enough to draw friends and allow success, fear that she is not sufficiently special to earn these things on her own. A bit of laziness as well, the use of the gift as a shortcut."

The priestess was silent, the aura of the goddess retreating as she considered the situation. Then Aphrodite sighed. "Child, you must know the evils of misusing your power before you can wield it effectively. Unless you understand the responsibility I have given you, the ramifications of my gift, you may not use it at all." She stroked Deri's cheek, then briefly laid her hand on her head. "I do not choose to take it back. At this time. But I will not have you abuse it. Grow in wisdom, little one."

And with that, the mortals bore away their gods.

Chapter Text

Everybody was pretty silent on the way home. Deri tried to use her power a few times, but failed. It was interesting to see; the push I associated with her power was like I'd heard Grandpa Bruce describe trying to start an old fashioned car with a dead battery; each push was subsequently weaker. She ran up to her room as soon as we got home. I was going to do the same, just slower, to hit the homework, but Mom and Dad steered me into the library instead.

"We wanted to hear how you feel about what just happened," Mom said after we sat down.

"It was pretty intense," Dad said. "I found it daunting, and I was on the outside of everything. How do you feel about what that priest said about your gift from Hestia? I have to say, it makes sense in hindsight. Everybody thinks highly of your room, how comfortable it is. Damian told me that Iris wants to get an apartment next year so that she can ask for your help. And you certainly do value family harmony." I wanted to laugh. Iris was kind of a slob; she wouldn't do too well on her own unless Alfred came by to keep the mess under control.

"I'm kind of glad it's not some big flashy power," I said after a moment. "But also kind of regretful. It would be nice to have a strong power that's good for something."

"Your ability to discern the god-touched is quite strong," Mom disagreed. I made a face.

"But not especially useful. It would be nice to be able to see your face without having to take a picture first, for example. And it turns out that I perceive the use of gifts differently. It's not all like Deri's gift, where it feels like a push. The gods themselves have light flares, and I'm a little worried about how other people might affect me. This other thing..." I shrugged. I was more disappointed than I wanted to admit. Virtually any other goddess could have given me something more usable. And wasn't that just a greedy thought for somebody who liked to avoid the direct notice of the gods. "It was nice to know that a muse took an interest in me, though." Dad smiled and stroked a strand of hair back from my face. My braid was looser today; I'd been more nervous than I'd wanted to admit and was distracted when I was getting ready to go. Mom was somber.

"You underestimate the value of a home, dearest. A place where you belong and are welcomed is precious to those without," she said somberly.

"I'm just glad that you didn't end up with something that might be dangerous," Dad said. "Or some power that might make you feel like you had to join the other family business. I know it's important, but I would prefer my kids to stay out of it."

We talked a little more about the experience; I mentioned that I'd been surprised that the queen showed up so far away from Themyscira, and Mom frowned slightly. "You are her granddaughters, and she is concerned. She may not show it much, but she does love you." I let it ride; I felt that her attachment to Deri and me was kind of cursory and tenuous, and Deri agreed; we'd discussed it years ago. And what did I know, anyway. After awhile, they let me leave, I think they just wanted to make sure I was emotionally stable. One off-kilter kid was enough for any family. I went upstairs to do homework. Since I didn't have to listen to lectures or deal with artificially-imposed time slots, I could power through my assignments in chunks that made sense to me, and I was not only able to get my homework done but worked ahead a little, even taking time to have lunch outside. The weather forecast called for the start of the autumn rains that had become an annual event after the Big Winter and there wouldn't be many more nice days.

I was reading Romeo and Juliet for English (idiot emo kids) when I heard Mom and Dad come down the hall and tapped on Deri's door before going in. My door wasn't completely closed, or I'd have missed what happened. Deri predictably threw a hissy about the loss of her gift, accusing Mom of jealousy of Aphrodite's power (seriously? Mom had more power than the two of us put together, squared or whatever even, and Aphrodite had contributed to that as well) and all sorts of other off the rails accusations. I was trying to be sympathetic, but she hadn't lost her ability, it had just been closed off until she was mature enough to have it. And Dad pointed that out.

What I could hear made me exceedingly glad I am not a parent. Geeze.

Later that week, the parents got a call from Deri's school, saying she was acting up, and a couple of her friends had told Deri that they weren't allowed to be friends with her. The parents were at a loss in how to deal with it, and took Deri to Star City to talk to Black Canary, who was a therapist in real life. I was glad to miss that too. It stretched to a two-day thing, so I was alone overnight. Grandpa Damian had me over for dinner (Grandma Alex was inspecting a site that Valkyrie was working on and was gone for a bit) and offered one of their guest rooms, but I was fine with staying alone in the mansion. It actually was the first time I'd ever had it entirely to myself, after Alan left for the evening. It was kind of neat, very relaxing not to have Deri and her fits around. I knew that it had been traumatic for her, but she got herself into that predicament and she needed to gal up and face the music. I even went and practiced my dancing in the ballroom without worrying about being interrupted. The choreography was beautiful and magical, and I never felt as free or more like myself as when I danced. The ballroom was beautiful and I could imagine myself on a bigger stage than we'd be using in the recital. I couldn't wait for our performance. I was working so hard to be perfect and graceful. When they got back, Deri was calm and seemed thoughtful, (and no, there hadn't been a lobotomy, I'd asked) and things went back to normal-ish.

A few weekends later, I came back from a romp with Eira (she'd found something gross and rolled in it, so I was glad she was tired by that point) and found Deri sitting hunched on the patio, looking at nothing in particular. It wasn't raining, but it was threatening, and that seemed to match her mood. "So how are you doing?" I asked cautiously. Earlier questions like this hadn't been fruitful. But instead of going off or at least into a magnificent snit, she just shrugged. "Wanna talk about it?" I offered. After a moment she nodded, so I pulled over a chair. "So what's up?"

Her response was different than the rant about injustice that I'd been hearing. "So how do you go about being friends with somebody again?" she asked, picking at her cuticle. "Van... we had an argument. And she said we weren't friends anymore. But I miss her."

I took my time to think about it. "After my birthday and Eleanor cut me out, at first, I would have gone back to being friends with her in a snap if she'd have just asked. We were friends for a long time and it really hurt. Then there was a period where I would have needed to hear an explanation of why she did what she did. If the hurt is deep enough, just a 'hey, I'm sorry, let's be friends again' doesn't cut it. It has to be more substantial."

"And now?" she asked, darting a glance at me.

"I don't know if I could forgive her. We told each other almost everything, everything but the family secrets, and to think that she ditched all the memories we had, our whole friendship so that she could still have dates is unacceptable. She might have lost some of her other friends, but she'd have still had me. But it doesn't matter. She never reached out. I saw Molly and Jane at the concert and I was surprised at how mad I was. Before, I was just so hurt that I didn't even feel mad. That took time to surface."

"So If I didn't want to be like Eleanor, what do you think I should do?"

I thought about it. "You owe her an apology anyway, at the very least. And her parents, too, for getting her in trouble. What I would do--and it would be really hard, but I think it's needed--would be to go over there sometime when Alan's over here, it's just Van and Aslyn, and apologize to Van for not only getting her into trouble but leaving her to take the blame and the punishment. Say that I'm not asking for an immediate answer, I understand that she needs to think about it, that you're up for conversations and explanations when she thinks about them, but that you'd like to have her friendship back, it means a lot. Then to Aslyn, I'd apologize for my bad judgement, say I was sorry for what I did and that I know better now, and skedaddle, apologizing to Alan separately. For me, it would be easier that way. I'd probably buttress this by talking to Grandma Alex about everything that had happened, so that she could (hopefully) reassure Aslyn that this wouldn't happen again. But I'd only do it if I was sincere and had really learned my lesson, because you can't just expect people to keep on giving you chances." I reached over and squeezed Deri's hand. "And you have to be prepared for her to say no. It's her choice, and if she says no, I'm done, then you have to accept it and go on, having learned a really hard lesson."

"But what if she does say she's done?"

"It's going to suck, and it's going to hurt, but it's not entirely unexpected," I said gently. "But from there, you go forward, finding new friends, treating them better."

"It's such a mess," she muttered, and I nodded. "That therapist said that that's what happens when you make a mess, and the way through it is to address each part individually."

"That sounds better than trying to deal with the whole thing," I said. "It breaks it down into chunks that are more approachable. You can look at each part and think about what your preferred outcome is and how to can best try to get there. If you just look at the whole thing, it looks like too much to try to do anything about." She nodded, and we sat in peaceful silence for a bit. Then I got up to go, she caught my hand.

"I'm sorry, Lys. I've been rude to you and... not as sympathetic as I should be. I'm sorry I went through your things and ruined your sewing machine and that fabric."

"So why'd you do it?" I asked.

"I'm afraid that you're going to grow up and leave me behind," she said woefully, and I was surprised to see her eyes get shiny.

"Dummy," I said affectionately. "You're my sister. You're stuck with me, and vice versa. Even if I go to school someplace or get a job somewhere else after high school, there's always calls and texts. I'm always going to want to know how you're doing, what you're up to, tell you what I'm doing. And if you want to make something, tell me. We can work on it together."

She squeezed my hand and managed a small smile, which I returned. I saw her look over to Van's house. "Make a plan first for what you want to say, and make it heartfelt," I advised, then went back into the house.

And that conversation made me reassess how things were with my new friends. It was a different friendship than I'd had with my other friends, but I felt that they could become even better friends given time. But there was the issue with my identity, and I found that I wanted to come clean with them. Now, before I really thought they were my friends and they dumped me because I hadn't been upfront. Or, worse, because they didn't want to be friends with somebody so privileged. I really hoped that I was wrong about that. But the time never seemed to be right. The time when we were always all together was at lunch, and it was frustrating because people kept stopping by to say hi to somebody or it was too busy, or somebody was working with another student on a project. It was always something, and I was getting nervous about it. It was kind of a relief that Miles' first performance had finally arrived. It provided a much-needed distraction, and I was eager to see him dance.

Chapter Text

I got ready for the ballet eagerly, in the skirt and one of the blouses that Uncle Steve had made for me, my hair up and the garnet earrings in. I had some pretty dress pumps with a two inch heel and felt really good. I'd been to the ballet before, of course, but these were usually matinee performances; this was an evening performance, dressier. There was a tap on my door and when I yelled, Deri came in. She had a cute blue dress on with low wedges; she'd curled her hair and it was pretty. "You ready?" she asked. I considered her. It was an important night, so I rummaged in the vanity drawer and held out the box with the enamel earrings.

"Do you want to borrow these tonight?" I asked, and when her face lit, I was glad I'd offered. She switched out the plain gold balls she'd been wearing and we went down together.

All four of us went; it was kind of a surprise that Dad was able to come. I don't think he's all that crazy about the ballet, actually , which is hard on him, having me for a daughter, but he doesn't hate it or anything. But it was a big deal, the first staging of the Sandman ballet in about ten years. It was (very) loosely based on the Neil Gaiman classic comics, and although Miles was in the corps for the night, he was understudying Dream, a really good role and almost unheard-of for a new member of the corps.

There were a lot of the family in attendance, of course; Grandma Alex, Grandpa Damian, and Iris were there along with Grandpas Bruce, Xander, Thomas, and Mark, Grandma Martha, a slew of aunts and uncles and cousins. We probably made up about a tenth of the audience. The quality of the production was high, and the dancing was wonderful, as befits the country's premier company, and Miles did really well. You could tell that he was already making progress in the short time he'd been a professional. If the muse of dance had graced me, she must have full-on french kissed Miles.

Deri and I chattered on the way home; Dad was driving, since when we'd started back there was an emergency flight and the aerial lanes were closed, and then we were past the launch points when they reopened. Mom asked us about our opinions and some aspect of the ballet now and then. It was kind of late, around ten, which was late for a school night, but this was an extenuating circumstance. I'd pay for it tomorrow, though, being tired in class, but it was so worth it.

Nobody expected a thing as the traffic from the city started to thin out.

A big dark van in the lane on our left and a delivery truck in the right lane suddenly squashed our pod between them. The impact was pretty vicious, all the safety measures came into play, and I couldn't see anything through the airbags and barriers that deployed. I was shaken but not really hurt, and as we came to a stop, I clawed my way through the deflating airbags to find Deri in a similar condition. But when we called for Mom and Dad, there was no answer. The delivery truck that had been on my side rolled away and stopped, and I was shocked when my door was wrenched open and I was dragged out. The door for the forward compartment was also open and Mom was positioned as if she'd opened the door but collapsed before she could get out of the seat. As I looked at her, her bracelets flickered into reality on her wrists, then faded away.

A wash of hot air rolled over me as a new conveyance pulled up in the emergency lane, its propulsion idling but not cut off. "Number four, where's the other one?" I heard someone who was wearing a mask and anonymous clothes bark as he/she/it stepped out. I tripped over some debris in the road and the person bringing me along--I think it was a guy by the build--swore at me, grabbing my hair, which had lost about half its pins in the accident, and hauling me to my feet. That really hurt.

But I wasn't going to let them take Deri too, after what had happened to the Osborn kid, the animals, and I buried the piece of metal that I'd picked up off the road into the side of my captor turning to run to my sister. He swore and hit me so hard I was actually flew back before landing hard on the pavement. I just lay there, stunned, and I could hear Deri, speaking warmly.

"You don't need my sister too," she was saying persuasively. "I'm cute and little, you can get a huge ransom just for me. My sister's got a temper, too, she's not as popular--"

I abruptly lost focus when the guy I'd stabbed stomped my ankle and I screamed. He stomped it again, and in agony I saw his boot coming toward my head.

Chapter Text

I woke up wondering why I felt like complete and utter shit. Then I wondered where I was. The ceiling was not my shade of white, the light was all wrong. And why I couldn't move. I wasn't as panicked about that as I could have been. Should have been, probably. My mind was slushy. I heard some muted beeps increasing slowly, and I managed move my head a little to look around slightly. It didn't do any good, all I could see was partway down the walls, there was a generic door, no purple anywhere and the window coverings were slatted blinds instead of rich velvet draperies. What the fuck had happened?

The door opened quietly to the left, and there was a sound that suggested movement on my right. "Hello, Lys, it's good to see you awake," a brisk voice said, and I squinted suspiciously at the woman. She wore a white coat, so that had to be good. Right?

The movement on the other side resolved into a glowy ball, which freaked me out and I would have shied away violently but I still couldn't move. Then I remembered that that was ok for some reason, and turned my attention back to White Coat Woman as the glowy ball came to the side of the bed. Why was the glowy ball wearing clothes??

"My name is Doctor Sicora," WCW said, and I huffed a laugh. Who the hell names their kid Doctor?

"I'm a doctor here at Metropolitan General Hospital," she said after a disconcerted pause. "You were brought here three days ago following a traffic incident on one of the roads out of New York. You were with your family. Let me assure you now that everybody will be fine. You were brought here by emergency flight. Your injuries were extensive, you were in surgery for twenty-one hours. You had a fractured skull, brain swelling, a fractured cheekbone, damaged eye, broken nose, and several teeth were knocked out or loosened. Your ankle was fractured. Now, the soft tissue damage to your brain and eye were easily healed with medication and a tissue accelerator, the cartilage of your nose repaired and the swelling and bruising healed. Your teeth were replaced and treated to tighten the tissues around the roots again. The bone is the thing that has to be carefully monitored. We can only help that process along so fast. You still have the fractures in your skull and cheekbone, although they are cracks rather than completed, dislocated fractures, which will help them to repair themselves faster. Your ankle, though, is a completely different matter." She was checking things over my head as she spoke, then looked at me intently.

"We have you in a low-power forcefield to keep you from moving while you were unconscious and hurting yourself further. I'm going to release it now." She pressed a button on a remote and a light pressure that I hadn't really been aware of lifted. I moved my head back and forth, nodding forward, stretching those muscles, shrugging my shoulders, extending my arms, and trying to sit up. Ouch. Something hurt in my pelvis. "Don't sit up just yet," Doctor Sicora said hastily. "A catheter's been inserted."

...ok, whatever.

One foot flexed and rotated just fine but not the other. "Your other ankle is immobilized," Doctor Sicora said. She sighed, and the glowy thing took my hand. It was weird. It felt like hands on my hand. "Your ankle and lower leg were in eighty-two pieces when we started to operate. We repaired tendons, ligaments, connective tissues, and pinned the bone fragments together. You will recover fully from this and regain your range of motion again. To assist in your healing, your foot, ankle, and lower leg are in a lightweight but rigid cast supported with a small local antigrav unit to keep all pressure off your injuries. I understand that you're a ballet dancer." She paused, and for the first time, looked worried. "I regret to have to tell you that your days of being on point are over. Even when you're healed up, your ankle won't be able to support the strains of dancing on your toes. The damage and reconstruction were too extensive. I'm very sorry." Her eyes dropped and she bustled around checking things.

"Why don't I remember any of this?" My voice was raspy. Doctor Sicora poured me some water, and I noticed for the first time that there was an IV line in my elbow.

"Your concussion might have affected your memory slightly," she said. "But you've been given some medication to help with that, and it should return shortly now that you're conscious again. So what's going to happen next is that we're going to take you to x-ray to check on your breaks, and when you get back, we'll do some cognition tests." A couple of other people came in, wearing different clothes and different white coats, and I was decatheterized and placed in a wheelchair. There was a long trip to the room with the x-ray, and by the time I got back to the room, I was understanding what had happened a whole lot better.

And how I wished I didn't.

My eyes were overfilling, and after I was placed back in the bed, Dr Sicora gave me a box of tissues. The glowy thing that I now remembered was my mom stroked my hair. Then I got it together enough for the cognition test, which showed that the likelihood of permanent damage was low. I tested my teeth with my tongue and found everything to be ok. The IV line was removed since I was conscious, and further medication could be administered orally or with a pressure spray. Then the doctor left.

"Where's Deri? And Dad? What happened? I saw you in the car, you were unconscious."

"It was a kidnapping attempt," Mom said, her hand still stroking my hair. "They took Deri, but emergency services had been called and they intercepted the kidnappers before they got to the airport. Dad is also in the hospital, they rammed the pod's door. He had a concussion, a broken arm and leg, and some internal damage, but he's being released this afternoon. Deri is fine, and I was injured, but I have that healing factor."

"How did they do that much damage to the pod?" I said, and drank some more water. "It's one of Uncle Tony's, it has great safety features. Deri and I were shaken up but not hurt until we were dragged out of it."

"The kidnappers had modified their vehicles," was all that Mom would say. Then there was tapping at the door, which opened to show an anxious-looking Grandpa Mark and Aunt Amy.

"Honey," Aunt Amy said, coming over to take my hand.

"You're looking better, Lys," Grandpa said encouragingly. They looked over at Mom, whose head-blob nodded. "Dan is going to be released soon, Diana. We thought we'd come down to sit with Lys for a bit while you help get him discharged."

"Oh, thank you, Mark. Lys, dear, I'm going to get Dad and we'll stop by before I take him home to rest, but I'll be back later. He wants to see you."

As Mom left, I couldn't keep my eyes open any more. The next time I woke up, Aunt Natasha was in the chair. The sun had gone down and I had some dinner. It wasn't very good. She said that she knew what it was like not to be able to dance anymore and that anytime I wanted to talk about it, to let her know. Any time, day or night. I went back to sleep, woken up every few hours by a nurse performing some sort of wellness check or shooting me with the pressure injector; I'd rather that they'd left the IV in. The injector hurt more and I was sick of it. Grandpa Bruce was in the chair now, and I waited until the damn nurse left me alone again before hissing at him, "You're Batman, can't you make them leave me alone? How can I get some rest if they're always waking me up?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Even I can't do that, Lys," he said regretfully. "If we could spring you, we could put you downstairs, but they have a point; you're not ready to be released yet."

"Couldn't you lie, say I was being transferred to another facility?"

"Metro General is the best place for you to be right now, unfortunately, because the medication that will push the bone healing as fast as possible has to be very carefully monitored and the physicians here helped to develop and refine the medications. They understand its use better than anyone. But in a couple of days they'll have done all they can for you. The medications can only provide a boost to conditions making bone growth possible and help deal with the trauma, it doesn't actually make it go faster, and once the growth is perceptible, it has to be stopped."

"A couple days more? Promise?"

"Promise, Lys." So I went back to sleep.

The next morning, they sent a nurse in to wake me up and check... whatever the hell it is they check, I was so crabby from sleep deprivation by then I didn't care what it was they were doing. But she helped me to the bathroom and brought a breakfast (disgusting sludgy oatmeal, I'd kill for some damned bacon) so I tried to be nice. I don't think I succeeded very well, but at least I wasn't channelling Deri's princess airs. I did apologize, and she laughed it off, saying that given what I'd been through it was a miracle I wasn't more crabby. Then the doctor came in with a couple of specialists, I was taken off to be irradiated again, and the consensus was that the medication had to stop. The bone was showing the first signs of remodeling. I would be given a different medication to supply specific compounds helpful for bone growth, but those were pills that could be taken without medical supervision. I was given crutches and allowed to take a shower. The anti grav field that kept my lower leg hovering about an inch off the mattress at all times also repelled water from the casting material. It wasn't that the cast would unravel or anything, but it wasn't hygienic and could smell if water got trapped between the skin and the cast. In rare cases, a fungus could grow, gross. I felt slightly better after the shower; there were bars mounted on the shower walls that I could grab if I felt unsteady and I was relieved to find that I still had all my hair. I'd seen somebody with half a shaved head in the radiology department and it made me worry. The doctor said they didn't need to shave my head because the skull was just cracked and they got to me fast enough to keep my brain from swelling dangerously.

I went back to sleep. I was exhausted, which was weird after being unconscious for a few days, but there you go, and in any case, I didn't have anything else to do, so I might as well nap as much as possible. I didn't want to think about what they'd said about my dancing anyway.

I woke up for lunch, which was a vaguely flavored water with a few sad scraps of chicken and a noodle floating around. I poked at it dispiritedly with my spoon, then just ate the roll instead. Damn, we were rich, why wasn't I getting anything better to eat? The roll tasted like glue.

I woke up a few hours later to whispering; a nurse and Dad. I smiled for the first time in a long time, it felt like. The nurse went away after another one of those damned injections. Dad was in a wheelchair since he couldn't use crutches. He rolled closer and smiled conspiratorially, but the smile was strained. I didn't care though, because from his messenger bag he produced one of Alan's sandwiches. A cold steak sandwich on crisp toasted bread with lettuce and sauteed mushrooms and onions. I restrained myself from ripping it out of his hands (barely) and gobbled it down hungrily. I felt so much better after, having finally had something good to eat. I drank some water and sighed at the sight of a brownie, dark and moist and delicious.

"You'll be blowing this popsicle stand tomorrow morning, honey," he said, and I brightened up some. "We're installing some grab bars in your shower until you're healed up, and we've got the elevator, so you'll be able to move around some. And you won't be woken up all the time." We exchanged small smiles. "You won't be going to school for awhile longer, though. You'll have your assignments at home, but it'll take you some time to build up your strength enough to navigate the hallways. You'll be given a temporary pass for the elevator there until your cast comes off. We called your work to let them know, and they want you to call them when you're ready to come back. Your manager said that there are things you can do even with a cast."

"So how's Deri?" I asked, feeling sleepy again.

"She's fine. She tried to use her gift, but... She saw what happened to you and tried to help you, but they carried her away. She bit several people and was backhanded, but the cops caught up with them before they got to their airplane. They had a small, older private jet waiting. They're being interrogated, so hopefully the authorities will get some intel that will lead to whoever's behind the kidnapping."

"What about you?" I asked, yawning.

"I'll be fine, sweetie. They had modified their vehicles with rams that punched out to incapacitate whoever was in the front seats. It worked really well, but I'm like you, I just have to wait for the breaks to heal. There's one more thing. Your Uncle Tony has devised subcutaneous trackers that we'd like to have implanted in your hand. It's passive; it won't show up if somebody scans you looking for trackers. Somebody has to send a signal, and you're tracked with the pingback. It's not perfect, but the trackers that send alarms can be detected with a scan and we don't want you to be cut by anybody trying to take it out. Will you allow it? "

"I guess so," I said unenthusiastically. He nodded.

"It's easy to place; it's tiny, smaller than a grain of rice. They use a hypodermic needle to place it, then a second with a tissue accelerator, and you're done. It's placed between muscles in a low-friction coating, so you shouldn't feel it once it's placed."

After that, I took another nap, waking up a few hours later for more medication and a technician who came in with a syringe and Mom. Under her supervision, the little chip was placed in my left hand and it was as Dad had said, I didn't feel it, not even when I pressed on my hand to find it. She texted Uncle Tony when it was done, and he sent a ping to make sure it was working. It was, but it took a couple of minutes to get the test result back. The hospital was pretty well shielded from electronic interference, but the protection for the medical equipment sometimes interfered with communicator signals. "It's irritating," Mom agreed, "but you'll never know the pain of dial-up connections, dearest."

She'd brought some clothes with her so I'd have something to wear home the next day. "Steve is making you another skirt and blouse, Lys," she said. "Everybody sends you their best wishes." She'd also brought me my reader, and I read a little, but the upset about my ankle and dance kept at me, and Mom brought over a trash can for my tissues. "I wish that there was something I could do, Lys," she said, kissing my forehead. "You love it so much. I petitioned Apollo, but his priest said that even the gods have to bend to the limitations of the physical form. He did agree to help you heal, having abilities beyond mortal medicine, but this is the best he can do."

I had to be content with that. But I wasn't. I suspected I'd be mourning my loss for quite a while.

Chapter Text

The next day, there was a final zap of the x-rays, a last check by Dr Sicora, and I was allowed to leave. Mom came to check me out and collect the bag of medication, and Alan was waiting at the exit with one of the family pods. It was a pretty silent trip to the nearest temple of Apollo, where a priest was waiting for me. I sat down and he cupped my toes in one hand and placed one hand on my knee before invoking his god. The brightness I associated with the physical presence of one of the Greek gods flared and it felt like a current of energy was running through my leg between his hands. This continued for longer than it was comfortable. I was on the verge of asking him to stop when he did and stepped back, having done all he could. I thanked him, Mom thanked him and handed him an envelope which I thought might contain a donation to the temple, and we went home.

Deri was at school, so it was Mom, Dad, and me for a late lunch. It was delicious, something I really appreciated after the hospital food, but I was feeling tired and subdued. There was one more thing before I could go rest, though. A detective came by right after lunch was over and wanted my account of the whole mess for the record. It had all been caught on camera, both the city and state cameras that ran the length of the road since it was a major artery in and out of Manhattan, and also on bystander communicators. Mom and Dad sat in on the questioning since I was a minor.

"After the car was hit, I shouted, but Mom and Dad didn't answer. Deri did, she was like me, shaken but not really hurt. Then the door was opened and I was dragged out. I think I fell once, which must be where I got the piece of metal. I heard Deri trying to charm the kidnappers out of taking me too, but I didn't want them to take her either, I remember what they did to that Osborn kid, so I stabbed the guy who was hauling me along, then he hit me really hard and stomped my ankle. I saw his boot coming toward my face, but that's the last thing I remember."

The detective didn't have any questions; my part of the drama had been really brief and was well documented. He had me press my thumb to he recorder to verify that my statement was the truth as I saw it. "We caught the individuals involved in the kidnapping attempt. They were working for others, but through dead drops and cutouts, so they had no information on who had hired them aside from the feeling that the operation was well funded. In addition to the private jet, which will be difficult to trace ownership since the sales don't have to be registered, they also had the funds to modify the two vehicles and pay the kidnappers handsomely. We are coordinating with state and federal authorities in order to trace the money back to the source." He sighed. "Your ankle was stomped several times and there was a vicious kick to your face. I'm sorry you were so badly injured. The man was pulled off when your sister was secured, otherwise your injuries would have been worse. The metal you struck him with partially severed his large intestine and skewered his small intestines. He was patched up, was arraigned, and is in jail awaiting trial. I don't mean to tell you your business, Mr Wayne, but there are companies that specialize in training high-value targets what to do in the event of a kidnapping attempt that might be worth your while to look into. I can forward you some recommendations, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Detective," Dad said, and they shook hands. Mom escorted him out and I got to my feet, picking up the crutches. Dad rode up on the elevator with me. I was really drooping by the time I made it to my bedroom. Alan was inside, putting away some laundry. I'd been doing my own, but I really appreciated his help in the current situation and said so.

"My pleasure, Miss Lys. I took the liberty of making your bed with fresh sheets in anticipation of your homecoming as well." I rubbed my eye--gently--as I looked at my enclosed bed.

"I appreciate that, Alan. Could I ask you to take down one of the screens that cover some of the access to my bed? It's just screwed in, but I'm not very agile with this contraption on my leg. I don't want to kick the screen and damage it, it's kind of fragile."

"Of course, Miss Lys. I'll bring up a screwdriver immediately."

"I have a drill with a screwdriver attachment in a bin in my closet," I said and he smiled.

"You're a handy creature, Lys," Dad said, smiling too. "Why don't you sit down, honey? I can help Alan if he needs a hand steadying the screen while he's taking out the screws."I crutched over to the nice wingback chair, so comfortable. I had to tell them that screws were present every twelve inches along the wall--Grandpa had done a great job of make them really unobtrusive--but aside from that it was just a matter of waiting and trying not to fall asleep. I'd probably get a crick in my neck or something. When the panel at the foot of the bed had been detached, Alan got my little vacuum out and took care of the sawdust, then put everything back away in the closet. I took my shoe off and climbed onto the bed. Dad draped the knit blanket folded at the bottom over my legs, told me to call if I needed anything, and he and Alan left. I promptly napped, grateful to be back in my nest.

When I woke up, I looked around and found my communicator on the desk. I noted that Deri had returned the earrings I'd loaned her to the case and they were sitting on my vanity. I unlocked the drawer and put them away before holding the communicator in my teeth and crutching over to the window seat. It was kind of a gray day, and it started to drizzle as I went through my texts, full of concern and worry from my friends. I sent a group text explaining that I'd been in an accident and had been in the hospital with a broken ankle, but was home now and hopefully I'd be back at school soon. I had assignments from my teachers too, but for once I didn't hop all over that.

As long as I was feeling numb and tired, I went to the closet, dumped some casual summer t shirts and shorts out of a couple of pretty silver wire bins, and went through my closet, dropping tights, leotards, shrugs, and dance skirts into one of them. I didn't know if anybody'd want a used leotard, but they were nice. I'd have chucked my leg warmers too, but I could still use those. Right now my left leg was a little cold in the skirt. I draped one over my shoulder, then tossed all my pointe shoes and ballet slippers into the other bin; at least I hadn't gotten a new pair of Peterovs for the recital yet. I stacked the bins, then shoved the bins toward the door to the hall. I got into a pattern of shoving the bins forward with one crutch, taking a couple steps forward, and repeating down the hall to the laundry room. I tossed my shoes into the trash, then emptied the clothes into the hamper for donations. I made better progress back down the hall to my room with the empty bins, which I left on the floor of the closet to deal with later. I went back to the window seat and sat down, pulling the leg warmer on my uncasted leg before swinging both legs up onto the seat. My right leg hovered about an inch off the seat thanks to the antigrav unit, which was still weird to me. I leaned back on my pillows and started to answer the reply texts, which were even more concerned.

It was getting dark outside when I heard activity in the hall and somebody tapped on my door. I yelled to come in, and Deri poked her head in, then shot over for a hug. "I was really worried about you," she said, her voice muffled in my shoulder."Mom and Dad wouldn't let me come to the hospital."

"I was worried about you, too. The hospital was pretty boring, I just slept a lot. I understand you bit a lot of deserving kidnappers," I said and she she smiled a little. "You can pull up the chair if you want." She turned it around and pulled it carefully over to the window seat. There'd be scratches on the floor because it was pretty heavy, but I didn't say anything about it, I'd take care of it later. I asked how classes were going, and she had some stories about school. Some of her friends had come back, others hadn't, and she was philosophical about that. She was still waiting on Van, who said she needed some time to think about it.

"Thanks for returning the earrings," I said. "If you promise you won't poke around without asking first, I'll leave the drawer unlocked and you can borrow some earrings now and then." Her eyes lit up and I was glad to make her happy. Sometimes I had to remember that she was only twelve still and the kidnapping attempt had been a horrible experience for her too. Before long, it was time to go downstairs for pre-dinner, and she walked down the hall with me to the elevator.

We had guests, but family, so it was ok. Grandpa Damian, Grandma Alex, and Uncle Bucky were sipping cocktails when we walked in. Uncle Bucky patted the sofa beside him when he saw me, and when I'd sat down, had me swing my cast up. He had a black thingie in his hand, which was shortly revealed to be a sort of knit sock that just covered my toes and was secured to the edge of the cast with a drawstring. It was thick and warm and really thoughtful. "We're supposed to start getting the first snows next week," he said after I thanked him. "Can't have you freezing your toes off, honey. Now that I know it works, I'll make a couple more for you."

We went in to dinner sooner than usual, and we had a delicious stew with whole-wheat rolls and a crunchy salad. Conversation was light and inconsequential, and almond cake awaited us in the library afterward. I appreciated the rich coffee, but I excused myself early.

"Hold on a sec, Lys," Grandma said, sitting up from where she'd slouched on a sofa. She handed me a package, which was a throw of pretty aubergine velvet on one side and a synthetic lambswool on the other side for easy washing. I ran my hand over the textures. "We thought you might like something for your window seat; your mom said that you didn't have one yet."

"I didn't even think of that yet,' I said, abashed. "Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa. It's beautiful and warm."

"Deri, honey, we have one for you too," Grandpa said. Hers had a white velvet but the same lambswool stuff. She was also pleased, and after I said thanks again and good night, came upstairs with me, carrying both throws.

"These are really nice," she said, draping mine over the window seat and fluffing some pillows. Normally I'd have objected that she wasn't putting them back right, but I was tired and not inclined to be fussy about my housekeeping. It was just pillows, after all, and she was being nice. Plus, with shorts and t-shirts and blouses piled on the floor of my closet, I didn't feel like I had any right to object. I sat back down and she flicked the new throw over my legs. "It's really pretty. I'm going to go try mine."

"Thanks for your help," I said, and yawned as she left. It was warm and cozy, and I stroked the washable velvet, admiring the sheen. Mom tapped on the door and came in.

"I've got your medications, Lys," she said, bringing over a glass of water. "Individual doses are enclosed in small packets stamped with the date and time for each one, and each day's collection is in a larger pouch. If you promise to take then on a timely manner, I'll leave them up here for you. The doctor transmitted approval for you to be taking these medications on your own, so when you get back to school there won't be a problem." I opened up the one packet for today, swallowing the pills with the water, and she took the glass away, putting the box that held each day's doses in the bathroom. I looked at the printing on the packet; each medication was listed along with the prescribed dose, so if I wanted to, I could back off the pain medication earlier. She came back with the filled water carafe and placed it on the little table by my bed. She looked over to where I was getting up. "Dearest, would you like a little table by that seat, at least as long as you are healing? I could bring one down for you tomorrow."

"That sounds nice," I said, and yawned again. "Thank you." She left, although I suspected she was hovering out in the hall in case I needed some help, and I went to get ready for bed. I went right to sleep.

I slept right through the night, waking up in the same position I'd fallen asleep in, feeling groggy and disoriented until I remembered coming home yesterday, then stretched the parts of me that could stretch. I got up and took a shower, grateful for the newly installed shower bars, and went down after dressing in another skirt. None of my slacks could accommodate the cast and antigrav and I put on a coordinating leg warmer with the skirt. As I crutched down the hall toward the elevator, I fancied that I was getting better on the crutches, more accustomed to the swing of progress with them. Downstairs, Alan had a big breakfast of my favorites; scrambled eggs, bacon, buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup, and a fruit smoothie. My skirt's waistband was loose, so I knew that I'd lost some weight since the accident and had no compunction about eating heartily. I was grateful for Alan's cooking after the atrocities masquerading as food in the hospital and told him so, stopping the explanation after being grateful. Dad came in, lured by the scent of the bacon, and had some to keep me company. Mom was at work and Deri at school. After I'd eaten my fill, dad produced a black and purple leather messenger bag.

"Your sister found this in the attic and thought you could use it while you're recuperating," he said as I examined it. It was really quality work and had been taken care of well by whoever had owned it. The surface was distressed but the stitching and fittings still perfect. "You can carry things with you while you're going around the house. When you go back to school, of course you'll have your backpack, but this could be just for home."

"Thanks, Dad," I said, feeling brighter. I'd been wondering how I could take things around that were too big to carry by mouth. And Alan put an oval Thermos flask on the table, smiling at me. It was coffee, piping hot and doctored just the way I liked it. I tucked in my new messenger bag, slung it on, and crutched back to the elevator and from there to my room. Conscientiously, I took my meds on time and sat down to study. My communicator had a number of messages from my friends, which I answered first. It was kind of heart-warming that they cared. Then I got down to business. I'd missed only a few days of class, fortunately; the ballet had been Thursday night, so those two days of the weekend had really helped me out. And fortunately, the next unit we did in trig wasn't incomprehensible; it was hard, but not hair-tearingly bad. I stuck problem sets in between easier things. We were doing a selection of poetry written by eminent classic Wakandan authors and I thought they were haunting and beautiful. The essay for this unit was going to be a snap. I went down for a light late lunch. Dad was working from home so I went into the library for awhile with him and ended up taking a brief nap, then took a couple of books upstairs with me for history. I took a look at my calendar, and blinked. I'd really been diverted by all the upset lately. Deri's birthday was November 2, and I'd forgotten.

I picked up my communicator and called a number. "Hi, Aunt Emma, it's Lys."

"Hi, baby, how are you? Bucky said he saw you last night and that you looked peaky, but at least you're up and around again."

"Actually looking forward to going back to school, it's kind of boring here. But I don't get in trouble for napping, so there's that." She laughed and we chatted a bit, then I got down to the purpose of my call. "Deri's birthday is coming up and I don't really know what to get her. It's her thirteenth, she's been really excited about finally being a teenager, so I'd like it to be something nice, and I thought of your enamel earrings."

"That would be a really pretty gift," she said. "What colors were you thinking?"

"She really likes pink. And her bedroom has a pretty kind of turquoise blue too." She thought about it, and she said that she could get it done in the time we had if they were just a straight dangle, which I thought would be fine. So after a little more chat, we hung up and that was taken care of. She'd call when she was done, so at least I wouldn't be winning any awful sister of the year awards.

Chapter Text

Mom came home from work early and brought me a small oval side table. She placed it by my window seat and came over to my desk to check my temperature (? must be a mom thing). "How are you feeling, Lys?" she asked anxiously.

"I took my medicines on time, I feel pretty good, all things considered," I said. "Got a good chunk of homework done."

"Don't push yourself too far, dear," she said. "You're healing, and that takes energy. Come and see if you like this table." So I got up and went over with her. It was pretty, walnut and rosewood with a lyre base. I couldn't remember seeing it in the attic. "This is the fun part." Her hand slipped under the base and the thick tabletop tilted down so that it was vertical. Then she pulled gently and the top opened to reveal a storage compartment completely fitted out with drawers. "It only opens when the top is tipped like this," she explained.

"That is so cool," I said, examining it. The drawers fit in snugly so that they didn't bang around when the top was moved. "I don't remember ever seeing it upstairs before. How could I miss something like this?"

"It isn't from upstairs, actually," she said. "It was deaccessioned from our collection because it was determined that it is a copy rather than an original piece, and I bought it. I was going to use it in my office, but I think it's nicer here, if you'd like to keep it."

"I would, Mom, it's so nice. Thank you for thinking of me." And I gave her a hug. It would probably be more useful at her work with all the little bits of junk she has laying around but I was glad she thought of me.

"Later on, if you want, it could be useful up in your sewing room," she said, then pulled a packet out of her pocket. "Carter sent this to you." I unwrapped a strip of genuine papyrus and a small faience thingie fell onto my lap. It was a kind of crude representation of a papyrus reed. That glowed softly. I looked at her questioningly, not touching it. "It's an amulet, blessed in the temple of Thoth in Hermopolis. It is blessed with a spell of healing and protection for the limbs, no more, and there will be no harm to you if you wear it. It does have to be worn in order for the protective spell to take effect."

"That was nice of him," I said, and Mom stood up first, walking over to the vanity. The key was in the lock of the drawer, and I told her in which box the chains were. She brought over the sturdiest one since the amulet was heavy.

"He was impressed with you, your interaction with the pharaoh," she said. "You were respectful and Ramesses-Ra approved of you. It is difficult to gain his approval. Carter's background as a son of Ramesses II makes him feel privileged, but he sent to Egypt as soon as he heard of your injuries." After I threaded the amulet onto the chain, she put it around my neck and fastened the clasp. "I called Cal to tell him what had happened and why you won't be returning," she said gently. "He was very sorry to hear it and wanted you to know that he enjoyed working with you and that you would have been wonderful in the ballet." Tears filled my eyes and I snuffled a little. She took my hands. "How are you coping with the loss of ballet, Lys?"

"I haven't thought about it a lot," I said. "Yet. But I'll deal with it when the time is right. I just don't want to do it now."

"If you want to talk about it, you can come to me or Dad," she said after a pause. "Or we can find a therapist for you if you'd prefer to talk to someone who is removed from the situation. It did wonders for Deri."

True enough. "Thanks," I said, and let it drop.

"Come down to the library when you're ready," she said after another little pause, and leaned over to kiss my forehead.

"Where's Deri?" I asked, remembering. She should be home by now but I hadn't heard her.

"She's at a swim meet," Mom said. "She isn't good enough to compete yet, but she is supporting her teammates. She won't be home til after dinner." I'd kind of forgotten about her swim team thing, to be honest. She got up and left, and I spent a little time looking in all the little drawers before tipping the top back up level and adjusting the positioning just so. I needed to get a coaster from Alan so I didn't ruin it. And I'd need to polish it, but that would have to wait awhile; I just didn't feel my usual urge to make things all nice. I checked in with my friends to get caught up on school happenings, then went downstairs.

"Mom brought me a little table to put by my window seat," I said to Alan when he handed me the club soda. "Could I get a little coaster so I don't make rings on it with a glass or something?"

"Certainly, Miss Lys," he said. "I'll take one up for you later."

I showed Dad my amulet, and he looked skeptical. "Well, it's had some contact with a god, it's glowing a little," I said, and he looked a little concerned but shook it off.

"Carter's not the nicest guy in the league, but he's not a villain," he said. "If he said it'll be beneficial, I trust him. Of course, if he's wrong, he's going to be pretty sorry."

"Indeed, my dear," Mom said, her voice amused. Dinner was a delicious shepherd's pie and salad, and there were brownies with the coffee. Deri came in as I was eating my second brownie, enthusiastic about the meet (her school got second place) and we all talked about that.

And that was my pattern for the next several days; sleeping in, doing homework, taking it easy. Over the weekend, I went up to my sewing room and showed Deri how to make a simple pillow, using a big pillow form and a square of the fabric she'd whacked up. Mom took us in to the fabric store on Sunday and we selected a few different fabrics and piping for pillows for her room. It was nice to see my coworkers again and my manager told me that while they missed me, it was important to take my time coming back and that my job was secure. I won't lie, I was glad to hear that. This time Deri carefully cut out her fabrics, sewed the piping and three sides slowly and precisely, then stuffed the pillow form in and hand-sewed the fourth side shut. She was thrilled to have completed two pillows of her own. I stayed home until my next doctor's appointment on Thursday, when the x-rays were compared and it was judged that things were healing well, or at least starting to. I got my first look at the x-rays and it was upsetting. I counted twenty pins in my ankle and lower leg before I stopped.

I went back to school the next day, and it was good to be back, out of my room, seeing people. Most people didn't give me a second look, but some of the kids in my classes were glad to see me. My friends were really happy I was back; Ari bought me a chocolate milk to celebrate. They had some questions about the car accident, which I was kind of vague about, and Imogen asked if I was going to be able to dance in the recital.

"No," I said, the smile sliding off my face. "I can't dance anymore. There are too many fractures, the ankle won't be able to take the strain."

"But how did you break it so bad, Anna?" Nix asked, frowning. "The safety features in pods are really good."

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "I wasn't conscious." Jinx's face seemed to get longer at my words, and Justine stared hard at Nix until he shut his mouth.

By the time school was over, I was really dragging. It was a lot harder to move around on the crutches and my face was throbbing gently. I hadn't taken the pain pill today, which was a bit of a mistake. The ache was distracting and I was glad to hear the final bell. I took my time, letting the main rush of students leave so I wouldn't have to wade through a mass of people. I'd had my ankle jostled and man, that had hurt. I crutched slowly across the walkway connecting the school to the parking structure and paused in the door to locate the fob to call my pod. I held it between my teeth as I did the little juggling act to put my pack back on and not drop my crutches, and I was on the verge of swinging into the garage when I heard familiar voices. My friends. Then I listened to their low voices.

"--was really vague about the accident," Mark said quietly. "And it was reported in the media that Daniel Wayne's family had been targeted by kidnappers, the plot foiled, but that there'd been an incident on the road. News showed video of the three vehicles. The passenger pod had been pretty badly crushed."

Imogen muttered something I didn't catch. "What I don't understand is why she's here rather than in some private school if she is Lysippe Wayne," Nix said. "She's smart, but she's not crazy smart like the famous Waynes are supposed to be. She has a minimum-wage job, for pete's sake. She's got no social media presence. Where are all her friends?"

"We're her friends, dumbass," Jinx said. "Look. I can crack the school record, see if it is her. It won't tell us why she's here, though. We'll have to work our contacts. There's going to have to be a conversation."

My heart sank, and it took all the courage I had to go into the parking garage. I bit the fob gently, then paused to arrange my crutches so I could drop it into my pocket. I made myself look over at the group, who were looking at me, shocked. I heard movement, so my getaway was coming. Good old pod. "Yeah, I'm Lysippe Wayne," I said flatly. "A thug stomped my ankle a few times, kicked my face, which is apparently why I don't remember the rest of the incident. It wasn't pleasant and it still sucks. So yeah, I'm one of 'those' Waynes, and I'm really sorry I don't hold up to your expectations on the IQ scale. Looks like we're all just going to have to live with your disappointment. Go ahead and work your contacts if you're just boiling with curiosity about what happened that I'd rather go here than my old private school. I thought that I could have a clean start if I changed my nickname. I was thinking about how to tell you, I was going to do it at lunch, it's the only time I see all of you at once, but there's always somebody coming up. And there's nothing wrong with getting an honest job. I'm not going to be taking over the company, I'm not going to be taking over anything, actually, so I might as well work at something that's interesting to me." My pretty pod rolled up and they goggled at that too. We'd never left at the same time and the pod was good at parking away from other vehicles. The door opened gracefully and I heaved my backpack inside before climbing in awkwardly. The door closed soundlessly and we started off.

"So who were those kids, Lys?" AI Tony asked brightly.

"They were my friends," I said glumly, and his little face stopped smiling.

"Past tense friends?"

"Maybe. They were whispering in the garage, putting two and two together. They know that Anna is that loser Lys now. I don't really want to talk about it, please."

"Ok." And the little AI projection actually was silent until we'd hit a launching pad and were aerial. I squirmed a little to get more comfortable for the short fifteen minute ride. "So how are you feeling? Your face is a little swollen." I put my hand down, I'd been about to rub it again.

"I was feeling better so I didn't take the pain pill this morning. It was a mistake. My face is throbbing."

"Ah." And he was silent until we rolled up to the door of the mansion.

"Thanks," I said as I wiggled out to the point where I could use my crutches. The pod closed the door and trundled off. Alan was there; he held my backpack so I could take off my coat, then handed it back.

"How was your first day back?" he inquired.

"Long, but at least I wasn't behind. I didn't take the pain pill this morning and now I'm regretting it. I was overly optimistic."

"Why don't you go upstairs and rest?" he suggested, then smiled. "There are sugar cookies just out of the oven, if you're interested. I could bring you a restorative snack, if you'd like."

I brightened a bit. "And some milk?"

"Milk too," he promised, so we parted ways. I was so glad to see my room, peaceful and quiet and empty. I changed into a pair of old yoga pants I'd modified by cutting the right leg off at the knee, a Princeton sweatshirt that my cousin Chris had sent me last fall during his freshman year, and a nice thick sock for my normal foot. I fluffed and arranged the pillows in the window seat before sinking down and arranging the throw over my legs. I noticed that Alan had placed a coaster on the little table and smiled. There was a tap on the door and he came in the promised cookies and milk, which he placed on the table. That was a great idea of Mom's.

"Given that you're temporarily less mobile, I thought I would offer to resume cleaning your room and bathroom," he said. "I would still use your preferred products, of course."

"I really appreciate it," I said after a moment of internal struggle.

"I'm sure that once you're feeling better and more accustomed to getting around with your cast, you will want to care for your things yourself again. But you like things to be tidy, and it's not an imposition." He smiled at me once more and departed, and I ate my cookies and drank my milk. It's good for you, calcium and vitamin D, both good for bones. I scrunched down a bit and took a little nap rather than thinking about the parking garage any more.

Chapter Text

The weekend was pretty quiet. Mom and Dad tried to monitor me without being obvious about it and kind of failed. Deri was up-front about why she dropped in my bedroom more, sent by the parents, of course. I didn't want to talk about anything, so I turned the tables on her and asked whether Van had made up her mind about being friends yet. She looked unhappy and shrugged.

"The longer it takes, the less I think that she wants to be friends with me again." She hung her head and admitted to her hands, "And she has reasons."

"So what happened this summer?" I'd been curious since she'd come back, but she'd been so snooty and full of herself I hadn't asked.

"I was away from the parents and their rules," she said with a sigh. "So I used my powers. Low grade setting, I had a bunch of friends and we tested the camp limits. We didn't do anything horrible that would have gotten us in big trouble, but I started to think that it was BS that I couldn't use it when and how I wanted. And I dodged the worst of the punishments. That was when Van started to draw back, I think. At school and scouts she keeps her distance."

I thought about that a bit. "Do you leave her alone entirely?"

"Yeah, I don't want to pressure her," she said.

"Try just saying hi when you see her, smile. Maybe just show her in little, non-pressure ways that you're still interested in being a real friend," I suggested. "Even if it doesn't work out, it's not bad to be friendly." I felt like a hypocrite saying that, I'm not the most friendly person out there, but Deri was different. She smirked and I knew she was thinking the same thing. I rolled my eyes and chased her out.

Iris also stopped by with Eira. There wasn't enough room on the window seat for her and my leg, so Iris sat with me and let Eira have the chair. "I would have come by sooner, but I thought you'd want some space to yourself," she said bluntly. "Miles sends his best, but he feels awkward that you were hurt coming home from his performance and that you can't dance anymore."

"Miles isn't usually that dumb," I observed. "He had nothing to do with it and it was fun to watch him perform." Iris hit me with a pillow.

"I have been trying for years to get him to be more sensitive to other people," she said in exasperation.

I smiled a little. "I appreciate the sentiment," I said patiently. "But just because he can still dance doesn't mean that he should feel bad about it." Eira stretched out her head and I skritched behind her ears and kissed her head. She's so sweet. "Dad had a security specialist in last week, Deri and I got a lecture to be compliant because kidnappers will take it out on you if you try to foil their plot." I sat and glowered.

"Well, no shit," she said, also rolling her eyes. "We all know that now. What else did they say?"

"That was the extent of their advice. Be quiet and nonconfrontational and wait for rescue. I've got a passive tracker chip and nobody can find fault with the systems that Uncle Tony put in my pod. Dad's looking in to upgrading the defenses on the estate." I sighed and she grimaced.

"We also got the trackers and Uncle Tony upgraded the AI programing in our pods," she said. "There's also a gizmo that alerts the authorities if my dorm window is jimmied or broken and the dorm is being upgraded with unpickable locks. I think Mom and/or Dad made a donation to the school." We grimaced at each other. Our parents weren't shy about spending money, but at least it didn't sound like this payout had the Wayne name attached, a nice perk. "You ought to get another chair up here, Lys," she said, looking around and changing the subject. "Then when you have a fire in your fireplace, somebody else could sit with you." She shuddered. "It's getting really cold early this year."

"You can light the candles," I said. "It's nice and cozy." She got up to do that, and Eira rearranged herself so that she could see the fire from the chair. It was a good-sized chair, but she's a huge dog-shaped person, and finally she gave up and went to stretch out in front of the candles. Iris took the chair.

"This really is nice, Lys," she said contentedly. "So what are you going to do now that dance is off the table? I can't imagine that Aunt Diana and Uncle Daniel will let you just do school and work."

"I've joined school clubs," I said mildly. "Maybe next semester after my leg heals I'll join the dance sport club, do ballroom dancing. The doctor says I'll have full range of motion and the demands of that kind of dancing just can't be the same. But somebody suggested, back when I quit scouts, that I make my own badges, you know, research things I'm interested in, do projects. They can be more detailed than what I'd get in scouts and tailored to my interests."

"Ooh, that sounds fun," she said immediately. We talked about it a little before I diverted her by asking questions about college. Since I wouldn't be dancing in a company, it looked like college was back in my future again. It did sound like fun and interesting. And it diverted her from more questions about the research thing, which I didn't think I'd do. It seemed like too much effort.

I went to school early on Monday to get help with trig. I told myself that I was over the hump, I had only about a month and a half left, then it was on to pre-calc. That had to be better, right? As I crutched down the hall toward the math lab, a student who was trying to put a banner up by himself lost control of one end and swore. I diverted and used my crutch to hold it in place while he taped it to the wall.

"Thanks," he said. "I wanted to get this up before everybody got here and the halls got crowded." I looked up and saw it was an announcement that the Red Cross Club was going to sponsor a first aid class after classes next week, one hour a day, and you'd be certified in first aid and CPR afterward. It cost twenty dollars, which seemed really reasonable.

"That sound interesting and useful," I said wryly, and he laughed and handed me a flyer.

"I'm Rob, Rob Murdock," he said. "You're Anna, right?" I nodded. "Nice to meet you. If you're looking for a new activity, we always welcome new members. Next semester we sponsor a life guarding/swim safety class and we can always use more hands. It's fun and looks good on your application for college or trade school," he said, relentlessly cheerful. "Never hurts to get an early start on those activities, hold some offices." I laughed.

"Well, I think I'll take the first aid class, go from there," I said, and he beamed.

"Great," he said enthusiastically. "Time and place--we're in the school theater--are on your flyer, so bring your twenty bucks and your willingness to learn a useful skill. Will you still be on crutches then?"

"Yeah, probably for another month and a half."

"Ok, that's fine, the reason I asked is that we can accommodate your crutches and cast so that you're not struggling to get up off the floor, but it'll take a little planning is all."

"Thanks," I said, and he shrugged.

"No problem. See you then,' he said, and with a smile, collected his stuff and hustled off to hang some posters in the cafeteria. A lot of students had breakfast at school, some because it helped their family's food budget, and others because they did study groups over the food. It was a lot better than hospital food, but not as good as breakfast from home; I always drank my smoothie on the way in. I went on to math lab, where while I didn't understand it any better, I learned a system for doing the math. I was happy with that. I trudged through the usual Monday morning drudgery until chemistry. I dragged my feet (well, foot anyway,) timing it to get there just before the bell.

"Whatever you're thinking, it probably isn't what is really going on," Imogen said rapidly as I got ready for lecture. "Will you be at lunch?"

"No, Mr Steward is bringing a guest speaker, we get extra credit for showing up."

"Shit. Well, will you meet me after school on the athletic field bleachers? We can't all be there but we can explain." I considered this, then agreed. The bell rang before anything else could be said, and I concentrated on organic structures and naming. Yuck. After that, it was back to English class, where our guest speaker awaited. When I left for my afternoon classes, I felt a lot better. The Wakandan embassy was doing outreach, and the English teachers of our school had applied for the guest speaker; they'd been sent one of the country's rising young writers, who gave us advanced reading copies of her new work and explained the Wakandan tradition of prose and poetry.

I went out to the athletic field after school rather reluctantly. It was a sharp, cold, windy day, and while the football team had to be out there, I didn't. To my surprise, there were a few other groups of students there as well, chatting and taking it easy as they watched the practice. Jinx, Imogen, and Justine were waiting, a few rows up, a good distance away from any other students, but not so far that it looked like they were hiding anything. I sat down with a groan of relief (I think I'm going to be tired for quite some time) and we all looked at each other.

"Look, I don't have much time, so let's just cut to the chase," Justine said quietly. "I'm due at the library in about half an hour." She was a page for the NYPL. "So yeah, we did check you out. Lysippe Wayne, first daughter of Daniel Wayne and Diana Prince-Wayne, one younger sister Derinoe. I'm assuming you took "Anna" from your middle name, Alexandria, presumably named after your many-times great grandmother. You had a really basic sweet sixteen party, which caused you to be ostracized at school and dumped by your social climbing friends. Your family is very prominent, titans of industry, movers and shakers, socially prominent. And in your family, you have several iterations of Batman as well as Wonder Woman, the Robins, all that, and in your extended family, Captain America, the Winter Knight, The Armorer/Paladin/Poppy, Iron Man, Black Widow, one of the Hawkeyes, and loose ties to the ruling families of Wakanda and Asgard. And let's not forget the inimitable Catwoman." I went rigid with surprise, shock, and dismay.

"You're not the only one with secrets, Anna," Jinx said grimly. "Bad guys know the identities of good guys, and the reverse. For the most part. And for some reason, family is usually but not always left alone." He let out a breath. "Phoenix Chesterfield. His dad is Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. The Penguin. Aristotle Elliot, his dad is Dr Thomas Elliot, AKA Hush. Mark Carlton, son of Professor Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow."

"Justine Valentin, daughter of Lazlo Valentin, Professor Pyg."

"My mother was the second Tarantula, Catalina Flores," Imogen said tersely.

"I'm Jinx Johnson," Jinx said. "Jinx Quinn Johnson. My parents are Harley Quinn and the Joker."

Chapter Text

I stared at them, stupefied. 'I didn't know that the supervillains had kids," I said when my mouth started to work again.

"It's not heavily advertised, for obvious reasons," Imogen said. "But I'm the only one who isn't with family. My mom died when I was still a baby, and I don't know who my father is. I'm kind of scared to find out, to be honest, even if it's possible. I could register through the DNA data base, if he's in there too, but what if he's some really scary psycho?"

"Like the Joker?" Jinx asked calmly, then waved off her apologetic look.

"She left a letter with a lawyer," Imogen said. "I was supposed to get it when I was sixteen, but the lawyer wanted to close his practice and gave it to me when I was ten. So that's how I know she was Tarantula."

"Nix has the most contact with his dad," Justine said. "He lives with his mom but sees his dad once a month or so. The Penguin isn't crazy, he's just not law-abiding. He's pretty proud of Nix, tries to be supportive, keep him out of his criminal endeavors. Professor Pyg, on the other hand, is certifiably loony toons. He and my mom split up before she knew she was pregnant, fortunately. I don't know if he'd really care if he knew about me, though, but he'd want to make me 'perfect' by turning me into one of his faceless servants, and nobody wants that. It's a bit risky to have his last name, but mom insisted." She shrugged.

"Mark's another who's been hidden from his dad," Jinx said. "And if Professor Pyg is loony toons, then I don't know what Scarecrow is, he's off the charts psycho. He was a really gifted psychologist once, taught at the university, but he's got an obsession with fear and a gift for chemistry, as it turns out. Mark has the most to fear from his father of all of us, so if word gets out, we know who did it." He stared at me. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, I don't have the faintest idea where anybody's parents are or how to get in touch with them, and why would I? I'm not going into the superhero business. I don't have access to Batman's information, if that's what you're after." It was my turn to stare at them hard.

"Nobody's turning anybody over to anybody else, so let's all calm down," Justine said, making palms-down soothing motions.

"Ari's dad is missing, although he can't be presumed dead," Jinx said. "He went missing after an encounter with Nightwing. Tommy Elliot used to be friends with Bruce Wayne," he said, nodding at me. "But his parents were abusive, and he resented that Bruce got his family fortune after his parents were killed. Tommy killed his parents eventually and got the Elliot fortune, but by that time he also was one of the scary criminal dads nobody wants to meet. But Ari and his mom and stepfather aren't wealthy, just comfortable, so there's no reason for Hush to come after them, and there's not really a way to use Ari for gain. Then there's me." He looked up at the sky. "So Harley got pregnant just before Typhon exposed itself in Egypt and it was well-reported to her by several people who'd been there that Valkyrie cut down the Joker, so she moved on with her life with Poison Ivy, she hasn't abandoned a life of crime entirely, still works with the Suicide Squad on occasion, but she didn't feel that that kind of life was right for a child and put me up for adoption. The Johnsons said they would keep the name she'd given me--Jinx Quinn--and so she chose them. She doesn't ever come to the house, but we meet every few months. She likes to know how I'm getting along." They all stared at me.

"So...." I said, looking back at them. "Is there some response you're waiting for? A pithy comment about the triumph of nurture over nature? Because honestly, I'm not in the mood for games. I'm tired, my ankle is killing me, and while I know it's a big deal to clue other people into family secrets, you guys are the same people I thought you were last week, just sneakier."

"We have reason to be sneaky, as you put it," Imogen said, stung.

"And you could have just asked me. I would have told you. I was trying to find a time and place to tell you. But as you're obviously aware, I have secrets to keep too, and I'm not going to discuss them with you. They're not mine to reveal and people could get hurt if I do."

"So are you going to out us to the Batmen?" Jinx asked after a moment of silence.

"No, why would I? You're not doing anything wrong. And Grandpa Bruce can be quite a dick, but he's not going to use kids." And if I even thought that he would, I'd sic Grandpa Thomas and Grandma Martha on him.

"So where does that leave us?" Justine asked. I got to my feet.

"I don't know. What I do know is that I need some more pain medication, another dose of regular medicine, and I left all that at home. Your family background is enlightening, but unless you're planning on being the next generation of Batman villains, it doesn't much matter. If you are, though, we can't be friends. What bothers me is that you hacked into my school records, stalked me online, and that's perfectly ok with you." I got up and crutched over to the stairs on the bleachers. "And frankly, your choice of location for your reveal sucks." I went down the stairs awkwardly to the front aisle, then down the stairs to the ground. Going down was more difficult than going up, and I was cursing by the time I got down. Fortunately, the garage wasn't far, and my pod was waiting for me.

"How was school today?" AI Tony asked as the pod moved into the street.

"I'm going to get a first aid certification next week," I said briefly. "The Red Cross club is offering a class."

"That's always helpful," the image agreed. "So how were things with your friends today?"

"Don't wanna talk about it," I muttered, and looked out the window.

"Um, ok. How are classes going?" The little AI was making a valiant effort at communicating.

"They're fine, but I'm looking forward to the end of the semester."

"Ok," the AI said again, nodding. "Oh, Tony wants you to bring the pod by sometime this week for a maintenance check. The cooling might be a little iffy. It's still within tolerance, but he wants to run some diagnostics." I sighed, feeling put upon.

"Can't you just take yourself there while I'm at school?" I asked, a little peevish and whiny.

"Yeah, but Tony and Ann would like to say hi. Your parents have been limiting family visits so that you can rest and get better and whatnot." Great. I'd be an asshole if I said no now.

"Fine," I grouched. "Can we go tomorrow?"

"How about Wednesday?" the AI countered, and I agreed. Having won, the AI faded away and I was silent until we got to Aunt Emma's place and I went upstairs. I should have asked her to mail the earrings for Deri; I'd forgotten that there wasn't an elevator in the building and I had to crutch up two flights of stairs.

"Oh, honey, I forgot," Aunt Emma said, abashed, as I slogged into her store.

"I did too," I admitted, letting her give me a hug.

"How are you doing?" she asked, leading me over to a stool, which I sat on gratefully.

"I'm tired, I want this stupid thing off my ankle, and I found out that my new friends investigated me over the weekend," I said grouchily as she brought me a box. "Oh, so pretty!" I said, my mood improving. Aunt Emma had made rectangles with slightly rounded corners, filled with thin silver dividers that formed a pattern like a shattered crystal. Pink shading from light to dark and flashes of turquoise filled the pattern. "She's going to love them."

"I hope so," Aunt Emma said tranquilly. "If she doesn't, though, she can work with me. But I'm a little concerned here, Lys. What do you mean that they investigated you?"

"They hacked my school record to find out my name, snooped around to find out why I transferred," I said moodily.

"Why didn't they just ask?" she asked, baffled.

"Because they're high school kids and we don't always make the best choices," I said, snapping slightly.

"But.... I don't know. That's quite intrusive."

"As I said, too much ability, not enough respect for personal space."

"Are you still going to be friends with them?"

"Probably," I said, feeling fatigued as she wrapped the earrings up. "I don't want to have to find new ones. It was hard enough to get them to be friends."

"Don't let them walk all over you, though, Lys," she warned, ringing up the sale. "You need to make sure that they don't take advantage of you like the ones at your old school did before it became disadvantageous to be your friend. You're a wonderful girl, and there are people who would love to be Anna's friend." She brightened up. "I made a note because I was sure I wouldn't remember to tell you, but Steve would like you to stop in downstairs if you have the time." I thanked her, tucked the present in my backpack, and started down the stairs. Aunt Emma came with me in case she could help.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Uncle Steve said as she held the door for me. "Lys, honey, how are you? You're looking tired."

"It's been a long day," I said, forcing a smile. He studied me and I prayed that he'd just drop it.

"Well, ok," he said. "Iris said that you were interested in learning more about sewing, sort of a scout badge, but more, so I thought you could come here after school for awhile and learn how things get done here, learn about making some basic clothes yourself. You can stay off your ankle for most of it." He had some plans, and it did sound interesting, but it also sounded like a lot of work.

"I've got a first aid class next week," I said, hoping to put it off.

"That's a great idea," he said approvingly. "Everybody should know what to do, how to help in an emergency. Let's plan on starting the week after, then." And I couldn't get away until he watched me put it in my planner.

I definitely should have had Aunt Emma just mail the earrings.

Chapter Text

Finally I got home and took my medicine eagerly. I'd never really been hurt before and didn't realize how draining healing can be. Instead of doing homework or dealing with anything, I took a nap until it was time for pre-dinner. Deri came down with me and we were surprised to find that we'd beaten our parents down. We settled in and Alan served us our usual drinks. "Are you looking forward to your birthday?" I asked as we sipped. "I'll be picking up your present soon." Her eyes brightened. "Don't even think about poking around," I taunted her, and she tossed her head.

"Whateverrrrrr," she said. "I just have to be patient a few days more and I'll find out for myself." I caught her glance and we both cracked up, since patience is not really a Deri quality.

"So what are you doing at your school for Halloween tomorrow?" she asked.

"Not a darn thing, actually. We have parent-teacher conferences, and the teachers have some sort of in-service day, whatever that means. They hold off on those after midterms to allow the students to improve a little if their grades were disappointing. That way the teachers can report good things to the parents or have suggestions for improvement. I'm just as glad to be able to sleep in."

"Are you doing anything tomorrow, then?" she asked, frowning.

"Taking it easy," I shrugged. "I've got a little homework, but otherwise I'm sleeping in and relaxing. The crutches and not being able to walk normally is really tiring, and it hasn't been that long since the accident."

"Is that what we're calling it?" she asked.

"Well, it has less syllables than 'kidnapping attempt' and it's a less loaded term." She nodded. "I'm surprised that you didn't want a party for your birthday."

She fidgeted. "Well, what with how awful I was to my friends, I don't really deserve one. And after the accident, just family will be fine. I love to see the cousins. It's too bad Chris can't come." I grinned; she had a crush on him, which was ok since he wasn't actually related to us. Steve and Emma were courtesy uncle and aunt because of Grandma Alex's friendship and because Emma had once been married to Uncle Bucky.

"Chris does liven up a party," I agreed. He was handsome, friendly and outgoing like his dad. And very tolerant of his younger cousins. "But you paid a price for your behavior, Deri. You learned something important, so don't think you don't deserve something nice."

"I'm trying," she sighed, twisting the glass in her hands. "Every time I'm tempted to use my ability, I think about how I would feel if somebody did it to me. Then it's not so hard to not to want to use it. And while I was p.i.s.s.e.d. when it was locked away, I guess now I feel like it was a good thing."

I felt her forehead. "Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?" I asked, and we were both laughing when Mom and Dad came in.

"There's my good girls," Dad said, wheeling over. Alan came over with a club soda for him and a whiskey for Mom; he wasn't drinking alcohol because it impaired the efficacy of the medication. "Lys, honey, I'll be going to your parent-teacher conferences tomorrow afternoon since I'm taking a lighter schedule at work until I'm out of the wheelchair. Do you have any questions or concerns that you'd like me to share with your teachers? What do you think of your courses?"

"You could ask why trig is required," I said grumpily. "It sucks and it's pointless." Dad laughed.

"You need it for calculus, which I think you'll like a whole lot more," he said indulgently. "Aside from trig, though, are you liking your other classes?"

"English is fine, I like Comparative Religions a lot. We're working on the Greeks right now, so that's relevant and interesting. Chemistry and history are fine, we get a lot of Returnees as speakers so that's living history. Networking is great because it's fun and practical. And photography is going to have a little gallery of our best work at the end of the semester with a couple of professionals coming in to judge them and provide feedback."

"That sounds interesting," Mom said. "How are you doing with your photography with your leg, dearest?"

"Right now we're learning how to photograph detail, so I went to the public library, St. Patricks, and the GE Building, getting a lot of architectural photographs with limited walking, and Central Park to get some nature as well as some plants and trees here."

"I'm looking forward to meeting your teachers, Lys. Tell me again, what clubs did you join?"

"Photography club, chemistry bowl. And I'm taking a first aid/cpr class next week from the Red Cross club. They were passing out flyers today."

"I'm a little surprised you're not doing more, honey."

"Why?" I asked, a little crossly. "I used to have dance class, and I can't go to my job right now, and they both took up a lot of time. Give me a break, Dad. It's only been a couple of weeks since my ankle was stomped. I should get a grace period before having to come up with more activities."

'Oh. Well," Dad said, looking flustered. "I don't want to push you into anything, Lys, but now you've got college to think of, and they're going to want to see activities. But there will be things that you can pick up next semester. Deri, how's swimming going?"

"Really good," Deri said eagerly. "I'm working hard on my freestyle stroke, it's my strongest, but Coach would like me to learn breast stroke too. We don't have a lot of people who do and I might be able to compete in it if I stick with it."

Bless her, Deri chattered until it was time for dinner, then I asked Mom what she was doing. She was like almost everybody else in the classical studies group, restricted to working with items that didn't require a lot of space, since they were putting the finishing touches on the displays and artifacts for the Egyptian exhibition that would be opening soon. "Oh, and starting next week, I must perform sentry duty up at the Watch Tower," she said, sighing. "There were some signals that might be Kree, or they might be nothing at all, or somebody peaceful. A large number of heroes are busy in the territories they protect, but the city here is fairly free of the type of trouble I address, so I will be on the night watch."

After dinner, I listened to Dad talk about the old guild system that the masters he had working in the building division of Wayne wanted to resurrect; there seemed to be a drive worldwide in traditional jobs like clothmaking, woodcarving, furniture making, blacksmithing, things like that. Masters, journeymen, apprentices. Dad was in favor of it as long as there were safeguards to prevent the apprentices from abuse and to make sure that they did in fact learn their trades and weren't just cheap labor for the masters; he had instituted a version within Wayne, but this was to be a global effort but customized slightly for each country that participated. And he was interested in opening a manufacturing complex in Mongolia, provided that a good deal could be struck with that country. It was an emerging market, having broken free from both China and Russia finally during the past twenty years, and there was a lot of opportunity. But Dad, as ever, wanted to keep Wayne from being associated with unfair labor practice, and most of the workforce wasn't very skilled. Yet. He was going out before Thanksgiving to look at a couple of proposed sites and meet with the country's ministers of trade, education, and interior. I ate the almond cake and drank my coffee, and then I went up to my room again. I decided to take it easy and lit the candles in the fireplace, sitting in the wingback chair and propping my feet on the footstool. Uncle Clint had recommended a really old book, To Kill A Mockingbird, and I was going to give it a shot. I had an annotated copy that explained what was going on in the American South at the time, which was, frankly, horrifying and disgusting.

I wasn't in the mood for it, and went in to take a long hot bath, reading a lighter cozy mystery instead. The bath was wonderful, but getting out of the tub was a lot harder. I had to drain it first for safety, then got on my hands and knees (I was grateful my knee was still intact or I'd have been there until somebody missed me tomorrow) and crawled out. So. No more baths for awhile. I went to bed early.

The next morning, Deri made a lot of noise getting ready to go to school. I smirked and turned over, going back to sleep. I got up midmorning, taking my time before going down to get a breakfast snack. Alan usually had these little scrambled egg cups in the freezer; egg with a variety of add-ins like sausage, veggies, bacon, cheese, all sorts of good stuff. I heated a couple and had a leisurely breakfast before going up to the attic. I had thought about what Iris had said about having some place for somebody to sit and chat with by the fire and she had a point. Deri could use it sometimes, or one of the cousins when they came over. I found a nice armchair; the arms were wide and low, and when I sat on it experimentally, I could sling my legs over the arm, which was very comfortable. I pulled it out and planned to ask Mom about getting it reupholstered to fit into my room. I puttered around my sewing room, making sure everything was neat and tidy, and the thread pieces swept up. I did some maintenance on my machine, brushing out the lint from the fabrics, then went down for a late lunch. After that, it was back up to my room to knock out the studying. It didn't take long; the teachers had been preparing for the conferences and hadn't wanted to deal with a lot of homework or lectures; mostly we'd been given worksheets to complete or taken to the library to do research. It was nice.

I really missed being able to get on the roof, but it was absolutely out of the question. I was down in the library, reading through some of Mom's Greek texts for my term paper. We had to select a specific god from the pantheon of our choosing and discuss his or her abilities and actions as well as the role of that individual in their pantheon, then compare and contrast with a similar god or goddess from one of the other pantheons we were studying this semester. We'd done the Chinese, Norse, Aztec, and were finishing up the Greeks; we had Buddhism, Confucianism, and Hinduism after the Greeks. I was discussing Athena and comparing her with Odin, since he was also a god renowned for battle and knowledge. I was going to talk to both Mom and Grandma Alex for personal insights, although I probably wouldn't use them as sources. I was struggling through some sacred poetry when Dad came home from the conferences.

"How'd it go?" I asked. I couldn't think of anything that they would have to say that was negative, frankly. I was quiet, respectful, and obedient in class and I did my share of participating.

"About how I expected, honey. Your teachers think highly of you and like your work. They feel you have a lot of potential. They're impressed that your grades haven't slipped, even with the kidnapping attempt." I sighed and closed the book. It wasn't what I was after, anyway.

"So I guess they all know who my family is," I said, and Dad nodded, frowning faintly.

"They did before, when we notified the school of the kidnapping attempt and that you'd been hurt. There's nothing wrong with being in this family, Lys."

"I didn't say that there was," I said. "It just makes things harder than they have to be."

"It's not easy having to deal with envy, but there are a lot of good things to balance out that," Dad said briskly. "The family contributes to worthy causes, does fundraising, we get our hands dirty too, like with our annual Habitat for Humanity outings. Our family is strong and there's no doubt that everybody in it loves you." I was silent; I agreed with him for the most part, but he was glossing over my problems like they weren't anything. "Lys?"

"I'm not disagreeing with what you're saying."

"But?"

"But they are problems to me, even if you don't think they're a big deal. It's fine for you, you fit the mold of what people expect a Wayne to be. I don't. I'm not excessively smart or beautiful or skilled. The only thing I'm really good at I can't do anymore, and that happened because somebody thought they could trade me for money. Normal people don't have those problems."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dad asked tentatively.

"Not really, it's not like anything can be done about it. And I am grateful for my family." I got up and returned the book, choosing a couple in English and putting them in the bag. "I'm going upstairs to start writing this report."

Chapter Text

I got a decent start on the report, doing the easy part first by explaining Athena's sphere of influence as a city patron and protector, the goddess of wisdom, handicrafts, and strategic warfare, usually portrayed in art with a helmet and weapon, and naming her main symbols of owls, olive trees, snakes, and the Gorgoneion, the head of Medusa on her shield or aegis. I thought about the myth of Medusa (or was it a myth? Maybe Mom would know) and shuddered. Those ancient Greeks were a bunch of rapey bastards. But that was extraneous here. I described a few of her most applicable, less-gross myths, not just the most famous ones, and moved on to the compare and contrast with Odin. I shot Grandma Alex an email asking about her impressions of Odin as a battle god and a god of wisdom. Also if maybe he had any hobbies that could further equate with Athena. It was worth asking; after all, if Uncle Bucky, the legendary Winter Knight, could be an ace knitter, who knows what Odin got up to, gardening? Embroidery? I wrote fairly steadily until it was time for pre-dinner.

Deri wasn't home; she'd been invited to a party by one of her new friends after school that included a buffet of snacks. She'd gone as a black cat, and I'd helped her make cat ears out of fuzzy black paper that we glued together so that both sides were fuzzy and sewed them to a headband. "How were parent-teacher conferences, dearest?" Mom asked Dad.

"Predictably, Lys's teachers love her," he said, smiling at me. "I saw some of her work in photography class. Really well done. Her teacher thinks she has a good eye."

"Excellent, dear," she praised me. "And how are you feeling about your friends? Emma called earlier." I scowled. This right there is why you shouldn't tell adults anything. Thank the gods I'd kept most of it to myself.

"Emma didn't call me," Dad said pointedly. "What happened, Lys?

"They hacked my school records to find out if I was your daughter, searched social media to find out why I was in public school."

"That's intrusive," Dad said. "How do you feel about his?"

"Intruded on."

"Lys--"

"Dinner is ready," Alan said. My hero.

Dad didn't give up. "What are you going to do about it, honey?" he asked. "Do you want me to call their parents?"

"No," I said, horrified. "It'll work out or it won't."

"But what are you going to do about it?" he pressed.

"I'm going to let it ride," I said, irritated.

"That's awfully passive," Mom said.

"I'm sixteen years old," I snapped. "I am doing the best that I can."

"Lys--" Mom started.

"Is this your life? No, it is not. It is my life and I will do what seems right. Don't you have your own things to do?"

"Lysippe." Dad's voice was stern. "Don't talk to us this way. We're trying to be helpful."

"Well, you aren't. If I want help I'll ask for it."

And so there was this disagreement where I was sent up to my room after dinner. Good. I can live without coffee and dessert. I crutched angrily to my room and almost, but not quite, slammed the door. Alan had come and gone; there was my thermos with coffee and some jack o'lantern and bat cookies on a china plate, waiting for me. I let go of some of my mad at his thoughtfulness and got to work on the report again.

Grandma Alex said in her email that as far as she knew, Odin was just kind of a grumpy, deadly old man with no known hobbies, but did provide some details about his character that enlightened me a little. She added that Athena had high expectations from the mortals she deigned to speak to and it could be difficult to please her, but she had a lot of respect for Athena's abilities. From Grandma Alex, that was quite a commendation. Didn't help my report any, but it was fun to know. I was ready to proofread when there was a tapping at my door and Deri came in when I yelled.

"How was the party?" I asked.

"Really fun," she said brightly, and passed me a goody bag filled with mini candy bars.

"Wow, thanks." I offered her the plate; there were two more cookies. She took one and bit into it. "So what's got Mom and Dad all riled? They're muttering in the library."

"They were intrusive and giving me unwanted, unhelpful advice," I scowled as I spoke. "By the way, don't tell Aunt Emma anything you don't want to get back to the parents."

"Where did you see her?" Deri wondered, taking the last cookie.

"I went to pick up your present," I said, and she gasped in pleasure. I grinned. "My school friends hacked into school records and online and found out who I am. She called Mom." I felt oppressed. "I'm sick of people telling me how I should feel and act."

"How was the parent-teacher conferences?"

"Fine, apparently, my teachers were nice. But now they know who I am too."

"Why do you want to act like you're not in the family?"

"Because I'm tired of people just wanting to be friends with me for what they can get out of it. Besides, Lys is a loser. I was hoping that a new approach would make things different."

"Lys--" I waved a hand to cut her off.

"So how are things going with Van?" That did the trick; her pretty face lit up.

"She's coming for a sleepover Friday," she said eagerly, and I encouraged her to say more about that, successfully diverting her, but I was also interested in how their friendship was going. Soon she went to her room and I proofread my essay and saved it before submitting, going to bed early.

I got up reluctantly the next morning, causing me to rush, and I slipped and almost fell in the shower, putting me in a bad mood to begin with. I made my smoothie quickly and headed out as Mom was trying to get Deri down the stairs too. Dad was going in to the office, resuming his full work load again because he was bored waiting to heal. His bones weren't in as bad shape as my ankle and were healing well. He had a doctor's appointment on Deri's birthday and he might get a walking cast, lucky. I scooted into my pod before I had to talk to anybody. AI Tony just reminded me that I was scheduled to bring my pod in for servicing after school, and I said that I remembered, then it turned off and I could listen to popular music for the rest of the drive.

At school, I went to math lab and worked on trig; there was a new tutor, Archer Palmer. He was also a current trig student, but unlike me, really got it and actually enjoyed it. Sicko. But he was nice and after working with him felt like I understood the assignment better. And he said that there was a review group at lunch for the trig test in two days, so that killed two birds with one stone. Imogen looked vexed that we couldn't talk; I made it into chemistry right before the bell and then there was the study group at lunch. Well, tough toenails. I was sick of trying to make everybody else happy. It would be novel if anybody went out of their way to try to make me happy.

On the way to Uncle Tony's workshop, I checked my personal email to find communications from Aunt Emma, Uncle Bucky, Grandma Alex, Aunt Dagny, Aunt Serena, Grandma Selina, Aunt Barbara, and Uncle Dick. Iris had been in touch with them and they were offering to come have me shadow them at work for my fake badges. Damn Iris anyway. I could do that myself if I really wanted to. I just leaned back in my seat until we got to the workshop and the pod let me out. Uncle Tony was there with a hug and Aunt Ann and Grandpa Damian, who had hugs of their own for me. Uncle Tony was advancing on my pod with a scanner and a purposeful look, so I followed the others down the hall to Grandpa's office. "I have black and white cookies, honey," he said. "Alfred sent them along special when he heard you were dropping by today." And Aunt Ann came in with a fresh cup of coffee.

"How's your paper coming along?" Grandpa asked. "Alex felt bad that she couldn't be more helpful."

"It was a longshot," I said. "I appreciated her effort, though. I finished the paper and turned it in early. It's a pretty easy class, all things considered. The cookies are delicious," I added.

Although I loved Grandpa and Aunt Ann, I wish they'd have left me alone so I could have taken a nap. I was really tired. We chatted until Uncle Tony showed up to tell me that the pod was done. He walked me out after a round of goodbye hugs. "I replaced the coolant sensor, just in case," he said, draping his arm over my shoulders. I wished he wouldn't; he was muscular and his arm was heavy. The crutches were a big enough pain in my ass without added weight. "And I added a couple of tweaks to the programming. The door won't open from the outside once you're in the pod unless there's a public safety employee requesting access, like a police officer, fire fighter, EMT. And you have to request it, but there's a feature that if you're in a kidnapping situation again, a knockout gas will emanate from the pod on both sides. It should be effective for about a half hour, so use it with care."

"Thanks, Uncle Tony," I said with as much sincerity as I could come up with. I gave and got a hug, and he held my crutches until I was settled in. The door closed, we waved at each other, and my pod moved out. It was snowing hard, making it darker than it should have been, and to surprise, he'd improved the lighting inside as well, with a wider range of colored lights that could also be made to flash with various rhythms. I played around with them until we were at the launching pads, then I turned them off.

"Don't you like them?" AI Tony asked immediately.

"They're really nice," I said, "I'm just not in the mood for them."

"Do you want to talk?"

"Not really, thanks," I said, and after a moment, the AI turned off.

I let my mind drift until I got home, then trudged inside. I had just enough time to put my stuff down upstairs before it was time for club soda and interrogation. Excuse me, conversation. But Mom had a new thingie to mess with at work, Dad was making progress with Mongolia, had a feeler out from Tibet, and Deri was practically vibrating in her eagerness to finally be thirteen. All I had to say was that I'd found a really good trig tutor and that my pod was fine. After dinner, I had coffee and some left-over Halloween cookies, still delicious, then went upstairs to do some English reading. We were starting Russian literature. Just selections, fortunately. I got bored around nine and went down the back stairs to get a snack. We were out of cookies, so I had to settle for a healthy apple. I was in the hall when I heard Dad mention my name. I stopped, then crutched as quietly as possible over to the utility room, which was between the library and the dining room. It wasn't quite close enough, but there was an area back by the cupboards that sounded clearer.... I cautiously moved a few things and found an old door behind the shelving. It wasn't boarded up, just obscured for some reason, and I opened it, hoping that the hinges wouldn't shriek. They didn't, and I had about an inch of sight into the library, looking over the top of some books. Interesting. Tomorrow I'd have to check this out from the library side, but now I wanted to listen.

"-- either. Tony called after she left today, he's worried about her. So is Ann. And Damian called separately." Dad sighed.

"What did Tony say?" Mom asked, sounding worried.

"He's made it so her pod's AI reports anything notable to him, and the AI has noted that she's moody and tired a lot. Snappish too, but still polite." Uncle Tony! I was furious. I'd thought the AI was just for fun, not to spy on me. Stupid me. I knew he was devious; I just thought he'd reserve it for worthy adversaries, not beaten-down teenagers. I silently closed the door, moved the things back exactly, and went back up the stairs. I should have taken the elevator, but I was getting worried that I was getting weak since I was sitting so much. Maybe tomorrow I'd hit the home gym. I could do upper body work, and there had to be some way of working my uninjured leg. At least I'd be able to work some of the mad out.

As I crutched along to my room, Deri's door opened. I gurgled around the apple in my mouth and she turned, smiling, then came up to take the apple. "Are you done with your homework?" she asked. "I'm bored." I considered her. She was really working hard to shed the sense of entitledness she'd had and was pretty much back to the little sister I loved.

"If you put the apple in my room and help me with something, I'll give you something," I said, and her face lightened with interest. She sped off to my room and back. We took the elevator up to the attic, where she helped me wrestle the second armchair onto the furniture moving disks and into the elevator--well, actually, she did the work, while I went over to my sewing room and opened it. She hustled in after me, and I jerked my chin toward the table. I'd made her three big pillows using the extra white from my bed curtains and a blue toile that was almost the same color as the walls in her room. I'd stopped by work earlier in the week, missing the people and the work. I'd also gotten some white fringe instead of piping, and some cute pink pompom edging for one pillow to vary the look. I smiled as Deri squealed. "I thought they'd be pretty in your room, and the top bunk doesn't have a lot of cushions."

"Thanks, Lys!" She gave me a hard hug and stroked the fabric, playing with the different edging. "They're so pretty!" Downstairs, she slid the chair down the hall and into my room, her pillows on the seat, then trotted back across the hall, clutching the bounty. I closed my door with my crutch and angled the new chair by the fireplace. The fabric was an ugly gold chintz, worn through along the front edge, too unsightly to keep. I was mad at my parents for having people spy on me, and thought that maybe I'd just make a slipcover rather than asking for a favor. I made a series of careful measurements, repeated once for caution, then went to the store's website to place an order for a heavy-duty pewter polished cotton. It would be easy to sew and I could stop by on the way home, quickly, to pick it up. On the comments section, I noted that I was making a slipcover and asked if somebody could pull some appropriate thread that would be a good color match. Then, somewhat mollified, I got ready for bed early again and fell asleep immediately.

Chapter Text

The next day I was out the door before Deri had come down, and I left while Mom was shouting at Deri to hurry. The main stairs have excellent acoustics, and Mom has a voice that carries up to the third story easily. I texted Deri happy birthday on the way in to school, although technically she wouldn't be a teenager until just past noon. I reviewed a worksheet for history class so I wouldn't have to talk to my quisling AI. At school, I went in to talk to the guidance counselor for some help getting some direction before I started having to think about college next year and he set me up with an appointment to take some interest and aptitude testing next week after school. That taken care of, I caught Archer in the math lab to ask a couple of questions I'd had doing homework last night.

I ate a quick lunch in the cafeteria before going to the library and finding a book on upholstery and slipcovers which I checked out. I plopped down in a chair gratefully and started to look through the chapters about planning and making a pattern for the slipcover. This would be my most ambitious project to date.

"Are you going to avoid us forever?" Jinx said, pulling out the chair across the table.

"I'm not avoiding anybody," I said evenly. "I'm not hiding or creeping around."

"You aren't seriously mad that we investigated you?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow at me. Now that I was looking for it, I could see traces of the Joker in his face and briefly understood why Grandma Alex had hit him so much.

"Yes, I am mad," I said acidly. "I thought we were getting to be friends. Friends ask, they don't sneak." He gaped at me.

"You're kidding. It wasn't a big deal. Kids do it all the time."

"To quote my Grandpa Henry's dad, if everybody wore horse turds around their neck, would you?" I snapped. "It's a big deal to me. Only two-faced people pull that kind of shit." He tried to work out if I was referencing Harvey Dent or not, and whether it was a double-edged insult or just a single-edged one. "All you had to do was wait until I told you. I'd have thought you guys would be a little more sensitive to that kind of thing than the average kid. But you're trying to gaslight me into thinking that I'm ridiculous and overreacting. I don't need it from you too, so unless you actually understand why I'm angry and upset, leave me alone. I'd rather have no friends than 'friends' like you." I got up, stuffed my book in my bag, and left. Jinx didn't follow.

I got through the rest of the day then stopped by the store to pick up the slipcover material. Candace had assembled a few other things that I'd need too, which was really nice of her. I read my book on the way home, checking my receipt against a parts list and finding that I did indeed now have everything I needed. At home, Mom and Dad were home early, Dad in his brand-new walking cast, and Deri was flitting around as they helped Alan get ready for the party. I went upstairs to dump my bag and freshen up before the guests started to arrive. I tucked Deri's present into my messenger bag and went downstairs, taking out the present to add to the pile and putting the bag in the coat closet, where it would be out of the way.

Relatives started to arrive, and I had to greet them too although this was Deri's party. And her friends showed up as a surprise from the parents, some of whom were new to me, and I was glad to see Van among them. Miles showed up with his dad, Grandma Alex being gone for business and Iris taking a test, along with Grandpas Mark, Henry, and Bruce, Grandmas Rose and Selina, Aunts Amy, Emma, Nessa, Ann, and Uncles Bucky, Steve, and Tony. A herd of cousins too, and Deri had presents and cards from those who couldn't come. I stayed on the side as Deri, her friends, and some of the cousins played games. I asked Miles about how things were going at ABC, and after some awkwardness, he got more relaxed and told me stories about life in the company. The adults stopped by to say hi, but they hung out together too. There was a buffet set up, and finally Deri got around to opening her presents. Her friends gave her cute little things, the relatives gave her clothes or things related to her interests as did Mom and Dad, who gave her training equipment for swimming among other things. She loved the earrings, which made me feel good. But since it was a Thursday night, the party ended after two hours, and friends and relatives were prompt in departing. I brought my messenger bag out to help Deri carry her loot upstairs.

"Where did you find this, honey?" Uncle Bucky asked as I tucked the things away that Deri handed me. He touched the strap of the messenger bag.

"Dad found it up in the attic," I said, closing the flap over the bulging contents. "He gave it to me so that I could carry things around the house while I'm on crutches. Do you recognize it?"

He smiled. "I gave it to Alex when she turned eighteen. I knew it was made well, but I didn't expect it to last so long."

"Wow," I said awkwardly. Then I was saved by Aunt Nessa, who herded cousin William over. William looked a lot like his dad, but was a lot more outgoing. Logically enough. He gave me a hug, then his parents urged him out to the family pod. I took Deri's stuff into her bedroom, where I placed everything on her bed so she could go through it all at her leisure. I did my homework quickly, then went to my sewing room for scissors and pins. Back in my room, I pinned the top edge of the fabric to the to seam of the chair, leaving a sizeable seam allowance, and marked cut lines with a new chalk pencil, checking twice before cutting each part of the pattern by pinning, tracing around the curves and angles of the chair before carefully slicing the fabric. I'd even have enough left over for a pillow. Once I had everything cut out, I bundled it into the bag to be taken up later, pried myself off the footstool, and went to bed.

The next day after school, I stopped by Grandma Alex's to leave the messenger bag with Alfred. I knew she'd want it back. And in my sewing room, I quickly made a pouch on a strap out of remnants that was big enough for my thermos and a couple other things but smaller than the messenger bag. It was a better size even though it wasn't as nice. Van came over for dinner, and I was glad to see her and Deri giggling again. I smiled to see Deri wearing the earrings I'd given her.

That night I sewed the major seams and took the slipcover downstairs to test fit. There were two places where I needed to adjust the seams, but I was really encouraged. I made the changes quickly and sewed in elastic to keep the fit snug under the seat but still allow the slipcover to come off for cleaning if necessary. I had just gotten it on and adjusted when there was a knock on the door. It was my mom and Black Canary. Huh. I didn't know we were hosting League this weekend. Must have slipped my mind.

"Lys, your father and I have been a little worried about you, especially since the kidnapping attempt," Mom said, and my lips thinned. "We've invited Dinah, in her professional capacity, here for a visit. We'd like you to talk to her." It was phrased as a request, but the command was clear. I debated making a fuss for just a moment, then thought that I might as well get it over with.

"Come in," I said after the silence had stretched out. Dr Lance nodded without any sign that my attitude bothered her, and she walked into my room. I shut the door behind her and gestured over to the chairs. She sat in the newly slipcovered one and I sank down into my favorite, putting my cast on the footstool.

***

A couple hours later, I closed the door behind her, hearing her go across the hall and tap on Deri's door. I went to the bathroom; my bladder was unhappy, then it was time to get ready for pre-dinner. What a pain in the ass. Now, with added shrink. Deri was still thrilled that Van had come for the sleepover and it took very little encouragement to tell me about what she'd liked about her birthday party and the sleepover. Our parents talked generally with Dr Lance, which lasted through dinner and coffee. Finally, I'd had enough and said good night. Deri came with me, and we parted at our doors. I gave it ten further minutes before taking the back stairs down and into the utility room. A prowl around after breakfast had enabled me to find the door on the library side. You had to know exactly where to look in order to find it, and even then it wasn't easy.

I eased the door open just enough to hear Dr Lance talking. "Deri seems to be doing very well," she said warmly. "I'm glad to have this face-to-face time with her, although her long-distance work with me is continuing nicely. She seems to be taking responsibility for her actions and sincerely trying to make restitution to those she's hurt. She says her abilities still remain locked away. The last time she tried to access them was not long after the kidnapping attempt, to cheer up her sister. She wanted to try something new, trying to project instead of compel, to see if she could show Lys how much she loves her."

"That's good news," Dad said, sounding relieved.

"But then there's Lys." Her voice was flat.

"That doesn't sound like good news," Dad said nervously.

"It isn't. That girl has problems, and the sad thing is that while some of them are just the trauma of being a teenager, many of them are not and relate directly to your family. So first of all, I will tell you my impressions of our conversation, to be followed by my professional opinion and recommendations. It would be helpful if you could keep your comments until the end, absorbing what I tell you, but I'll make clarifications if you need them." She waited a moment, waiting, I guess, for protests or affirmation. "The first thing I noticed about Lys is her anger, bordering on hostility. She masks it pretty effectively with manners. I spoke with her for almost two hours, and she never let her guard down in that time. I believe that she expects me to tell you everything she's told me. She feels marginalized by pretty much everybody. My diagnosis is that she's clinically depressed, possibly suffering from PTSD and anxiety as well although she wasn't candid enough with me to be able to confirm this."

"What?" Mom said, sounding startled. I felt like rolling my eyes.

"Diana," Dr Lance said, and she sounded like I felt. Then I jumped a foot as my sister took my hand. In the light from the hall, I saw her look at the sliver of light from the door, and I put my finger to my lips. She nodded. "--quite perceptive, normally, but in this case, you're unexpectedly blind." Mom drew breath but then subsided. Dad probably did something. "To some extent, her problems are the problems that other rich kids have. Their parents are very focused on their successes, jobs, and interests and tend to take their kids at face value. Oliver does this occasionally and it makes me nuts. The children learn that as long as outward appearances are kept up, what's below the surface isn't of interest to their parents. And Lys is very much a people pleaser. This part is very easy for her. People tend to think that kids who come from wealth don't have the right to complain or really have problems. They look at the undeniable advantages that power, privilege, and money provide and think that it's compensation. It isn't. You can't put a price tag on growing pains, but every time you tell her to suck up her reaction to others' actions toward her, reflect on her advantages, you are telling her that her struggles are not as legitimate as those of a less advantaged child. That she's not entitled to be hurt or frustrated, or really have any normal reaction. Maybe saints have an endless supply of cheeks to turn, but Lys is no saint. And you know that the world that she'll be moving in as an adult can be unkind as well, and you're not preparing her to handle day-to-day issues, disappointments and problems constructively. You can repress negative emotions only for so long before they become damaging. She feel second-rate in comparison to her sister; she feels that Deri is prettier and smarter than she is, that she gets more than her fair share of attention, and that you'd have never put her through that party.

"One aspect of the problem is common in children of superheroes. I've seen this before, and there are parallels out in the non-hero community. But I'll get to that in a moment. You both have been in the life. You know how hazardous it can be, how much trauma it can inflict, and Lys is very cognizant of the dangers. She knows that Daniel was a Batman, and alone for a very important and dangerous period of time during the Long Winter. She's aware of what her hero relatives have done. I suspect, based not on what she said, but an impression she gave me that she might even know that Alex is Valkyrie." I stopped breathing. I hadn't connected Grandma with Valkyrie at all, which was So Stupid of me. I'd seen her wings. Deri didn't even know that much, and I knew there'd be questions later. "She knows the ongoing price that is paid to keep everybody else safe.

"There is a tendency for the next generation after a huge trauma to also be affected by the events. Children of the principles often report profound isolation, a lack of outside community, fear, anger. When these children are named after family members, they can often feel like inadequate replacements. Lys is named after Alex, of course, meant as a tribute, but who has a reputation and legacy that is almost impossible to live up to. Deri is named after Daniel's mother. And their first names are homages to venerable Amazons, I understand." Somebody must have nodded. "So there's a lot to live up to, right out of the gate. Children in these circumstances also often grow up intuiting that their strong parents are remarkably fragile in some ways and there are things that they never discuss or question. They feel as if they have no right to be angry, given what their parents faced, and feel that they are not as strong, that they don't measure up, that they shouldn't complain about their problems, which are smaller in comparison. And the Long Winter was a global societal tragedy itself, with very few who were not severely marked. The death toll, the shortages and privations, all marked the living very strongly. We'll be seeing psychological fallout in the broad population for generations. The Return was also traumatic in many ways, for both the people who came back and those who suddenly had to accommodate them. There were waves of crime in addition to the stresses on society and infrastructure that the population explosion created.

"There's also a physical component. Children born to mothers who have gone through traumatizing events--and I know that you have seen traumatizing events in your long life, Diana, and participated in some--which messes around with the stress hormone cortisol in the brains of the offspring, predisposing them to depression.

"Add to this the prominence of her family. It's an enormous burden for any child. It is easy to understand why she feels like she doesn't fit in, why she is the runt of the litter." We could hear her draw in a deep breath. "And frankly, your parenting styles, which worked with Deri until recently, do not provide Lys with the support she needs. And you really need to change that quickly. She's feeling more inclined to express negative emotions, losing that desire to please people because she's not seeing a reward for this behavior. I feel that every time that something negative happens to her, she just thinks to herself, 'well, in two years I'll be an adult and I can leave and never come back. Then I won't have to be a Wayne.'" There was another sharp intake of breath. "I'd be surprised if she hasn't found a way to discreetly check the terms of your family trust to see what she's entitled to and under what conditions it could be revoked." I had. I'd asked Iris about the educational trust, which had led to talk of the family trust as well, and Aunt Amy had brought it up that time. "If she feels desperate enough, she could be willing to forgo the family money to escape a life that she just can't cope with.

"So let's talk about the precipitating events. The first one was her Sweet Sixteen party. I understand from Deri that Lys tried to tell you about what was expected, hint a little about what she'd like, but neither of you listened. Here's a big difference between Deri and Lys; Deri just flat out asks, because she feels assured of your attention. Lys hints and hopes because she is not sure that you'll give her the same hearing that you would for her sister. I don't think it's something you're conscious of, but most people respond more positively and directly to a request than a hint. And what happened at that party is the equivalent of you throwing a hugely important fundraiser, one of the big social events of the year, everybody has the price of admission--a donation for the cause, or a present in this case--gets all dressed up in their best clothes and ready for a good night of socializing and making contacts, you know how these things go, but the payout is Cheez Whiz on Triscuits and Two Buck Chuck rather than the expected caviar on toast points and Champagne. And the kids, having ponied up a birthday gift and being accustomed to having their expectations met, retaliated when those expectations were not met. You two are untouchable to them, but Lys is not. She has never acquired the armor you need for high-stakes social position because she feels as if she's not entitled to defend herself. She was ostracized, quite cruelly. Shunning is extraordinarily damaging even to healthier teens. There are two components to shunning, a physical response and a psychological one.

"Physically, when shunned, the part of a person's brain that registers physical pain is triggered. It actually perceives the shunning as a physical pain because it threatens basic human needs, the need to belong, to feel self-respect. And this damage can linger longer than physical pain. The longer it goes on, the worse it gets. Psychologically, there are three stages to shunning: the act of shunning, the reaction to it, and resignation. The longer it goes on, the greater the chance that resignation sets in. This brings about profound feelings of sadness and helplessness, which can trigger depression and negative behavior. Teens are particularly vulnerable to shunning. Part of it's the fact that their brains aren't fully developed, but it's also the stage of life where people really struggle to learn who they are, and the need to fit in, to belong, is really a tangible need, so to be ignored is quite excruciating. The effects of shunning are extremely difficult to shake off for teens. Their work tends to slide, affecting all aspects of their school life. It's extraordinarily incredibly damaging to self-esteem, increases the likelihood of depression and suicide, and can lead to aggressive behavior towards others. Lys was so ostracized that she voluntarily left her school, a familiar environment, and it caused her to be kicked out of her main activity, dancing, her little sister used against her. And yes, she caught on in another studio, but the experience would have been degrading and humiliating. She's quite smart and she has made the few changes that she can in response to the shunning by her peers, changing schools, looking for new friends. The fact that she uses a new nickname is a little concerning, given the circumstances. Most teens are trying to stand out among their peers; she's trying to blend in, be unnoticed. It's a serious attempt to make people see her for who she is, not for whose daughter she is. She is voluntarily shedding her advantages as much as she can so that she has a chance of finding friends who will value her first, rather than whatever she can offer as a Wayne. That creation of a dual identity is so common in your family that I don't think any of you realize how weird it is in the general population. She's created a partition between "Anna" and "Lys" where Anna is her preferred identity. She thinks of Lys as a loser that I think she'd like to eradicate as thoroughly as possible.

"And this leads us to the kidnapping attempt. Lys was going along quietly until she heard they had her sister. She told me that she was concerned for Deri. She mentioned that the kidnappers had severed a body part of the Osborn kid, and she was afraid that they would do something similar to Deri, or possibly molest her. And who's to say she's wrong about that? Deri is growing up to be a real beauty, her figure is developing. So she took an opportunity to try to get her away. And Deri saw this. She saw her sister stab somebody and try to get away, and she saw that man stomp and kick Lys before Deri was dragged away. You didn't allow her to see Lys in the hospital. I understand that Lys was unconscious and looked pretty bad for awhile, but it ramped up Deri's fears that something was really wrong when nobody would talk about specifics with her. So both girls have a lot of trauma from just the kidnapping attempt itself and the aftermath. Lys has lost the thing that was most important to her, something she wanted to make her career in, and she feels like everybody has made light of this loss. But she can't even articulate to herself what a loss this is, and she won't reach out for help, because she feels like any adult will just go right to you, and you have, demonstrably, not been helpful. It would also be beneficial if an adult in your family would reach out to her, directly, to offer help, or just something simple like sympathy and a shoulder to cry on. People are offering her activities and encouragement, not understanding. It's good that they're interacting, showing that they care, but nobody's offering her what she really needs.

"And on top of this is normal teenage stuff. She fears that she's not smart enough to get into a top-ranked college on her own, and you, Daniel, reinforced that by saying that she can get a good education elsewhere. And I know that you were trying to be helpful and reassuring, but it reinforced to her that she's simply not good enough, that she really isn't worthy of the Wayne legacy. Again, she's far too guarded to say it directly and she doesn't expect me to actually help, I think she simply feels like this is something you do and check off a list and wash your hands of it. She's not dumb, you showed me her grades, and they're really good. So she has to work to get those grades. There's nothing wrong with that, even if schoolwork tends to be effortless in your family. She's very different from her sister. Deri is extremely charming, like Damian, even without her gift. It's just part of her personality, and it's a substantial shield that she can use when things get tough. Lys is delicate and she doesn't have many defenses or coping methods. This young woman just desperately needs to feel like somebody, anybody, believes in her. That she isn't worthless or useless or overlooked. She needs to be validated, her self-esteem is in the gutter. I don't care how you do it, but you two have to figure it out because she's headed toward disaster.

"Diana, I know you feel like the world is too superficial, but those opinions have to change. You live in it, you've chosen to have a family in it, and you have to get over yourself and step up to the plate and be a mother in this culture and in this time. I've seen you so compassionate with victims and even the criminals who preyed on them, and I simply can't fathom why your parenting style is to tell her to toughen up and be grateful. That's a terrible strategy, overall. Your childhood was nothing like that of your daughters, and you haven't even tried to understand the pressures that they're under. And Daniel, just because your kids are girls doesn't mean that you don't have to be involved with them. You also need to realize the difference between your childhood and your daughters'. They're not going to be Batman, they don't have that focus in their lives. You can't shift the responsibility onto your wife, and you need to pull your head out of your business and pay more attention at home. Asking a few questions each day and spending time as a social unit isn't enough. You have to connect with her and build trust with her, because I don't think she's going to bother trying."

Chapter Text

Beside me, Deri clapped her hand soundlessly over her mouth at the blunt speech. "Look, Daniel, Diana, I don't question that you love your daughter and want the best for her. It's just that you need some help is being effective parents, and I can help you to discover ways to do that. There are no sides here, or there shouldn't be. Both you and Lys have valid points of view, and she needs to see yours as much as you need to see hers. But she's got some problems that you don't. You are one family, and that cohesiveness can be built. To assist you, let's talk about depression in teens, anxiety, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"Depression for teenagers seems to come and go in episodes, and it may be that she's genetically inclined to it, for the reasons we've already discussed. Once a teen has an episode, he or she is much more likely to have more, and untreated depression can be dangerous or deadly. Symptoms vary, but are generally seen in personality and behavioral changes, such as sleeping more, apathy, withdrawing and spending time alone in their rooms, changes in eating habits, possible criminal behavior, fatigue, sadness, hopelessness, difficulty concentrating or making decisions, rebellious or irresponsible behavior that could include alcohol or drug use or promiscuous sexual activity, withdrawal from friends, drops in grades. Obviously there are complicating factors here; her ankle and the broken bones in her face cause fatigue and the need to sleep more, she doesn't really have friends, so it's difficult to know if she'd be withdrawing from them."

"She does spend a lot of time in her room," Mom said.

"But it's difficult to know if that's a function of her depression. That gift you said she has, from Hestia, is that right? Her room is wonderful. I'd stay put in there if I could. The determining factor there is if this is a new behavior."

"No, she and Deri have always spend a lot of time in their rooms," Dad said.

"So there's this problem, and it's compounded by the possibility of an anxiety disorder. I don't feel like she's all the way there, but I think that she does have some symptoms. I don't feel like she's got suicidal or homicidal tendencies, so there's that, and it's a real bright side. We'll talk about anxiety shortly, I want to finish up depression first. Parenting teens is tough, as you know. Once a serious condition like depression is introduced, the difficulty increases sharply, and you're already a little handicapped by your parenting practices. So here are some guidelines I'd like you to work on.

"When you have to discipline Lys, don't use shame or punishment. Instead, use positive reinforcement for good behavior. Shame and punishment could exacerbate her feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. You have to allow her to make mistakes and learn from them. Being overprotective can be interpreted as a lack of faith in her abilities, so give her breathing room and the space to make her own choices. You can't just come out of the blue and start making demands on her that have been absent to now. She's not going to appreciate them or your motivations. You have to provide an atmosphere where she feels comfortable confiding in you. And if or when she does, you must take the time to really listen to her concerns. Even if the problem seems superficial to you, you must remember that it probably feels very real to her, otherwise it wouldn't be bothering her. She's got a good head on her shoulders, so encourage her to keep using it. You have to keep trying to get through to her even if she doesn't seem receptive. Don't tell her what to do to resolve a problem; listen to what she's saying, and you might find out more information about the underlying causes of the problems. Lys has a large family; you might encourage her to seek help from those she feels closes to. Keep in mind that Lys may have already written you off, feeling that she can't rely on you for help. If you want to prove her wrong, you've got a steep slope ahead that will be discouraging for you and her both.

"So that's depression. Anxiety is less of a concern here, and I'd be worried if she starts having panic attacks. These are characterized by intense feelings of fear and include symptoms like sweating or chills, rapid or pounding heartbeat, shaking, trembling, nausea, chest pain, a feeling of dissociation or unreal-ness, going crazy, things like that. I feel that this is something that could develop if Lys dosn't get help, but I don't think she's getting them now. It is a situation you need to watch out for.

"PTSD is a type of anxiety disorder that is a real possibility here. It's typically triggered by a traumatic event such as violence, a car accident, a natural disaster. A botched kidnapping attempt. Symptoms can include flashbacks, emotional detachment, low self-esteem, jumpiness, other things, and can make working and maintaining relationships very difficult. Traumatic experiences have a very real effect on people, such as feeling detached from everyday life, having trouble sleeping, suffering nightmares or flashbacks. Over the course of a few weeks, these symptoms usually go away. When they don't -- or if they re-emerge -- a person is said to have PTSD. About one in three people with PTSD develop a long-lasting form of the disorder. It disrupts daily life, by making it hard to do your job and complicates relationships with family and friends. It often leads to divorce and parenting problems. Because the kidnapping attempt happened when all four of you were together, you are all at risk, not just Lys and Deri, and you need to monitor yourselves as well.

"I don't know if Lys is experiencing these symptoms because she is not open to discussing them. However, I can confidently diagnose the depression and my treatment recommendations include medication and cognitive therapy. Because I do therapy with the League and pro bono work with some of the victims we help, I've taken advantage of state laws and am certified to prescribe medication in all states in this nation and to practice psychotherapy. You do not have to engage me to work with Lys, you can find anybody you want. What this means is that I can write a prescription for her today. It is, however, her decision about whether to take the medication. I do want to stress that I certainly think that Lys can get through this just fine and that you are not terrible parents. Your part in this is to realize that your kids aren't in the same circumstances you were while growing up and that new strategies are needed. You need to be more observant and provide more guidance and validation. This is completely within your capabilities."

"So how would this all work?" Dad asked, and I eased the door closed, carefully rearranged the things on the shelf, and Deri and I left silently, not talking until we'd made it back upstairs. "Can I come in?" she asked when we got to our doors.

"Ok," I said. She closed the door behind her as I crutched over to the chairs.

"So did you know that Grandma Alex is Valkyrie?" she demanded as she flopped down into the other chair.

"No," I said. "I feel like I should have, but I didn't." She grunted.

"So, that was... extra," she said. "And when did you find that... whatever it is? I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"It's a door," I explained. "I just found it a few days ago. And if you use it, you have to be sure to put everything in front of it precisely back into place so that we're not tipping off Alan that we know. You really can't see it behind the bookshelves unless you know exactly where to look."

"So..." Deri said, looking at me through her lashes. "Do you feel depressed or anxious or whatever?"

"Mostly what I feel is pissed," I said, debating about how much to tell Deri. She'd tell our parents what I said if she thought they needed to know, or Dr Lance. But suddenly I wanted to tell her. "It turns out that Uncle Tony didn't just make a cute AI for my pod, he listens to the recordings it makes of me talking to it and tells the parents. And all of a sudden they're worried about my mental health? That's rich. They bring in Dr Lance, who feels like she has the right to go burrowing into my life, such as it is. I'm just pissed. They've had sixteen years to treat me like more than an afterthought." I shrugged. "But what Dr Lance said will take a lot of effort on their part, and I don't think they're up to it. They'll try for awhile, figure it's good enough, the status quo will resume."

"Will you leave, like Dr Lance said?" Deri asked softly.

"Well, I have to get some additional education beyond high school, I'm definitely not going to be a drain on my trust fund," I said, shrugging again. "But you'll be taking over the business, which means that I'll find something else to do."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, because I don't want it." And I didn't want Deri to feel that I resented her for being her. I did sometimes, but that was my problem. She was pretty awesome when she wasn't being irritating, and I didn't want her to feel like she needed to change for me to love her. It did bother me that I didn't have the attraction to the family business, any of it, or the capability of running it. Literally everybody else did. But every time I tried to picture myself in the big office, or even in one of the nice corner offices, dressed in a beautiful suit, dealing with spreadsheets and whatnot, powerful and in control, what I saw was Deri.

Deri struggled with what to say next, but ultimately gave up and went back to her room. I went over to the window seat and opened one of the windows, cuddling up under the throw. More than ever, I missed my spot on the roof. This was the best I could do for now, and I leaned out the window to see a few stars.

The next morning I ate my breakfast, put on a coat, and headed out the back, navigating the path down to the gazebo with care. I'd brought my cameras with me, and took some photographs while I was there. I'd been too worried about whether the other kids would want to know where I'd shot my landscapes, but they didn't care. So as long as I didn't photograph the manor, which had been shown in a few articles about Dad and/or the family, I'd be fine. There were a lot of eye-catching places on the estate, and there was that pretty, furry frost on everything, something I loved.

I looked over with irritation to see Dr Lance coming down the path, interrupting the review I was doing of my images, but I thought I'd better stay and get the conversation over with. For one, she could outrun me. Second, I'd have to listen sooner or later. "Hi, Lys," she said. "Can I sit down?"

I wanted to say no, but there wasn't a reason to be rude and make her job more difficult. I nodded and she sat on the steps next to me. "I wanted to tell you my conclusions from our talk yesterday." How nice that she was finally going to tell me. It would have been nice to be the first to hear her diagnosis, seeing as how it's about me. "You're clinically depressed," she said bluntly. "Some of that's most likely to do with the traumas of the past year, some of it's probably biological. Some of it might just be being a teenager. But in any case, I have a prescription here, Prozac-12. It's the twelfth formulation of a very old and stable medication for depression. It will take about a week to build enough in your brain to have a steady and therapeutic effect. There's a slight risk of allergic reaction, literally one in a million. How it works is that it massages the neurotransmitters in the brain. Depression is caused by an imbalance in the normally tightly-controlled process of secretion and removal of neurotransmitters like serotonin. This form of the medication helps the brain figure out how to better control the neurotransmitters without side effects like weight gain, and in a gentler formulation. You shouldn't even feel it working. It'll gently get the balance of your brain chemistry back into order. That's a short-term solution that addresses the physical nature of depression.

"The other prong of your treatment should be therapy to help you address problem areas in your life. Cognitive therapy would by my recommendation. This approach proposes that most problems have several parts that a person can subdivide the problem into. Those parts include how the person perceives the problem, the person's thoughts and emotions about the problem, the physical feelings at the time, and the person's actions before, during, and after the problem occurs. People disassemble to problem into these parts in order to make the problem more manageable. You work on it in therapy, you get homework, and this teaches you how to apply these tools to everyday problems. It gives you more control over situations that come up, how you respond, and how to choose the best course of action. This type of therapy compliments the medication, can help prevent relapses into depression, and reduces the residual symptoms of depression not helped by the medication, such as feelings of helplessness. It helps to improve sleep, helps with mood, energy, and pain." She gave me time to think about that. "So what do you think?"

"I think I'd be stupid to pass it up," I said.

"But what's under that response, Lys?" she asked. "I have the feeling that you say these innocuous things but there's a huge mass of thoughts and feelings underneath, like a subterranean lake. So what do you think besides saying that you'd be stupid to pass up the drug and behavioral therapies?"

"Resentment, mostly," I said, deciding to trust her. A little. She was perceptive; she was the only one who'd really caught on to this tactic. "It took an accident for my parents to see that I'm struggling. They knew before, but they just passed it off as teenage angst, ungrateful child, I don't know and don't much care."

"That's valid," she said. "And that's why I think that cognitive therapy will be most beneficial to you. It will help you cope when people aren't giving you the help you need, help you find ways to help yourself, because nobody is ever capable of giving somebody everything they need. We all have to fulfill our needs ourselves. I think that will be very appealing to you."

"It is," I admitted cautiously. She handed me a pill vial.

"One pill a day, and don't stop taking it when you feel better. You'll still need to be tapered off it when it's time, and your doctor and I should monitor you. As for the therapy, you can look for someone local--I can provide you a list--or we can work together remotely, the way I do with Deri. I would like to work with you, and I have experience treating children in the superhero community as well as trauma victims, but the important thing is that you feel comfortable with your choice. My approach is that once a person decides to get help, I expect them to do the work that they need to. Doing the work doesn't produce the results in a linear manner, you put x effort in and get the same quantity of result each time. Sometimes it's a huge amount of work and you don't see the payoff for awhile. Then you can put in a little effort and get a huge reward. It can be hugely frustrating and upsetting and there's no doubt that it's hard work, but the payoff is worth it. As long as you work and are making progress, that's what I want to see and what is most helpful to you. I'm not going to coddle you. You have a fine mind and I have expectations for you, but I will hold your hand and help you along. You're going to be doing the work; I serve as a guide and someone to help you through the rough patches, and you need to be able to trust me.

"And confidentiality is something we also have to discuss. I believe that you're quite suspicious of this whole setup and wonder what I'd be telling your parents about what we talk about in therapy. The answer to that is not much. I would inform them immediately if I felt that you had suicidal or homicidal tendencies, but the content of our sessions is confidential. There would need to be some family sessions, both for you and Deri, that involve your parents and issues that come up, but we would talk about the topics beforehand, to decide the information I can share. I don't do any form of ambush therapy or confrontation. Your parents have their own work to do on their behavior, and we'd need to make sure that you four as a family are progressing. Honestly, I feel that you're not far from turning your back on the whole monolith that is the Wayne family and business because it's not working for you, you don't feel really a part of it. It's much more beneficial to have a family for the support and love they offer, so I would like to see you be fully integrated. Your parents do love you very much, they're just not the most ept parents I've ever seen." I snorted agreement.

"Well, your parents didn't have normal upbringings. Your mom is a couple thousand years old, from a time and place when there was no popular culture, consumerism, even male parents. There were no other kids around, so her experience with peer pressure is extremely limited. She functions fine in this time period, but the experiences she draws upon are worlds and ages away from yours, and her experience with her mother is also quite different than yours." I had to nod. The queen was a whole experience in her own right. "And your dad is marked by that dualism of serving as his father's Robin, before becoming Batman himself, then being able to retire from that and focus on the business. He is so accustomed to making sure everything looks good for other people that he forgets to check on what's underneath. He doesn't really remember his mom, who died in childbirth when he was quite young, so he's not really sure of how parents in a team relate to their kids, and subconsciously, he doesn't really know what do as a father if he's not echoing his father and training a Robin. And although he had his Aunt Amy, there wasn't that same parental dynamic. So there are logical reasons for their deficiencies, and they'll be working on those themselves, as I've said. But your concern is just to work on yourself, to help you work through your problems and reach your full potential without bitterness and vindictiveness. What your future holds is largely up to you."

So we talked a bit more before I agreed to work with her remotely, then she left me to my photography. The air was warming, the light rime of frost on the colorful leaves had melted, and I got to work on both detail and landscapes. I didn't want to admit it, but I was feeling a little buoyed by the promise of help. Even more important was that she didn't dismiss my reactions and concerns, so maybe she was right and I could have more control over my life than I thought possible without leaving.

She went back home on Sunday, but before that, we had a couple of sessions to get the process started, and she helped me work on my expectations for potential friends. I didn't tell her about the supervillain relatives of the school group aspect--I didn't trust anybody that much--but I felt supported in my reactions and what I wanted and expected from these people. She'd been right when she told my parents that I craved validation. It felt enormously empowering to not be told that I was overreacting, that my feelings were valid, and she even commended my logic when I explained why I was upset with their sneaking. But it was hard to acknowledge my emotions, to put them out for someone else to inspect, and I could foresee times when the therapy could get really gruesome, but at the same time, I felt motivated to do the work. A spark of hope that life didn't have to feel this shitty all the time.

Chapter Text

I slogged to school the next day feeling like I had an ally, which made it easier to face the day. I was starting to think that maybe I really could trust her to help me fix me. We were going to do a session a week, but if I had some sort of emergency there was always to possibility of more. After she'd identified my issues, I'd gone online to double-check her work and what I'd found out made more sense than I'd wanted it to. So I took the medicine and told her some things. Her first goal for me was to work on my trust. It didn't have to be instant or absolute or anything, but I needed to consider whether Imogen and everybody were tactless and rude but essentially harmless. I said I'd think about it.

AI Tony had tried to engage me, but I'd shut it down, telling it that I knew he'd just rat me out to my parents and I wasn't going to play that game. It turned itself off hastily and I rode into the city listening to a playlist. I did trig lab with Archer, and for the first time I had the feeling that I might just understand this eventually. Or I'd run out of semester, but whatever. It wasn't as horrible as it had been.

In chemistry, our teacher had some sort of food poisoning (I sympathized) and our sub gave us a worksheet in atomic theory, so easy. I whipped through it and turned it in. "Look, I know we screwed up," Imogen said quietly after she'd turned hers in too. "If you'd done it to us, we'd have been furious. So I understand why you were so mad, once I thought about it. I'm really sorry." I thought about her apology; she seemed sincere.

"So what did you do this weekend?" I asked. She smiled a little.

"Not much," she said. "I did homework, went to work, hung out some." She worked at the Home Depot. "What about you?"

"Got a shrink," I said. She blinked. "I'm depressed and need some behavioral therapy."

"Wow," she said after a moment. "Um...good for you?" I burst out laughing, earning a glare from the teacher.

At lunch, the others' apologies seemed sincere too, so I accepted them. "We know that we screwed up and it's going to take time for our friendship to recover," Nix said. "We appreciate the opportunity to try." Our conversation was mostly about school and the weekend.

After school, I went to the first aid class, where everybody'd been set up with tables so I didn't stand out. "Glad you could come, Anna," Rob said peppily, coming up as I chose a seat. Another boy thumped into the other seat at the table. Where Rob was handsome with olive skin, a Classical profile, and dark hair, this new boy was cute in a cheek-pinching sort of way with wavy dark blond hair. "This is Rain Nelson," Rob said. "Rain, this is Anna Wayne."

"Nice to meet you, Anna," Rain said, beaming. "Where'd you go to school before here?"

"Highgate Prep."

"Why'd you switch?" he wanted to know. Rob leaned on the table, also interested.

"The kids are a bunch of snotty assholes," I shrugged, and Rain chortled. Rob smiled, then he was off to greet other students.

"Do you like HKHS better?" Rain asked.

"Oh, yeah. No uniforms, what's not to like?" I quipped. "But it is a lot nicer, there are electives in a wider range of subjects, and I like being in the heart of the city. It's also closer to my job."

"Oh yeah? Where do you work?"

"Well, I'm not working right now because I'm not mobile enough," I confessed, and told him about the fabric store.

"Huh," he said. "Well, I gotta confess that I'm not much into soft furnishings," he said, and I grinned.

"Mostly it's just regular customers, but this summer a TV show revival used it as the source for fabrics, it was a fashion design competition. That was crazy. Sometimes the designer Steve Rogers stops in, he used to work there when he was at FIT and he still gets fabrics there. And a customer I helped out gave me concert tickets once. So you never know who's going to come through the doors," I said. I couldn't wait to be able to go back.

"Oh, yeah? That sounds more interesting than I'd expect," Rain said, and was about to say something else when Rob clapped his hands, drawing our attention. He and one of the other club officers came to each table where we paid the fee and signed in. After Rob introduced the instructor, he scurried to his place at the table next to mine and we settled in for the lecture.

"First aid has come a long way from simply controlling blood loss, immobilizing broken bones, and generally patching up people," the jovial man, who'd been introduced as Craig, said. "We have tools that were unthinkable even a century ago, and prompt bystander intervention can save lives and highly mitigate damage. In this class, you'll be learning some basic physiology and and anatomy, how to diagnose problems, and what to do about it. If you're serious about preparedness, or perhaps you participate in activities that might lead to injuries, you might want to consider investing in a full first aid kit, but we'll also be learning how to improvise treatments. I can guarantee that you will never always have your kit to hand unless it accompanies you absolutely everywhere. Sometimes there's not much you should do, as in the case of suspected spinal injuries, sometimes there's not much you can do, as with broken bones, but more common situations include burns, scrapes, cuts, dislocations, and problems like anaphylactic shock and hypoglycemia, and you'll be able to treat these things very effectively." And we started out with the promised anatomy and physiology lecture. By the end of the first class, we'd passed a short test on those subjects and learned how to fix dislocations and best immobilize fractures for expert treatment.

After class, I went out to my usual spot in the garage for pickup by my pod. I hated to admit it, but knowing that Uncle Tony had been using the AI to funnel information about me to my parents took away some of my enjoyment in the wonderful pod. I was surprised, then immediately thought that I shouldn't have been, all things considered, when Uncle Tony appeared, walking alongside the pod. I stabilized a crutch and rubbed my face.

"OK, Lys, I wanted to apologize for that little feature of the AI," he said immediately. "I realize that you don't appreciate it and Ann explained why you'd think it was a betrayal of trust." I wanted to roll my eyes at the reminder that Aunt Ann was frequently an interpreter of humanity for Uncle Tony. When I was younger, I used to wonder if there was something wrong with him, but Grandma Alex said it was just a function of his genius. "So I was wrong not to tell you about it, but I'm not sorry I programmed that, and let me tell you why." I resisted the urge to rub my face again; I'd pressed too hard on my broken cheekbone and it was throbbing gently.

"So why did you do it?" I asked, more plaintively than I'd intended. "I mean, everybody knows you're kind of devious, but I don't see why you had to trick me like that. I'm not a little kid who needs a nanny."

"You're not a baby anymore," he agreed. "But Lys, I was really worried about you. You took a hell of a hit after that party and I wanted to make sure that you were going to be ok. You dealt with that better than I'd expected, actually. I didn't want to hover, and it's not exactly a secret that while your parents are good people, they aren't the most observant. Then after the kidnapping attempt, I was a lot more worried. You were really affected by it in ways that you might still be processing, and honestly, I thought you could use some help. Somebody to help you deal with it all and figure out your next steps." He sighed. "So I told your folks. I should have told you myself, but frankly, I didn't want this kind of confrontation. You're my favorite of my nieces and nephews, and I didn't want to mess that up."

"Huh?" I asked, taken aback by that last.

"I see something of myself in you," he explained. "Granted, your dad isn't a complete asshole like mine is, but I know what it's like to have distant parents. You're not a genius, but you have other abilities that far exceed mine, like empathy, and I think your life is going to very interesting. I certainly can't predict what you'll do next, and that's kind of new to me. I like your determination to make your own way in the world, and frankly, your lack of flexibility is familiar to me." I snorted before I could stop myself, and he smiled. "So it was a way to keep an eye out for you when I couldn't be there." I stood there, thinking about what he said, absorbing it, poking at it, then I smiled a little.

"Like a slippery guardian angel," I suggested, and he beamed at me. That was surprising too. He smiled, he smirked, but a full-on beam was rare.

"Exactly. So can a repentant uncle get a hug?" He held out his arms and I crutched over for the hug, then we established a few ground rules for the AI that suited us both, and with a final hug, he held my crutches as I got into the pod and handed them in, stepping back so the door could close and I could get moving.

The next day we learned about the symptoms of shock and how to treat them, blood loss, how to control it with pressure and elevation, the use of tourniquets, how to patch up scrapes, cuts, burns, and when to send somebody to the doctor. Rain was back at my table and we joked around; he had a wry sense of humor and wasn't the most deft partner for practice situations, but we both managed well enough. The day after was what to do if somebody showed signs of heart attack stroke, asthma, seizures, or hypoglycemia and how to administer medication. Over-the-counter medications were specifically formulated not to have drug interactions or to cause an allergic reaction, so we were not to hesitate in their use. And there were additional medications that you could by with the valid first aid certification, such as the injection to help bones that are just cracked heal a little faster. Medications for minor problems. The following day, we learned CPR and the use of the little defibrillators that were found in all municipal buildings and many commercial establishments. On the last day, we learned how to assist trained professionals in the event of a mass casualty crisis and took the final test. I was a little bemused when I took my ID up to have the certification noted on the chip for an official record. It was a demonstration of competency, my only one.

We finished early, so I didn't have to hurry to get to my doctor's appointment. I had the frustrating news that my bones weren't healing as fast as I'd hoped, but the doctor pointed out that there was a lot to do, even with the stimulant medication, and that the healing (he called it modeling and remodeling) was progressing well with no complications, so I guessed that was something, at least, but dammit.

I was kind of down in the dumps when I updated my manager at work. I missed the activity, my co-workers, and the fabrics. "Well, I've been thinking," she said. "If you'd like to put in some time, I could have you doing some things that would enable you to mostly sit down, paperwork, cashiering. It wouldn't be as many hours, but it would be something to do. And it would be great to have you back. We miss you, and some of the customers have asked about you." That perked me up, and we settled on ten hours a week, two three-hour shifts during the week, and a four hour shift on the weekend. In this case, availability of hours at work dovetailed nicely with what I realistically thought I could do. I still got tired sometimes, but I also needed to build up my stamina.

Chapter Text

So the next few weeks passed easily enough. I worked with my friends, rebuilding trust a little at a time. I had a session a week with Dr Lance, usually after school, and while it wasn't pleasant or fun, at least it was enlightening and helpful. The sense of support that I got was a little overwhelming, to be honest. Here was somebody who was not only on my side but helping me to be more complete. She said she didn't want to spoil Thanksgiving, so we held off discussing the implications of my broken ankle til after the holiday, but there was no shortage of other issues to address, it's not like we were going to run out of trauma any time soon. I was really relieved to start at work again and the manager started me figuring out determining what kinds of notions needed to be reordered, as well as staples like interfacing and linings. And I got to sit up front and check people out. I enjoyed seeing familiar faces and talking to new people, and it was just great to be useful again.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I went to get my hair cut after school let out for the holiday. The ends were getting pretty shaggy, and I hadn't had a cut since the accident. We were hosting friends and family as usual and I wanted to look decent. My plan got a bit of a setback when I got to the salon and found that my stylist was overbooked. She was covering a guy's roots, he had quite an elaborate hairstyle, and came over to apologize.

"But not to worry, hon," she said. She might be trying to be nice, but I hate it when people I don't know very well call me that. "We've got a new stylist, she can handle you, you have a pretty basic cut." So she introduced me to Gina, a tall and quiet woman with fantastic cheekbones and spectacular skin so dark it seemed to absorb light, absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was closely cropped and suited her perfectly. Her face was pleasant but not expressive, and I couldn't help feel like she was irritated by my usual stylist too.

"Ok, Lys," she said, draping me after I sat down. "What's with the hair? It's so thick, but frankly, I thing you could do better with some shaping, take a little length off."

"I used to dance ballet," I said. "I needed to be able to put my hair up in a bun." I studied my reflection as she combed it out. "But I can't dance anymore since I broke my ankle. Maybe you're right and I could use a change." Gina put down the comb and selected a lock of my hair, clamping her fingers about six inches from the shaggy ends.

"Ok, given that not dancing probably wasn't your idea, let's not go too wild and crazy here. A big change in hair length can be kind of traumatic, and I don't really want you sobbing in my chair. Hair does grow out, but it's easier to work up to a dramatic change rather than giving you a buzz cut and waiting four or five years for it to grow out completely." I smiled. "Let's try cutting this much off, and how about introducing some layers? It'll give your hair more movement. We could also put a gloss treatment on your hair, bring out your color a bit more."

"Mouse brown isn't the most awesome color in the universe," I pointed out, and was seized by an inspiration.

I got home just in time for dinner, having texted that I was running a little late at the salon. I felt like a million bucks as I went in the house, hanging up my coat and dropping my pack by the elevator for easy retrieval later. There was a rather shocked silence as I crutched into the library.

"Holy shit," Deri said.

"Deri," Dad said absently. "No potty mouth."

Mom looked shocked, but the disapproval I'd been braced for never materialized. She got up and circled me, touching the layers gently. "I am quite surprised, Lys, but this is quite beautiful."

"It's a lot to take in," Dad agreed. "The color really brightens up your face, honey." Gina had bleached my hair a sparkling platinum color, leaving the roots around my face white, then fading that out to a lavender, introducing blue highlights here and there as well, and each layer of hair got progressively darker until the bottom layer was a rich royal purple. Then she'd put in big curls to show off the layers, telling me how to achieve the look myself and suggesting other ways to play with it. All the coloring had taken time, so I'd gotten a manicure as well, only my second professional one, the polish one of the mid purples to match. And I'd come home with a bottle of ultra-strength conditioner since the processing had dried my hair out. But it was so worth it. The final gloss coat made my hair look like living amethysts.

Deri drew a deep breath. "We could consider color for you as well, Deri," Mom said. "What stylist did you use, dear?" Deri smiled, and we went into dinner. After dessert, I went upstairs and took a picture for my friends. It was funny how much lighter my head felt, and this after only a few inches in total length and the layers were removed. The color was divine and I felt really special. Objectively, I wasn't, about half the kids in school had colored hair, and some had pretty wild or eye-popping combinations and cuts. Praise for my new look came in quickly. Justine loved it and Ari wanted to know who did it. I thought about sending the pic to Dr Lance, but she and her husband Mr Queen were coming out for Thanksgiving. Their kids were out of state in college and taking advantage of their brief break to sleep in and goof off and were not going home. I had a hard time with that, but maybe their butler wasn't as skilled as Alan and Alfred?

Deri came into play with my hair and I let her, she's really good with cute hairstyles and I finally felt like my hair merited it. I told her about some pictures I'd seen with black roots that faded into pretty pink ends, pink roots and white hair, or graduations in pink, these could also be done with blues, her other favorite color. Her eyes, blue like Mom's, sparkled. Her hair was dark enough that she might not have to dye it black if that's the route she chose. After she'd shown me how to do a couple of updos, she left to consult with Van and I took a shower, applied the conditioner, and let it sit for awhile before washing it out. The difference was immediate, it was silkier and smoother and just as glossy--that coating took about a month to wear off.

Then I realized that I didn't have any styling aids to produce curls. Dang. I'd have to go out the next day. Meanwhile, I let my hair dry then braided it; it would be pretty and wavy tomorrow.

The next morning I was up early and departed to do my errands before our guests started to arrive in the afternoon. I got the three biggest sizes of Flash Stix, leaving the two smallest sizes. These were hulked-up curling irons; you wound your hair around the stix, hit the button, and the curl was formed instantly, without heat, and lasted perfectly until it was wet. I took advantage of being one of the first customers in the Sephora store and got a makeover as well; my current colors and/or techniques weren't standing up to the new color. I walked away with some new colors and products and felt less like a washed-out mouse.

Dad was working from home in order to greet the guests, and to spare Alan the extra work, took Deri, Van, and me out to lunch. It was a rare outing and fun. On our way home, we stopped by a bakery and picked out a treat each; I had an amaretto eclair. So good. Then it was back home, and our guests started to arrive. Mostly extended family, like Uncle Bucky's brother and sister and their spouses. There were also some incognito superheroes--Black Canary and Green Arrow, the Flash, Aunt Serena and her mom, the Maximoff twins. We had a full house, but no kids to talk to.

After Dr Lance got settled, she came to my room and we had a face to face session, exploring the progress I'd been making. She felt it was good that I had reconciled with my friends and thought my hair both looked great and was an encouraging personal expression, and we decided to tackle the issues created by the kidnapping attempt after the holiday. I had two weeks before finals then, so there should be time to dip my toes into that mess without affecting my grades.

For cocktail hour, I dressed nicer than usual and Deri and I joined our parents in circulating among the guests. Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian arrived with all four offspring in tow; we didn't see Martha and Xander much. Dessert was trifle, which we had at the table, then coffee back in the library.

After a suitable amount of time with the socializing, the party showed signs of breaking up, and Deri and I went upstairs, accompanied by Iris and Miles, who wanted to see our rooms. "Something like this would have been awesome when I was growing up," he said, looking around Deri's room. "Minus the pink, though." Iris guffawed and Deri had fun showing all the hidden storage in the desk and in the stairs to the top bunk. Then we went across the hall into my room and I sat on the window seat gratefully. Deri sat with me while the twins pulled the chairs around and we chatted until Grandma Alex showed up in search of her offspring.

"See, Mom, this is why I want to ditch the dorm next year," Iris said. "If I get a little apartment, Lys can help me decorate it."

"Campus life is so much fun, though," she objected.

"I'll still be on campus almost every day," Iris pointed out. "Meeting people in classes and activities." Grandma stroked the beaded curtain behind the velvet draperies and sighed.

"Well, let's discuss it with your dad," she said. "Housing is still incredibly tight, so you might be disappointed." She smiled at me and stroked my hair. "This is so pretty, Lys. Unexpected and lovely, just like you. I remember when Iris came home with a rainbow colored Mohawk one day." I remembered that too. Although both Grandma and Grandpa recognized her right to free expression, they'd both thought it was hideous, and Iris's head is kind of round, not the best shape for a partly shaved look. Iris had quickly let it grow out once the shock factor wore off.

"They're never going to let me live that down," Iris said, sighing. "It was five years ago!"

"You appalled Alfred," her twin goaded her. "I didn't think that was possible." They started bickering, and Grandma swept them up. We'd be seeing them all the next day.

I'd also invited Imogen. Her foster family was going to their extended family and she hadn't wanted to go too. They were good to her, but she never forgot that she wasn't really family. We'd decided that the risk of a Batman figuring out who she was was very low; her mom had been dead for almost fifteen years and Flores is not that uncommon a name. She seemed to be looking forward to coming out and Mom and Dad were looking forward to meeting her. Dad would drive me into the city to pick her up and return her. I'd offered a sleepover, but I think we were both a little glad she said no; it was a little soon after the whole identity incident. And frankly, I needed a lot of sleep still.

I slept late but that wasn't a problem, as Alan had a breakfast buffet set up while he and Alfred worked on the dinner. About mid-afternoon, Dad and I went to pick up Imogen. I'd been worried that she'd be uncomfortable around my dad, but he just acted like any other dad and she was at ease. He asked some general questions, nothing too personal or probing, then was content to just drive as Imogen and I talked. The family pods had been reworked at Uncle Tony's shop and the undersides had been heavily reinforced along with all the other new safety features (that brought them up to my pod's standard, I must say) so that we could use the aerial route without worry.

At home, I introduced her to Mom and Deri, who was interested in her but more interested in her endless chatter with Van. I gave her a tour, and we ended up in my room. "I can't believe you did this yourself, Lys," she said, running her hand along the draperies. "No offense, it's just so... well done. And we're still in high school. How much was it, if I can ask?"

"About six hundred dollars," I said. "Most of that was the fabric, and I got my work discount on that. I was really lucky that my grandpa helped me with the built-in stuff and the stuff in the attic. But I actually really like second-hand furniture. It seems... more friendly than new."

"That's crazy," she said, shaking her head. "It looks so much more expensive. But so cozy." I pulled a chair around with the footstool so she could have the window seat, and she relaxed as we chatted. It struck me that this was the most time I'd ever spent just one on one with any of my new friends. There was some school talk, but mostly talk about our friends, our interests, what we were doing, all that kind of stuff. The group was going to meet up on Saturday for a movie and we looked up reviews. Then we went down for the cocktail hour, and she took a cider from Alfred with bemusement. This time there were tons of cousins around and I spent most of the hour introducing her. Imogen's eyes opened wider when I introduced cousins Chris and William, both of whom resembled their fathers quite a lot. That much gorgeousness is a lot to adjust to, and they, along with the other cousins, exerted themselves to include Imogen and make her feel welcome. She looked a little dazed, and my favorite aunts, uncles, and grandparents made a point of saying hi too. I wasn't hurt when Grandpa Bruce arrived late, but was glad to see Tabby, who gave me a big hug, admired the hair, and drew Imogen into conversation. I really admire that trait of hers, she can make anybody feel comfortable. Then it was upstairs in the ballroom for dinner, and I noted with relief that Grandpa Bruce was across the room from us. We sat with Grandma Rose, Uncle Tony, Flash, Grandpa Thomas, and Bruce, one of Uncle Tony's three kids. Cousin Bruce was under his dad's thumb because he'd made a mess in the robotics lab. It must have been spectacular, because usually Uncle Tony wasn't that uptight and Bruce had his father's confident, breezy attitude. Aside from my subdued cousin, it was a lively table that included Imogen too without it feeling like they were making a point of it. They were just genuinely curious and welcoming.

Dessert was a selection of pies and cakes, and we had it and the tea and coffee in the ballroom for convenience in serving. Both Imogen and I were practically in a food coma, so after we were finished eating and drinking, Dad agreed to take her home. We had our coats on and were going out the door when Alan appeared and handed Imogen a basket of leftovers. She seemed genuinely touched, and the drive back to her place was quieter than going out had been. She thanked Dad for his hospitality and joked that she'd be digesting until Saturday.

"I'm glad to finally get the opportunity to meet Lys's friends," he said, forgetting that I preferred to be "Anna" around them. "We're glad you were able to come celebrate with us." She and I hugged briefly and we waited until she got inside her building safely, then we set off home. "She seemed really nice," Dad said, turning on the autopilot. "I'm glad you invited her. She seems... I don't know. More focused and disciplined than your friends at the old school. More interested in the world." It was a short drive home, then I talked with the people who were still left. There weren't many, everybody was stuffed and somnolent and had departed for places where they could get into some relaxed-fit clothing and digest. That's what I did too.

Chapter Text

The movie over the weekend was fun, we went to lunch first and goofed around a bit later. I put a few more hours in at work to help out; now that Thanksgiving was over, people were getting serious about entertaining for Hanukkah and Christmas and all the other midwinter traditions as well as New Years. I'd finally started to work with Uncle Steve as well, feeling somewhat more buoyant with the medication and therapy. He was really good about explaining how clothes were constructed, why you needed lining and interlining, construction details like darts, finishing touches like drawn thread work or embroidery, how to use seams to add decorative elements, and some couture touches like the use of chain to weight hems and where this is appropriate. I learned how to customize a pattern to my measurements, what the markings on the patterns represented, and how to correctly sew the garment. When to use machine seams or hand stitching, how best to sew on different types of buttons, make easy buttonholes and the best buttonholes, set in zippers, make frogs, press. It was all very interesting and I had made a shell for under a jacket or blazer, and a blouse with a button front, collar, and cuffs so far. I worked with the ladies in his workshop, too. They were amazing women, and since many were Returnees, the stories they could tell were enthralling. They shared their skills, such as I could pick up; the level of their work was honed by decades of practice. We planned for me to make a couple of skirts, a dress, a pair of slacks, and a suit coat, and one of the women volunteered to help me make a pair of gloves for the experience of it and to learn how to sew leather. I personally didn't see much of a need for that, not when you could purchase good gloves for a reasonable price, but it did sound interesting. But first: finals.

Finals at HKHS were more relaxed affairs than at the prep school. They still covered the entire semester's worth of knowledge, still accounted for a quarter of the grade, but nobody except students who needed the final to kick them out of an F or D really got that worried about it. Every teacher did one hour sessions before school and one after every week so that if you needed help, you had ample opportunities to get it, plus there was math lab and a writing center where you could get somebody to proofread your work and help you with grammar and structure. It seemed like an institutional cultural approach, and was one I heartily approved of. The much lower stress level was really pleasant. I went to the museum for lunch on Wednesday, we had an hour lunch, and this time Mom had brought in a picnic basket full of delicious treats. No food poisoning, vomiting, or tears this time around, bonus. The low key approach was good, because Imogen was starting to see trouble in her foster family. Something had happened between the parents over the Thanksgiving break and there was a lot of tension.

"Even Ron" her foster brother "doesn't know what happened, and he knows everything," she said over lunch. "But it's something significant. My foster parents are barely speaking, and Charles" her foster father "sleeps out on the couch."

"You told your caseworker, right?" Ari asked, picking at his salad. She nodded.

"They're keeping an eye out, but it's just uncomfortable right now."

"Now might be a good time to check DNA for your bio dad," Jinx said. Imogen shook her head.

"Finding out that you have an illegitimate daughter just in time for the big religious festivals?" she said. "Nobody needs that. Plus, the foster parents are apparently going to see a marriage counselor this week."

I felt vaguely guilty after that, going home each day to my family.

But after finals, I finished my presents and we met for a celebratory Christmas lunch. Not everybody was a Christian, but 'Christmas' had become kind of a catch-all phrase for all the religions who had a midwinter celebration. There was a big fad for retro fabric covers for tablets, either quilted or just a single layer of fabric covering the forms. And naturally, with a fabric-related trend, we carried the supplies at work, so I got the feather-weight plastic forms with the magnetic closures, the special adhesive, and fashion fabric for the exteriors. Uncle Steve told me that a lining fabric was key to making it high end, because it smoothed out imperfections in the plastic form and let the fashion fabric lay smoothly, with minimal wrinkling when the covers' hinges were folded back and open. We sold squares of about half the fabrics in the store, so buyers didn't have to get the minimum purchase of half a yard. That way the buyer wasn't stuck with a lot of fabric they probably weren't ever going to use. I found everybody's favorite colors and used different weights and textures that I thought everybody would like. I was nervous, because the last time I'd gone an extra distance was for my old friends' birthday gifts, who hadn't reciprocated, and I'd come around to thinking that while they just weren't very good friends to begin with, maybe my presents had been over the top and they hadn't known how to reciprocate. And I didn't want to embarrass my friends by going outside the price range we'd set and them not being able to match. The kits were really affordable, even with some of the fabrics being a little more expensive, and it took about twenty minutes to assemble each one, so even with labor it would be reasonably within the $25 limit. Especially because I am not skilled labor.

"Wow," said Imogen, stroking the blue velvet of her cover (upholstery-grade and guaranteed for 100 000 double rubs, I'd checked.) "This is beautiful, Anna."

"And this is from a kit?" Ari said, already snuggling his tablet into the silk and wool silver and gold striped cover.

"Yeah, we sell them at work. The only thing that's different is that I used a lining. Uncle Steve said that it would make them nicer, and I think you can see the difference." They had at work, too, when I'd brought the one I'd made for myself in. Now lining squares were an optional addition for the kits.

"This is great, Anna," Nix said, smiling at the black tuxedo-stripe of his cover. It had a lovely sheen to it and the stripes had a narrow red pinstripe to the left of each one, just two threads wide, enough to be a nice design element without being distracting.

"I didn't think I wanted a cover," Mark said. His was a white and navy damask. "The ones I liked are about a hundred dollars, hundred fifty and who wants to spend that much on a trend? But I like this, the fabric's more interesting than the ones I've seen."

"I agree," Justine said, beaming at me. Hers was brocade, black with pale pink and white peonies. "This is so elegant."

"It's nice to have a friend who's handy," Jinx said, a rare smile on his face too. His was a warm, very textural brown and copper wool tweed.

"You're welcome," I said, relieved that they'd liked them. "The markup on those things is ridiculous. The basic kit is only seven dollars, eight with the lining, and then the cost of whatever fabric, which is generally a few bucks more. I did spray them to make the fabric water resistant." Ari's cover had been the most expensive, with the fabric bringing the cost to just under fifteen. Mine had been only slightly under that, a silk mix of violet and silver, with Imogen's just a little under that. Everybody else's was around twelve dollars for the whole kit.

"Ok, yeah, that's a ripoff," Mark said, then distributed his presents. I'd already gotten chocolates from Justine, an embossed copper picture frame for one of my photographs from Jinx, a book from Imogen, and movie tickets and a tin of raspberry hard candies from Ari. Mark liked woodworking and had made us all little trinket boxes of mixed woods. Mine was oak and walnut, really pretty, with tiny dovetailed joints. It was impressively good, and it was a treat to receive something custom made from scratch. "Sorry the finish isn't better," Mark apologized to us. "I didn't have quite enough time, so I just did wax. If you want, I can take them back and put a polyurethane coating on, it's more resistant to damage. Beeswax isn't really enough, but I don't know how to make anything better."

I thought I'd check with Alfred before just giving out his furniture recipe but I would definitely ask if he minded me giving it to a friend.

"I prefer the wax," Jinx said. "You can feel the wood, not a plastic layer."

Ari slung his arm around Mark's shoulder for a half-hug. "No, this looks really good to me. It's awesome." We all agreed.

"And if we return them, you'll be messing around endlessly, trying for perfection," Justine said, holding her aspen and redwood box protectively. "We'll never get them back because you'll never think they're good enough." We burst out laughing, even Mark.

Nix's gifts were last, something different for everybody. I got a pair of shears that were exquisitely sharp, perfect for the most delicate fabrics. They ran about $75 at work, and I looked at Nix pointedly. He shrugged. "My dad has some legitimate business contacts," he said. "He was able to get them for me at cost from the manufacturer, which was in budget. Barely. But we never said that taxes had to be included in the cap, right?"

"Always taking things to the limit," Imogen said affectionately.

"They are perfect," I said, admiring them. "Thanks, Nix." He smiled, and we had celebratory dessert.

"So when are you getting the results of the judging for your photography class?" Ari asked me. "How many photos did you enter?"

"I submitted ten, the maximum, I think we all did. The opportunity for the feedback from professionals is really a big deal, and they agreed to provide comments for each picture. They won't be extensive, but just to know what somebody thinks of your work..." Mark nodded in understanding. "They'll be available through the school portal, the pros have a few more days to come in and view everything. Next semester we'll take the comments and use them to improve our work."

"Lys?" I looked over, past Justine, at the familiar voice, and frowned. Jane, Eleanor, Hope, and Molly stood there with shopping bags and lunches, apparently looking around for a table in the covered, climate controlled patio that served as a common eating area for several restaurants at this shopping area.

"Hey," I said after a moment. My friends were looking between us, probably putting things together. They were really perceptive, as a group.

"Your hair looks really pretty," Eleanor said hesitantly, smiling uncertainly.

"Yes, it does," I agreed. Not smiling.

"I heard about your ankle," Jane said. "Sorry. Jake said you had to drop dance."

"Yep," I said.

"Look, Lys, we're sorry about what happened, last spring. It was a mistake to drop you. Nobody brings it up anymore, but you've just vanished," Molly said bluntly.

"If nobody's talking about it, it's because I declined to be bullied anymore and they had to move on. They couldn't get at me through social media anymore or make my life miserable at school. They kind of had to go torment the next unfortunate," I said bitingly.

"That's not fair," Hope protested. "We made a mistake. We know it. We should have stood with you."

"It's really fair," I said. I looked at Eleanor. "I will always know what you are, the type of people you are, to abandon somebody who was vulnerable because you didn't enjoy the little splashback that fell on you." I looked at all of them then. "You're only fair weather friends who are probably missing the things I could provide." Thoughtful presents, daily support, treats like concert tickets and exclusive events. Their families were rich too, but there isn't much that a Wayne can't get if they ask. I wondered why I'd ever felt the need to provide those benefits. Was it that I felt I had to buy their loyalty? Maybe subconsciously. Dr Lance would be thrilled at my insight. "You heard about my ankle but I never heard from you. You could have called, sent a card. You know where I live. But instead, crickets."

"Get a grip, Lys," Jane said impatiently. "Nobody wanted to be made fun of or ignored, and you shouldn't have expected your friends to go down with you. And it was only for a little while, there've been other scandals that supplanted that abortion of a party." She gestured at my friends. "You think that they're any different? They're probably only hanging out with you because you're rich. At least you don't have that with us, we can buy our own things. They have nothing, no connections."

The children of the supervillains looked highly affronted. Then Jinx started to laugh, which set them all off. I grinned too.

"Some people can't be bought with things," I said, chuckling. "The worst that they did was investigate me to find out if I really was Daniel's daughter, and they apologized."

"When your friend is going down, that's when you know who your real friends are," Nix said frostily. "Because they're right with you, supporting you. Or you all go down together."

Justine poked my side. "She's had a little self-confidence issue, which I can totally see why, with frienemies like you. But yeah, you do suck, and you're shallow, self-absorbed, and vain for dropping her over something she couldn't control. She's better off with us." Jane sneered.

"Oh, I supposed she just got those concert tickets in a raffle or something," she said. "They were snapped up in three minutes, and there she is, in a box. You expect me to believe her dad didn't get them for her?"

Ari roared with laughter. "She met Freddie Mercury and Brian May at the store where she works. That mantle he was wearing at the concert? She sold him the fabric and told him where he could find somebody to make it. He was so pleased that he gave her four tickets, invited her backstage after the concert, and made a special point of finding her to thank her again. It had nothing to do with her name and everything to do with the kind of person she is. And we may not deserve her either, but at least we appreciate her." Hope and Molly looked taken aback, but Jane wasn't budging.

"Right, like you expect me to believe that you're not taking advantage of her connections and lifestyle." Her eyes fell on the clutter on the table. " What did she give you, those tablet covers? They sell for a hundred, hundred twenty dollars."

"Most of them have never been out to the house," I said. "One of them has, once. It's more convenient to meet here in the city, which you should agree with, you always complained that the house was too far out, that there was nothing to do out there. They don't need my connections or my 'lifestyle.' And I did those covers myself, so it's nice to know you think they could sell for that much." Imogen leaned forward and gave me a high five over the table. "Face it, Jane, you're greedy and shallow and you don't understand anything else. I'd feel sorry for you, but...." I looked at the other three girls. "Maybe you're different, but stay around Jane and you'll never know. Being dumped by you was, in the long run, one of the best things that could have happened to me. Now I realize how little you offered in friendship and what real friends are. You can go now." My voice had dropped into the freezing range. "Merry Christmas," I said in a tone that meant the opposite. Eleanor turned away and started off, followed by Hope. Jane didn't budge until Molly took her arm and pulled her away.

I looked around the table. "Thanks for sticking up for me."

"It's what friends do," Mark said, shrugging. "Besides, you didn't really need us, you handled them just fine on your own."

"Still," I said. Justine held up her glass.

"To friends." We all clinked rims.

Chapter Text

On the way home, I stopped off at Grandma Alex's and Grandpa Damian's to ask Alfred if I could share his polish recipe, showing him my little box. "Your friend is very talented," Alfred said, examining my box with interest. "Yes, go ahead. It's a fairly common recipe, there are several that are similar on the internet, but he probably didn't look on housekeeping sites." We went down to the kitchen and he gave me a fresh brownie while he asked me about school and I asked about his family. His wife Delara, who worked for Grandma's firm as their butler, was a real force of nature, confident and supercapable, but not intimidatingly so. And really beautiful, with shining dark hair, large liquid dark eyes, and a warm skin tone that always seemed exotic and mysterious to me. They had two boys and a daughter, currently away at boarding schools, per their request. They'd inherited Alfred's curiosity and love of adventure in full. The older boy, Darius, was in New Babylon with his year-younger sister Zahra, across the city from Delara's parents, and John, my age, was at Eton.

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose. "The lads are a bit rambunctious," he said with a sigh. "Zahra keeps Darius in check fairly well, I suspect by reminding him that we'll bring them back if they cause trouble." He grinned at me, a little ruefully. "I suspect that John just hasn't gotten caught yet." I grinned back. John was a lot of fun. "Delara is superb, as usual. She'll be pleased that you asked after her."

"She's awesome," I said, finishing the last of my brownie.

"Lys, honey," my grandpa said, coming over and giving me a kiss on the head. "Every time I see your hair I like it more. So expressive. I thought I smelled brownies," he said hopefully to Alfred.

"You will be having yours after dinner, Master Damian," Alfred informed him. Grandpa tried to look pitiful and failed.

"I'm getting a little chunky anyway,' he said, giving in. "I should put in more time in the gym. I'd never fit into Nightfall's suit anymore." Alfred wisely remained silent.

"Perhaps some carrots, Master Damian?"

Grandpa turned away with a bowl of carrot sticks and a light dressing for dip, and as he did, Alfred slid me an extra brownie in a napkin for later. He winked and I grinned, following Grandpa into the library. They'd recently lost their two black cats, Frank and Joe, to old age, but Signy was still hanging in there and came over to drape on my lap to be petted. "I miss the boys, but I just don't feel like it's quite time to adopt the next generation of cats," he said wistfully.

"They'll probably find you," I said. Animals seemed to know instinctively what a soft touch Grandpa was. He brightened up at that, and we chatted for a while before it was time for me to go home. I wanted to send Mark the polish recipe before dinner.

The next day, I went out and got some decorations. Alan always had the holiday decorations for the mansion well in hand, but I itched to do things my way. And purple wasn't a Christmas color, but I bought silver and gold fairy lights, fluffy tinsel garlands, some white, silver, gold, and green glass ornaments, several rolls of cheap ribbon, some screw-in cup hooks, bayberry tapers for good luck in the new year, white pillar candles, pine garlands, and gold edged red velvet ribbons. Deri helped me carry it all in, and helped me tie graduated lengths of ribbon onto the ornaments. She also got the stepladder and screwed cup hooks into the ceiling were clusters of the ornaments could be hung since it wasn't safe for me to teeter on the ladder. She took charge and attached the fairy lights around the windows while I set out the candles, having found a treasure trove of candle holders in the attic, silver, silverplate, and crystal. Garlands framed the bed alcove. We arranged the pine garlands on the fireplace mantle and my desk, since I wasn't using it because finals were over, and tied some tiny glass ornaments in like ice crystals. Big red velvet ribbons completed the look, and I was pretty happy.

I had extras of almost everything, and we went across the hall to gussy up her room some too. That night Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian came over for dinner and saw our rooms, praising our efforts. The next day Alan mentioned that Alfred put spices on Grandma's annual yule log for fragrance when it burned, and put my choice of cinnamon and cloves in a little baggie for me. I was burning some of the deadfall from the estate in my fireplace now. The fires were comfortable and cozy, and the spices added a lot. Deri didn't like the responsibility of having to hang out with a wood fire and stuck to candles, but we sprinkled some spice in the pools of melted wax that evening so it would trap the spices and release the scent next time they burned. There wasn't anything I liked more than sitting in my window seat with my throw over my legs, looking out onto the snowfall, reading a good book, with a fire flickering merrily. Deri came in to read sometimes too, slouching in one of the chairs and warming her feet before the grate. It was companionable to have the company and share the decorations.

The next day I was surprised to see that the comments were in about the student gallery. They'd chosen the top five photographs, which had been identified only by a number assigned to each student, and I had won second and fourth places. The comments were uniformly good, and there were a few comments about how to crop the photographs for best effect or to heighten contrast slightly. I was thrilled; I hadn't expected to do so well. Mom and Dad were really pleased. "Are you taking the class next semester?" Dad asked over dinner.

"Yeah, I'm taking the second semester of everything. Next semester we're going to start portraiture as well as learning how to print our photographs. The class even has three really old fashioned cameras that use film, and we will learn how to develop that from scratch. It should be interesting. I feel more confident now."

"You should, dear," Mom said. "You do good work."

"Will you take my picture?" Deri wanted to know, and I agreed.

The next day my ankle started bothering me, all itchy and kind of achy, so I had to go into the city for a doctor's appointment. It was determined that the medication to support the bone formation was too strong and I was cut way back on those and the supplements that contained the extra calcium, vitamin D and the rest of it were increased. "The good news is that your ankle is about two-thirds healed," my doctor said, pointing on the x-rays. I guess so, what it meant was that a lot of the pins looked fuzzier as the bone grew around it. "You have forty-seven pins, and it's just going to take awhile to heal," he said gently. "Fifty years ago, you'd have still been confined to bed for the duration of the healing so as not to put any pressure on it. Hundreds of years ago, your foot and lower leg would have had to be amputated because there would have been literally no way to fix it. I know it's hard for an active person such as yourself, but patience is your best friend and the way you'll heal with no ongoing complications." So I had to suck it up, and new estimates of when I'd be healed were now in early February. And even after the cast came off, I was looking at a lot of rehab and physical therapy to restore joint mobility and rebuild atrophied muscle. So that was disappointing, and the frustration, anger, and grief I had about the process came out in therapy.

Just before Christmas, there was a two-day meeting of the Avengers and Justice League on the estate, and there was a face-to-face meeting with Dr Lance. The therapy sucked because I wasn't really introspective, just introverted, but it was helping me a lot even though I didn't like it. She was proud of me for standing up to my former friends and encouraging about my new interests. I'd been reading the basic materials about principals of portraiture that our teacher had advanced to those of us who were continuing in the class, and because I was trusted, I was allowed to prowl around during the cocktail hour and snap candids. If they were any good, I'd email them to their subjects, if not, I could just delete them, no harm no foul.

Almost the entire extended family was able to come for Christmas this year, and the ballroom was filled. I also took pictures, the present opening, dinner, the whole thing. It was fun. And not really to my surprise, Dad had given me a camera that used film as well as several rolls of the expensive stuff. There weren't many on the market, since digital cameras were the norm, but the prints were still sought after for artwork. And from Mom, I got some diamond solitaire earrings. Deri got beautiful blue topaz earrings which she was thrilled with. They were light blue, contrasting nicely with her hair. When push had come to shove, she'd taken her time getting her hair colored, needing some time to work up to it, but she had some lovely burgundy streaks, just a step away from natural-looking highlights, but they also faded to a pretty pink just at the ends. Deri had found me a half-circle rug that looked really pretty with the big one in my room and fit beautifully in front of the hearth, and my parents also arranged for the slipcovered chair to be reupholstered. Grandma Alex lit the yule log as usual, it was important to her, and this year she gave me a splint from last year's log so that I could light the little yule log she'd brought over for my fireplace. I also had the rare opportunity to curl up with Uncle Tony and just talk for awhile. He was full from dinner and dessert and thus not as active as usual. It was a great Christmas.

A couple days later, I was looking at the photos from the holidays, deleting the ones that were blurry or not up to even my modest standards, when I got a call from Justine, asking if I could come into the city. Like, right now. I wasn't doing anything, so it took me a few minutes to get ready, then I got into my pod and headed in to meet Justine in the main branch of the public library. Aunt Barbara was on the circulation desk, and I waved as I beelined for the teen section. Justine was there with her arm around Imogen, who looked like she was holding it together with willpower that was rapidly fraying. Imogen had a black eye and swollen cheek.

"What happened?" I asked in shock, sitting on Imogen's other side and putting her hand in both of mine.

"Her foster father," Justine said grimly as Imogen started to cry silently. I rooted in my bag for tissues. "Something happened with their last marriage counseling session, and he snapped when they got home. She asked him something completely unrelated, and he slapped her, then punched. She ran out, her foster brother kept him from coming after her. We've got to do something."

We did indeed, but this was beyond anything I knew how to deal with. I was also out of tissues, then had the bright idea of talking to my aunt, who was appalled and wanted to help. I collected more tissues, a little trash bag for the used ones, and some ideas for action. Then I called my dad. In fifteen minutes, he was at the library and Aunt Barbara had booked us into one of the private reading rooms that book clubs sometimes used, or students in study groups. And a couple of minutes later, Uncle Richard arrived. He was a detective who worked in the throwback villains task group, which was led by Captain Gordon, Aunt Barbara's dad, and they worked crimes committed by Returned criminals like Nix's dad the Penguin. But he listened to what had happened to Imogen, asked her some questions, recording her statement and answers, took a picture of her face, and said he'd get this taken care of. Dad immediately offered Imogen hospitality at our house, and I suspect she accepted because she had nowhere else to go, but the important thing was that she agreed to let us help her. Justine took her pod and Imogen came with us; my pod went on its own back home. We stopped by Imogen's old home and Dad went in, returning ten minutes later with bags of her things; her foster brother had helped Dad pack up all her stuff. We stayed in the pod during this, and went home immediately after. Alan helped us take her things up to one of the three guest rooms on the family floor and brought up the portable tissue accelerator to mend Imogen's face. Justine arrived and hugged her, upset and anxious too. Imogen was completely wiped out, and we left her to take a nap. I gave Justine a quick tour of the house, including my room, fetching up in the library, where Dad was just finishing up a call with Child Protective Services. Justine and I clutched hands.

"Ok, girls, here's what's going to happen," Dad said when he hung up. "CPS is opening an investigation immediately. it's a bad time of the year, the holidays stress people out and a lot of people go on vacation, so it's not going to move as fast as I'd like. Imogen can stay here as long as she'd like, and we'll get her a lawyer so she can make informed decisions about her future. It might be in her best interests to seek emancipation rather than to continue in the foster family situation, but that has to be her decision, and of course we'll help your friend, Lys," he said, and both Justine and I relaxed. I knew he'd help, just not what form the help would be. "There's going to be a criminal investigation into her former foster father too, and Dick will keep me posted on that. I know you're concerned about Imogen, Justine, and I want you to know you're welcome to visit, all her friends are. It's not easy to get out here, I'm aware, but feel free." We had some questions, some of which Dad could answer, some not, and then I walked Justine out to her pod.

"We were talking on the phone when he hit her," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I really thought he was going to really hurt her. It took some convincing to get her to meet me; I was afraid she was just going to ghost on the streets or something." I shuddered.

"Well, she's safe here. Will you tell everybody what happened?" She nodded.

"They'll be furious but glad she's safe. If you can, I think now would be a great time to see if she'd reconsider checking her DNA against the database to see if her father's out there and what kind of a person he is." She paused a moment. "Was that really the Dick Grayson?" she asked, knowing, of course, that he'd been Nightwing. I nodded. "Wow. He's pretty hot, for an old married guy." Despite the situation, I laughed a little.

"He is so nice and friendly. The girl cousins all call him Richard because none of us really want to say 'dick.' Grandpa Damian calls him that, and sometimes it's not his name." Justine smiled.

"Well. let me know how things go," she said, and we hugged. "I'll be calling her later, we all will, she doesn't have to answer the phone if she doesn't want right now, but I need updates."

"I'll call, I promise." Justine got into her pod and left, and I crutched back inside.

Chapter Text

I went down to the kitchen to find my dad talking with Alan about the situation. Alan was making buttermilk biscuits for lunch since there were so many of the family at home today, and I snagged one, hot and fluffy, slathering it with butter. Yum. "Don't worry, honey," Dad said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "We'll make sure that Imogen is safe and taken care of, and if she wants to explore emancipation, we'll help get her started. It's a sad situation. Foster families are better screened and funded than they used to be, but nobody can predict something like this."

"She thinks that there was an incident when they went away for Thanksgiving," I said. "The parents went to marriage counseling after that. I guess it's not going so well." The back food opened and Deri and Van came in, coming straight over for biscuits.

"Girls, I'm going to ask you to keep the noise level down this afternoon," Dad said, and both of them looked up alertly. "Lys's friend Imogen was hit by her foster father, and she's upstairs, where she'll be staying as long as she wants. She's exhausted and needs her rest, and probably won't want to answer a lot of questions. Mom is coming home early to help get Imogen settled in."

"That sucks," Deri said. "She was really nice at Thanksgiving." We sat down for lunch, talking about other things, then I went back upstairs, opening Imogen's door just enough to stick a note on the inside with tape, reminding her that I was the next door over and to find me when she was ready and/or hungry. I sent a mass text, telling everybody that Imogen was still asleep, more information to follow, and settled down in the window seat with the blouse I'd made with Uncle Steve, finishing up the handwork. I had just finished the hem when there was a tap on the door and Imogen poked her head in. I started to get up, and she came over just as I stood, and gave me a fierce hug.

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done," she said quietly, then letting me go. "I didn't know what to do. Justine called right after I got out of the building, and she didn't know either."

"Well, that's what grownups are for," I said. She would have smiled under different circumstances. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," she admitted, so we went downstairs where Alan was cleaning up, and he deftly fixed her a plate and gave me two more biscuits. I was a little abashed, but ate them anyway. I was going to have to stop eating so much or none of my clothes would fit. But it's rude to make somebody eat alone. Dad came in as Alan set a plate of cookies on the table, took away Imogen's plate after she declined seconds, and departed quietly.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Imogen," Dad said, sitting down and taking a cookie. "But I want to reassure you that you have a home here. I've gotten a lawyer for you so that you'll have somebody to guide you through the legal system and help you fully explore all your options. I've explained the situation and she's ready whenever you feel up to talking to her." He slid a business card across the table to Imogen. "I took the liberty of calling CPS. Your case worker is on vacation right now."

Imogen nodded. "She won't be back until the new year."

"I wanted to be sure that you don't get into trouble for leaving your foster home and to fully apprise them of the situation. So while they're getting started on the investigation, it won't go as fast or as smoothly until then. They did send me a formal acknowledgment that your residence has been changed to here until you have a chance to weigh in on your situation and whatever decisions are to be made are made."

"I don't even know what my options are," she said quietly.

"Basically, you could return to the foster care system, or you can file for emancipation. Frankly, I don't know which would be in your best interest, that's something you have to determine for yourself, with as much help as we can give you. There are potential pitfalls to both options. But never think you'll be navigating it on your own. Not only are your friends there for you, but we're also ready to do as much as we can for you. I hate the thought of a kid alone in these circumstances, and it's simply unacceptable for you to risk living on the streets. And you're not to worry about anything, Imogen. We certainly have the space for you, you're not draining scarce resources, and you're not a bother." He patted her hand and she looked a little dazed. "Diana's coming home a little early, so she'll want to check on you to see how you're holding up. I expect that you might feel embarrassed, but if you need something, you can always ask Lys and she'll make sure you have what you need and want. Our house rules are few, keep the noise level down is the main one. We get together in the library before dinner to have some family time, then dinner, then dessert and coffee or tea, whichever you prefer. Lys can fill you in on the details, and you're one of the family now." Dad steered the conversation into less emotional topics, asking about her classes and interests, then getting up and letting us finish the cookies in peace.

After that, I showed her a few places we hadn't gotten to while she was here for Thanksgiving, the pool, the gym, and the games room, then we got our coats and we walked around a few places outside, including the gazebo. "I like to come out here to think," I said. "It's really peaceful."

"It is," she said. "Anna, I can't thank you enough. We haven't even been friends for very long."

"But we are friends, and I'm in a position where I can help, so I want to. You know the others would do it too. You'll probably have other offers to help too."

"I feel safe here," she said, and I nodded. That is one of the primary functions of the estate.

"It can be isolating, but it is really safe, physically. And my dad can make sure you're protected legally, too, as much as possible. He actually really is interested in the foster care system, making sure that kid have good foster families and that the program is fully funded. There's a board made up of business and civic leaders that does fundraising for the program, and he's on it. They started it after the Return, because there was so much concern about kids being abandoned on the streets. So while he's jumping into action because you're my friend, you can also be assured that even if you weren't, if he heard about your situation--and he would, that board gets summaries of situations like this so they can allocate more resources--you'd be taken care of. They'd find you a safe place to stay and the rest of it while you're getting things ironed out. The main differences are in the quality of the housing situation and your legal help. So if you feel like you don't want to be here anymore, you have other options. I hope you don't, I'd like you to stay here until you get things figured out to your liking." A cold breeze blew light snow off some grasses near the pond.

"I am really relieved to have someplace to go," she said, then started crying. "I don't know what I'd do, otherwise." I put my arm around her shoulder and made sure she had tissues. I couldn't imagine how upset she was. You have expectations for people, and being hit by your father figure is so not in that. After she got through that storm, I noticed that she was shivering a bit.

"Let's go back to the house and warm up," I said, and we walked back. It was kind of slow going because of my crutches. but still. "One thing you should know, the house has a paging system. You say the name and ask, and if that person is around, the system lets them know that somebody's asking for them. So if you get lost, you can ask for Alan or me or anybody and we'll come get you. Or if you need anything. It's wherever the buildings are, and about ten yards out from any structure. That also means that if there's information you don't want anybody overhearing, don't mention the name, we can write things down, like if you want to talk about anybody's families." She nodded, enlightened.

"Also, I should warn you that Mom is probably going to go into mother hen mode when she sees you. It can be kind of suffocating, but it's also kind of nice. She's gotten a lot more outwardly caring since the kidnapping attempt, and it's bound to carry over to you. She is very conscious of people in trouble." We glanced at each other and I knew she understood; Wonder Woman is well known for that. "So I can pretty much guarantee that she's going to offer to take you shopping. I noticed your coat's not very warm," I said gently. "And if I notice it, she will too. If it's just too much for you, you don't have to, but I think that you should. She's changing a lot, now that things have been pointed out, and I'm not saying this to be grand and entitled, but we can afford it and there's no reason why you have to be cold. And don't worry about your job, we'll figure things out so you can get to and fro."

"My job!" She stopped stock still. "I completely forgot I was supposed to work today."

"Let's go in the house and you can call them, explain things." So we went into the library, and I sat and got my second wind, texting Miles about what had happened, and she called her work. I looked up at the loud, exasperated tone on the other end. Imogen was getting a pinched look on her face.

'Quit,' I wrote on a scrap of waste paper and pushed it over. 'There's always some place else and you might need time off to get things figured out anyway.' She hung up the phone and rubbed her head.

"I don't have to quit," she said sadly. "They fired me. Apparently it was really busy today, the manager was stressed out, said they only needed reliable people, and that was that. I didn't even get to really explain."

"What's that, Imogen?" Mom asked, coming in authoritatively. I explained briefly, and Mom shook her head. "I understand a manager being upset after a stressful shift, but firing someone who has good reasons for inadvertently missing work is not sound business practice or compassionate. Well, don't worry, dear, we'll help you find another job, but you should also feel free to take some time off to get settled in here and as you address your situation." She patted Imogen's cheek gently. "This has been terribly upsetting for you. Let's go upstairs and make sure you're settled in." She herded us into the elevator.

In Imogen's room, we could tell that Alan had been there; there was a water carafe and glass on the nightstand, an extra blanket on the foot of the bed, little touches like that. This room didn't have a fireplace, but it was nice. Clothing had been hung up and put away and some of her shoes were missing; I bet Alan was polishing them. Deri popped in as we were surveying the room. She patted Imogen's arm and said that she was right across the hall and to ask if she had any questions, then Mom went back downstairs and Imogen and I went to my room. I lit a fire that would take us up to about pre-dinner and we settled in with some books and our communicators to just sort of relax and take it easy. It had been an upsetting day. There were texts from everybody to answer, and we had a peaceable couple hours before we neatened up and Deri and I took Imogen downstairs for pre-dinner. Conversation was pretty general; by this time everybody was up to speed on the situation.

"All right, girls, you need to make sure you have enough supplies for next semester," Mom said. "Check and make sure you don't need to replenish the things you need for classes. This means you too, Imogen."

"I haven't gotten my course list, Mom," Deri objected. "I have an art elective."

"Well, aside from that," Mom said. "We can always stop off at an art store another time, but you should have a good idea of what you need for your other classes. Check your school portal again after dinner, dear. What classes are you taking, Imogen?"

"Um, chemistry," she said, nodding to me. "And English, history, and I'm taking stats. I have gym and I'm taking technical drawing too."

"Technical drawing?" Dad said, interested. "What do you want to do with that?"

"I took shop class last year and liked it, so I'm thinking maybe about doing construction. It would be a stable career and it pays pretty well."

"That's for sure," Dad said. "Construction firms can't hire enough qualified people these days. Was that why you liked working at Home Depot?" They'd talked a little about her job at Thanksgiving.

Imogen looked surprised; I bet she hadn't expected him to remember. "Yeah, I was learning a lot about construction materials and how they're used."

"Dearest, they fired her today for accidentally missing her shift," Mom told him.

"Well, Wayne does a lot with construction," Dad said immediately. "Take a couple days to get your feet back under you, and you can come into work with me and have an interview if you'd like. We could always arrange something so that you get experience not just swinging a hammer but in planning projects, other aspects of management as well as different kinds of construction. Get some experience and formal training, make sure that it's really the field you want to go into, then we can help you figure out your next steps." Imogen just had thanked Dad when Alan came in to announce dinner.

We had a roast with gravy, vegetables, and a salad for dinner, then more cookies in the library. Imogen took tea. Well, everybody's entitled to their preferences, even if they're wrong. Conversation was light and less personal; Imogen was looking a little overwhelmed. We went upstairs early and all three of us hung out in my room; Imogen and Deri by the fire. We played music and read, just relaxing. I really appreciated Deri's efforts; she made Imogen feel like she belonged and was accepted in ways that parents helping out a friend in trouble can't. I mentioned that I had a morning shift at work, and I knew that Deri would make sure that Imogen was taken under her wing while I was gone. I wanted her to feel supported until she found her footing. They dispersed to their own rooms when the fire started to die, and I answered Miles' text. I ran into him and Iris a lot walking around outside and he said they'd keep an eye out and be kind if they ran into her. He'd also talked to their parents, so they were in the loop as well. They'd be contacting Mom and Dad to offer their assistance if necessary. I went to be feeling exhausted after the upset but better than I'd thought.

Chapter Text

I got up early and went into the city for breakfast. Jinx was holding a table at a diner, and Ari, Mark, Nix, and Justine came pounding in just after I'd ordered some orange juice. Nobody was messing around and we all got our orders in when the waitress came back and then it was time for a serious sharing of information.

"How is she doing?" Justine wanted to know immediately.

"Those bastards at her work fired her for missing her shift yesterday," I said grimly. "But Dad is going to take her to work when she's had some time to acclimate and she'll get a job there. If she wants."

"Wow," said Ari. "That's unbelievable. Didn't they even ask why she missed her shift?"

"No, they were just upset because she didn't show up and they were short handed. But she's got a lawyer to help her figure out her next moves, and she's got a home as long as she wants, so she's going to be ok."

Nix patted my hand. "My folks were furious. Dad said he would help if she got desperate, but it's better if her help is all legal." We all nodded. "I don't think any of us really have house space beyond a couch, so it's a relief that she's staying with you."

"It's pretty isolated out there, and she's used to being in the city," I said, biting my lip.

"We can come out to visit," Jinx said. "And school's starting up again next week, so we're not going to let it be a problem. We'll figure things out."

"I think we should get her to take the DNA test," Mark said. "Family's family."

"I can get it checked for a paternity match through a back door," I said quietly. There was a sequencer down in the bat cave that could produce the gels in about an hour and the bat computer could do check the database in its sleep without leaving a trace. "If there's a match, we could investigate the guy to see if he's a good guy, somebody who would be a real father, then she could submit her DNA officially, get the match, go from there. If not, the guy can continue on in ignorance. She'll still be safe, but she'll also know, one way or another."

Justine nodded firmly. "It's important to find out if he's scum or not. If he's nice then she should have the opportunity to have a dad. I'll take care of it. Can I go out a little later?" she asked me.

"Well, yeah, of course," I said. "Just call first so that she's not napping or talking to the lawyer or the cops or anything." We talked more about the situation, deciding as a group that the best way to address it would be to treat her normally but be available to talk about it if she wanted. Then we checked on each other, talking about our upset and reactions so that we wouldn't upset Imogen with them, she had enough to deal with.

"And cheers to Justine and Anna," Nix said. "For not only snapping into action when there was a crisis, but thinking quickly and getting the right help."

"Hear, hear," Mark said, and they toasted us. My cheeks warmed at the recognition.

After breakfast, I think we all felt better, and I went to work with a lighter heart. My friends had reassured me that Imogen was going to be ok, and it had felt nice to be recognized for my part in the rescue. I went to work, having fun helping the patrons, talking to the ones I knew, and after work, I selected some black merino wool for the slacks I was going to make with Uncle Steve. I summoned my pod after saying goodbye to my coworkers, going out when I saw it approaching. There's no parking on our side of the street, but pods frequently paused, dropping off and picking up passengers, so it wasn't any trouble for the pod to park itself for several seconds when I came and went.

At Uncle Steve's, he had me attend a fitting for Grandma Selina so I could see how it was determined what alterations were needed. That was his stated reason, but I think I was also a distraction because Grandma S is even pickier about fit than Uncle Steve, and I didn't know that was possible. She's given up the dark side since Tabby was born, and she has turned her talents to insurance investigation, tracking down stolen luxury goods and information, retrieving it when possible. A lot of countries have laws where an insurance investigator can... liberate stolen goods from the thief and take it to the cops, who will match the item with the insurance paperwork, sign off on it, and send them on their way before arresting the thieves. No muss, no fuss, and it holds up in court. Delays where the investigator gives the information to the police so they can get a warrant have historically led to the thieves being tipped off and vanishing, or at least getting rid of the stolen goods. If the goods have been sold to a good-faith purchaser, however, the cops take the information, confiscate the property themselves, and return it to the investigator. There's an insurance database of stolen items that is globally searchable, so there's no way a purchaser can really be in good faith, all they have to do is check, but there's also a matter of what can be proven, legally, so it's usually easier on the buyer to lose out on the purchase price rather than go to jail as a receiver of stolen goods. But she'd been out of the country for a few months and had missed the whole drama about my leg. She was also interested in my friend, as was Uncle Steve. I showed them a picture of my friends, taken right after finals.

"She's lucky to have you as a friend, doll," he said, staring at the hem of the gown. It passed muster and he and the fitter took it out and to bring in another garment. Grandma S took a gizmo hastily out of her handbag and it flashed green.

"Flores... I knew a Catalina Flores, back in the day," she said quickly. "Vigilante, killed a man and went bad. Last time I saw her was a couple of years before she died, she'd just found out she was pregnant. Her child would be about your age. I'd heard that the child was put into foster care. One of those girls resembles her. Any relation?" I nodded. She nodded too.

"Don't suppose she told you who the father was?" I asked, figuring it was worth a shot.

"I don't know, she declined to name him." She studied me a moment. "You might try asking Dick. Catalina started out as an FBI agent, but the job didn't have the ... scope she was looking for, so she turned vigilante. Dear Dick was so much like Bruce, that whole refusal to kill ethos, and Catalina was a little more flexible on that front. They were working in Bludhaven before the feds annexed it and cleaned it out because of the truly remarkable level of corruption. I know from Bruce that Dick was seriously wounded in a battle against a villain named Blockbuster during that time and that Blockbuster had known who Dick was. Catalina killed him, I know that too." She shook her head. "And that's all I know. Dick might know more about her associates, but it's a sensitive matter for him." She broke off as the door opened and the last dress was brought in. "Ah, this is the one I'm most eager to wear, Steve. Such wonderful work."

After the fitting, Grandma S kissed my cheek and sailed off to the next appointment in her adventurous life, and I cut out my slacks before heading home. I found Justine and Nix in the games room with Imogen, shooting pool. They finished up their game as Imogen told me that she had a new job in Wayne Construction. She'd be starting on construction sites, learning about how things were actually built, then cycling through specialties like plumbing, masonry, carpentry, and electric, before doing some work in zoning, permitting, the business side. Then she could decide what she liked best and focus on that. "Then, depending on what I choose, I could go to college to study construction management, or sign on as an apprentice in one of the building trades," she said, excited. They finished their game and we split up into teams for the next game. Alan came in with a tray of snacks and got me a glass of ice water. We were talking and having a good time, rotating partners each game (because I'm a pool shark) when Mom came home. I introduced her to Nix and Justine, since she hadn't been home when Dad and I brought Imogen in. She invited them to stay for dinner, but they needed to get home. Their visit had done Imogen a world of good, that plus the new job had given her a real boost. A rep from CPS had seen her at Wayne, with Dad present in loco parentis, and had informed her that her foster father had been arrested for child abuse. Her foster brother, the natural son of the foster parents, was fine, just disgusted by his dad.

After dessert and coffee, we went up to my room. "Justine said that you could get DNA run without official notice," she said as we settled in by the fire, and I nodded. She drew a deep breath. "Then I'd like you to. If we could check him out before hand..." I nodded, deciding not to talk about what Grandma S had said just yet. Uncle Richard might be reluctant to talk about that time in his life, and there might not be a need to. Obviously, if Imogen's dad was scum, she wouldn't be submitting her DNA officially anyway, and by law, a child didn't have to agree to have its DNA submitted. Before she went to her room, she pulled out a hair, which was an easy source of DNA, putting it into a new plastic bag for minimal contamination. The sequencer could sort out any of my DNA if I made a mistake in handling, but it's always best to minimize the risk. I waited til late and went down to the bat cave. I wasn't trying to get privileged information on the bat computer, so it was happy to let me play video games while I waited for the DNA to be sequenced, then run against profiles in the database, both Batman's private one and the paternity database. As I suspected, it was no trouble for the bat computer to hack it untraceably.

"What have you got going on there, Lys?" Grandpa Bruce asked, leaning around the high back of the chair just as the computer chimed. I jumped, horribly surprised by his soundless approach.

"You're back early, Grandpa," I said, pressing my hand to my adrenalinized heartbeat.

"Slow night. The criminals are getting soft, staying inside during this cold snap. Still, makes it easier for me."

"Well, my friend Imogen is staying with us--"

Grandpa nodded. "Daniel told us about that. Disgraceful. You're a good friend, Lys." He poked around a little, noting the protocol that I'd use, making sure I'd done it correctly. But seriously, the process was automated and there was little for me to do once I sliced the bulb off the hair and dropped it into a new vial for the sequencer.

"She knows who her mom was, but not her dad. Her mom died when she was really little and she never wanted to know who her dad was because maybe he'd be a lowlife. We've kind of lost our faith in the foster care system." Grandpa nodded again. "I didn't say exactly how I could do it without going through official channels, but..."

"You're a Wayne, you have resources. So you talked her into checking unofficially. Not going to do it officially if he's not an upstanding citizen?" I nodded. "Well, let's see the result." He nodded to the console, and I clicked on the icon. My jaw dropped as Uncle Richard's face appeared in 3D.

"Holy crap." I looked over at Grandpa, whose jaw was hanging loose too.

"What do you know about this, Lys?" he asked. "Who was her mother?"

"Catalina Flores," I said. "I ran into Grandma Selina at Uncle Steve's today, she was getting fitted, and she told me that she'd known Imogen's mom back in the day and that Uncle Dick knew her too. I wasn't sure if I wanted to ask him anything, she said it was a bad time in his life." I stared at the image and back to Grandpa. "What do you think I ought to do?"

"I'm calling him in," he said immediately. "He won't know about this, he'd never duck his responsibility to his child, but I don't know how this happened." Then he flushed, and under other circumstances, I'd have been amused. He had kids of his own, Damian and Tabby, he knew how that all worked. Come to think of it, he was our family's expert in unplanned pregnancies.

About twenty minutes later, Uncle Richard came in, looking puzzled. He kissed my cheek and nodded to Grandpa. "So what's going on, Bruce?" he asked, leaning against the console and looking at us. Grandpa nodded to me. Darn it. This was going to be awkward.

"You know my friend, Imogen?" Uncle Richard nodded. Duh, he met her at the library. Well, I was rattled.

"Sure. How's she doing, honey?"

"Better," I said. "Dad's got her a lawyer to help navigate the mess and a job at Wayne. She got fired for missing her shift that day at her old one. But here's the thing. She never had her DNA run to see who her father was." Uncle Richard nodded again, that had been discussed during her interview with him at the library. "So I figured out how we could find out, unofficially, because she didn't want to alert a dad who wasn't on the up and up."

"That's kind of a weird thing for a kid to think about. Why, who's her mom?"

"Um, Catalina Flores." He recognized the name, and I watched uneasily as recognition was followed by other emotions quickly passing across his face.

"And?" I pressed the key again and he jumped back when he saw his own face.

"That's not possible," he said.

"I checked Lys's work. The DNA sample was good, Dick," Grandpa said gently. "This is a big shock, but think back to that time, you were in Bludhaven around that time. You and Barbara were broken up for awhile."

Uncle Richard scrubbed his hands against his face. "Catalina broke us up, she was interested in me, but I felt her methods were too extreme and I kept my distance. Until Blockbuster." He was silent a moment and we respected that. "Blockbuster knew who I was, not just the alias I was using in Bludhaven. He knew everybody who was important to me. He was going after them, hired Catalina to kill Babs, but she broke us up instead. trying to make it serve two ends." There was a longer silence and I felt bad that he had to revisit that time. "Blockbuster tortured me, acting against people who were important to me. It came down to a battle, brutal, and I was badly hurt." He rubbed his fingers over his eyes and the moisture that had formed. "Catalina killed him. And I let her." He let out a shaky breath and Grandpa gripped his shoulder.

"He was a mess after that," he said softly to me. "Catatonic for a bit. That's probably when she got his DNA."

"We parted on bad terms," Uncle Richard mumbled. "I turned myself in for the murder of Blockbuster and she was arrested. I had to, I was complicit. She went to prison briefly, I didn't. I left Bludhaven and came home. I didn't know," he said, and I believed him.

"If you want, I can tell her that there was no match," I said after a bit, feeling conflicted. He shook his head.

"No. She's my daughter, and I have to step up." He leaned back in the chair. "I'll go home, explain to Babs. She knows about what happened then. I'll tell the kids, then come over tomorrow morning." He checked the clock and sighed. "Later this morning, then." And so it was arranged.

Chapter Text

The next morning, I dawdled in my room and was the last to breakfast, in time to hear Deri discuss how she and Van were going to a party the Scouts were having for New Years Eve. Several troops were going to the zoo in Central Park, then have lunch, then play games in the park, followed by a bonfire and dinner. Alan was going to pick them up and Deri was going to sleep over at Van's. I was really glad, hearing Deri talk, that she'd been able to patch things up with her friend.

"Dick wants to stop by today to talk to you, Imogen," Dad said casually. "You available a little later?" She nodded.

"Must be an update on my foster father," she suggested.

"I don't know, actually," Dad said. "He just said he needed to talk to you." And the conversation moved on. I was going in to work for two hours later, and I hoped that Uncle Dick came by before I had to go. Deri rushed through breakfast to get ready for an outing with Van and their other friends, skating at Rockefeller Center, and Mom went to work. Imogen went upstairs, she had forgotten to notify the post office of her change of address, and Home Depot was going to mail her final check.

"OK, Lys," Dad said. "What's up?" There was no point in being innocent, he almost always knew when I was trying to hide something. Besides, the cat was getting ready to exit the bag.

"So Imogen finally came around to the idea of seeing if her dad was in the paternity database," I said, and he nodded. He'd also urged her to find out but hadn't pushed when she was resistant and explained what her objections were. "So I just said that I could get it run and compared through a backdoor." I looked at the floor briefly and back up.

"I should have thought that myself. There are advantages to being one of those Waynes, cupcake," he said, and I was forced to nod.

"So I did it last night. Grandpa Bruce surprised me, said everything was quiet. He was there when the match came up, and brought Uncle Richard into it." Dad's face was serious.

"Who is it?" he asked, and I could see him making preliminary plans to deal with an undesirable dad.

"Uncle Richard."

"What?" I nodded.

"There was apparently a brief period where he and Aunt Barbara were broken up, it's the only time he could think that her mom could have gotten his DNA. He didn't know. He was going to go tell Aunt Barbara and his kids, then come back out here."

"I'd kind of expect that from Bruce, not Dick," he said. "I'll call Bruce. Will you be around this morning, honey?"

"Until eleven, then I have to go to work. I hope Uncle Richard is prompt. I want to support Imogen." I was worried.

"I think that for something like this, he will be." He quickly finished his breakfast and hopped up, headed for his office. I ate slowly. So slowly that I was just finishing my last piece of bacon when I heard voices out in the foyer. I crammed the bacon into my mouth and went out to see Alan going upstairs and that Aunt Barbara was with Uncle Richard and Grandpa Damian. I blinked. The big gun was here. Grandpa Damian had been in a similar situation when his mom had dumped him on his dad. Aunt Barbara looked interested and a little worried, but not like she wanted to beat her husband to death, so that was good. She gave me a little hug and I invited everybody into the library. Dad came in, giving Uncle Richard a hug for morale, I guess. So there was desultory conversation until Imogen arrived, looking around with apprehension. I went over and took her hand, tugging her over to the sofa where we sat down.

"I told you that I'd do the DNA, which I did last night. The results came back really fast," I said.

"Lys didn't know that I'd be notified if she used that process," Uncle Richard said. "She reminded me of your reasoning, because of the identity of the match. I took over. I realize that you would want the decision to be yours, and I have to apologize, because I took it out of her hands." Imogen's hand tightened on mine. "It turns out that I am your father." Her face went blank.

For a wild moment, it was like I was witnessing a real life Empire Strikes Back drama.

Uncle Richard explained, and it was what I'd heard the night before. It was modified slightly, however, leaving out his identity as Nightwing and relying just on his job as a police officer to explain his connection with Tarantula.

"I can kind of relate, Imogen," Grandpa said. "My mom dumped me off here when I was about ten, my dad had no idea. So if you want to talk, I'm happy to share experiences and give you my perspective. Dick's my brother, and I am somewhat partial to him, but I can assure you that he's a good man."

"This was a surprise to all of us," Aunt Barbara said. "But I want you to understand that you're a welcome part of our family. You have an older brother and sister, they're in college, but they're home for the break and want to meet you when you're ready. It's a lot to take in."

"I think that there's no need to rush anything here," Dad said. "Imogen, I want to reiterate that you're welcome to stay here as long as you want, just as before. I urge you to stay here, in fact, while you get things sorted out, get to know your family. This has got to be a huge shock."

"Nobody's going to make you do anything," Uncle Richard said. It didn't look like he'd slept much, judging from the bags under his eyes. "I would, however, like the opportunity to get to know you, and for you to get to know your family." I grimaced a bit as Imogen squoze my hand hard.

"I didn't expect this," she said quietly. "I knew that Mom had been a villain, it was in her letter. I just kind of expected somebody like her. Could we talk, just the two of us?"

"Of course," Uncle Richard said. I got up, patted her shoulder, and herded everybody else out, closing the doors behind us.

"What a day already," Grandpa said as we stood in the foyer. "Poor kid, having everybody know when she didn't. But she's better off with us." He brightened. "I have a new niece, that's nice."

"Are you ok, Aunt Barbara?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes, dear. I never liked Catalina, and I really don't like her now that I know this." She sighed. "It's not possible, even now, to create a viable embryo without an egg and sperm, so that means that she took advantage of Dick in some way when he was very vulnerable and couldn't say no. He said he never had sex with her and there's only that one incident where he's missing time." She shook her head. "But Imogen is blameless in this, and she's my stepdaughter. It would be nice to have a kid around the house," she said wistfully.

"This simplifies things," Dad said. "I like Lys's pod a lot, so last week I contacted Tony to order one for myself." He looked abashed, and I smiled. "I was going to offer my old one to Imogen while she's with us so that she doesn't have to feel like a burden coming in and out here. But since she's family, we can get her a new one."

"Dad, stop," I said immediately. "She's still deciding what she wants to do. Don't pressure her like that." He looked surprised.

"I think Lys is right," Aunt Barbara said. "Let's just take it easy here, with little careful steps. I appreciate your offer, Daniel, and we can talk about that later, but we don't want her to be overwhelmed and feel like we're trying to buy her affection."

"Ah," Dad said.

"If you offered to loan it to her, though, that might be ok," I said, and he nodded. I had to get ready for work, and the library doors were still shut when I came back down. I said my goodbyes, and set off, glad that it was a short shift, and guiltily glad to get some space from the drama. Especially since I hadn't been able to give Imogen a choice like I'd said I would. After that, a short session in Uncle Steve's workroom where one of the ladies showed me how to put in a zipper and went over the order of construction with me. I would do the sewing, then come back when the slacks were ready for the fitting and hemming. Then, fresh out of excuses, I went home.

All the pods were gone when I arrived home, and I went inside with trepidation. Nobody was in the library, so I went upstairs. Imogen was in Deri's room, and Deri was telling her about skating and all. Imogen looked pretty relaxed, if a little worn out. I guess Imogen hadn't told her about being long lost cousins. After a bit Imogen and I went to my room when Deri started texting.

"So..." I said uncertainly. "How did it go?"

"It's a lot to take in," she said, and I nodded. "I'll be staying here a little longer. I'm going over to their place for dinner, meet my half- sister and brother. If it all goes well, in a few days I'll move in with them." She smiled a little. "It's in the city, so that will be nice." I smiled too. Then she went to get ready; she was going to meet Aunt Barbara at the library and go home with her, then somebody would bring her back here.

At dinner, Dad brought Deri into the loop, and she was excited to have a new cousin and had to be talked into restraining her enthusiasm a bit, being reminded that it was a hard time for Imogen. We talked about other things, including New Years Eve plans. Our parents were going to a party, Deri had her Scout thing, and I didn't have plans. Maybe I should try to find something to do myself.

When I got back to my room after coffee, my communicator was blowing up; Imogen had told everybody what happened. We had a group chat, minus Imogen, who was still at Uncle Richard's, and I explained the public version of events. "I feel really bad that I wasn't able to give her the information first," I said nervously. "I didn't know that anybody would find out about the request. I probably should have." I'd have been ok if Grandpa Bruce hadn't come back early, but I couldn't explain that. It wasn't like Dad had been upset that I'd used the bat computer.

"Come on, you still did her a big favor, and you found her father, who's a decent guy. She's got a ready-made family," Nix said. "That's a lot better than being in the system with nobody to rely on."

"It's not like she had a lot of options," Justine pointed out. "Yours was the best way, even if it didn't turn out to be perfect." There was discussion and they seemed happy that she had a promising situation. We thought it was likely that it might be a bumpy ride for her, first with her foster father hitting her, then finding out that she did have a family. It was a lot to take in, and we talked about how we could support her. Fortunately, school started up again in five days, and it was reassuring to have that normalcy, the comfort of routine. We also talked about New Years Eve; options were rather limited for minors and it was scheduled to be below zero, so we didn't want to do Times Square with the ball drop. We wanted to do something fun, though, and thought about maybe dinner (if we could get a reservation someplace) and a movie. Ari offered to check restaurants.

I didn't know when Imogen got back; she must have gone right to her room. I wanted to respect the turmoil she must have felt.

The next day, our schedules were out; there were some changes to mine. One of the teachers had quit unexpectedly and there was some juggling around. My chemistry and history were changed, and I had a different teacher for pre-calculus. Too bad that I wouldn't have chemistry with Imogen anymore, unless she got switched too. There were emails about that too; Nix and Ari also had schedule changes and we compared our new schedules. It turned out that I was in the same Honors English class with Nix, and Ari had been switched to my Comparative Religions class. That would be nice.

Imogen went into the city with the parents to start her job, a half-day today, then she'd meet up with Joy and Ethan, Uncle Richard's kids, spend the afternoon with them, then go to dinner at their house. I had a doctor's appointment, then I dropped by the library. Aunt Barbara said that things were going as well as could be expected and sounded good. When I went home, I went up to my sewing room to assemble the slacks. I might have cut some corners if I was just on my own, such as putting in the zipper with the machine, but that wasn't the way I'd been told to do it, and I didn't want the lady to think I was disrespecting her. It was tedious to do all that handwork, and time-consuming. The good part was that, when it was done, the legs would be wide enough to accommodate my cast, so it would look nice. I hoped to have it done by the time school started. At dinner, I was able to report that he doctor felt like my ankle was progressing nicely, and mentioned my New Year's plans. The parents thought it sounded like fun, and I felt pretty good.

Imogen got home while we were still at coffee, and nibbled an apple empanada. "I'm going to be moving in with my father and Barbara tomorrow," she said. "I'm really grateful for all your help, letting me stay here."

"I'm glad we were able to help you out," Mom said. "Remember, you always have a home here." Dad nodded firmly.

"I appreciate it," she said, and we talked about her move. I told her about New Years Eve plans, and she nodded. "We'll see how things go." Then we went upstairs.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Ari sent a text that we had a reservation for an early dinner (around 5) and he'd reserved us tickets for the movie so we could all sit together. Not bad for last minute plans! I was looking forward to them, and Imogen said she'd be able to make it too. I went next door and helped her pack; she'd acquired luggage rather than the shopping bags we'd brought her stuff here in, which was nice. Joy came to pick her up; she looked bright and happy that Imogen was joining the family. She said, while we were waiting for Imogen to do a final check, that the reveal had caused a certain amount of chaos, but that she was glad to have a sister. "Not that cousins aren't great," she said hastily, and I nodded. There's nothing like a sister, even if Joy was going to school at Boston College and wouldn't be close by. There were other forms of communication, after all. Imogen said she'd meet me at the restaurant, and away they went.

Deri and Van departed for their outing and eventual sleepover, Alan had the day off, and Mom and Dad were sleeping in, so I rattled around the mansion a bit, shot a few games of pool, did upper body weight-lifting as well as configuring the machines for one leg, then went to the pool, using swim mitts to stroke up and down the lane without kicking. Being unable to use my one leg made even swimming difficult, and for the most part I did backstroke because it was easier to float. I worked off some stress, then showered and I was rummaging around in the fridge for lunch when Uncle Richard stopped by. He wanted to let us know that Imogen was settling in ok. He declined lunch when I offered.

"I want to apologize," I said. "I didn't mean to turn your life upside down. If Grandpa Bruce hadn't been there, it wouldn't have happened like that. I just wanted to help my friend."

"I know, kidlet." He patted my head and sat down. "Would you have told me if Bruce hadn't been there?"

"I don't know," I said after a moment. "We wanted to see if her dad was some scummy villain; no point in letting somebody like that know you're alive. I would have turned over the identification to Imogen and let her decide, if it had been anybody else." I toyed with my water glass. "I probably would have told her after I'd thought about it some more. She needs family, and you're a good person. I might have consulted somebody else first, though, seen how to handle it. Because it didn't come up through the paternity database, it was through the bat computer's personal files."

"It was a tough situation to be in," he said, then reached over for half my sandwich. "While I'm happy to know Imogen, it's brought up a lot of memories I'd rather not have revisited. I'm not blaming you for that, Lys."

"I appreciate that," I said remorsefully. "And I'm really sorry for what happened." We ate in silence, and I brought a bag of chips over. We crunched through half the bag. "I know a good therapist," I offered, and he laughed.

"Yeah, I called Dinah," he said. "I've got a recommendation for someone local, for both me and the family. Nobody's holding Imogen responsible, but having to explain what must have happened... is demoralizing and upsetting for everybody, including my daughter."

"Are you going to be ok, Uncle Richard?"

"I will be," he said. "I wish Catalina had told me. My kid shouldn't have had to grow up in foster care." He shook his head. "I saw the letter she left to Imogen. She should have at least told her, how to find me, something." He got up and poured some milk, waving the bottle at me, and I nodded. "But we've got plenty of room for her, and Joy and Ethan will have some time with her before they go back to school." They had a nice big brownstone in Brooklyn, and because Uncle Richard had been adopted by Grandpa Bruce, entitled to his share of the Wayne family trusts, money wouldn't be an issue either. We discussed things awhile longer, until Mom and Dad came downstairs, then he talked with them for a bit before departing. Mom and Dad talked with me a bit about Imogen. While they didn't disapprove of my use of the bat cave, they pointed out that things might have been less surprising and shocking all around if I'd brought them into the loop earlier. I could see their point. They had a late lunch, then we went to the game room to play video games until I had to get ready for my outing.

As expected, the streets of the city were crowded and I was more appreciative than ever that my pod could just drop me off. Nobody was rude deliberately, but even with my crutches people bumped into me. Justine, Nix, and Jinx were waiting in the restaurant and I was greeted with hugs. Then Mark and Ari arrived, followed shortly by Imogen, and we were seated. Conversation was pretty general until after we'd ordered.

"How are you dealing with everything?" Jinx asked Imogen. "It's a lot to take in over a very short time."

"OK," Imogen said after a slight hesitation. "It's going to take some getting used to."

"Well, nobody wants to be pushy, so if you want to talk, we'll listen," Justine said. "But we won't pester you for more than you want to talk about." We nodded.

"I appreciate that," Imogen said, then conversation turned to what everybody else had been doing over the Christmas break. Sleeping in, for the most part, goofing off, working. Then we talked about the reviews for the movie we were going to see, an action comedy. Nobody had wanted to see a tense political thriller, artsy independent movie, or soppy rom-com, which were the other real options besides kid's movies and Oscar bait that sounded more pretentious than watchable. Dinner was delicious, and we were at the theater just down the street in plenty of time. Ari noticed that the jostling was hard on me with my crutches, so he and Jinx walked on either side of me to kind of shield me from the worst of it. And that worked great, until somebody who was already drunk smashed into Jinx, who fell into me. Ari kept me from hitting the ground with a timely grab, but I still knocked the cast hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

"This totally sucks," I gasped, trying to control my breathing.

The drunk guy said, "Hey, sorry, man," and lurched off, and Jinx got to his feet, glaring at the drunk. Fortunately the sidewalks had been treated with deicer and kept clear, so all he had to do was brush some granules off his coat and pick up my crutches.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, it just hurts some," I said. And it did, but on the bright side, I told myself, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been after the accident, so that was something. I wished that the anti-grav was stronger, but if they came any stronger, the doctor told me that they interfered with bone healing. Of course it would. We splurged on popcorn and drinks--Imogen carried mine for me--and found our seats in plenty of time to get settled in before the previews started. The stadium seats were incredibly comfortable, and they had recently been revamped to include the same kind of vision and hearing protection we'd enjoyed at the Queen concert at the Rosebud Ballroom.

The film was fun and smart and I enjoyed it thoroughly, but my ankle ached throughout. After the movie was over, we waited until everybody else had gone so I didn't have to try to hurry, and we left the theater after pulling on our gloves, hats, and scarves. It was darn chilly already, and it was only about nine. "Minus two," Mark said, looking at a nearby public service crawl on a building. I noted that Imogen had a new coat; Aunt Barbara must have noticed too. Like a lot of people in that generation, they're concerned about the cold, having suffered through the Great Winter in their afterlives or here on Earth. Makes me glad to have missed all that. They were talking about what to do next, and I had to bow out then.

"I'm sorry your night was ruined," Ari said, frowning.

"It wasn't ruined, I had a great time," I assured everybody. "And thanks to your reflexes, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. So you guys go and find something else to do, just stay out of trouble," I said, smiling. So there were 'happy new years' and hugs all around and I called my pod. They waited until the door was closing to wave and move on, and I let the smile slip off my face. My ankle was throbbing pretty good by now. I hated being a wet blanket and missing out on the fun too but the alternative was that everybody would be hanging out in the waiting room and I didn't want to ruin their night. I had the pod circle as I got in touch with my doctor, who told me to go to an urgent care and have an x-ray; they could send him the image and he'd know what to do then. So the pod trundled off, and I relaxed into its warmth (seat heaters under the elegant silk upholstery warmed me up until the heater came on) and chatted with AI Tony. It was a short trip, and the urgent care was surprisingly not busy when I got there. I explained the problem and twenty minutes later swung my legs down from the x-ray table.

"Wow," the radiation tech said, studying the film before sending it to my doctor. "I've never seen reconstruction that extensive. The most pins I've ever seen was twenty-nine, and I thought that was pushing it. You're lucky they didn't amputate at the knee and regrow everything. But that would take years to complete." Nobody'd ever put it to me like that, and for a second the thought of having a new, strong ankle tempted me. But realistically, my dancing would still be over. Years to heal, a year or more getting the muscles strong enough to dance on... nope. He wheeled me to a consultation room to wait, and I thanked him. I was reflecting on things when the doctor came in, having heard from my regular doctor. The nerves, which had also been substantially damaged during the initial accident, were still healing and the good news was that they'd been jarred around enough to kick up a fuss, but the bone was ok.

"He's probably going to get a journal article out of this," the urgent care doctor said absently, looking at the film. "The reconstruction is remarkable, and you've done a great job following instructions, which is allowing it to heal at all. Amputation and regrowth is more usual, but it's even more painful, longer, and you'd be on crutches or in a wheelchair the whole time as well, since a prosthesis couldn't be fitted." Suddenly I felt a lot better. A few months on crutches, then rehab was a lot better than years on crutches. I'd be in college before I had a foot again. He gave me some painkillers and sent me on my way. As I left, a taxi pulled up, letting out a clutch of partiers, one bleeding profusely. I updated AI Tony and called my parents, who were just getting ready to leave the house.

They were waiting for me, and I felt bad about delaying them. They wanted to know if I would like them to stay, but I was going to be fine, just a little achy, and besides, they were all dressed up. They'd have to call the hosts to decline, and that would be a pain for everybody. And I was just going to watch TV until the ball dropped, read a little, and Mom wasn't one for TV. Dad always looks handsome in his tuxedo, and Mom was glowy as usual, but she had on a dark crimson dress from Uncle Steve that was gorgeous. Dad took me upstairs and Mom followed shortly after with a tray of snacks and goodies, including some sparkling apple cider. They got me settled in my window seat, lit a small fire, and took my coat, gloves, hat and scarf, making me promise to call if I needed anything.

Once my ankle died down some, I turned on the TV, rarely used, grazed on the snacks, having some celery and carrot sticks with dip to be good before raiding the supply of tiny spice cakes with vanilla glaze. And I had to admit that while I was sorry to be missing out on fun with my friends, I wasn't missing the crowds downtown, and it was nice to be warm and cozy with a stack of books to read. A light snow started, big fluffy flakes lazing toward the ground. Perfect. Just prior to midnight, I opened the apple cider and sipped as everybody in Times Square got ready for the ball drop. The countdown commenced, and I counted along, raising my glass at midnight. A band started to play and I watched the celebration for a bit before returning to my book. I went to bed around one, hoping that the upcoming year would be better overall, and with fewer doctor visits.

Chapter Text

The next day, I listened to Deri describe her scouting adventures and sleepover, and told her about dinner and the movie. Mom and Dad had fun at their party, and as was their custom, gave us each new books to celebrate the new year. That kept us occupied for the rest of the weekend. Mine included a book on photography techniques that my teacher had recommended, so I also spent some time stumping around the estate, trying out a few new things. We went back to school on Monday, and after the adventures of the winter break, I was glad to do so.

Obviously I was going to have a new lab partner in Chemistry, and of course I was a little concerned. Nobody wants to have a partner who slacks off and makes you do the work to avoid tanking your grade. Or is just no good. Imogen had been a great lab partner. But it turned out that I knew my new partner, who was Rain Nelson. And it turned out that Rob Murdock had been placed in the class as well by the upheaval in course schedules. He was partnered with another student new to the class. And, just as he'd warned me, he pressed me to join the Red Cross club. Rob was perfectly nice about it, and I finally agreed just to shut him up. And he was right, it would look good on college applications and wouldn't take much time; the club ran the first aid class in the fall and the lifeguarding class in the spring, since a lot of kids lifeguarded for summer jobs. If there was a disaster somewhere, there might be a drive for donations and if local, supplies to help victims.

My friends had goofed off a bit after I left, ending with hot chocolate before disbanding on New Years Eve. I was glad that I hadn't missed much. "How much longer are you going to be on crutches?" Ari asked.

"Four to six more weeks," I said with a sigh. "There's also rehab and PT to get my muscles and ligaments, tendons, all that back in working order and strong again. I have a suspicion that's not going to be fun either, but it'll be better than being on crutches all the time." Everybody agreed. We started talking about our plans for the week, now that things were more back to normal. I had work, as did everybody else, and everybody had various clubs and activities, and Justine asked Imogen if she wanted to hang out Wednesday after school.

"Can't," she said, flushing a bit. "My father set me up with a counselor to help me deal with everything." She toyed with her fork.

"That sounds like a good idea," Mark said. "Big changes, short time to deal with them. But at least you have a family now."

"You should have told me first, not your uncle," Imogen said to me. There was real venom in her tone. "You promised that I could make my own decisions."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I lost control of the process. I didn't think that anybody else would be notified. It shouldn't have happened like that."

"You don't think," she said angrily. "Now everybody knows what my mom did. He's got another kid now, and they're on a cop's and librarian's pay, two kids in college. I wanted to decide whether to contact my father or not, and I didn't even have that level of control. You rich people. You're used to being able to get out of the consequences with money or influence. But you can't buy your way out of this one, 'Anna'." I was taken aback.

"That's not fair, Imogen," Ari said. "She did you a favor, it wasn't her fault that somebody intervened. She did the best she could, and it was more than anything we could have done."

"The facts are the facts," Jinx said mildly. "Your mom took advantage of your dad. It's pretty admirable, from my standpoint, that he's taken you in, whole family welcoming. It can't be easy for them either. You wanted answers, you got them. He's a decorated and well-respected cop, I looked him up online. You wanted some control over your life, I get that. But what would you have done if Anna hadn't volunteered to help? You were fine staying in their house. Frankly, you should be more grateful."

"I get that you're upset and resentful," I said. "And I can only apologize so much for the way things turned out. I was just trying to help out. But you might want to get off your high horse. Uncle Richard is one of Grandpa Bruce's adopted kids, as you know. That means that he got his share of the family trust when he was Returned." He and my dad had battled back and forth about it, Uncle Richard didn't feel entitled to it because Dad's not his descendant, but Dad was firm, and in the end they compromised on about half a full share, which came out to $250 000 000, really good money even today. I didn't say that, though. "So even though college or university has free tuition, each student is responsible for room and board and expenses, but they're not hurting for money. Joy and Ethan get their share of the Wayne educational trust. You're a Wayne too. That'll be open to you as well. Get used to it, cousin." I reined in my own temper as she had another forced change to her world view. I'd have felt bad for her, and I did, some, but I wasn't going to keep apologizing for the rest of my life. And now that we knew we were cousins, she needed to think about that too, and what acknowledging her parentage meant. "I don't understand why you think I'm going to need to buy my way out of this. I don't know why you think a payoff is necessary." Imogen flushed, grabbed her tray and stomped off.

"I didn't expect that," Justine said. "I mean, some anger, upset, because of her foster father and the whole situation, sure. But I didn't expect her to come after you like that, Anna," she said. Nix patted my shoulder.

"She's got some points. I did promise that she could do what she wanted with the information. She's probably still upset about having her foster father attack her, let alone everything else. But I can't spend the rest of my life apologizing, and I'm not going to feel indefinitely guilty, either. I did the best I could. But she's been your friend a lot longer than I have. I can distance myself if you'd like," I offered, wanting to be fair.

"I can only deal with one friend having intellectual constipation at a time," Ari said. "So don't you be dumb too, Anna. I'm sure that Imogen has stuff to work out, but she's still our friend, you're our friend. You're going to hurt my feelings if you dump us."

"Well, we can't have that," I said, smiling a little.

"Damn right," Jinx said briskly.

"She'll come around," Mark said with a sigh. "It's just more than she can really deal with right now and you're an easy target, Anna. Please don't take it personally, it's a lot to ask, I know. But in a way it's kind of a compliment. She feels on some level that it's safe to take out her mood on you." We stared at him and he blushed. "I took psych last year, remember? Or not, Anna, but we all are kind of interested in the psychology of criminals, so why not? Either that or she's just taking her anger and emotions out on the easy target. She doesn't have a long history with you, it would be easier to lose you than one of us. Either way, you should expect an apology from you after she calms down. I get why she's upset, but she shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"Awesome," I said after a moment, and there were chuckles. I was glad to end my day in photography, where our teacher had cookies as a treat while we discussed the competition, giving our opinions on the images which were still on display, and he explained why ones we liked weren't the most successful. There was one I'd really liked, St Patrick's cathedral at dusk, with snow falling, but it was slightly blurry and the contrast wasn't as good as it might have been, too much negative space.

"Well, I really like it anyway," I said stubbornly. "It seems to draw the viewer in, maybe to explore all that negative space." There was applause and other people started saying why they liked other photographs despite their defects. We still didn't know whose was whose, but that made it easier to critique and admire. Some students had dropped the course, reducing our number to nine, but I liked the feeling of more cohesion. Then we reviewed the syllabus and got our first assignments.

"Donations have been made to the school," our teacher said, looking happy. "So our program gets to share in the bounty. We have funds that enabled the purchase of more film cameras and some additional film, so we have almost enough for everyone."

I raised my hand. "I can borrow a film camera," I said.

"Excellent," he said. "I'll bring in my camera as well, so everyone will be able to have one, and everyone will have one roll of film, 32 exposures. If I were you, what I would do when possible with landscapes and portraits, still lifes, is take a shot with a digital camera, see if you like it, before using an exposure. We won't know what you've managed to capture until we develop it, and we want to use our resources wisely." We'd be shooting on black and white film, learning darkroom techniques as well, and we were given two weeks to complete the assignment of 32 pictures. "Now, during the semester, we're also going to have some guest speakers. Some will be professional photographers, a few will be representatives from colleges and university programs that have photography programs. You might have the interest and ambition needed for a career as a photographer, and these speakers will expand your horizons. Some schools additionally have summer programs, and a few have programs for students who aren't college age, so that might be something to consider. In fact, our first speaker next week comes from an institution that has those programs."

Sounded interesting. After class, I went to work and learned how to check deliveries against the orders and enter the new items into inventory. That was a fun new thing. I loved seeing the new things that we had coming in.

The next couple of weeks passed in comparative calm. Our gallery photographs were bundled up and returned to us by the teacher, so nobody still knew what anybody had done, with the ribbons that had been awarded in the envelopes with the pictures. I put my second-prize photo in the frame I'd gotten for Christmas and hung the ribbons by my desk. Rain wasn't the best chemist, it turned out. There was nothing wrong with his mind, he was quite smart, but he just... I don't know. Wasn't sufficiently dexterous? He wasn't clumsy, though. Whatever, we quickly arranged it so that I would perform the actual experiment, he would record the data as I generated it, and he would do the lion's share of the report although I helped. The lab reports weren't very detailed or long, so it was a good division of labor.

Rob's lab partner wasn't outgoing, spoke little, and kept his focus on the classwork, but on the few occasions when he said anything non-chemistry-related, seemed nice enough. I enjoyed getting to know Rain and Rob better; they were nice, friendly, and fun to talk to. Their dads were both lawyers; after they were Returned, they reupped their bar memberships and took jobs at big law firms to earn the money they needed, then opened their own practice to serve normal people with problems. Rob's dad did the criminal matters, and Rain's dad did the civil side, and everybody was happy. Rob's mom was an ER nurse and Rain's was an office manager. They knew Arch Palmer, it turned out; Arch's mom was an ER surgeon in the same hospital as Rob's mom. Arch had also been looped into the Red Cross club too and they talked about a surgery that had been a spectacular success before our first meeting began. We started planning the lifeguard training; it would be at the school pool and we needed people to run the registration and check-in but we could also take the class if we wanted. I volunteered to help with the check-in since even if my cast was off, my leg wasn't going to be strong enough to do anything.

Somebody'd had a talk with Imogen; she apologized for yelling at me--although not for the sentiments behind the yelling, I noted--and things were patched up on the surface. I'd talked to Dr Lance about the whole thing, and she said that while teenagers don't always think things through all the way, I'd have done what I'd promised if Grandpa Bruce hadn't shown up. And that just went to show that grown-ups aren't perfect either. My urge was to apologize to Imogen again, but Dr Lance reminded me that I couldn't, in fact, apologize indefinitely and that Imogen had to deal with things constructively too. We agreed that it was fine to give her time to get things figured out, though. I was willing to be patient.

Over the weekend, I had my friends out to the house to hang out. We took over the game room and had a lot of fun. Imogen didn't come--she was doing something with her family and Ari had to work, but everybody else came and we had a lot of fun. Well, I did, anyway, and everybody else seemed to too. In fact, I couldn't remember having had so much fun at home with any friends before. Mom and Dad had lunch for us, met my friends, but otherwise stayed out of the way. Deri popped in, cleverly helping with the lunch, because she was curious too, but didn't hang around.

I had a checkup with my doctor and had the exciting news that it was looking very likely that the cast could come off in the first week or two of February. The nerves, so mangled, had fully healed, the tissues were healed and correctly attached, and the bone was fusing really well. We discussed how I'd still have to use the crutches, but he explained the physical therapy that I'd have to do so I could get used to the ideas and know what was in store. Like how much it was going to hurt and how discouraging rehabilitation could be. So just like therapy. I was making progress there, but it was a real struggle to get through the void left by the loss of dance, and I suspected it would be even worse when the cast came off, when I'd really have to deal with regular life without ballet. Right now the cast represented a buffer; nobody could dance with a cast, but when the cast came off, I'd really have to face facts. Intellectual knowledge isn't the same as emotional acceptance.

We had a couple of speakers in photography class, and I was so excited by what they had to say that Mom directed me to the website for the University of the Arts London to check out their short summer courses. The university was composed of six smaller colleges with degrees and programs in everything artistic, and there were university residences for out-of-town students. There wasn't much time before the application deadline, so after negotiation with my parents and consulting my boss, I received permission for a three-week stay, and applied for a three day course in photojournalism, a week long fashion photography course, a week-long course in level one interior design, a three-day course in patternmaking, and a three-day course in set design basics. There were so many possibilities, the six colleges ran so many courses, that it was difficult to narrow anything down. I ended up with quite a bit of overlap on the days; some days there would be classes in the morning and afternoon, some only in morning or afternoon, and several days with no class at all that I could use for exploring. Deri was pretty green with envy, but this was one of the perks of age. I had my boss, my photography teacher, and Uncle Steve send in recommendations to boost my chances of acceptance.

Chapter Text

At the end of the month, Rain asked me out on a date. We ended up going on a couple, but while we had a good time, there was very little chemistry. It was too bad; they were my first dates in close to a year and I had fun. We decided just to be friends, and that was that.

My magic day was February 12, the day my cast finally came off. My lower leg looked awful, milk white, atrophied, some scarring on the ankle because of the extensive surgery and the muscles and all being so mangled, and embarrassingly furry. Fortunately, I'd worn the slacks I'd made in anticipation. I put on a sock and shoe for the first time in close to four months. It felt weird, and I had a sharp expectation of just how much PT was going to suck when the doctor gently rotated my foot. It hurt. A lot. A whole lot. I went home with a few preliminary exercises to work on, and I had to remember to wiggle my toes. I'd gotten into the habit of keeping them absolutely still during the healing period so that nothing would affect the ankle or its constituent parts. The cast had been lightweight and there was the anti-grav on it to boot, but it had still been extra mass to carry around and I noticed a difference with it gone. I wasn't out of the woods entirely yet, but I felt like the trees were getting thinner, at least. My PT place was open twelve hours a day because people were more likely to use the service if they could fit in their work easily, so it wasn't hard to schedule appointments before school, after school, and after work. And I was able to boost my hours at work again because I could manage sometimes with just one crutch. Yay! Finally.

I'd completed a couple of skirts under Uncle Steve's tutelage, and now we were looking at a suitcoat. We chose a nicely fitted pattern with a reasonable collar, hip length, with three buttons. I had a long waist, and this showed it off nicely. He also went to work on a couple of new blouses for me and I had to get my dress form remade, because all the sitting, a more lax diet, and giving up dancing meant that I'd developed some boobs. Nothing really eye-opening, just an A cup, but I was excited to finally have something going on up top, and I could finally wear a bra. A whole new world opened up to me; pretty little delicate bras. It was a small thing, but I felt more confident and feminine. Most of my tops were fine, but the silk blouses Mom had commissioned for me were too tight.

By the end of the month, I had graduated to a forearm crutch and was going full out at PT. It hurt a lot, but I was determined to regain mobility. My physical therapist warned me that I could set myself back a lot by pushing too fast, so I reluctantly cut back to the guidelines she gave me. My motivation was enhanced by the communication I'd gotten from the University of Arts London, informing me that I'd been accepted into the short summer programs I'd applied for.

The last day of the month, the TV show that had filmed in part at the store started to air, a new episode every week, and we sponsored a viewing party for the staff and any customers who wanted to join, with refreshments, and we had discounts for viewers of the program when they bought before or after the viewing party. It was kind of wild; the contestants were all very ambitious, and as we'd seen in our store, willing to play a little dirty when they thought they wouldn't get caught. They stabbed each other in the back as well as the front, they bullied... it all was extremely dysfunctional, a toxic workplace where I was glad that I didn't have to be, and to top it all off, they all had to room together for the duration of their time on the show. The host of the show, a mild-mannered, nattily-dressed man, had his hands full. Each week they received an assignment to make a certain type of garment and given restrictions, like the type of fabric, or the customer who would wear the clothes. They dressed women who were down on their luck, older women, children, employees from a delivery company who were looking for a new uniform. And the bitching and moaning! They all wanted just to dress models, whose thin bodies made the clothes hang the best. They didn't seem like very nice people, but having had decent interactions with the twitchy guy, I decided to root for him. He seemed like the least offensive of the bunch. We quickly developed a habit of going in for the party even when we weren't working, and we mostly helped get the store in order shortly before the program came on so that the ones who were working at night could see some of it too. We didn't have a lot of customers who were just there to buy at that time; they almost always sat down to watch the show with us before making their purchases.

I did a lot of activities with my friends, movies, a concert, coffee on the weekends, and they came out to the house frequently to play games or just hang out, and if Imogen never apologized, she did seem to gradually get back to normal as she settled in with her family. Aunt Barbara, when I saw her at the library, said that things were going better than she'd hoped, so that was a relief. And I did things with Rob and Rain too, not just the Red Cross club stuff or class. It was really nice to have friends, and sometimes Arch joined us too. I was catching on to pre-calc much better than I'd expected, and he talked me into joining the math lab as a tutor. That was totally surreal.

About midway through March, Rob asked me out. And while Rain and I had no chemistry, Rob and I had plenty. It felt weird, though; we had great chemistry, but not too much else in common. He didn't not like my friends, and vice versa, but he didn't really mix in. He kept to himself and I tended to too, not awesome, and sometimes conversation suffered. I don't think either of us really knew what to do about it, so we went on dates and had a good time when it was just us two, but we weren't really developing a relationship either. He sure was a good kisser, though.

My photography was coming along well. We were shooting people now, bit of a different kettle of fish from things and landscapes, and I seemed to have a knack for it. The yearbook committee always kept an eye on the photography classes and I was asked if they could use some of the candids I'd shot around school. I was flattered and agreed. The colored film we used in class we just sort of chucked into a machine that did the hard work and produced prints at the end; we did learn how to monitor the thing as it worked and add chemicals and paper and all. Far more fun was the black and white pictures; we learned how to print them from the negatives, developing the images on photography paper from start to finish, the photos dripping on a line. Deri was almost always willing to be a subject for me, and I usually used my digital camera, experimenting with filters and lenses and effects, but for Mom's birthday on the 22nd, I composed a formal portrait of Deri in one of the outfits she usually wore around Themyscira at the folly. It was a real labor of love for Deri; we were having a cold, wet spring and she was freezing. But I got several good shots and printed them at school, framing the best one and giving my sister a copy. Mom loved it. It might have been the best present I ever gave her. Dad asked me for a copy, so I made one for him. Then the relatives at the company saw it and wanted their own too, so I took advantage of the class policies to print them and paid my teacher for all the chemicals and paper I used in the school lab.

I woke up on the last Saturday of the month feeling really good. My bed curtains had been a smashing success this winter, keeping all the warmth in while I slept, making my nest cozy and inviting. I lay there, listening to the rain lash my windows, perfectly content. I'd had a great time on my date with Rob the night before, and I was starting to walk without my crutch. Mom was taking me to Uncle Steve's in the afternoon to be fitted for clothes from his new collection: a skirt, two blouses, slacks, a pretty green wool spring coat with black embroidery, and due to some weddings the family had been invited to in the coming year, two beautiful couture formal dresses. One was strapless, lavender silk taffeta under white organza that was heavily embroidered with sprays of flowers, tea length. The second was a real evening gown, heavy cobalt silk charmeuse, floor length; the skirt was full but not worn over a fluffy petticoat so it hung in beautiful rich folds, a beautifully fitted bodice with a graceful neckline, and a drape that went around my shoulders and gathered over the bust. It was elegant, beautiful, but not too much for a teenager. I'd had silk shoes dyed to match the blue dress, and had silver sandals for the lavender one. The hems were adjusted meticulously. There was a complimentary silk shawl for the shorter embroidered dress, and the long dress had a long matching velvet evening cape, heavily embroidered in gold and silver, with a collar, that I would be able to wear for years. Well, the dresses too, they had a timeless sort of look that Uncle Steve specialized in. Deri was getting dresses for the weddings as well, but she would go separately so that we both had the full fun experience.

I felt like lazing around for a good while longer, but there were things to do. First was my workout; it was important to build strength as well as flexibility in my ankle, so I hauled myself down to the fitness room, where I lifted weights in an efficient circuit, then hit the pool for cardio in a way that was most supportive for the ankle. I wasn't kicking very vigorously, but part of that was an excess of caution on my part--I knew that the bone was fine, I'd seen enough x-rays, but shaking the habit of protection was something I hadn't considered--and some was just that the leg wasn't very strong yet. Then I showered and primped; I'd had another appointment with the really good stylist and she'd increased the white in my hair to streaks, made the blues and purples light to medium, and added green for a pretty spring effect. I went down for lunch and looked through the library for books on the twenty-first century for history class; I had to pick up an important event and analyze it for my term paper. I was leaning toward the first Kree-Skrull war and incorporating eyewitness accounts from Aunt Emma and Uncles Tony, Steve, and Bucky, but first I had to ask them. Nobody needed another rote account of the invasion attempt, but the only account by the supers who had fought appeared in Colin James' book, and that was limited by space. It would be nice to maybe get a fresh slant on it, or at least a couple of new stories to inject some life into a well-known historical event. There was a ton of information in the Justice League archive and the Avengers' after-action accounts, but nobody outside got access to those and I wasn't going to even try. I shot the four of them an email that specified that the interview would be about the very first battle and the fallout; I didn't want to look at the later ones, especially the one where Uncle Steve was killed. That had to be traumatic to remember, even after all this time.

Then it was off to the fitting. Uncle Steve was really pleased for me that I was going to get to study abroad a little this summer and interested in what I was going to study. "Pattern cutting is interesting and good to know from a technical standpoint, but I think draping is more useful for someone who is creating custom looks on a small scale. When you get back, I'll show you the basics and we can compare the two methods." Finally he was done with the fitting for my clothes, explaining why small adjustments provided such good results, and with a final hug, we left. Then we went upstairs, where Mom was prepared to buy me a strand of pearls to wear with the special occasion dresses, recognizing that the pearls from Themyscira weren't really...right. I didn't really want a strand of pearls; I associated them with my Grandma Alex, so we compromised on a single large, beautiful Tahitian pearl, icy white, set on a platinum bail that came with a dainty chain, and smaller matching earrings.

Afterward, we went for hot chocolate to warm us up in the cold rain, and then home. I was doing some stretches when I got a call from Iris, excited because her apartment application had been approved. She'd be moving during the summer, and wanted me to help her decorate. I agreed, of course, and asked for a drawing of the layout so we could think of fun things to do. And maybe I'd learn things in my class that would be helpful. I also told her to see if she could line up Grandpa Henry for any carpentry work we might need, and hung up feeling happy and useful.

That night I got a call from Rob, asking if I'd like to go to our sophomore prom in three weeks. I accepted, of course; it would be the first school dance for which I'd have a date. And prom! I texted Justine asking what kind of dress would be appropriate. At my old high school, the dresses were designer, but HKHS had a different vibe. She said that formals were worn, but nothing high-end, which was good to know, and offered to go shopping with me.

Chapter Text

The next day, I met Justine at Saks when it opened, and we had fun looking through dresses. We didn't find anything there that we loved, so we had lunch and moved on. There were a ton of other girls out too, and sometimes things started to get a little snippy around the racks. We got down to business, and at the third store, we both found dresses we liked. Justine was going with Richmond Haley, a guy she didn't really know very well but who was on the basketball team and debate, and he was much taller than she was, so she was able to get really high heels with the teal satin short dress she found. It had a geometric lace yoke and came with a matching shawl. The flirty skirt was flared, and it looked beautiful on her. My dress also had a satin body, a pretty blue strapless dress, fitted bodice, with a full skirt, but mine had a chiffon overdress thing with embroidered lace at the bottom hem and bodice, and it had elbow-length bell sleeves that also had lace on the edge. It was really pretty and I could wear the silver sandals (with a modest inch heel because I didn't want to freak out my ankle just yet) that I'd gotten for the strapless dress Uncle Steve was making for me. The color looked great with my hair but not too matchy.

"I asked Imogen if she wanted to come with us, she's going with Ari, but she said no," Justine said as we took the bags with our dresses and gratefully exited the crowded department. "She said she was doing something with her family." She shrugged. We looked at the sky suspiciously; it was heavy and overcast but not yet raining. "I know it's only been since the last few days of December that her life was turned upside down, but... I wish things would go back to the way they were, when she had more time for us. And it's selfish, because she seems happy with her dad and all, but... there it is."

"I think she's still kind of mad at me," I said.

"And she's got to get past that too," she said firmly. "I think it's because you're new to our group and you don't have ties that go way back."

"How did you guys all meet, anyway?" I asked curiously.

"Nix's dad, actually. He's always monitored the underworld, information is really important to him and his enterprises. So he saw that there were other ones like him who wanted to keep their kids out of the life." I was amused by how she downplayed the supervillain aspect of things. "And because he knew the dads--and mom, in Jinx and Imogen's cases--he helped them get settled as much out of the reach of their partners as possible. Started setting up playdates for us when we were old enough for that sort of thing, and the rest is history."

"Who knew he had such a soft spot," I said, marveling a little.

"Just because he is who he is doesn't mean that he's evil all the way through. He's done a lot of evil, but he really does love Nix," she chided me. "He's even got a monitoring thing where he watches out for our fathers, helps to keep us off their radar. Keeps an eye on Harley, too, even though she's done the best she can for Jinx."

"That really humanizes him," I said thoughtfully. "I'm not used to the nuances."

"Nobody's completely evil," she said. "Well, some of our fathers come close, but Nix's dad is better than most." Then she changed the subject. "I gotta say that it's pretty weird to be going out with somebody who isn't in the group. We've always gone to these things as a group, and this is the first time that anybody's gone with somebody else. But I guess that's the way it's going to be. I love the guys, don't get me wrong, but I'm not interested in them romantically, so we'll all be dating outside. Imogen doesn't like Ari that way either, but it's comfortable and familiar. And I don't think you have sparks with anybody either." I shook my head. "So we'll have to get used to splitting our time when we start dating more. Well, I say that nobody's got sparks, but who knows down the line?"

"Maybe," I said, a little dubiously. "Grandma Alex thought Grandpa Damian was a complete tool when they first met, then things took off when they were done with grad school."

"I'm not counting on it, but I also dread having to explain to some guy about my dad. They all know." I shrugged. There were things I couldn't casually divulge about my family so I got it, but at least we had a really good cover story. "Well, that's a problem for another day." We did some window shopping, then called it a day when it started to rain.

When I got home, I had emails agreeing to potential interviews with Aunt Emma and also Uncles Steve and Tony. Uncle Bucky also suggested that I ask Grandpa Damian. He'd been younger than I was now but had helped out anyway. I trotted down the path through the woods to Grandma and Grandpa's. Luck was with me and Grandpa Damian was home.

"I haven't thought about the invasion for years," he said, bringing me a cup of coffee. "I was what, eleven? It wasn't long after Talia dumped me on Dad's doorstep, and I was settling into being Robin. Insufferable, or so I've been told." His eyes twinkled. From what Uncle Richard had said, 'insufferable' was pretty kind. "But with the invasion, all hands were needed, and everybody with a sidekick used them. We were runners, mostly, there was Aqualad, Speedy, Kid Flash, Artemis, Superboy, the X-men kids, others. We still did engage with the aliens, and that was really freaky, but mostly we were kept around the tower, helping out with the defenses. The flyers, like Superman, the Hawkpeople, Supergirl, Iron Man, War Machine, made supply runs out to heroes throughout the city, we worked on the ground. What I remember most was the snow. It was cold and snowing, and the snow mixed with the soot from the fires as the night wore on. The Skrulls weren't too hard to kill, but the Kree were something else. Dad threw everything he had at them and it didn't make a dent, really. At some point in the early morning hours, the order was given by Superman to fall back to the tower. We were losing. There weren't many people who didn't have some kind of damage. Spiderman's webshooters clogged and he fell, badly hurt, but there's that clinic in the tower and they got him immediate attention. The resources at the tower were why they chose it for our last stand; the medical facilities as well as the armory. And it was a lot easier to keep people hydrated and those with severe calorie needs fed so that they could continue to function. Speedsters in particular are just energy sinks.

"I particularly remember windows in the tower getting smashed and being sprinkled with shards of glass. Some of them were pretty massive, actually. Zatanna had her arm sliced to the bone from a long shard. There was so much chatter on our earbuds that I couldn't keep track of who was out of the fight and who was still in. The noise at the tower was deafening, and we had spotlights to help with targeting their fighter planes; there were columns of light piercing the dark now and then; they targeted the spotlights. Screams and the sounds of guns and antiaircraft... The smells of blood and fire and cordite. A real sensory nightmare, all around." He shook his head. "And I lost track of Dad after awhile. And Nightwing. I saw Jason once. And I saw Bucky ripping apart the canopy of that jet. He was... primal, an elemental destructive force that just happened to have a human form." He stared at the ceiling, reliving it. "He wrenched off his artificial arm when it was too badly damaged to function, then used it as a club. That broke the transparent material they used for windows. The ship went down and then I saw Steve emerge, carrying him over his shoulder and getting him to the medics. The medical personnel were the bravest people I've ever seen. They kept coming out for casualties, unarmed, unprotected. Time and time again." His voice was soft.

"Frankly, I thought we were going to be slaughtered, but all of a sudden the Bifrost opened and the Asgardian army came to the rescue. They had weapons we didn't, they're all bigger than we are, tougher. It still took them a lot of really determined work to force the aliens into retreat, those that were left. And they pulled back, out of orbit, and it took quite some time to recover their losses and try again. But that was good enough for that night."

"What did you think when it was over, when you knew you'd won the battle?"

"I saw my dad, and all I felt was overwhelming relief. Being an utter shit at the time, I tried to cover it up with my usual attitude, but I couldn't quite pull it off." He smiled slightly. "And Dad was just as relieved to see me, that he hadn't gotten me killed. It was at that time that I had a faint feeling that it was going to work out between us. It had been touch and go up til then, and it was for a few years after that, pretty much everybody wanted to kill me more than once, but it did work out." We talked about it some more; it was really interesting to hear what had been like for a kid to witness. Even now he downplayed a lot, I felt, the terror of fighting aliens in a quasi-military action when you're just ten. Or eleven, not like there's much difference, even to an assassin kid. Too bad I couldn't use any of it, since nobody knew about Batman's identity, much less any of the Robins. Well, it wasn't in the public record, anyway. But I could use it as background and a guide to questions for the heroes who I could legitimately identify. Then we talked about other things; the prom, my upcoming summer plans at school in London, other stuff.

"Heads up, your parents are hosting another Avengers/Justice League summit in a bit," he said. "Looks like you'll have a full house."

I groaned. "That means a face-to-face therapy session," I said. For some reason they tended to me more grueling than our distance ones.

"How's that going, honey?"

"It's going," I said, feeling weary. "It's a lot of work, but right now a lot of good things are happening for me, so it's easier."

"How are your parents doing?"

"Making a sustained effort," I acknowledged. "We'll probably have a family session too. Deri's doing a lot better."

"That's good, cupcake. I'm proud that you're taking advantage of the help that's offered to you. Dinah's top shelf at what she does. It's exciting that you'll be going to London to study this summer." So we talked about that for a bit and how I was going to help Iris with her new apartment, and he sighed. "My chicks are leaving the nest. Miles is making noise about moving out too, but he's quite attached to Alfred and his cookies and is more reluctant than Iris. But it's hard to watch my kids grow up and move on. It's what you hope for, or course, you want to raise strong kids who are capable of meeting all of life's challenges, but selfishly, it's hard on their old pop. I thought it might be a little easier this go around, having experienced it with Martha and Xander, but no." That provided me with something to think about. I was certainly looking forward to moving out on my own, but it never occurred to me that Mom and Dad wouldn't be looking forward to that day too. Until recently, their parenting hadn't been awful, just... rather remote and I hadn't thought that Deri and I were in their thoughts much away from home.

That night, the parents told Deri and me about the upcoming conference, and Deri shrugged. The conferences didn't affect us much; we saw the visitors at dinner and that was usually it. Some of them didn't have a lot to say to us kids, while others liked to talk to us, and that was fine too. Some of them didn't have a lot of experience with kids, like J'onn J'onzz, who always seemed to look at us like long-term lab experiments. The Flash, though, liked everybody and liked to talk. It was too bad he wasn't stationed in New York, he'd be fun to see more. I had to admit, part of his charm was that he got under Grandpa Bruce's skin a lot, always fun to see.

We had parent-teacher conferences that week, and on my day off, I went into the city for my living history interviews. Uncle Bucky hadn't wanted to revisit it, being firmly focused forward rather than looking back at a troubled past, and that was fine. Uncle Steve had been at the tower for the whole thing, working with Superman, coordinating activity between their teams while taking out maurading aliens. It had been their first team-up and he spoke about the benefits and drawbacks, a very precise after-action account, as well as the run-up to the invasion, how crime in the city had changed, the installation of the guardposts and evacuation of the city. His analysis was better than anything I'd read in history books, and he shrugged; it was the way he'd reported when he was in the military. He'd paid attention to the details because it wasn't like you could stop to take notes, and recording devices hadn't been really portable.

Aunt Emma gave me the perspective of a street-level hero, how much Sigurd and Torburn had helped, the terror and despair she'd felt from what felt like unending waves of alien invaders. She also mentioned the snow. "For a couple years after, I expected snow to be streaked with soot and ash," she said, shaking her head. "It took a long time to get past that, partly because I love snow, and the battle changed that." She tucked some hair behind my ear. "And like you, I did therapy to help me cope with the trauma. It helped a lot, but it was certainly no quick fix. Mostly what I felt was the isolation on that rooftop. Flash was with me for a bit, then he got hurt, and the cops and National Guardsmen were all down on the street. It was just me and the pups. I thought that night was never going to end. For years after, I had flashbacks; if I was walking home at night, if it was snowing, and I smelled smoke from somebody's fireplace, I had a little panic attack. My hands and arms would actually ache, the way they did that night from firing my gun so much." She shook her head. "I'm so glad Chris and you and Deri aren't feeling the pull toward that kind of life. It takes more than it gives to you. You have to be content knowing that you've helped others, but sometimes that's not a lot of compensation, when you're older and injuries don't heal as well or the effects accumulate."

And Uncle Tony had talked about fighting the aerial battle. Even his Iron Man suits could only do so much, so he had to take breaks to resupply heroes around the city. He'd gone through three iterations of his suits during the battle due to the damage that the Kree weapons inflicted. "They're tough bastards," he said, shaking his head. "And fortunately I had my suits at the tower, or I'd have been out of the fight early on. But I really hate the Skrulls. If they were invading again, I'd come off emeritus status, rejoin the team, just so I could get as many of them as I could. I could go through several lifetimes and still hold a grudge against them for capturing me, taking me hostage, torturing me for information." I totally believed him. "The thing about the Avengers, I think, is that we all had different starting points and priorities. When push came to shove, we were all on the same side, but when we weren't on the battlefield, those differences became divisions. Rogers is always on the side of what he feels is right. During WWII, that was with the Allied cause against fascism, but after that... he saw the government as not the white hat he wanted it to be. Clint and Natasha owed everything to SHIELD. Thor... well, he was involved at the beginning because of Loki and because he felt protective toward Earth, but he was definitely a free agent. Bruce was saddled with the Hulk and was incredibly conflicted because of that. If you could get us all pointed toward a present, common enemy, we were unbeatable. But if you could exploit the divisions between us, it was pretty easy to fracture our unity. Me, I came out of self interest and being a company man, which meant that I was accustomed to compromise, the sometimes morally cloudy realities of governments. And guilt," he admitted. "And I don't always think through the consequences of my action. That's what led to the split over Ultron and the Sokovia Accords. Steve can be hard-headed in his own right. We both were playing a zero sum game over the Accords when we should have been working on compromises." He shook his head. "And I'm getting a little nervous. I'm seeing a creep in restrictions on heroes that I think will make it difficult in the future to attract them to teams. And more stringent laws on vigilantism might actually shut that back door too. People want peace and safety but they don't want to deal with how that's achieved. They don't want to pay higher insurance premiums or have heroes in their backyard, but what they don't seem to realize is that the supervillains aren't going to go away if the heroes do. Too much oversight, from people who don't appreciate the difficulties of heroing, also is burdensome. Well, that's a problem for another time. Did you get enough for your paper, Lys?" He eyed me casually.

"Yeah, lots. And a lot of things I'd never considered," I said. "Thanks a lot, Uncle Tony." He gave me a hug and walked me out to my pod. All I'd hoped for were eye-witness accounts of the battle, which I'd gotten, but his analysis of the gold-standard Avengers team and the trouble keeping heroes on a team was an unexpected bonus. Uncle Steve had given me a new appreciation for issues of leadership I'd never considered before too. Now I was concerned that I didn't have enough room in the report or the skill to discuss what I'd learned. Living history is interesting, but what's really valuable from interviewing people is their perspectives and what they thought then versus what they think now, how the event has shaped them.

"But aren't you worried about your teachers knowing who you are?" Deri asked when she came home from school, wanting to know how I'd spent my day.

"They already know," I pointed out. "Parent-teacher conferences. It's not a secret that the Waynes know Emma Harrington and Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. I won't use what Grandpa Damian said because his identity as Robin isn't known to the public, but it was interesting to hear. I couldn't do what he did now, and I'm like, six years older than he was at the time." We talked about that a bit, then she went out to change and I got ready to go down early, hear what the teachers said to Mom.

Chapter Text

"What did my teachers have to say?" I asked Mom at the library. She turned and her voice was warm.

"They are very pleased with your work, and your math teacher is proud of your work and that you're tutoring in the math lab this semester," she said. "Your photography teacher thinks you have real talent and hopes that you will continue the class next year. English, history, networking, chemistry, all very good." It wasn't anything I hadn't expected, except for maybe the comments from my photography teacher, but a relief to hear anyway, and as a treat, I asked Alan for a Shirley Temple. Deri snickered at me, but I didn't care. I loved them, but they were packed with sugar and had no nutritional value so had to be saved for a special occasion. Dad came in and listened to a slightly more extended recap of parent-teacher conference. Deri's were right after midterms, and her teachers had gushed as always, but that was the way of it. I was happy enough not to hear any unexpected surprises.

Then Mom asked how my shopping had gone, and I was pleased to report that I'd found a dress. I was looking forward to the prom; Rob said we were going in a group with Rain and his date and Arch and his date. I like group things like that; if conversation hits a rough patch (which happened with Rob and me sometimes) there were other people to talk to, and fun is contagious. But not in a bad, hospital way.

We got more details about our houseguests; the Hawkpeople were coming (but I felt better about Hawkman since the whole thing with the pharaoh), Superman, of course, Flash, Black Canary and Green Arrow, and Aquaman. Aquaman made me nervous, he was just so gorgeous. Grandma and Grandpa were hosting Supergirl and Green Lantern. The Avengers and their associates were all local, so no hosting was required aside from cocktails and dinner. And the current crop of active Avengers sort of foisted these meetings off on the Avengers Emeritus, preferring action to dinner and meetings.

Dad had mailed my passport in for renewal, and I got excited just thinking about my London adventure. Deri was envious, but she wasn't begging to go or making a fuss about it, somewhat to my surprise, which helped keep me excited. Mom and Dad were kind of nervous, but I would be living in a residence hall with adult supervision like the rest of the under 18s, and I reminded them that Grandma Alex's grandma and grandpa lived in Oxford, if there should be an emergency. They came over for Christmas every other year, so I did in fact know them. That soothed them too.

A couple of days later, Deri and I came down early, helping to greet our guests, who included some Avengers associates I didn't know well, such as Wolverine, Luke Cage, and Doctor Strange. Wolverine was kind of broody, but Grandma Alex said that was his default mode, so I was polite but didn't linger. I went on to say hi to Flash, who was cheerfully irritating the stoic Batman, got a hug from Grandpa Bruce (hugs from Batman are historically not awesome because the suit is rigid and not cuddly, but almost nobody was in costume tonight) and was introduced to Doctor Strange, who was floating a couple inches off the carpet. Weird, but not to brag, I've seen a lot of weird. He politely made chit-chat, where I went to high school, what I was studying, but we were both taken aback when the corner of his red cloak reached out and wrapped itself around my hand. It felt for all the world like a friend holding my hand. "Um.. your cape is..."

"It is the Cloak of Levitation," he said crisply, and I could hear the capitals. "It has a mind of its own," he muttered, tugging on the cape.

"Steven," Uncle Tony said, coming over and nodding. He swirled the bourbon in his glass and looked at my hand. I looked at him helplessly. "You want to release my niece?"

"I'm trying, Tony," Doctor Strange said crossly.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" my mom said, nicely, but with a tone that suggested that there better not be, as she joined us too. The cape released me, then sort of petted my mom too. Weird.

"It's interested in mystic energies..." Doctor Strange said, retreating enough so that we were out of range of the cape. I swear it pouted but I couldn't tell you how.

"Lys?" Mom asked, and I shook my head.

"It's got a presence to it, but it's not god touched," I said, catching the odd doctor's interest. I wondered if the title was an affectation or if he had a doctorate in woo-woo stuff. Fortunately, Alan called us for dinner, and Uncle Tony offered me his arm. We chatted going into the dining room. I'd been placed between Uncle Bucky, who always had awesome zoo stories, and Superman, who was interested in what I was doing in school. I knew he had a son, but of course didn't know names or the stories. After dinner, Deri and I went upstairs. Alan had left decaf for me, black tea for my sister, and brownies for both of us. I drank my coffee but saved the brownie until I'd finished my homework, proofreading my history paper. I put it on a drive for my teacher, then put on some flexible shoes with a grippy sole, and went out the window for the first time since the accident. I'd been practicing on the climbing wall at school, making sure that I could climb still, and made it easily up to the roof. I had my communicator with me, though, in case I got stuck. I could call Grandma Alex for help. I didn't stay long; I could smell approaching rain, so I swung down and made it safely back to my room. My arms were a little sore from using them more than my legs, but otherwise I felt good, and relieved to be able to go back on the roof.

The next week was lifeguard training, and I helped handle the dry land stuff for the club. I wasn't using my crutch or a cane or any sort of walking aid anymore, but when I got tired I was limping, and my physical therapist had put her foot down about my activities and flatly forbade me to try lifeguarding. It must be the nighttime family tradition, but I liked learning skills that could be useful in an emergency. Maybe next year, though.

Before I knew it, practically, it was time for prom. Gina touched up my color and did a beautiful hairstyle for me, and I splurged on a mani/pedi, with bright pink nail polish that I knew Deri would love. I bought her a bottle of the polish as a treat. She was out riding with Dad, Iris, and Grandpa Damian when I got home, so I left it on her desk and got ready. By the time I was dressed, accessorized (I wore the little diamond solitaire earrings and pendant for a little sparkle with the dress), made up, and perfumed, Dad was back and he and Mom took pictures. I felt self-conscious. Dad frowned at the display of the images.

"You're obviously the photographer of the family, Lys," he said, and Mom took the camera, managing some better images. Still, I was relieved when the gate signaled. The boys had rented a limo for the group. Rain and Rob came in to pick me up and see the mansion, I think, and Rob had to meet my parents anyway. They got a few more pictures of me with my date and got Rain in for a couple, then we were allowed to depart. On the way out, Eira came bounding up, interested in the new arrivals. They boys were a little nervous about the huge dog, but she is always so friendly and cheerful that she had new converts to her following quickly.

"Eira!" I turned to see Grandma Alex chugging up in exasperation. Eira gave her best friendly 'what?' face. "I'm sorry, Lys, honey," she said. "But on the bright side, at least she hasn't been swimming or rolling in something nasty." I smiled at her, not believing for an instant that this was anything but a setup, and introduced my friends. Rob and Rain were surprised and a little nervous to be meeting Alex Barnes, but all she said was that we looked great and told us to have a wonderful time. We got into the limo and it rolled down the drive.

"I didn't know you were one of those Waynes," Rain said. "Why did Ms Barnes call you Lys?"

"It's a short form of my first name," I said, my pleasure a little squelched by the need for explanations. "When I switched schools, I decided to try a different nickname and went with one based on my middle name. It's Alexandra, and there's already an Alex in the family."

"Oh," Rob said, and then the conversation switched to other topics, and the awkwardness was over by the time we pulled up to Arch's house. He popped out and waved at us, and Rain looked at his communicator. "His parents want us all to come in. Huh. I've never actually met his dad, apparently he travels a lot."

So we all trooped in and Arch introduced me to his mom, Dr Christine Palmer. She was pleased to meet me, she said, and complimented all of us on our appearance. "I've known these boys forever, it seems," she said to me, laughing. "I remember them coming home from adventures sopping wet, dirty, with scraped knees or a broken nose from an unfortunate hop of a baseball. All of us parents took to having first aid kits in our pods when we picked them up as a preventative measure." Rob rolled his eyes. "And now they're all very spiffy young men." Her voice turned wistful.

"Uh, yeah, Mom--" Arch said. Then, to my great surprise, the Sorcerer Supreme came into the living room, frowning at the camera in his hands.

"Christine, you'll have to do this," he said. "It doesn't seem to like me."

I was even more surprised when the Cloak of Levitation zipped past him and mummified me neatly. So were the boys. And Dr Palmer.

Doctor Strange just shook his head as the collar of the cloak patted my cheek.

"Your mom explained. Gifts from Athena, correct? And that other goddess," he said.

"Hestia," I said crossly, wiggling futilely. "Dude," I said to the cloak, which ignored me. "Little help here?" I asked the room, and Arch tried to peel it off.

"Dad, come on. You're embarrassing me in front of my friends," he said accusingly. Doctor Strange came over and helped.

"It's not your ability to see mystic energies that attracts it," he said abstractly. "What's the other ability you have?"

"Related to maintenance of the house and home," I said, stepping back once the cloak was removed.

"Ah," Doctor Strange said, retreating across the room with the cloak firmly in his grip. "The cloak enjoys a good adventure, but is a homebody of sorts." I looked down in dismay at my dress; the cloak had wrinkled the skirt and sleeves.

"Steven," Dr Palmer said in exasperation. "Oh, dear." She came over and helped me fluff out my skirt, arranging the hair that the cloak had disarranged. She sighed. "Right. Let's get pictures before anything else happens." She took a couple of the group, frowning at the images in what I was starting to think was a universal parent behavior.

"Um, Anna is a really good photographer," Rob said. She brightened up and I took the camera, looking around and putting the boys by the stairs and the newel post. I got a few good pictures of the friends, then two of just Arch, and handed the camera back.

"These are lovely," Dr Palmer said, beaming.

"Don't worry, the boys won't say anything about those abilities of yours," Doctor Strange said to me. "Diana explained to me how you'd gotten them, and of course, you're not the only one from a hero family. Rob's father is Daredevil, and of course there's me. They all can keep secrets."

"Who's your hero?" Rain asked me in puzzlement.

"Mom's Wonder Woman," I said, wanting to rub my face but refraining due to makeup. Doctor Strange had no sense of appropriateness. "Batman also runs in the family."

"Holy cow," Rob said.

"Jesus, Dad, you can't just out my friends like that," Arch said irritably. "It's hard enough to act normal as it is."

Doctor Strange looked irritated too. Now that I was looking, I could see a definite resemblance. "Kids these days. You should be glad that you know other kids who also bear your burdens," he said, a trace of sarcasm tinging his voice.

"Dammit, Steven," Dr Palmer said, raising her voice.

"We're going now," Arch said hastily, and urged us toward the door.

"Have fun, honey!" Dr Palmer called after her son.

We retreated to the limo in some disarray, and I was grateful that it was driverless. We pulled away to pick up Rain's date, a dainty girl from the debate team that he and Rob were on. Cari wore a filmy buttercup-yellow long dress that looked beautiful on her.

"I always wanted to ask you who does your hair, Anna," she said as we drove on to pick up Arch.

"I got wise the last time I went and picked up a bunch of Gina's cards," I said, and gave her one that I'd stashed in my evening bag. "People always ask. She's phenomenal."

Conversation was a lot more lively once Cari joined us, then it was off to pick up Arch's date, Brenda. She wore a tight red sheath and had her blond hair in a flamboyant bouffant. We had photos at both residences, no more embarrassing reveals, and then it was off to dinner. The dinner was fun, then we went to the dance in the ballroom of one of the Manhattan hotels. Not one of the five star hotels that hosted the proms for the private schools, but it was nice, the decorations were pretty, the tickets were affordable, and nobody cared anyway once the prom activities were in gear--photos, punch, socializing, and dancing. We took a break at nine for a few announcements from administration, then it was back to dancing. We didn't have prom royalty at this high school; the courts were just an exercise in popularity and it was kind of pointless to most of us aside from the ones who'd like the acclaim. Most of the class stayed until the dance ended at eleven, and we were still in a party mode, so we went to an ice cream parlor for a treat before the limo dropped us off in reverse order. There wasn't much distance between Arch and Cara, so we didn't get to discuss the bombshell that Doctor Strange had dropped until we were on the way out to my house.

"So how did you get abilities from your mom, and are you going to be a hero too?" Rain asked.

"No, I'm not a hero," I said, sighing. "Mom was blessed at her birth by five goddesses, and some of them took a special interest in her offspring. They're not actually very useful."

"Still, that's pretty cool," Rob said. "My dad's just got super keen senses, offsets his blindness. And he's been practicing martial arts forever."

"What's interesting about Mr Murdock is that he wasn't born blind," Rain said thoughtfully. "He lost his sight in an accident, a chemical spill, but it persisted past death and into the Return. My dad thinks it's because it's become such an integral part of his identity."

"It's also a pain in your dad's butt," Rob said, leaning back. "Mr Nelson sometimes has to cover for my dad when he's too banged up to function. He doesn't have a healing factor, unfortunately. But if he just used some common sense, he wouldn't be nearly as bad off."

"What does your mom think of that?" I asked.

"Well, my mom's an assassin, known as Elektra," he said. "Dad sued for custody and cut my birth mother out entirely. He married Claire Temple, who is an ER nurse, she patched up heroes on the side in her first life, she's been my mom for most of my life. Elektra did make contact a few years ago, but I don't have any special training and it's really too late for me to train up to her standards, fortunately. Dad blew a gasket when he learned that she'd seen me. But since then, she's sent email, just checking in to see how I am. I feel like a specimen sometimes."

"So is that why you're so active in the Red Cross club?" I asked. He and Rain both nodded.

"Claire sometimes benefits by having a trained helper around when Dad drags in," Rob explained.

"Rob's not uncoordinated, but he does get in fixes," Foggy said. "That broken nose that Dr Palmer referenced? That was Rob. If somebody trips, it's likely to be Rob. Or sprains an ankle. Or needs stitches. Or--"

"She gets the idea, Rain," Rob said tetchily. "It's also lucky that Arch's mom is really good at patching us up."

"So I'm really confused about his dad," Rain said. Rob nodded, both of them leaning forward. "Who is he?"

"The Sorcerer Supreme for the planet," I said. "He works with the Avengers sometimes; I just met him at a get together they had. I asked, he can really do magic. Uncle Tony said he was a world-class surgeon until he got himself in a car wreck with his distracted driving, then went to Tibet or Nepal or someplace to study mystic arts. And he can bend time with his necklace."

"I think it's an amulet or something," Rain said.

We pulled up to the house and Rob walked me to the door, kissing me lightly before I went in. Mom and Dad were still up even though it was midnight. Geeze.

"How was the dance, honey?" Dad asked, then scowled as he saw the state of my dress, much more wrinkly than when I left the house. "Did that little pissant--"

"Relax, Dad, it was Doctor Strange's inappropriately affectionate cloak," I said with a sigh. "Turns out he's Arch's dad."

"Really?" Mom asked, leaning forward. "I had no idea he had a child. Arch is your math tutor friend?" I nodded.

"He came over to do the dad thing and the cloak came at me like a huge flying squirrel and sort of... hugged me. Doctor Strange took it away, but my dress was already crushed."

"It doesn't look damaged, though."

"No, just creased." We talked a little about how fun the dance had been, where we'd gone for dinner, how my ankle was feeling (tired) and then I went to bed.

Chapter Text

The next week featured an additional sort of issue: my birthday. Showing a new sensitivity, my parents didn't throw me a party. Some of the relatives came over: Grandpa Mark and Aunt Amy, Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian, and Uncle Tony and Aunt Ann, and they brought gifts and cards from other relatives. We all had dinner together, then coffee in the library while I opened my presents, followed by homemade cake and ice cream. I got some lovely upgraded luggage for London as well as deluxe upgraded camera bags for each of my cameras and their lenses and stuff, which were my favorite presents.

Things were going well in school; my history paper on the first Kree-Skrull invasion had been returned with an A+, I'd just handed in my English thesis comparing female Romantic poets Felicia Dorothea Browne, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Charlotte Turner Smith, Mary Robinson, and Joanna Baillie, although their lives were more interesting than their work. I was also finishing up my study of the Aztec pantheon for Comparative Religions. We could participate in a city-wide competition for photography students, and I'd selected three of my best pictures (assisted with input from my teacher), matted them, and saw them off with the works from other students in the photography classes. I didn't expect much, and there would be no individual critiques here, but I liked the idea of my work being seen by a broader audience. Finals were coming up, but I wasn't panicked over any subject, and I was feeling pretty good about my grasp of the subjects. Fingers crossed that I wasn't deluding myself.

We had a few weeks where everybody was engaged in study groups or ramming through a semester's worth of information, heads down, little conversation, but focused, not freaked, then finals week. Nothing on the tests was new to me, always a welcome sensation, and on the last day of school, we got our yearbooks, spending class periods recording messages and visuals for each other, then finally clearing out our lockers, making sure all materials were returned to teachers or the library.

I spent one glorious week sleeping in, working, and hanging out with my friends. Superhero reveal night was not mentioned by Rob, Rain, Arch, or me. We just ignored the caped and costumed elephant in the room. My other friends were also relaxing; they had family vacations to look forward to as well as work, but while summer in the city can be hot and unpleasant, we were still out of classes for a few months and there would more time for fun.

I packed lightly for London, and my parents and Deri accompanied me over, taking the suborbital. They got me settled in my room in the residence hall, met the monitor who would provide the adult supervision, and we went out and poked around the neighborhood some. There were a lot of eating options around, cafes, restaurants, and bakeries, other types of shops, and a nearby subway line (they called it the Tube, whatever) that had stops right by all six colleges in the university. The nearest one was a good ways away, though, about twenty minutes. I would have to factor in appropriate travel time. After lunch, Mom asked me yet again if I had everything I needed (to the best of my knowledge), reminded me about Grandma and Grandpa for emergencies, and, reluctantly, they left.

I unpacked quickly and flopped on my bed, where I lay for about five minutes, before hearing voices in the corridor. I got up and met other students. This floor was one of three reserved strictly for under eighteens, so we were all subject to the same restrictions regarding curfew. Here you could drink ale, beer, wine, and cider at sixteen, subject again to a bartender's determination of when enough's enough if you can't figure it out for yourself, and we repaired to an actual pub to get to know each other. I sipped hard cider. It was ok, I'd drink it again, but it wasn't going to form a significant portion of my diet. I was the only American in the bunch, joined by two Australians, but the rest were from all over Britain and Ireland. We all had different backstories, but we had one thing in common: excitement at ditching our families to take interesting classes on our own. It was a fairly large group, sixteen of us, but this was only about a fifth of the under 18s, let alone the students of age who were going to be taking classes. It seemed like the average tenure of our group was about two weeks; I would be here the longest, and there were several who were just here for a three-day course or a week. Some of us knew what we wanted to study in college all ready (I envied them) but the rest of us were, I suspect, hoping that these classes would provide inspiration and direction as well as knowledge and practical skills. We went out to play tourist a little, having dinner in a cafe, just enjoying being young, finding friends, and being independent in a major city. I'd brought my digital camera with me to school, and I immortalized the evening, emailing the good photos to the group later on. We just barely beat the eleven o'clock weekday curfew.

The next morning I got up, bolted down breakfast, and caught the line to my photojournalism class. I had my camera and other required materials with me, and allowed plenty of travel time and enough time to make sure I could find the classroom. There turned out to be twenty of us in class, with only one other under 18. This class was mostly lecture; the practice would be done outside of class since it was only a three-day class. Our professor was a former photojournalist, Returned; he'd been a war correspondent during the Vietnam War. We didn't have much in the way of wars currently, but there was still global tension aplenty, competing socioeconomic, religious, and political ideologies, the severe strain on resources (still) brought about by the world-altering Return, and violence did flare up. There were also dramatic events like the Olympics, other multi-national sporting events, cultural events, political happenings. There was a lot of opportunity for photojournalists. We would be working on not becoming better photographers, but learning how to tell a story with images.

"Work on your technique on your own time," our instructor told us. "Learn how to think like a photojournalist. I'll give you two assignments; you'll complete them, submit them before midnight in a folder that contains complete and accurate captions for each image as well as a reflection about the challenges and discoveries you faced in completing the assignment." Lecture that morning consisted of information on ethics, generally applicable laws (although these could vary from jurisdiction to jurisdiction,) assignments, and what you needed in your camera bag. We learned the difference between spot news and general news, and how to cover the issues. The next day, we'd be talking about shooting portraits, sports, features, and illustration, so our first assignment was to hit the streets and do our best to find subjects for hypothetical stories.

I went out after class was dismissed, feeling dazed by the speed of the instruction and the quantity of material covered. Several of my classmates were going to lunch on campus and I joined that group; we talked about the information over our meals and we found nearby parks and recreation centers where we could shoot people doing athletic things; the rest of it we could find on our own. I made my way to Regent's Park and knew I'd hit the jackpot. There was a very heated rugby match going on. I went over to the sidelines during an injury timeout and asked if I could shoot the game for a bit for a class assignment, and nobody cared, so I paced the action on the sidelines, watching through my viewfinder for intense action or just individual moments, like the guy who elbowed another guy in the nose, a crushing tackle. I got some good shots, so I took off to Queen Mary's Garden for shots of the famous rose garden for a feature. The roses weren't in full bloom just yet, but there were roses everywhere and still beautiful. I also shot the Delphinium Border and the Mediterranean Borders.

Then I walked to the British Museum, where I used exterior shots for illustration for a fictional piece on neo-classical architecture. It was a long walk, although interesting and fun, and I was kind of pooped, so I went inside, inquired about the rules and regulations for photography in the museum, and skulked around until saw a very distinguished man in the Department of Greece and Rome, arguing with a younger man in front of the Elgin Marbles. Ugh, modern Greek. But I understood enough to know that they were complaining that the precious frieze from the Parthenon had yet to be repatriated. The younger man shook his head and left, and I approached the older man and asked him if I could take his portrait, explaining about my class project. He smiled slightly and gave me permission, and it only took a couple of minutes to get a couple striking images. I offered to share them, but he declined, and also declined to give his name. He took one more look at the marbles and shook his head. So I said, in as much modern Greek as I could, filling in with ancient Greek when I had to, that if Athena took a special interest, perhaps the British might reconsider their disputed ownership of the masterpiece. Wouldn't hurt to ask her priestess, anyway. It might be harder to refuse a goddess than a government. I smiled slightly and scuttled off, taking a break in the cafe, then took the subway back to the residence hall, where there was a meet-and-greet for all residents; apparently it was a weekly thing during the summer with so many people coming and going so often. I had enough time to caption my photographs, then went to the lounge, where there was pizza and drinks, and I caught up with some of the people I'd met the first night, then met some new people. There were more nations represented, and it seemed like we were all here for different classes. Then I had to go do the reading and write my reflections, fortunately, just a page long. I submitted my portfolio around ten, and went to bed early. I was tired from the time change.

The next morning in class, we listened to the promised lectures on portraiture, sports, illustrations, and features, and the professor finished with showing us good examples of each from the work we'd turned in. My portrait was featured in the discussion along with one of the more brutal action shots from the rugby game, and although he didn't single out students, he explained why they were successful. The next day would feature a lecture on photo editing, and we were to go forth and shoot a multiple-picture story.

Well, I was kind of stuck. Where do you go to find a story? I looked on the internet and took a bus to the Tower of London. Tourists flocked there, and the instructor didn't say that the photos had to tell an original story, or even one that was very good. On the ride over, I learned more about the Tower, and I was ready when I jumped off the bus. There was an "Armory in Action" experience at the White Tower, and as I bought my ticket, I heard some discussion behind me. I turned to find a family with a girl about Deri's age. I waited until they had bought their tickets before approaching them.

I introduced myself and showed my temporary student ID. "I'm taking a photojournalism class and my assignment today is to take a series of photos showing a story of some kind. I wondered if you'd let me photograph your family at some point in the event here?" I asked. "It's only for the purpose of this class and I'd be happy to email you copies of the photographs." The family, the Griffiths from Wales, discussed the matter briefly and consented, and I fell in with them as we started the activity. A warden started off with an informative explanation of weapons and combat skills using a combination of historic artifacts and multimedia before we went onto an archery range and were allowed to try the famous English longbows. Ok. Not as easy as it looked, and they were hard to fire, too. We learned about the types of arrows, and I photographed the Griffiths as they tried their hands at it and listened to the explanation of how Henry VII was dressed for battle. The warden showed us some of his suits of armor, so beautiful and finely made that it was almost impossible to imagine him actually using and damaging it. Then we learned how to fire a half-sized cannon and practiced slicing cabbages with swords according to directions from a Napoleonic-era manual. We got to fire muskets, too--a modern replica rather than antiques, of course, much safer. At the conclusion of the tour, I showed the family all the photographs I'd taken, asked if there were any they'd rather not be shown (they were fine with them, though) and they chose several images for me to forward to them, which I did on the spot. We parted ways then, and I felt pretty good; I had a shorter series of the girl hacking away at the cabbages, having a ball, and the family as they moved through the activities in general.

I spent the rest of the afternoon poking around, making sure to visit the Crown Jewels, now a permanent acquisition since the monarchy had been abolished. Deri would love it, so I stopped at the gift shop and got myself a book on the Tower in general and one on the jewels, getting Deri a pair of crystal hairpins while I was there. On the way out, I saw a model of a horse in medieval armor, very impressive, which I bought for dad. The horse had a yellow saddle blanket and was black, powerful looking, like one of Dad's favorite steeds. I had to hurry to meet my fellow students for dinner at the pub before we got down to studying. After a glass of beer (kind of yuck, but a learning experience) and the meal, we returned to the residence hall and I curated my photographs, captioning them properly, and submitting before doing the reading. It wasn't just about how to edit photographs, it also went over guidelines about what was appropriate to do and what was not. Very interesting.

We had another informative lecture, followed by a critique of several series; mine was not among them, but that was ok. I'd learned a lot, and the critique was enlightening. I wouldn't get a grade for the class, but it would be noted on my high school transcript, and I had specialized knowledge now. I had the afternoon free, so I did some touristy stuff. My class was over, so I had Thursday through Sunday to take it easy and explore, which I did with some of the other students who had finished short classes too. Several of my new friends left on Saturday, but other students arrived on Sunday; more people to meet.

Chapter Text

The next week was going to be jam-packed. I had the week-long class in fashion photography and the three day class in set design basics. In the morning I set out for the college theater. The class would only skim the surface of set design, since working designers all seemed to have a master's degree. But it sounded so interesting. On day one, we learned how to do a scenic analysis, from the very basic information of the title of the play and who wrote it, when it was written, and when and where it was first produced, and researched notes on the playwright. It also included learning what other works the individual had written and finding the set descriptions, answering questions of geography, time and place, physical surroundings, elements necessary for the action, like entrances and exits, and what was excitingly termed "abuse of set." How to determine what the motivational units and essential properties were, and what the lighting requirements were. Then how to condense the notes into an explicit list of requirements that included information about the play's themes, core conflicts, style, mood, and atmosphere. The play had to be analyzed and the director and others in the production team consulted in order to address all facets of the production. I reeled out of there, got a quick lunch, and went on to fashion photography, twenty minutes away.

This course would be more hands on, and we would be working with students in an intro to fashion design class that was in its second week. In our first afternoon, we learned the three types of fashion photography: editorial, advertising, and beauty, and how approaches to each differed and were similar. We went over techniques for strobe and natural lights, and were turned loose after some practice setting up artificial lighting systems. I was glad to go back to the residence hall for the pizza party.

"You could have both kinds," a voice suggested as I hesitated between veggie pizza and pepperoni. I snagged a slice of each and turned, only to be taken utterly aback. A tall, black-haired boy managed to suggest lounging against a wall without a wall actually being present. He grinned at me.

"John?" He sketched a bow.

"The one and only," he said grandly, and I laughed, consolidating my choices on a plate and hugging him.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Eton?" I asked as he returned the hug. He grabbed a couple of slices for himself and we moved over to a table to eat.

"We've got a week's vacation during this half," he explained, then rolled his eyes. "There are three halves to the school year. For such a highly rated institution, they can't do maths for shit." He'd acquired the gloss of an English accent like his father Alfred had. "I'm going to be a butler as well, so I'm squirrelling away all sorts of potentially useful information. I'm taking an art appreciation class this time. You never know what your employer will be into, but art is a good bet."

"It's good to see you again," I said, beaming at him. We'd grown up together until he went to Eton, and I missed my friend. "How funny that you're taking a class here at the same time I am."

"Not especially," he mumbled around pizza. "Dad told me your plans, and I checked it against the school schedule. I wanted to surprise you." I should have known.

"Mission accomplished. So how's school going? Your emails are uninformative."

"Oh, god," he complained. "The uniform--I feel like I'm a butler already. Black pants, waistcoat, coat, white shirt, tie. Every damned day. The only variation is pajamas, sports uniforms, weekends. And now we're narrowing down the subjects we study, the exact opposite of what I want to do. The more subjects the merrier. And it's an all-boys' school." His eyeroll was epic. "Quality of education is excellent, I'm bored. And Mum and Dad expect me to stick it out. Dari graduated last month, Z is going to graduate early, and she'll join Dari in college. She doesn't want to hang out in high school longer than she has to." I'd sent Darius a congratulatory card but hadn't known about Zahra. I'd have to keep an eye on that.

"Where's Darius going to study?" I asked.

"Sorbonne, then he's for the butler's school in the Netherlands that Mum and Dad went to. Z wants to be a history professor." He shook his head. "Always the black sheep." I laughed. "I think she's considering Oxbridge for undergrad, then somewhere back in the States for her PhD."

"What about you?"

"College somewhere, I don't really care as long as it's interesting, then to butler's school. Then find an employer, start small, work myself up to someplace really interesting, like the parents. What about you?"

"No idea," I said, feeling shiftless in the light of the Pennyworth offspring's life plans. "I did a lot of work with the guidance counselor on careers, but unfortunately my interests are like a puddle." He snorted a laugh.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Broad but shallow," I sighed. "So I'm hoping to get some inspiration here, find a path somewhere."

"You've got a lot of time," he pointed out. "Lots of ability, Lys. What classes are you taking?" So we compared our classes. His class was only the one week, but it was an all-day class, not near either of mine. Well, we could still hang out in the evenings, do homework together. He wanted to see my photos, so we started down the hall to my room.

"You two!" the monitor shouted. "Leave the door open if you're going to be in one of the rooms!"

"They guard our chastity quite effectively," John said as we entered my room... leaving the door open.

"Mom and Dad probably wouldn't have let me come without some form of supervision on the premises," I muttered. While I was taking a break from therapy while I was here, and I was doing a session a month anyway, I think they were still concerned about my mental stability. We sat on the bed and I showed him the homework I'd done for photojournalism--I'd figured out why my series of photos hadn't been more successful; they showed a string of events rather than telling an actual story, but I had the other photos to show plus ones still on my camera from home. I identified my friends and sent him a few pictures I'd caught of his parents around the estate. He seemed interested in my school and laughed when I told him what my schedule was.

"Why, what do you do?" I asked. "You're a really crappy correspondent."

"Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are called whole schooldays, where we have five schools--they're class periods, but they call them schools instead--during the morning, some kind of activity or sport after lunch, then a shower and tea followed by two more schools. Tutorials take place during Quiet Hour on whole schooldays after dinner. Tuesdays and Thursdays are called Half Holidays, because we have schools in the mornings like for whole schooldays, but games in the afternoon, followed by other activities, like community service, theater and music rehearsals and a considerable array of less important sports. And after supper, you can go to plays or concerts or perform in them, attend society meetings, which are school clubs, listen to speakers, do homework, or just slack off. Saturday mornings, we have four schools, then lunch and school sport. I've done some plays, and I was in the Lower Chapel Choir one year."

"Geeze," I said, dismayed. "I do virtually nothing by comparison. What kinds of subjects have you studied?"

"Well, Eton's a five-year sentence, with three years being non-specialist and the last two being specialist. For the first three years, you have two modern languages and can decide to continue or pick up Classical Greek, English, maths, Latin, science, divinity, geography and history, and music, art, drama, PE, computer science, and design are studied in rotation. And then we have tutors, we're assigned one for our first three years, then get a say in the tutor for the specialist years. Our tutor is supposed to be an adult we can go to for guidance, but they primarily monitor our academic performance. We do once-a-week sessions where we learn study skills, have the occasional outing to the bowling alley or paint ball, and get PSHE, a course of study that's more individualized, moral, social, and health issues, and topics the tutor chooses. Next half, I choose my specialist tutor, and four subjects, leading to A-level qualifications, from English literature, theatre studies, maths, sciences, Latin, Greek, the modern languages of French, German, Italian, Japanese, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese, or Chinese (Mandarin), history--modern or early modern or medieval, history of art, geography, divinity, economics, government and politics, art, or design. Then in the last year, three or four subjects, and we take our A levels. Why, what are you taking next year?"

"Um, English, calculus, environmental science, history, photography, and another class I haven't decided on yet. I'll be taking the college boards tests at the end of the year."

"Don't you have to do a language?"

"I got credit for ancient Greek, it's all they speak on the island, I'm terrible with languages anyway. Um, what sports do you do?" I asked, feeling like my education was decidedly substandard. Last time he'd written about sports, he'd been flailing through golf.

"Oh, god," he said, flopping back. "They call them games there, there's almost thirty of the damned things, from house teams to elite competition teams. They say games are important because we learning to win and lose, to lead and be led, to push to and perhaps beyond one's limits, to think as part of a team, to know when to strive for more and when to acknowledge defeat, so we're all forced to play and learn games. There's football, rugby, cricket, tennis, golf, field hockey, badminton, basketball, martial arts, as well as peculiarly Etonian sports like the Wall and Field games. Coaches are school masters or professionals. They do like you to play the sports that are traditional for networking--tennis, golf, that sort of thing that's both collegial and allows you to beat the pants off your opponent. I personally do swimming to a high enough level where I can get out of a lot of other games, and rowing." His eyes glittered. "I'll be on my House Eight, and I have my eye on making the VIII, the best of the best. Eton turns out a lot of the world's best rowers. What are you doing?"

"Well, rehab on the leg," I said awkwardly, feeling like an utter slacker. "I need to find something to replace dance." His face softened.

"That's really quite a loss," he said sincerely. "I was looking forward to bragging about my friend, the ballerina. Still, you've got all kinds of options, Lys." I nodded.

"And I work, too, that's fun." And as soon as the words left my mouth I felt stupid, doing things just for fun.

"And you got those Queen concert tickets," he said enviously. "My mates were green with jealousy when they heard. So was I, for that matter. And back-stage passes, all because you know your stock and how to relate to your customers." It sounded so much better when he put it like that.

We caught up a bit more, then we had homework to do. I recognized a couple of people from set design and went out to work with them. We'd been assigned a new play called "Local" and we had to do as much of a scenic analysis as possible. We'd been each emailed notes from a 'production team,' different for everybody, and had to show a rough plan for our individual specific variations, but we could work on the basic information together. That part went a lot faster, mainly because it was set in modern London and this was the first work by the playwright. We talked about the approaches we'd been assigned and got some ideas about how to approach the challenge, then I returned to my room to do the reading. I learned about the three types of scenic design, scenic, costume or lighting design, and what designers in each could expect to do.

Then it was on to fashion photography, where I read more about lighting, and how to select locations and backgrounds. There was an introduction to how to produce a shoot, which we would be talking more about in class. Tomorrow we would be learning how to set up the location, how to select equipment and work with support staff. Our assignment would be to go out on our own and find an interesting location to shoot someone in natural light. Thoughtfully, I found John's room and asked if he'd model for me the next night. He's pretty handsome, taking after his mom in facial structure and skin tone, but he has Alfred's eyes and a rangy build, must be due to all the games he plays. He grinned and agreed, especially after I said I'd print them when I got home and give copies to his parents. Then I went back to my syllabi to continue to plan ahead. Wednesday, we'd be exploring the relationships between photographer, model, art director, and client, and how to work with makeup artists and hair stylists, models, and stylists. Our homework would be to write a short reflection on the material covered to date. Thursday, we would focus on the business side, how to develop a strong portfolio, figure out market strategy, and brand our talent was to be discussed along with work opportunities. Friday was to be an actual fashion shoot, featuring the work of students in the fashion design classes, in which everything would come together. It would be all day, and if you could, you were encouraged to come in the morning as well as the afternoon. Each designer would have up to three models, there would be makeup artists, and we would be working in artificial lighting, which we would help set up. Then we would photograph the models, sharing the photographs with the designers.

Set design was easier, simply because it was shorter. I sent my preliminary analysis in, and read ahead a little. Tomorrow we'd receive our analysis back with some comments, and in class go over each type of design and what specialized tools were used. Homework would be to continue work on the analysis to flesh it out in terms of specific costuming, lighting, and sets/props that would be needed, with an emphasis on one of the three areas, our choice. The final class would be hands on, getting a little experience with lighting, touring the costumer's domain, looking at the shop where props were made and modified and sets built.

Whew. Lots of work. Lots of interesting.

Chapter Text

The next day I was up with the dawn and went out to try a traditional English breakfast since it would be a long and busy day, with a short lunch break requiring travel. Besides, I wanted to photograph a couple of places on my way to class to submit with my revised analysis for set ideas, maybe get some photographs of a variety of British fashion for the characters. Vibrantly colored hair like mine wasn't as common here as it was back home, so that would be incorporated into my ideas as well, for the male character who was grasping at a wasted youth. I was feeling pretty good as I went to class, creative and feeling good about the work. The lecture was informative and I scuttled off, grabbing a fast food salad on the way to fashion photography. I got there early and had time to read the comments on my scenic analysis--it was a good start for what would be, necessarily, an incomplete plan. There were a few questions of things to think about for tonight's amendments, most of which I'd already thought about. I patted myself on the back.

In fashion photography, we went over how to set up for shoots; obviously, the candid-style shoot we were doing after class required less preparation than something in a studio, but there were considerations for different locations and purposes, and we reviewed them before going on to talk about understanding what everybody's job on a larger shoot would be, how responsibility for styling could shake out, as well as how to build good working relationships, since styling and cooperation from the model obviously makes a big difference in the quality of the images. We also discussed the use of programs like the venerable old PhotoShop, how to avoid making weird mistakes, and the reminder that retouching should only be done to correct minor problems; the public liked seeing models who looked human instead of perfect. But not too imperfect; smoothing out a pimple or bruise was perfectly acceptable, but fluffing out somebody's boobs or adjusting the size of a guy's package was normally not. Models were representative of the prettiest, handsomest, or most interesting looking people, not androids. Finally we were turned loose, and I sped over to a place on the Thames that John had recommended, pretty with trees, the river, old stonework and cobblestones, restored little shops.

He was leaning on the stone embankment, face tilted to the sun. I snapped a shot straight off, then went up for a hug and to examine the area more closely. He kept his arm around me as I marked a few places to shoot, checked the light and pedestrian traffic, and finally my model. He was in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, black boots and motorcycle jacket. A classic, bad-boy-ish look. His long thick hair was neatly combed, so I tousled it a bit to increase his appeal before directing him to the first of the locations I'd chosen. He was a ham and got into it immediately, making me grin. I burst into laughter when he took a brief break, charging into a chemist's and emerging with a water sprayer, which he immediately filled with water, set the spray to mist, and dampened his t-shirt just enough to cling slightly, and his hair, to make it curl. A couple of girls passing by giggled and he smiled at them. I shot some more, extending the shoot slightly when the sun turned syrupy and golden, seeming to gild his skin. Then, to thank him for being such a good sport, I took him to dinner and let him scroll through the images.

"Wow," he said, preening. "My outside matches my brain. Finally, somebody noticed." I grinned at him and once I showed him how, he sent himself a number of his favorite images. We ate dinner then went back to the residence hall chatting on the way; we both had homework, picking up some cookies on the way back. Alan's were better, but hey, cookies. We took a table in the lounge and spread out; most people were apparently working in their rooms. It took longer than I'd expected to finish my scenic analysis, but I wanted it to be really good. I was interested in theater lighting but didn't know enough, so I focused on costuming instead since I did know something about sewing. I culled my photos down to the best images and sent them to my professor, then did the assigned reading and went to bed around midnight. John was writing madly on the topic of abstract art and grunted when I yawned and said goodnight.

Wednesday, I had great comments on my scenic analysis and learned how to work a lighting board, operate a variety of saws and planers and learn the basics of constructing backgrounds, and talked to costumers about the demands of the theater on wardrobe. They seemed glad to talk with someone who knew about fabrics and sewing, and explained how wardrobes could be rented from costume houses, bought in stores for modern apparel, or constructed, when the right piece couldn't be located or for period clothing. Costumers also had to keep things mended, replace things that wore out or tore, like stockings, and I was warned never to neglect the costs of cleaning everything at the end of the production, as this had to come out of the costuming budget. I was sorry that this class had to end, it was so interesting. Then I hustled to fashion photography, the last day I'd have to race for it. I could saunter on Thursday, and show up any time during the morning.

In class, my five photographs of John were the first example the professor showed and discussed and I was invited to talk about my experience on the shoot. The professor nodded after I'd explained briefly that the model was a friend who'd suggested the general location, and pointed out that I'd chosen backgrounds that were interesting and created a rich visual imagery with my model, and that this was a prime example of the benefits of building good relationships with talent. Other photographs were shown and discussed, then we got to the meat of the material for the day, the importance of building relationships and reputation in the community. I met up with John at the residence hall later, and told him about the reception of our photographs. He smiled and said he'd had fun. Then more homework; since I was done with set design, I did some reading for fashion photography that was on the optional list. Included in this was information about shooting a collection, and I made notes to talk to Uncle Steve about.

I slept in a bit, then explored the area around the college hosting my photography class. It was interesting, lots of shops and places to eat, so I had an early lunch and explored a fabric store nearby. It was kind of worn and tired as a facility--work was much spiffier--but had a great range of fabrics, leaning heavily to less expensive fabrics for the students who patronized the place. They had a particularly good selection of Irish linen, less expensive than at home because they didn't have to pay much to import it and I bought some yardage that I could sew up at home. I was surprised to get the student discount because I was only a temporary student, but I had the ID, that was what mattered.

The lecture on branding and the business of photography was more interesting than I thought it would be, and I went back to the residence hall, happy that there would be no homework that evening. I had dinner with John, then abandoned him to his final homework and went out with a couple of people from my photography class, ending up dancing at a club and returning just before curfew.

When I got up the next morning, there was some bad news waiting for me: the patternmaking class had been canceled due to a death in the professor's family. However, I could check in and see if I could find another class I'd like to take. So I popped down to the university offices and was able to register for a makeup workshop instead. It sounded really interesting, especially given the fashion photography class. It would cover skincare, selection and use of makeup brushes, foundation selection and application, brow grooming, natural day makeup, evening/special occasion makeup, including enhancements to eyelashes, and how to do editorial and fashion makeup, including basic body painting, changing and correcting facial features, and working with designers to a brief. Feeling cheerful, I went to the photography shoot and arrived in time to help set up the lighting. And as a result, I was able to get a prime spot at the end of the runway. I ended up shooting the work of five designers, photographing their card before their designs so that I would be sure to send the photographs to the right people and crediting them appropriately.

Some of the work I just didn't get; one designer's work was all baggy and looked unfinished, while another's was skin-tight, revealing every contour of the models' bodies, and barely allowed them to walk. The man in particular looked very uncomfortable. The third one had clothes like I'd actually seen on the street; not remarkable but very saleable, and the fourth was amazing. Avant garde but not freakish, cutting edge and fresh. The final designer was much like the third but had the unfortunate distinction that one of the models tripped and fell off the runway. The show had to be stopped while medics were called. I felt that I had had enough and ran through my photographs with my professor, who was very pleased. I left, surrendering my spot to one of my classmates, and had a late lunch where I forwarded the photos to the appropriate designers.

I did a little sightseeing, then met John after class and we went to dinner, talking about what we'd learned from our classes. They might have been condensed courses, but it didn't mean that they were easy, and we'd worked hard. I recounted the fashion shoot, and he shook his head at the images. "If this is fashion, I'm going to stick to the basics," he said, handing my camera back. "That one guy, though." I smiled. I'd managed to catch a moment when the skin-tight outfit apparently wasn't crushing anything important.

"I don't understand it either, but some of them had some nice pieces," I said.

"For girls," he said. "I'm not secure enough in my masculinity to wear a camoflage pleather microkilt." One of the male models had worn just that with a ripped tank top.

"Don't have the legs for it?" I teased, and he laughed. We talked about the classes I was going to take the next week and he frowned.

"I'll be finishing up the half at Eton." He huffed a breath.

"I thought you wanted to go to boarding school," I said. "And it sounds like your education is first-rate."

"I had in mind something less... steeped in tradition," he said after a moment of consideration. "There are boys there whose male parents have attended for centuries. I know that Dad was thrilled I got in on my own merits and I want to do him proud, but... some of the other boys aren't happy that the son of a butler is studying with them, they say that the education is wasted on me."

"That's bullshit. Knowledge is never wasted."

"I think they might have a point, though," he said unexpectedly. "I"m going to be a butler, not a mover and shaker. Another boy who wants to contribute in a larger sense to society might have gotten more out of it."

"I can see where you're coming from," I said. "But I think you're underselling yourself and your future profession. Your dad is a great example of how work behind the scenes is critical. Without Alfred, Grandpa Bruce... well, your dad had a huge role in shaping his character and he did a fine job, considering how single focus Bruce is. And Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damien rely on him absolutely. Without Delara, Valkyrie wouldn't run so smoothly. She's had an important role in the success of the company. And Alan is hugely important in my family."

"I heard that you don't really need a butler," he jabbed playfully. "Learning how to do your laundry, cleaning and maintaining your own suite and possessions."

I snorted. "Like one suite is helping Alan out so much. He's still got the whole rest of the mansion to run. And he cleaned for me when my ankle was in the cast. I'd have been wallowing in filth if he hadn't." John rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you're such a dirty little thing," hes said, then sighed. "I know it's an honor and the education I'm receiving is world class. It's just that there are so many rules and regulations and attitudes. Your high school sounds like a lot more fun. Plus there are girls. That can't be overstated." I smiled.

"Well, isn't the Prime Minister here an Old Etonian? And his office is embroiled in so many scandals I don't know why it hasn't fallen. It looks like those personal development tutorials you were telling me about didn't quite take."

"He's clinging to power precisely because he is an Old Etonian, working that connection for all he's worth. I share my tutor with his son. He's an ass too."

"You might work for somebody who could use your understanding of that whole power structure thing," I said. "And besides, it's just two more years."

"You don't sound that excited either."

"Two years to figure out a course of action for college. Like I said, I'm a puddle. Deri's the one with the drive. She'll run the company, probably she'll get the mansion. It's traditional that the head of Wayne gets the mansion, for entertaining purposes. And whatnot." John and his siblings all knew about the family secret, they'd all helped Alfred down there before going off to boarding school. He grinned at the reminder, then sobered.

"So what are you going to do if you don't live in the house?"

"Get an apartment somewhere, maybe I can get Dad to let me build a small house away from the main house. I do like being able to see the stars and have the quiet of the estate, but on the other hand, it's quite a distance from the city. Ah, who knows. A lot depends on what I end up doing. I may not live in New York at all."

"It's weird to think that there'll be a day when you're not there," he said. "Aside from holidays and all." I shrugged and played with my glass of cider.

"In the few generations where there were multiple kids, one occupied the house as their primary residence, but the other kid always had the right to live there if they chose. It's not like there isn't room for somebody's family plus a sibling. The family typically has very low birthrates. And I don't know if I even want to get married or have kids, so Deri can do it, be the upstanding Wayne scion. Aren't we just a gloomy pair," I said. A grin stole across his lips, and we went out and did a night tour of monuments on a tour bus. We sat in the back and he entertained me and those around us by muttering commentary that provided a colorful stream of trivia and less shining insights into the character of famous Britons that the tour guide was talking about. After that, we poked around and just generally had fun, beating the weekend 1 am curfew by just a couple of minutes.

The next day we had breakfast and I went down with him as he was going back to school. "Go do some fun stuff this summer, broaden your horizons, have fun, Lys. You spend too much time thinking about other people and worrying about upholding your family legacy. I can't see you go full-on black sheep, but just remember that gray is a charming color too."

"Sure thing," I said, gently tugging his tie. "And you go learn how to be a stiff upper lipped pillar of society." He swatted my hand away and tossed his valise into the pod. I waved, grinning at the face he made, and went back inside the residence hall. Some of the students who were staying through to next week's classes were going out sightseeing, and I joined them with my camera. I wanted a few souvenirs from my first solo trip abroad, including pictures of my fellow students, and I had family and friends to shop for too. I definitely wanted to get something good for Mom.

On Monday, I went to my interior design class, where we focused on the architecture of a room; how to create scale 1:50 planning and sections, how to create a concept board, and how to address staircases. The makeup course was nearby, so I didn't have to rush, getting a good lunch in between. We got instruction on how to select and use brushes and tools like blenders, how to colormatch foundations and apply the different types, how to select blusher, eyeshadows, eyeliner, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, powder, bronzer, and highlighters. I learned immediately that I'd made some less than optimal choices for myself and was grateful for the 35% discount card we got for a nearby beauty supply store for certain major brands. There was a brief discussion of brands, which were generally good, which should be avoided, and top picks from several lines. Although the coupon was good for the whole week, I joined a few of my classmates in picking out new choices after class. I also upgraded my brushes, the instructor being quite insistent that we needed high quality ones for the best results. And high quality didn't mean the most expensive

There was the pizza night at the residence hall where I met new people, then measured my room for our assignment in interior design, which was to do scale drawings of a small room and create a concept board for a redesign. By the end of the week, we'd have worked through the steps of creating an entire concept. Makeup was easy; I did reading on color theory, the role of the professional makeup artist, how to prepare a model's face, and how to choose the best base product for the desired finish. I got a text from John saying that he was back in the grind but that it was boring after the week he'd just spent. I texted back that pizza night had not been as entertaining but that I was having fun learning new things.

The next day we learned the difference between soft and hard furnishings, the importance of adequate lighting in a space and how to layer different fixtures to achieve an optimal design and basics of sketch modeling. Our homework would be to create the lighting design for our room and decide what hard and soft furnishings to use. Hard furnishings are all about the function beyond the comfort of the human body, and soft furnishings connote wealth and comfort. I thought about when I did my room and it was true that the fabrics I'd used had been most of my budget, but I could have made different choices to control costs. In makeup, we learned how to do a natural-looking day makeup, more dramatic evening makeup, the difference between beauty makeup and looks for the catwalk, editorial, and advertising, and how to work to a brief. Our homework was to practice the different types of makeup and come to class with our best natural makeup. None of the homework was difficult, just time-consuming.

I was getting good feedback on my room design and had actually submitted two designs, remembering Iris's complaint that she couldn't really do much with her dorm room. I had one design for a hypothetical dorm where you could paint and one where other techniques had to be used. Wednesday, we focused on color, how to select fabric, and how to choose furniture styles and pieces. Our final makeup class focused on current trends and how to spot upcoming ones, how to deal with piercings and tattoos when they weren't part of the look, and how use bodypaint. My natural makeup got good reviews but the instructor told me not to be afraid of a little more liner and mascara, and she was right, a very small amount went a long way and made a big difference.

When I got back to the residence hall that night, I had time to sit in the lounge with the others and chat. One guy who was taking a two-week fashion course was in a panic because two of his models had flaked out, and asked a couple of us if we would model his work on Friday. He could arrange it so that his showing was in the afternoon, so I agreed. It would be interesting to see what walking the runway was like from the other side of the lens. We arranged for my fitting on Thursday after my interior design class was over, and it took me all of an hour to find appropriate furnishings, selected for durability, price, and slightly more stylish than standard dorm furnishings so as to appeal to a broad cross-section of students, with neutral and durable fabrics.

We hit budgeting skills, presentation skills, information on how to work with clients and ways to get them to tell you what they really wanted, sample boards, and shopping techniques and information how to source unusual pieces. Our last homework was to make our ideas either high end, for those of us who had taken a practical route, or budget friendly for those who had not planned their rooms on a budget; we had to submit a budget with approximate costs as well. The fitting turned out to be cursory; the designers didn't have a lot of time to learn the classroom materials and put them into practice, so alterations were made with pins where necessary, a stapler, tape, or a few really big stitches where they wouldn't show much when all else failed. Uncle Steve would probably pass out if he saw it. I was given a white fur micromini, gladiator sandals, and a wine satin shirt with the collar ripped off, deep lace cuffs, that fastened at the waist. No buttons. I was a little taken aback when he asked if I'd go braless, but it's not like I had to worry about popping out, and he gave me a necklace that ended over the sternum. He wanted my hair drawn back in a bun so it wouldn't detract from the clothes and I volunteered to do my own makeup. He looked happy when I reminded him I'd taken the makeup course and asked for a totally retro 1980's Robert Palmer video look crossed with a post-apocalyptic sensibility. I had no idea what that meant, but I got a couple of outlandish eyeshadow shades afterward, just in case.

I went to a coffeehouse with a bunch of other students involved in their own homework and created a dorm room that Iris might have liked if she'd have had free rein. It almost quadrupled the budget but looked really good. I spent a little time thinking about how to mix glamour with post-apocalyptic ... whatever and decided to do a smoky eye with a wine dark shade extended past the orbital bones, big lashes, pale matte skin, and exceedingly dark red, glossy lips. A little highlighting across the cheekbones.

In our final class, we spoke about challenges designing bathrooms and kitchens and commercial versus residential as well as where to find designer only outlets for goods and what we would probably need in order to shop there. I went to the site of the fashion shoot feeling pretty good about my time in London; we'd just skimmed the surface of the information in all the classes, but I had a lot of material to study to increase my knowledge of the subjects as well as recommendations for other classes and books. And here I was, going off to do something entirely different.

Chapter Text

I arrived at the shoot in plenty of time to get ready. I pulled my hair back in a messy bun on the theory that after an apocalypse hairspray might be hard to find, but made up for it with a pretty darn flawless makeup, lightly wrapping the eyeshadow around my temples to fade into my hair, and the designer loved it. He asked if I would do the other two models in the same way, so I agreed; the big change was the color of the eyeshadow. A green/gold shadow brought out the man's hazel eyes and purple electrified the woman's green eyes. When I went to put on my clothes, the gladiator sandals had been swapped for furry boots that went over the knee and were fairly hideous. All the hems had been ripped off the blouse except for the bottom, where the threads would look weird with the fur mini. Oh, who was I kidding? The whole look was weird, but all I had to do was wear it. For a short time. Not in public on the street. He showed us how he wanted us to walk; an aggressive sort of stomping with a lot of hip action that was very jarring. Shoulders back, blank face. The face part was easy, and stomping around in the boots was fine, but hard to combine with the hipsway. I practiced until it was our turn to go.

The catwalk was lower than it had been, and I had to repress a grin. None of the models had been allowed to wear really high heels. It had caused complaints, but the liability for amateur and aspiring models falling had been deemed too high. I stomped and swayed my way down the runway, paused as directed with my hand on my hip, winked at a photographer I knew from the dorm, and pivoted sharply and stomped/swayed my way back, where I could ditch the clothes and remove the weird makeup. Some of the other models were going to hang out; they were also students who'd been recruited and so we had enough in common to make an easygoing group, hitting boutiques to see what real Londoners were wearing. I found several pieces that I loved; wine fine linen palazzo pants with great pockets, cool but still chic, a form-fitting white top with cap sleeves and an interestingly shaped neckline that looked great with the slacks, a gray wool/silk/elastic fiber skirt that belled out in an extravagant trumpet shape above the knee to mid-calf, and a saturated eggplant raw silk blouse with bell sleeves that looked fantastic with it. The others also made some purchases, so it was fun. I'd forgotten how much fun a bunch of girls can be on a shopping trip. There was a kiosk that had cheap silver jewelry that was still eye-catching, and after a drink at a pub, we split up. On the way back to the dorm, I spotted a jacket in a window and went in to investigate.

When I came out, I'd added to my bags: a dark green fitted motorcycle-style jacket, very sharp and modern, with charcoal accents, and coordinating charcoal boots with a two inch shaped heel. A modern, long-lasting adhesive was applied to an insert. The almost knee-height boots could be worn as is or with the insert that make them over the knee, which could also be folded down as a cuff. The jacket and boots were beautifully tooled with whiplash designs that looked like smoke and I felt freaking fantastic in them.

Back at the residence hall, I took my things to my room before going out to the lounge and chatting with the others, discussing how we'd liked our classes, what we were taking away from the experience, and what we wanted to do for dinner. We went out and found a free concert in one of the parks, then went dancing for a few hours before curfew.

I didn't have to leap up the next morning; the family wasn't arriving until near noon, so I slept in and made a thorough sweep of the room after going for one last breakfast with my fellow students. I was all packed up and ready to go when there was a tap on the door. I grinned and opened the door to my family, giving and getting enthusiastic hugs. I found the hall advisor to check me out while Dad and Deri took my things down to the pod they'd rented, and I completed the forms that ended my stay. While I was kind of sad to go--it had been a fantastic experience and I'd learned so much--I also needed time to absorb all the knowledge and experiences, and I'd taken John's thoughts to heart. It was time to stop being so passive; I needed to get out and exhibit some drive. Since we were there, and Deri and I'd never spent much time out of the States, we had lunch and then went sightseeing. We had a good time as a family, and it was fun to see Deri exploring a totally new place. I brought my camera with me and shot my family and the attractions for fun and practice. And for a final treat, Mom and Dad took us to Graff, famous in our family as the place where Grandpa Damian had bought Grandma Alex's first engagement ring, and we were allowed to select some earrings. Deri got pretty pink diamond pear-shaped studs, and I chose pretty bow earrings set with sparkly little diamonds. Mom chose a sapphire and diamond infinity band, and Dad picked up one of the old-fashioned watches he loved. I'd been tempted by a watch as well, they had beautiful one with colored leather bands and matching flowers that moved on the bezel, but they also had diamonds around the rim, which was way too much for everyday. Never let it be said that the Waynes don't support local jewelers. From there we went to dinner, and out to the field where we loaded my stuff into the suborbital, and departed for home.

I'd gone to bed early and got up a little late due to the time difference, and spent the day lazing around. Grandpa Mark, Aunt Amy, Grandma Alex, Grandpa Damian, Iris, and Miles were coming to dinner and Alfred spent the afternoon helping his fellow butler, so I was able to tell him that I'd seen John, showing the pictures I'd taken.

Alfred smiled. "I miss the children," he said affectionately. "But boarding school seems to do them good. I have worried about John, with no family close by. He does well, however."

"He certainly worked hard on the art history class he was taking," I said. "I really appreciated how he took some time out to let me practice my photography. It was great to see him. If you'd like, I can get them printed for you and Delara."

"That would be lovely, Miss Lys," he said, pleased. "We don't get to seem him near enough, since the school is in session most of the year. He likes to stay put for the short breaks." I nodded; I personally hadn't seen him since before freshman year. I gave him and Alan some boxes of sweets I'd chosen for them and their families, and went out to ramble around the estate.

At dinner, I showed the family the pictures I'd taken and handed out souvenirs; for Mom I'd found a strong magnifying glass that she could use at work with a sword hilt for the handle, and sweets for my grandparents, who immediately dove in. I'd found a really nice pair of work gloves for Aunt Amy, since she did a lot of landscaping work herself and was having trouble finding a pair she liked. Deri loved her hair pins and Dad played with his horse a little. I'd gotten another horse for Iris and a publication on the new Archon Theatre, where the London ballet performed, that described how fabulous the stage was; the stage had been specifically constructed with the ballet in mind. Their back stage also looked wonderful. I got to talk about my classes and what I'd done; I had a great time, and everybody else at least looked interested. The evening was breaking up when Grandma Alex handed me a thing at the door. I unwrapped the strap; it was a messenger bag like the one I'd returned to her.

"I really appreciated that you gave me the bag when you'd found out it was mine," she said, resting her hand on my shoulder. "I didn't think for a minute that it was still around, but I used it all through my first life. It was important to me. It took some doing, but I found the place in Italy where Bucky'd gotten mine, still in business although they'd closed a few times over the centuries, and got you one in exchange." I opened the gray leather bag, just a shade lighter than my new boots, and saw a cheerful mid-purple lining with my initials embroidered in the main pocket. I inhaled the rich leather scent and smiled.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, smoothing the soft leather. "I was just using while I was on crutches."

"But you won't want to use a backpack forever," she said, which was true. "And I really was grateful to have mine back. I think you did it when you found out, which was really generous of you, especially since you were still on crutches and could have used it yourself."

"I made myself a pouch for around the house; the messenger bag was too big for that, really, but it was nice of Dad to have thought of it."

"You're a good girl, honey. I hope you enjoy your bag as much as I like mine."

"It's beautiful. I just got some boots that are a little darker than this. Thanks, Grandma," I said, and gave her a hug. She squeezed back, and the rest of the family came out into the foyer to go home. I spent the rest of the evening catching up with my friends, washing my clothes, admiring my new things, and earmarking the photos I wanted to get printed. As I was doing so, I received a message from the photography student I'd known at the fashion shoot, who had sent me three pics he'd snapped of me in my outing as a model. The skirt looked even worse, making my hips look weird and lumpy and frankly, the boots were a travesty. The blouse fared much better from a distance, and my makeup looked amazing, frankly. The first shot showed me coming down the runway, the second posed at the end of the runway winking at the photographer, and the third showing me walking back. My hair looked pretty good in retreat, the colors complementing the shade of my blouse. I added those to the list of photos to print. I had some good landscapes from the gardens that I'd taken for photojournalism, some of the ones of John, and others of London in general that appealed to me.

The next morning we got up early to take Deri to the bus; she and her troop were going to camp for two weeks. After that, Mom and Dad took me to breakfast and I clocked in at work, glad to be back after my adventures. I talked to my manager, who was pleased to up my work hours; it would be between thirty and forty hours a week. Today, though, I just had a four hour shift, after which I went to PT and got the welcome news that I had to continue strengthening my ankle, but I was done with the sessions. Everything was healed and I was encouraged to find some physical activities that would help keep the joint limber and working. Just not ballet. My therapist helped by providing me a list of sports. I stopped by the photo supply store, picking up my prints, buying more film, looking over their impressive supply of frames. While most people put them on projective storage units that displayed them digitally, there was a big market for traditional frames and photographs, driven by the Returned. I selected two for the pictures of John for Delara and Alfred and more for my own choices; I had the idea to have a sort of gallery of my favorite work on the wall enclosing my bed nook and by the door; I didn't have art in my room and it was time to liven things up. I stopped by the house later that night and dropped off the photos; I'd framed two and given the others just as prints they could change out. Delara was thrilled, and for the first time I saw that she might not have wanted her kids to go so far away. She and Alfred were so endlessly supportive that it hadn't occurred to me that her personal feelings might be quite different. She was going to take hers in to work, while Alfred promptly put his on the mantle of the fireplace in the family room.

The next morning I got up early, met Iris for breakfast, and we went to see her new apartment before I had to go to work. It was small, a bedroom, bathroom, all-purpose room, and kitchen, but the ceilings were high, there was southern light, hardwoods, and lots of windows, and it could be really cute. She didn't know what she wanted for furniture, so the first stop would be the attic, and she would come over that night. she was all over the place color-wise, but she couldn't paint the walls. From my perspective that was good, because I was kind of worried that she'd keep wanting to change the color. Drawing on my lessons, I took measurements, made some quick scale 1:50 sketches on my pad, and told Iris that I'd look around at work and bring some swatches home with me.

The takeaway was that Iris had no idea what she really wanted, so I took swatches of mostly solid upholstery and drapery fabrics, with some patterns that she might like, but generally just to get her to focus on colors. I'd be bringing the swatches back once Iris had narrowed things down, so I was allowed to take as many as I wanted. Otherwise, I got back to the familiar routine of restocking fabric and notions, cutting yardage, and interacting with the customers and my fellow clerks. It was great to be back.

Iris came over after dinner, trailing her parents, and we ended up collecting my parents too, going up to the attic. Everybody had a good rummage around, finding neat-looking pieces, and in the end, Grandma had selected a replacement bed; Iris was going to take the canopy bed that Grandpa Henry had originally made for Grandma. So we'd need to consider bed hangings as well. She found a simple, clean-lined bureau, a cheval mirror, a Morris chair, and a kidney-shaped coffee table with a marble top. The rugs she didn't like, so we were done in the attic. We went downstairs, the adults choosing to root around more, and I showed her the fabric swatches. She was drawn to coppers, rusts, and greens and a gorgeous piece of embossed ivory velvet. She thought I was being a stick in the mud when I insisted that she provide me with a budget, but her mom came in on my side when they drifted into the library after having exhausted the charms of the attic. We compromised by excluding furniture costs from the budget and made a date for me to go with her once she'd made some choices so that I could see what she liked and make sure that it fit into my decorating scheme. I was sure everything would; I was doing my design around her choices, after all. The only concern I had was upholstery colors, and that was mainly why I was going at all. I went down to their house with them and got measurements for the bed. I got a payment of a thousand dollars so that I could get started on the bedding, and went back home full of plans.

Chapter Text

When I got up to go to work the next morning, I found that Iris had sent the measurements of the canopy bed that I'd requested, so I knew how much fabric to buy. Although she really liked my room, she thought that the bed nook would be claustrophobic, so I planned sheer hangings for the bed. I went in early to make my fabric choices and found a lightly embroidered ivory sheer for the canopy and hangings, bought enough of the beautiful embossed velvet for a duvet cover pillow shams, and a couple of throw pillows, a sturdy ivory silk for borders for the duvet cover and shams, and some of the greens and coppers she'd liked for pillows and draperies plus lining fabric and sheers. I planned on the living room being mostly the coppers with some green, and greens, ivories, and touches of copper for the bedroom. The velvet took up a sizeable chunk of the budget, even with my discount, but I knew she'd love it. We'd agreed that she'd do preliminary shopping during the week and we'd go on Saturday, my day off. I felt the most important thing was whether the furniture was comfortable; we could always reupholster if necessary. It all depended on where the pieces were found; some shops had floor models and then made the pieces to order, which meant that we would have a lot more control over the fabric. I made plans for other touches and confirmed with Alfred that he was equipping the small kitchen. Iris wasn't the domestic type and probably wouldn't use it much, but she needed basics. We talked about colors so that he could get appliances that would fit in. I love working with Alfred. There were overhead lighting fixtures in each room which were largely inadequate, so task lighting would need to be a priority. Lamps would have to wait, though, until I had a better idea of her personal style.

Tuesday, I went out in the afternoon with my friends, a happy circumstance where we all had time off from our jobs. I had little souvenirs and sweets for them, and they told me about what was going on and I told them about the classes I'd taken. Imogen seemed more secure and was friendly again like she'd been before Christmas, such a relief. I just hoped it would last. Everybody had fun things to share as we caught up. Jinx was irritated with Harley as she'd stood him up for lunch, but she was kind of flaky anyway and as he said, she was probably doing something of questionable legality. When she was working for the Suicide Squad or off on one of her own ... activities, she kept her distance so as not to bring attention to her son. I got a lot of suggestions for sports to try out, places to take lessons, and I listened as people talked about the dates they'd gone on and things they'd done while I was in London. I took pictures during the afternoon, trying out some of the information I'd learned in class.

Later that week, Dad asked me if I'd made decisions about sports to try; he and Mom wanted me to try two to start with. I felt that this was a way of getting me to spread out my interests; in case something happened and I couldn't continue, it wouldn't break my heart to give it up. I'd stuck everything to do with dance (besides the legwarmers, they were still useful and the clothes that I put out to donate) in a box and put it up in the attic. All the programs, the little awards I'd earned in classes, every physical scrap. I'd even downloaded the recordings of my performances off my devices, out of the cloud, put them on a single drive, and put that in the box too. "Tennis and rowing," I said. Dad blinked. "John was talking about rowing and it sounds fun," I explained. "And tennis looks interesting. A good workout, anyway." The idea of getting to smash a ball seemed to me like it could be a good stress reliever. Mom said she'd look into getting me lessons, and I requested group learning when possible. A way to expand my circle of acquaintances and interest in a shared activity.

On Friday, she came home with registration for a beginner's rowing class at Rikers Rowing. It was headquartered on the island that had formerly housed a prison and now was mixed use. The program, I discovered, was well-regarded, especially for developing new rowers. For tennis, I'd be taking a class at Columbia, where students ran classes for credit. I perked up at this, since I might be able to visit Uncle Loki now and then. He had an endowed chair in the Alien Races department that he'd held since its inception a few centuries ago. He was able to attract speakers from all over the galaxy, experts in physiology and culture, and other worlds in the Nine Realms accepted graduates from the programs to work in their governments, businesses, and Earth governments used their expertise in their trade legations. Occasionally he'd leave for twenty or thirty years, take a break and allow others to advance their careers, but he'd returned from one of those just before the Great Winter. Both classes were early, starting at seven, so that I could learn my activity and get to work in a timely manner and lasted a month. Rowing: Monday, Wednesday, Friday, tennis Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. All equipment would be supplied and I just had to dress appropriately. For rowing, close-fitting shorts that wouldn't get caught in the sliding seat were key, and for tennis, a good pair of shoes.

I worked on the soft furnishings for Iris's apartment on the weekend; there were a lot of them and it was going to take time, especially the sheers. Why had I decided to use them so much? Hemming them took a lot of time so that the stitches weren't really obvious. I went with her to look for the rest of her furniture and found that her aesthetic sensibility was rather... undeveloped. The couch she wanted was comfortable but blobby, the same with the chair. The bookshelves (the return had prompted a boom in printed books, one we'd all glommed onto) were flat-pack, just somewhere to park the books. "No," I said, finally putting my foot down. "Look." I pushed the display model gently with a finger and we watched it sway gently. "You can't anchor it to the walls, it's in the lease. You have to do better." Iris was vexed, so we went to a nice second-hand store where I knew from judicious online scouting that there were nice freestanding bookshelves with nice rope carving finishing the front of the case, and while the wood was rather battered, it could be refinished or painted. I also rejected the flat-pack desk and showed her a few different styles; she was rejecting the detailed, ornate furniture in her parents' home, I figured out, and she loved a desk that was industrial; a base of bronze-washed pipes, cast feet, but with a top made of some kind of dark, silky wood that had two small drawers underneath. We got three bronze wire baskets with woven wood strips to put on the bookcase shelves, and she looked a lot happier. A reproduction furniture store yielded a glamorous, kidney-shaped sofa with an asymmetric back that sloped gently, completely upholstered that would look great with her coffee table. We got it in a coppery sort of tweed that went with the drapery fabric, and a fun wing chair with a moire-print green on the inside and a green folate pattern on the outside. It came with a little footstool in the folate print.

On a roll, she chose a couple of plush rugs in copper, browns, and golds for the living area and two smaller, delicately patterned green and ivory ones to flank her bed. Small tables for the ends of the sofa, a differently shaped one for the chair, and two bedside tables completed the shopping. She would shop for her desk chair, needing to replace her worn out one, and since she was losing patience with details, left the lighting to me. She was interning at her mom's firm over the summer and could carve out time for deliveries, and gave me a key so that I could come and do my thing too. I spent Sunday mostly at the sewing machine and had finished the things for the bedroom by the time I quit. Good progress, but Iris was itching to get her independence and I wanted her to be happy, so I'd have to burn through the rest of the curtains and pillows for the front room fast. Fortunately, she decided that she didn't want the sheers for the living room , and I gave up without a struggle. It would look better, but she thought they looked fussy. I put the fabric on a shelf in case she changed her mind after seeing how nice the bedroom draperies looked.

I showed up at the rowing club bright and early Monday morning, and we were put into boats with eight girls or boys. We each had one oar, and were informed that this was sweep rowing; where a rower had two oars was called sculling. Our first lesson was spent learning the four parts of a rowing stroke, the Catch, Drive, Finish, and Recovery. Legs were just as important as arms, and there was a definite and important order to things, beginning with the drop of the oar blade vertically into the water, a strong push with the legs, arms drawing the blade through the water to a layback position that required strong abs, the removal of the blade called 'feathering' where the blade turned horizontal, and recovery back to the crouched position at the start. Over and over. I wasn't as strong as I'd been when I was dancing, and I really felt it by the end of the class. Getting all of the rowers in a boat to stroke at the same time was a challenge, but we'd managed a reasonable attempt by the end of the class. Then it was off to work, a four-hour shift, then home to sew.

Tuesday I learned how to score a tennis match, what the lines on the tennis court meant, and how to play tennis for beginners--mini-tennis--from the service lines. Since we needed to learn fundamentals before we could play with speed and power, we learned to hit from the point of contact and add a follow-through, and this gentle sort of volleying took us through class. I felt encouraged by my ability to pick up basic skills in a new sport and went home with a positive attitude. To sew. Wednesday was more of the same in rowing, and I had an eight-hour shift at work. After that, I went shopping for lamps and the bulbs which would provide a warm white light. I had to replace the bulbs that came with the place, too; they were too yellow. Thursday had us practicing volleying and adding a split step. We learned how to serve, easier to get over the net at the shorter distance. After a four hour shift, I managed to finish up the sewing for Iris. Friday had us spending time on the water but we went in early to learn how to use rowing machines called ergs and the coaches set up personalized weight lifting regimes for each of us since rowing is very much a strength sport. We could use the club equipment at any time during the duration of our class, and we also had the equipment in the family gym, which would be easier for me. An eight hour shift, then I took the night off and went to a movie with my friends. Saturday had us moving to full court distance and adding stroke preparation to our swing, learning a proper forehand. The coaches worked to get us to stay relaxed and feeling control in our swings in order to improve our precision. I had brunch with my friends before going in for an eight hour shift.

Sunday was free, completely. I loaded up my pod after sleeping in (I had to make two trips) and set up the lamps first of all, rearranging the furniture according to my design, putting the pads under the rugs, and making sure everything met standards, adding other little touches. Alfred had been by already to set up the kitchen and make the bed (I grinned) and left a stepstool that was high enough to replace the bulbs in the ceiling fixtures. I went home and loaded up the rest of the fabric and spent an enjoyable hour hanging draperies at the windows and dressing the bed with the hangings, duvet cover (I struggled to stuff the duvet inside and get it all smoothed out, wondering if Alan and Alfred knew any tricks), and shams over big firm pillows for reading in bed. A throw in shades of green went across the foot of the bed, and I looked around, pleased. I went to a nearby florist and got a pretty arrangement with the last of the money from the budget, and looked around, checking for flaws. Alfred had polished the wood and the floors, and had painted the bookshelves to match the walls, picking out the carved detail with copper wax. I called my cousin.

It took her about half an hour to arrive with her brother, both of their pods stuffed full of her belongings. In the best tradition of the makeover shows we screened at work, I made them come in with their eyes closed first, then had them open them at the same time so I could enjoy their reaction. "Wow," said Miles, looking around with wide eyes. "This is great, Lys. I love that desk." He moved away to poke around. Iris was stock still, taking it all in.

"Do you like it?" I asked, a little worried now. I'd pushed her away from things that she'd liked, maybe I should have been more accommodating.

"I love it!" She grabbed me in a tight hug and wiped tears away when she let go. "This is amazing. You did such a good job!" She started to move around, stroking the upholstery fabric, sitting at the desk for a moment, and when she turned back, I could see her eyes full of plans and dreams. I smiled in relief.

"Alfred put a vacuum cleaner over under the breakfast bar," I said. "You've got to empty it daily, it'll charge itself each day and clean the floor and rugs each morning. There are extra light bulbs in the pantry; you don't have a hall closet so I got a little hall tree out of the attic where you can hang three coats and store your shoes when you first come in. It's got a little umbrella stand as well and the two drawers under the seat are cedar-lined for storage of hats, gloves, and scarves." There was a chenille throw draped on the sofa for coziness, since the air conditioning was particularly aggressive. "Your wall space is pretty much taken up by the architecture, furniture and your tv, so you'll have to bring in your personal tastes with little knick-knacks instead of wall-mounted art." I'd framed two candids of her family and one with of her and her brother and placed them in the bookcase to start, though. I'd also gone to Grandma Alex for one of her shed small feathers and had it framed in a shadow box.

We went into the bedroom to find Miles crashed on the bed. Fortunately for his life, his feet were hanging well off the side. "This is awesome, Iris, try this." She flopped down too, stroking the velvet with her fingers.

"This is so perfect," she said. "The hangings are beautiful, everything is delicate in here. I absolutely love it." I'd found lampshades with high-quality crystals for the bedside lamps and added crystals to the ceiling light as well for a special effect. I'd gotten rolls of a transparent material that could be applied to the walls without damage and cut strips, alternating the satin finish of the paint with thinner strips of matte finish to add a small note of distinction, building the design from the walls out, and a tiny diffuser released rose oil into the air. The rose garden out the back of her family's home was her favorite place on the entire estate to hang out when the flowers bloomed.

"I want my own place," Miles said dreamily. "Lys, what do you think goes well with blue?"

"I told you to start looking when I did," his sister said acerbically. "It took me almost six months to get this place." Miles groaned. He and I helped her carry her things upstairs and left after she had thanked me effusively and repeatedly.

"That really is something else, Lys," Miles said, and insisted on taking me to dinner. "Iris doesn't pay much attention to her personal surroundings, you've seen her room at home, you know, but you managed to get her to form some opinions, and then you got it to look so welcoming, a home and she's not even unpacked. It's too bad that it's not a sleeper sofa." I smiled, thinking of how Iris had avoided sleepers when making her choice.

"So get looking for your own place, and I'll help you decorate it too," I said peaceably. "And you're more tuned to aesthetics, so start thinking about what style of furniture you want. You could even shop for a few necessary pieces if there's nothing in the attic you want, you can always store it in Iris's room now."

"I want blues and whites, with dark furniture," he said immediately. "I'll get some chips from the paint store that I like." And so we talked about that, how things were going at the company, my new sports, and my schedule for next year. English, modern history, calculus, environmental science, photography, cyber security, and in place of Comparative Religions, shop.

"I got all As except for a B+ in chemistry last year," I said. "Environmental science is said to be easier, and calculus harder than pre-calculus, so it still evens out the difficulty level. I think it would be fun to learn how to build things. Give me a break, I've got to study for college boards this year and start researching majors and colleges." I sighed. It still seemed like a daunting challenge.

"You can always do a gap year if you need the extra time," he pointed out as our desserts arrived. I had panna cotta with strawberries. Yum. I nodded and changed the subject, asking if I could shoot him dancing some time in order to get more experience in portraiture andcontrolling motion in photographs. He agreed and said he'd check at the company for a time when I could come to use an empty studio.

When I got home from work on Monday, Iris had sent me what seemed like half my weight in chocolate, an enormous bouquet in shades of pinks with lots of greenery for my room, and a gift card for a sporting goods store where I could equip myself in the pursuit of new sports. I'd refused payment, not feeling like it was right to charge my cousin, but she'd gotten around that pretty neatly. I put the chocolates in the library for everybody to share.

Chapter Text

Without the need to get an immense amount of sewing done for Iris, my next week was a lot more relaxing, just like summer should be. I had more time for goofing off with my friends in the city. Rob and I weren't dating anymore; we had the chemistry but not enough on the same wavelength to make a relationship work, but we were still friends. He and Rain were working at their fathers' legal practice, mostly doing the legwork, going down to the courts to pick up and deliver things; get lunches and coffees... Rain said that their fathers really liked summers. There were a couple of summer birthdays coming up soon, Jinx and Ari, so I started thinking about presents. I was really enjoying the rowing; it could be kind of hypnotic when we got going. Which wasn't often since this was only our second week, but I loved the motion of the rowing. And you could go fast; the fastest eights in the world could achieve fourteen miles an hour.

We were regularly passed by other boats.

I tried not to take it personally.

I worked harder in the gym, training at the club after practice on days where I didn't have to be at work first thing, at night when I got home otherwise. And tennis was fun, too. I didn't feel quite the drive I had to beat the stuffing out of everybody else that I had for rowing, but I could see that this was a more social sport. It was difficult in a different way from rowing, there were a lot more choices to make, but we spent the week learning the basics of backhands, how to play in an arc, and how to get to the ball in time. Didn't always work, of course, but I felt a lot less pressure and more in charge of what passed for my game. By the third week, I knew that I wanted to keep going with both sports and spent some of the gift card that Iris had given me on some weightlifting gloves, a tennis racquet, balls, a racquet bag, sports towel, and shoes especially designed for tennis. And some clothes: a blue racerback tank and skirt and a green, black, and white print dress. The other kids who were planning on continuing were also starting to equip themselves. My parents were bemused by my choices, but they bought me a membership at the New York Tennis Club, which had outdoor facilities and a reciprocal arrangement to use indoor courts at other clubs. I could take lessons there after my current class was done, and they also got me a membership at the rowing club.

I had a lunch with Uncle Bucky at the zoo one day and we got caught up with London, what I was doing now, how the zoo was, how his family was. "I wondered if I could ask for a favor," I said straight out.

"Sure, Lys," he said.

"I'd like to learn some self-defense. I looked into classes, but that compared with the crime reports aren't encouraging. I think that the girls are taught a few things to try to incapacitate their attackers, but for whatever reason--they don't hit hard enough, the moves just aren't enough--they don't always work and it doesn't end well for the girl. And I don't want to be a victim again. I'm not asking for full-on asset training, just enough to make anybody who tries anything very, very sorry."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked thoughtfully.

"I'd like to go full Beowulf on somebody if necessary," I said promptly. He frowned slightly, then his face cleared and he smiled.

"Rip somebody's arm off?"

"And beat them severely with it," I agreed in a hard voice. "But that's my personal touch." He laughed. "I never want to be helpless again, Uncle Bucky. I want to be able to put somebody down and have them stay there. I know I can't defeat a coordinated group, but a goon at a time should be reasonable." He nodded.

"Even I can't rip somebody's arm right off," he said. "It's really difficult to do. But I could teach you solid ways to defend yourself and others." He patted my hand with his organo-metallic one, a comforting gesture. So we looked at our schedules and made some training appointments. I felt a huge sense of relief as I walked away after lunch.

We were into August and I felt I was making good progress on all sorts of fronts in my life. Deri had come back from camp happy and with all friendships intact--and having made a slew of new friends to boot. I knew she couldn't use her gift right now, but there are still a lot of ways to alienate people without it. I was taking another rowing class where I'd elected to try sculling, a reeeeeeeally tiny little boat, just me and two oars. It didn't look like the boat could hold me, but it did. The coaches said because I was fairly short and slender that I would be in the lightweight division rather than the open, where to be really successful, you needed to be tall and muscular. Lightweight women could weigh at most 130 pounds, which would be a real stretch for me. I usually weighed 112 and my body type didn't lend itself to bulky muscles although I was plenty strong and I was keeping up my flexibility.

The flexibility helped out with my self-defense classes, where Uncle Bucky recommended a developpe-based kick that Grandma Alex had found very useful. The key to success using his moves was a fearless attitude and all-in physical effort. If I didn't care about really hurting somebody else and was strong and quick, I found that I could really inflict damage. I didn't want to train the way Grandma Alex had, and Uncle Bucky didn't really have the time for that either, so I quickly learned a series of really brutal moves to use that should enable me to put down my attacker and have a good chance at getting away. After I'd learned what he deemed the most effective moves and combinations, that was it for class, although he wanted to meet me once a month for practice.

I started taking classes at the tennis club, a smaller group, where I learned faster. There was a sensor that attached to my racquet that gave us all kinds of data about what I was doing so that nascent bad habits could be nipped in the bud. My friends were a little surprised at my new drive, but that was ok, so was I. I was tired of being passive, reacting rather than acting, being a doormat, generally. My old friends would have never dared mess with the new Lys. But having the pod really made this possible, I felt. I wasn't dependent on anyone to shuttle me to and fro, which had been a serious concern since we lived so far out of the city, with no public transportation options. Uncle Tony kept making improvements on my beloved pod; the latest was a voice command that could be activated with my fob. I think Uncle Bucky might have had something to do with that, since it meant that I could have the pod call the cops if I was being attacked. The fob was made more sensitive in order to work through a couple layers of fabric, like a coat pocket, and I named my pod Bob. If the fob picked up the name, it would listen for a command. If I was just talking about how something bobbed along, it wouldn't take action. It would enable me to defend myself and summon the pod without fumbling with the fob. And new interior paneling was used to increase strength to prevent damage from outside actions. The new material was covered in tiger maple, which added beauty to the pod as well, not that it really needed more.

My new confidence carried over into work, too. I was more likely to approach customers to offer help rather than assume that they knew what they wanted and would ask if they needed help. I felt more capable of making recommendations, based on my experience, and I was placed in home dec more since I had a really good idea of how fabrics could be used for different applications. I got a two dollar raise, too.

Mom took Deri shopping for new uniforms--she'd had quite a growth spurt and was my height now. Aunt Amy went with them and they returned with some clothes that were fun for weekends and after school, too. Then it was my turn--I didn't need much, but I wanted more sweaters since the school was chilly and clammy in the winter. I found some good pieces to layer as well as the sweaters, a couple new pairs of jeans and other slacks as well as a couple of skirts because winter was a ways away. I couldn't wait to wear my motorcycle jacket, if only it would just cool off. And at work we got some really thick, soft flannels. There was a gorgeous white, blue and green stripe, so I bought yardage to make myself a shirt, using solid blue as accents on the collar band, cuffs, and placket and mother of pearl buttons. I also called Uncle Steve to alert him, and sure enough, he came by to pick up some darker colors for Uncle Bucky. I'd figured that if his love for flannel shirts had survived two lifetimes and an afterlife, he was on to something, and got a cheerful crimson from the next shipment too with pretty leaf-shaped buttons.

The family went to the first wedding we'd been invited to, social acquaintances of Dad's, so it was as much an opportunity to network for most of the adults as well as a celebration of a new marriage. I wasn't complaining, though, I got to wear my beautiful embroidered dress with the pearl pendant and earrings, nice for a ritzy afternoon wedding. The dinner was good, but the cake tasted stale, a disappointment. I had to smother a laugh at the look of disappointment on Deri's face, which mirrored my own feelings. Fortunately, the serving size was tiny, only slightly bigger than a petit four. Looked beautiful, though. I saw a lot of kids I hadn't seen since private school and ignored them, focusing on new people, and of course the parents introduced me to their friends. My new confidence made a lot of difference, I found out. Kids who had treated me so poorly edged up to speak with me. Not one apology, though, and I just wasn't interested in wasting my time. I focused on the people I'd never met before, and while some of them had some baggage from their Returned parents' attitudes that didn't fit with modern society, I could at least dance with the new boys--although some of them were in college--and make small talk with the girls. None of us was free from family baggage, and I found I was more willing to acknowledge that and give new people a little slack, while still adhering to some of my new standards. It was an eye-opening occasion for me.

And right on the heels of that was another Justice League/Avengers thing, but with added heroes who weren't part of a team, Mom and Dad said. Something was up; Deri and I looked at them suspiciously, but they just laughed and said that it would be fun for us as well. Dad told us to go shopping for a fun new outfit, which really got our antennae quivering. We weren't shy about complying, however, and when we came back, Deri had a cute short skirt with a ruffle and a sleeveless blouse. I had a blue, lavender, and white halter sundress with a flippy skirt that showed off my back, nicely toned from all the exercise I'd gotten. In order not to embarrass our parents, we also got new sandals for the occasion and found silver earrings at a popup store.

It turned out that this wasn't a hero working group, it was purely a social occasion. For the families. The heroes all brought their significant others, where they had one and who could come, and their children and sidekicks. I had a suspicion that there were a lot of hero kids out there once I'd found out about Rob and Arch, but I hadn't expected this many. Those two were there, along with a huge chunk of the cousins, including Imogen. There were apparently more who were in college or working summer jobs who couldn't get away, but it was also implied that there would be other occasions like this. "Your dad thought it might be nice for our kids to get to know each other," Superman said as he introduced his son Jon. "You all have commonalities that you can't discuss freely with your friends, and this will give you kids support that you can call on. It's not easy having parents who are in the hero business."

"Hey, Lys," Jon said, trying for a suave smile. His dad toned down his grin and moved off. We started comparing notes; he was Superboy, following his dad into both the hero game and journalism. "Journalism gives you a really good cover," he said. "And you meet a lot of people. If you do investigative journalism, you can help people there too." He was going to be tall like his dad, still rangy although he was filling out his muscle, with his dad's dark hair and blue eyes.

"The women who have been Batman have all been tall," I said, depressed. "And the women who were Batgirl and Batwomam. I'm the shortest one in the family for several generations. My little sister is going to be tall. I'm just not superhero material." Plus I had no training.

"But you could be support staff," he pointed out. "Almost everybody needs a guy in the chair." I laughed.

"You haven't seen the cave," I said. "Automated." He opened his mouth to argue more, but shut it with a snap.

"Hey, Lys," Flash said in his friendly manner. It was the first time I'd seen him out of costume. Puckishly cute, not handsome. "This is my nephew Wally. He was subjected to the same type of accident that gave me access to the Speed Force. Wal, this is Lys Wayne."

"Nice to meet you," Wally said, taking the hand I held out for a shake. He kissed it instead. Jon rolled his eyes and his uncle laughed and left. "Kid Flash."

"Real original," Jon muttered.

"Yeah, 'Superboy' is so unique and obscure," Wally shot back. I intervened to stop the... whatever it was, and we started talking about school and activities. Not surprisingly, the two boys didn't have a lot of extracurriculars, since they were sidekicking, just enough for a cover, and they were interested in my job, the athletics I was getting into, a normal high school experience.

"I'm still a little surprised that you're not going into the family business," Jon said, returning after a bit to his original topic of conversation.

"You know my Uncle Xander's boys, don't you? Peter and Nick? They're Robins, they'll continue the rotation of Batman." I looked around, caught Pete's eye, waved him over. He was going to NYU and was interning at the business over the summer.

"Hey Lys," he said, ambling up. Pete's fun, but almost inert unless he's doing Robin stuff. Loves video games and potato chips. He patted my shoulder and nodded to the boys. "Glad to see your ankle's all better." Reflexively, the boys looked down. It made me self-conscious about the scars.

"Jon was trying to persuade Lys to take up heroing, or at least support service," Wally said blandly.

Pete's affability dropped like a rock. "You have to want the lifestyle, and frankly, while Lys is really strong for her size, she's still the smallest of the cousins and even the best tech the bat cave can offer can't make all that up. Let her be." He nodded to a blonde girl. "Hey, Lys, that's Artemis, Arrow's protege. If you wanted to put in a good word for me, I wouldn't tell you no." I laughed and took the opportunity.

"Nice to meet you both," I said to Jon and Wally, and went over to introduce myself.

"Don't push my cousin to do something she doesn't want and isn't interested in," Pete said, irritation verging on anger in his voice. "She's not eye candy or decoration. She's really tal--" and I was out of earshot.

"Nice to meet you," Artemis said, after the introductions. We chatted a bit, she was polite but seemed distant, and after a bit, I moved on, headed to the refreshments table. I was joined there by a tall, strong boy, fair, blond, with striking aqua eyes who introduced himself as Aquaman's sidekick Garth. He had an otherworldly look that was explained by his having two Atlantean parents rather than Aquaman's half-human parentage. After that, I met Laurel Lance-Queen, White Canary, Zacarias Zatara, Zatanna's son, Kendra Carter, the Hawkpeople's daughter (who had none of their powers or ability to manipulate Nth metal and who was very personable), and a lot more besides. I was glad to fetch up by Rob, who was also looking a little dazed.

"I am a little overwhelmed," he said, and I nodded.

"My folks didn't tell me what this party was really for," I said. "I had no idea that there were this many kids and sidekicks."

"I know," Rob said. "I--"

"Introduce me to your friend, won't you?" a man said affably, patting Rob's shoulder. He was wearing sunglasses and carrying a white cane, so I knew this must be Daredevil.

"Anna, this is my father, Matt Murdock," he said. "Dad, Anna Wayne."

Mr Murdock's head cocked to the side and it was a little unnerving to wonder how he was perceiving me. "Nice to meet you, Anna," he said after a moment. There was chat about school, which would be starting soon ("thank god," Rob muttered. Mr Murdock ostentatiously pretended not to hear) and Mr Murdock moved on.

"Mom's got a shift at the hospital," Rob said. "She probably wouldn't have come anyway, she thinks all the heroes have a screw loose."

"Can't say that she's wrong," Aunt Ann said wryly, and I gave and got a hug before introducing her to Rob. Uncle Tony popped up just in time for the introduction and studied Rob a moment before acknowledging my introduction. Arch, finding us, had a smoother introduction, but Uncle Tony was friends with Dr Strange and Arch and I hadn't dated, either. Doctor Strange was wearing the cloak as usual (it had to have been hot, the temperature was in the high mid-80s but he was in full mystic gear) and it tugged him over to stand between me and Uncle Tony, wrapping around my hand, wrist, and forearm. Arch snorted and Doctor Strange looked heavenward. Uncle Tony and Aunt Ann were amused and the adults talked. Arch and Rob grinned at me and took off, but I was tethered. I'd have definitely broken things off with Rob for that if we hadn't already.

Chapter Text

Eventually I was able to escape when Doctor Strange took pity on me and persuaded his cloak to let me go. Deri and I worked the crowd, she took the younger kids, I took the older, but we already knew quite a few because they were related to us. Imogen stayed fairly close to her father and Aunt Barbara, but seemed really glad to see me, and not just because there were so many strange people. I introduced her to more of the cousins, and Alan and Alfred put tables together, fired up the barbecue, and started bringing out all sorts of sides, chips, and desserts. A crowd of men sidled up, each angling to be the grill master. Iris and Miles joined me as I was trying not to laugh at the display of dominance. Dad won, just by affably saying it wasn't acceptable to make his guests work for their dinner. There were some disappointed superheroes. "Bet you five bucks that Grandpa Bruce wrests away the tongs at some point," I murmured, and they laughed, refusing to bet.

"Hey, Lys, I applied for an apartment yesterday," Miles said.

"Let me know if you get it," I said. "And get me the paint chips you were talking about. Your homework is to look around and get some ideas about furniture styles." Iris smiled and her brother patted my shoulder.

"Are you free next week?" he asked. "Because we could shoot in one of two smaller studios, Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, or Sunday morning." We settled on Sunday morning because school was starting, and he said he'd borrow a family pod and come pick me up. "Hey, Chris," he said, reaching out to pat his shoulder. Iris and I perked up. Chris has that effect. He's just so darn nice, and he looked even better than usual. He was lifeguarding at the beach this summer, taking a break from classes at Princeton, and his blond hair had a lot of streaky highlights. A light tan set off his blue eyes, and he grinned.

"Cousins," he greeted us. "Always good to see you guys." And we got a hug each. He and Iris talked about college for a bit, then he asked Miles what it was like to dance in a company, and he asked me questions about London and my new sports. He never left anybody out. We chatted to allow the non-family guests to get their meals, then joined the rest of the family in line.

Before the party broke up, Jon found me again. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's just...I'm looking at a long career as a hero, and it would be really nice to put together a group that's distinct from the traditional groups, put our own stamp on crime-fighting."

"Nothing that says you can't," I pointed out. "There are a ton of up and comers here, all our generation. A lot of my cousins are looking to be involved in some way, and the cave is a family thing; Pete and Nick have access as Robins, you could start to pave your own way now, then you'll be pretty well prepared when you're done sidekicking. If you talk to Uncle Richard, I'm sure he can give you tips."

"He meant that it's turning into something of a sausage fest," Wally said, draping his arm around my shoulder. "This was a great party, and we did meet some girls who might want to form a sort of sidekicks squad. We're still looking for support people, so if you change your mind, just give us a whistle." He gave me a peck on the cheek and hustled Jon away.

Boys.

The next day the locals took groups of the visitors out to show them New York--a lot of the heroes had worked in the city for emergencies, but Gotham, as the city as it's known when it's referred to by the supercriminals, is a lot different from the city normal people know. Most of the sidekicks had never been before, and there were some kids who wouldn't touch heroing with a fifty foot pole. There were at least two cousins to every group, making sure that all the visitors were included and groups varied by interest. I went out with cousins William, Bruce, and Tabby. Bruce was considering taking over Iron Man, and Uncle Tony had mixed feelings about this, but recognized that it was his choice. William didn't want to actually go out heroing, but Uncle Bucky had been teaching him Systema and other martial arts forever, and he was thinking about maybe setting up as a trainer of heroes. They were there to kind of feel out some of the other sidekicks and maybe-heroes, while Tabby and I were along to be good hosts and I'd diligently studied up on city history. This was a historical architecture tour of Manhattan and I didn't know much about it. Tabby contributed stories of Batman battles at some of the sites. The adults were all off doing their thing in bunches; I heard talk of baseball games, shopping, restaurant visits. Parents with younger kids were making a day of it in Central Park and the zoo with a behind-the-scenes tour with Uncle Bucky, which is where Deri was.

Fortunately, nobody wanted to leap out of bed, so I was able to get my class time in on the river. The last regatta of the year was going to be in late September and I wanted to compete in the novice juniors race for a one-person scull. Coach said I was coming along nicely, so I wanted to push myself for this competition. That out of the way, though, I focused on being social and informative. I'd brought my camera along and occasionally got good shots of our guests as well as interesting scenes in the city. We had Hal Jordan's son Kyle, who had applied to the Air Force Academy following his dad into the services, Martian Manhunter's niece M'ghann, Vixen's son and daughter, Ben and Amaia, Obsidian's adopted daughter Jennie, and Arsenal's daughter Rian. We had a good time goofing around, more than I'd anticipated, actually, and everybody met up for dinner at the mansion again. I could see that people were in general more open and friendly and relaxed than they'd been, and the kids were exchanging contact information. I sent photographs of my group to them and when word got around, I was asked to take candids and portraits at the dinner, which I sent to those who wanted them. Pete and Nick kept a watchful eye on Jon and Wally, I was amused to see. The party lasted until around nine, when the guests started to return home; the locals conveyed the out-of-towners to the airports while we kids could just spend a little time getting ready for the next day before going to bed; school was starting. I put the chip with the photographs I'd taken of the unmasked heroes and their families in the safe in the bat cave; they were nice to have, but also potentially dangerous should somebody with bad intentions find them.

I was kind of relieved to go back to school the next day, to tell the truth. I had rowing practice, showered and changed at the club, and started my new classes, interested to find out what I'd be learning this year. Jinx was in my history class, Ari in environmental science, and Justine in AP English. I got to start off the day right with photography. I recognized about half the class of fifteen; there were first-year classes, and one each second, third, and fourth. It was too bad I'd missed freshman year here and lost out on that extra year. We all got to talk about what we did photography-wise over the summer; I wasn't the only one to take a class, but mine were the only ones focused on particular aspects. I was happy to share the main points of what I'd learned, and we all got to put our images up on the projector, explain the context and any interesting information about how we'd taken the shot, and listen to critiques and answer questions. My photojournalism shoots got a lot of questions and I was able to explain why they were good examples or not. The teacher had some thoughts to share too, and everybody laughed at the fashion shoot; the clothes were pretty out there, but the teacher said my technique was 'surprisingly good.' He didn't say it in a dismissive or disdainful way, though, it was actually a compliment about how well I'd done for the limited experience I had. What I didn't say was that I'd shown Uncle Steve, and he'd been impressed enough to invite me to shoot one of his in-house shows. Some of the really old-time ateliers didn't do fashion weeks, preferring instead to have showings on their own premises, with models showing small collections for the customers. Uncle Steve did do fashion week, but he also had tiny capsule collections three times a year, showing five new looks for summer, fall, and holidays. His holiday capsule collection was debuting next week, and I'd gotten parental permission immediately to skip a couple of classes for this opportunity. It would be calculus and history, so... yeah. Not anything I was dying to take.

"It really feels good to be back," I said to my friends at lunch. "I like routine."

Nix smiled. "Routine is comfortable," he agreed. "And I like spending time with you guys. Two years from now, that's going to be over."

"Wow. Way to crush the mood," Imogen said after a damp silence descended over our table. "That's still two years away, as you said. Let's just enjoy the moment." She changed the subject. "Love your hair, Anna." Gina had done away with the greens from spring and summer and worked a raspberry pink in there with my blues and purples. Today it was long and straight and glossy, just turned under at the ends. "I've been meaning to ask... when did you learn to do your makeup like that? It looks flawless."

I hadn't been wearing much beyond eyeliner, mascara, and lip balm over the summer because of the heat and humidity; makes me break out despite the advanced formulas. "Didn't I say?" I said, frowning. "They had to cancel the patternmaking class I'd registered for, so I took a makeup class instead." Justine, Imogen, and Nix leaned in. Nix liked wearing eyeliner, feeling like he related to punks, but honestly his technique wasn't very good. He had weird smudges instead of the artfully disheveled look he was trying for. Ari, Jinx, and Mark leaned back, smirking. "I could show you guys. It's so easy when you know the right things to use and how to use them. That's the tricky part." So there was an immediate shuffling of plans. The four of us would meet downtown at Sephora on Saturday morning, where I would help them select products, then we'd meet the others for lunch and a movie, then we'd go to Nix's house (it was closest) where I'd show them how to improve their techniques. I was glad to be able to share what I'd learned, and would send them appropriate handouts.

It was good to settle back in.

Chapter Text

It was fun to get back into the rhythm of school. Calculus looked interesting enough, but I was glad I didn't have to take it farther. I was going to take stats next year rather than another year of calculus and differential equations, as I felt it would be more useful. In English, we learned that the curriculum changed every year; this year we'd be studying world epic poetry, learning to identify and analyze the important themes, and writing a research paper at the end of each semester on a self-chosen topic from the themes we studied. History was modern history, with an emphasis on recent US history. Environmental science didn't have a lab component, unfortunately, but there would be a field trip each semester. I wasn't sure about cybersecurity, but it would be useful information to have, and shop looked like a lot of fun. On our first day, we got an introduction to the power tools and the hand tools, with a very serious safety lecture. Anybody horsing around when using any kind of tool would immediately fail the class and spend the rest of the semester in detention, not even having the option of switching to a class you could pass or a study hall. But photography was going to be my favorite.

The first week was kind of settling in, remembering how to learn; it seemed like I'd forgotten an awful lot over the summer. Then on Saturday, I had rowing practice before meeting the others. We had a lot of fun at Sephora, showing Imogen and Justine how to select the right foundation, how to choose the other products, and how to tell brush quality and when the price was worth the product. There was a lower-cost line here that rivaled the most expensive high quality brands, I was happy to find out; they hadn't sold them in London so I got a couple of extra eye shadow brushes and a lip brush. I found the right eyeliner for Nix, choosing a really dark gray instead of black. On him it looked sophisticated and when it smudged it looked more avant-garde than raccoon. Happy, we met the others for our movie and then went to lunch.

Miles picked me up bright and early on Sunday, and we went for a fortifying brunch before he took me to the company's studios. I looked around at the studio, the mirrored walls, the barres, the windows providing wonderful natural light, the rosin swept into the cracks in the wood floor, and felt a pang that this couldn't be in my future. But it wasn't as bad as I'd been worried about; I'd wanted to shoot here rather than at Miles' home studio because I'd needed to test myself. It seemed like I really was moving on, and he put on music and started to warm up. I checked the lighting, wanting to make the most of the ambient light, and started shooting as he did barre work. After one season, he'd improved so much, and these exercises were impeccable. Then he moved out into the center and did a couple of solos; I recognized one from class, but the other was a role he'd understudied. He stopped that a few times and made corrections. He was going to be astonishing when he got more experience, I thought. We were interrupted by one of the female principle dancers, attracted by the music where there usually wasn't any, and she was a lot nicer than I thought she'd be. She was interested in my project and joined Miles in the solo he'd been perfecting; she'd had the main female role in that ballet and knew how to work with his solo. They looked amazing together; she was so light and graceful that I had a hard time remembering how much work went into her performance because it looked utterly effortless. But Miles held his own. It was a challenge to minimize my presence in the mirrors, but I could remove my traces later and I was utterly rapt by the performance. At the end, I thanked them both and showed them what I'd shot. Some of them were crap, a foot or arm blurred, or just not special, but I had a handful that were really good. The ballerina was startled but immediately asked me if she could have those images. I said I'd be happy to send them, and I would--after I'd watermarked them so I would always get credit. And now I had to come up with a watermark, and fast.

After that experience, Miles took me to the apartment he'd just gotten. His sister was a little sour that he'd been able to find something so fast, but I didn't really think she needed to be. "Has Iris seen this?" I asked, looking around. Yikes. It was dirty and run down; the smudged and fly-specked windows looked out on a parking lot.

"Nope," he said. "What do you think?"

"This is going to be a challenge. Can you paint the walls?"

"White or off white," he said easily. "Here's the lease." I read. There was a prohibition against using fasteners in the wall; it was a really old building and the walls were actual plaster, which could crack easily and fall off in chunks.

"Does it come as is?"

"Yep. What do you think?"

"You need to beg Alfred to come here and help you clean, but this is going to be your place, I expect you to do at least half the work. It's disgusting." I nipped into the bathroom and retreated immediately. "Paint chips, please." He dug into his wallet, frowning a bit. I chose a creamy white and kept the rest. "Clean and decontaminate this place, then paint the walls and ceilings that color."

"Come on, Lys, it's not that bad."

"It'll be nice when I'm done, but come on, it's gross, Miles. You could probably catch a disease in that bathroom. I'll take my measurements now and get started. It'll take me awhile now that school's started again, so you've got time to clean. Now, what kind of furniture were you thinking about?" He was down in the dumps about my assessment of the apartment, but he was totally seeing it through the rose-colored glasses of independence. I got him on track and sharing his vision for the place. We were definitely going to need sheers on the windows to let in light but block out the parking lot... I made notes and measured as we talked. This place was even smaller than Iris' place, so the scale of the furniture would need to be different too. It had high ceilings too, fortunately. The bathroom was small and the kitchen was a cooktop with a small fridge underneath (I did not open), a small counter, a small washer/dryer under the counter, and shelves above. Small, small, small. And no overhead lighting. He produced a list of furniture pieces he wanted, but aside from having a dark color, he really didn't know what kind of style he wanted. He begged me to surprise him. I think the rosy glow of having his own place was wearing off as we spent more time there and he seemed daunted. We left and went back to the estate; I showed him a few furniture styles I thought he'd like, but unexpectedly he thought they were too plain. Interesting.

After lunch, I went to the club to take a tennis lesson, and found some people I recognized from school. They invited me over and explained how to play doubles, fine when I made sure they understood what a newbie I was, and I learned a lot and had a good time. We agreed to do it again next week.

I came up with my watermark, a monogram that superimposed A over W so that the middle peak of the W was doubled, with a faint line crossing the A. The same faint line made a lower case print l that connected the crossbar to the same line as the bottom points of the W. Not terribly original, but I couldn't find it in an image search so I imposed it on my images, lower left corner, and sent them to Miles and the ballerina. Then I filled out the simple form at the trademark office; we'd discussed this at the end of spring semester last year and our teacher had advised us that if we were at all interested in having a serious hobby or career in photography to come up with an identifying mark early on and stick with it, trademarking it for protection.

Tuesday was the showing of Uncle Steve's collection, so I actually cut all three afternoon classes. I'd confess to my parents later, they had to let the school office know that I hadn't just been playing hooky. When I got to the atelier, the directrice greeted me with a double kiss and directed me back to the fitting rooms, where Uncle Steve and his best fitters were making last minute perfect adjustments to the garments. I sucked in a breath and immediately whipped out my camera, absently doing a light check and adjusting the settings on the camera before starting to shoot. I'd brought enough chips for the cameras to hold several hundred images, but now I was wondering if they were sufficient. One dress in dark blue had an exquisitely full tulle skirt with embroidered and beaded snowflakes, a draped bodice, and wide straps; the model who wore it had dark hair and pale skin, very beautiful and elegant. A model with chocolate-smooth skin and an eyepopping hourglass shape wore a chiffon gown with a full skirt, reds, oranges, golds, and just a lick of indigo so that she looked like she was wearing flames. A tall slim model wore a long black dress with a sky high slit up her thigh, long floaty black chiffon sleeves, and an intricately shaped wide neckline. Another tall model wore dark green slacks that were so wide they could almost qualify as a divided skirt with a gold embroidered jacket, very distinguished looking. And the final model had a champagne silk dress poured over her curves, very sexy, but I knew enough about Uncle Steve's methods to know what underpinnings there were under the satin to make the woman's figure look absolutely perfect. Her mahogany curls were piled on top of her head, threatening to cascade down at any moment, which would be a shame considering the plunging back, outlined in narrow bands of embroidery, beads, and sequins. I moved around between the fitting rooms, focusing on the models, the careful adjustments being made, jewelry put on, the models making sure their makeup and hair were right (although not perfect. Uncle Steve needed a better makeup artist.) And finally the directrice popped in with the announcement that the guests had all arrived, and I hustled out to a spot that Uncle Steve had reserved for me.

I wasn't the only photographer; one from Vogue was there, a couple more from New York publications, and they stared daggers at me when I took my prime position. I smiled absently as I checked the light and my cameras; I had two rolls of actual film to shoot as well as the images on digital. Fifty exposures. I'd have to make them count.

Uncle Steve came out, greeted his guests, about a third fashion reporters, the rest clients that included my mother, Grandma Alex, and Aunt Emma, and stood off to the side as the first model, the one in the slacks, came out. There was a murmur of interest, reporters spoke into their recorders, and shutters clicked. I got plenty of shots as the model moved and pivoted, showing off all angles of her garments. I didn't take all of the film exposures since I knew that after all the looks had been shown, the models would come out and mingle with the spectators so that they could get a closer look. I wanted to get some of that interaction captured too. After that was the champagne dress, the black dress, the blue dress, and the flame dress. After the triumphant retreat of the flame dress, Uncle Steve made some comments following the hearty applause, and the models returned. He spoke a few words to each one as they passed by, and their smiles were quite genuine. They looked as though they felt as special as they looked. They stood in front of the photographers first (including me! like I was a professional) and then into the spaces between the seats; there were only twenty or so guests, so everybody had plenty of time to examine the work. The reactions of the guests were priceless; there was awe and wonder and pleasure on faces. The garments were even more fabulous up close where you could see all the special details. I took a momentary break and wound the last of the film back into its protective cover before taking it out to be developed.

"What do you think, honey?" Uncle Steve asked, patting my back.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel. This is what I think you would call a 'target rich environment,'" I said, replacing the chip in the digital camera and shooting him too. He grinned.

"Can't wait to see what you got," he said, and moved off to receive congratulations. The light that was my mom approached after she handed in an order form to the directrice as the models started to move back toward the fitting rooms.

"What did you think, dearest?" she asked as I put away the cameras.

"I think you should order that flame colored one," I said. She laughed.

"And I did. It's quite beautiful."

I felt really good as we exited the atelier. It was later than I'd expected, and I had to hustle to get to work on time. Mom and Dad were reading in the library when I came in and wanted to see what I'd gotten. "Err....I took off all three afternoon classes," I mumbled as I fiddled putting the chips in the library's computer. Dad sighed.

"Honey, you can't be cutting classes for a hobby, no matter how much you like it," he started, then shut up as the slideshow started to play.

"I don't think this is going to be a hobby, Dad," I remarked as we looked at them. "I have a lot to learn, but I think that I want to be a professional photographer."

"You do have a gift, Lysippe," Mom said into the silence. The photos really were good, capturing a lush, feminine atmosphere. Uncle Steve, the only male in the backstage images, looked actually out of place, an interloper. If I were being fanciful, there seemed to be an electric air to the pictures from the actual show, and I had images of details from the clothing as well as the client reactions, reaching out to touch the fabric, the indulgence of the models as they spoke about how the clothes felt to wear.

"I thought that you might like interior design," Dad said, distracted by the images as they were projected.

"That's fun, I liked doing Iris' apartment, but I have to work with what they want. You should see Miles' new place. It's an utter hole. And they have opinions that I have to work with. This is much better." Mom laughed.

The next morning I went in early to put the roll of color film in the processor and to get a jump on the black and white images. It took the better part of an hour to print the negatives, but at least my first class was photography, and my teacher had told me to take the time I needed to finish. I left them on the line and joined the lecture as it started, taking notes and listening. I had a lot to learn.

Chapter Text

At lunch, there was a fair for all the school clubs to try to attract members; tables lined the walls in the hall leading to the cafeteria. We ate quickly, then joined the masses browsing the offerings. I joined the Red Cross club again, the environmental science club, the photography club (I was feeling a lot more confident about my abilities), math tutoring, and the tennis club. I didn't know we had one, but we did, and some of the people I recognized from meeting them at the tennis courts this summer at the club were in it. There were public courts on the other side of the football field, and the club met each day after school as long as the weather was decent so most kids could work in a game. The advisor was the gym teacher who coached the school's tennis team (didn't know we had one of those either) so we could work to improve our game if we wanted; they said that some kids just wanted to go out and volley, others were really serious players, and the rest of the members spanned the difference.

I was pleased to report my chosen activities that night at dinner, and these extracurriculars combined with rowing made my parents happy. I'd also gone over my images with my photography teacher, who was really pleased with what I'd done, very encouraging, talked with me about composition, and helped me cull the images to present to Uncle Steve. I'd gotten some really good images on film and had printed the best for him, wanting to keep the entire set for myself. I paid for the chemicals I'd used, feeling that it had been time very well spent, and planned to touch up the digital images, watermarking them later before putting them onto a chip for delivery to my uncle. I showed my family my curated images over coffee, and they seemed impressed; Deri had been upstairs studying when I'd gotten home the night before and hadn't seen them.

I stopped by the atelier on the way to work the next day and was going to leave the chip and the envelope of prints, but the directrice called down Uncle Steve, who was eager to see them. The projector ran through the images on the chip, and he looked through the entire stack of prints, passing each one to his directrice. There was silence, and I started to feel nervous. But that was silly, wasn't it? I knew it was good work, I'd seen worse, and my teacher had also praised me. He was always positive about our work, but he was also a pretty tough critic.

"These look tremendous, Lys," he said after a moment. "I didn't realize how getting ready for a small show looked."

"Dorian and Suzy would love some of these images," the directrice said. "And Liu Wen. Iman looks incredible in the Fire dress. Indira is looking to build her portfolio, Monsieur Steve... May I have them contact you, Miss Lys?"

"I can just print the best ones and leave them here for pickup--"

"Never give away your work, cherie," she said crisply. "They know what the minimum rates are for a photographer and can certainly pay for these."

"But they're going into my portfolio as well," I protested, and she shrugged.

"So? Nobody will take you seriously if your work is free," she said. "And these are wonderful photographs. Nostalgic, you can almost smell the face powder, very female and powerful as these women are getting ready to impress. And Monsieur Steve, directing the effort. You should put them on your website, Monsieur."

"Ok, Josee," Uncle Steve said, surrendering. "And Lys, I'll pay you--"

"I'm getting exposure from this and you did me a huge favor letting an amateur shoot your collection," I said immediately. "I'm still coming out better than you are." He cocked his head.

"Are you planning on exploring this for a career?" I nodded.

"I think so. Classes this summer were really eye-opening. And my photography teacher thinks I have a lot of promise, especially shooting people. My landscapes are good, but my portraits and candids are better. I need practice." He nodded, then smiled.

"Well, my next collection will be for Fashion Week, and you can shoot that too, I'll give you backstage access and a place at the front. And we'll negotiate a fee; I'm thinking now that I need to update my website and it would be interesting for people to see what happens behind the scenes as well as out on the runway."

"Wow," I said numbly. This was moving pretty fast. But the opportunity was presented and I'd be an idiot not to grab it. The old Lys would have been self-effacing and probably let somebody less connected have the chance, but the new me... Lys-Anna?... was more alert to chances. I had connections, I might as well use them. I had a degree of talent. "Thanks, Uncle Steve!"

"Honey, if you grow into your promise as a photographer, I'm going to be able to brag that I gave you one of your first opportunities," he said, putting his arm around me.

It was good that Bob was self-piloting, I was gobsmacked as I went to work. AI Tony was pleased to hear of my coup and urged me to take full advantage of my access to one of the world's top designers. Uncle Tony didn't have a great history of choices when his emotions were involved, but he knew business cold and I had no doubt that he'd second his artificial personality's advice.

It was good to be at work, grounding to put things away, play with fabric, and talk to the customers. I was able to look around for fabrics for Miles, too. I had the sheers from Iris' windows that she hadn't wanted, so I could modify them slightly as needed; the windows in Miles' new place were a little narrower. Absently, I wondered how the cleaning was going and what Alfred had said when he'd seen it. If I were Miles, I'd have put in some preliminary work first, take off the edge. I had the paint chips with me; every shift I carried them in my pocked so I could check. Today we had some new stuff and there was a nubby dark, almost midnight blue. It was darker than his choices, but I wanted to build the look of the rooms in from the walls, and this would provide a nice background as draperies, a clean contrast with the walls. I snapped some photos of possible choices and sent them, then I thought about it for awhile and called him on my break, asking how in love he was with his palette.

"They're the colors I liked best from the paint chips," he said. "I'm not in love with them, if that's what you're asking. As long as the main colors are true blue, maybe slightly blue-violet like those samples you showed, and white, that's what I want. Something interesting. And I found some photos of a furniture style I like, I'll forward them to you and we can go from there."

"How's the cleaning going?" His sigh was long and loud.

"Alfred's having me do the first pass," he said mournfully. "Gave me a bunch of cleaning products, told me how to use them, did everything but pat me on the head." I smirked. "It's nasty in there. But on the other hand, now I know where my hard line is and that I don't want to let it get that bad when I'm living there." No kidding, I almost said, but there wasn't any point to discouraging Miles. He'd never had to clean anything like that at home, after all. We hung up, and I decided to wait on getting the fabric until I'd seen the furniture.

It was good that I did. I stared, dumbfounded, at the Gothic Revival pieces in his email. The wood was so dark that it was almost black, lots of peaked arches and detail. The examples he had were beautiful examples of the style and I could see the appeal it had for him, but no way could the whole small apartment be done like that. That much detail would be overwhelming, and the pieces were big. I had to think about this. There wasn't going to be a lot of natural light in the apartment due to the positioning of buildings; there was the parking lot outside the north-facing windows, but behind that was a tall building that cast shade.

I let the situation ride until the weekend, when I had time to work on it. I worked my full shift on Sunday, so after rowing practice on Saturday, I poked around some antiques and second-hand stores. I found an old trunk made from dark wood with brass strapping and accents, cedar lined, that could act as a coffee table and provide much-needed storage. I could get a metal stamp and emboss a design onto the brass strapping for interest and to make it fit in better. In another store, there was a folding chair that they called a Savonarola chair. The removable back was carved ornately, and the arms ended in lions' heads. It was also dark. And the find I was really thrilled about was a Gothic Revival brass bed, with a headboard and footboard modeled on a bed made by Pugin, bands of small quatrefoils top and bottom, and between, elegant tracery with leaf-like trefoils. At the center of the the footboard and headboard was a circle; the headboard had an elaborate quatrefoil at the center, and the footboard had a lozenge shape, enameled blue and gold, with a red shield in the center. The uprights and legs were all elegantly twisted. I called my cousin and arranged for him to meet me.

"I was cleaning," he explained twenty minutes later, and indeed, a strong scent of Alfred's lemon cleaners hung about him like a pungent mantle. I showed him the pieces I wanted for him, and additionally a couple of octagonal end tables that had gothic arches placed between the legs beneath the tops.

"The problem is that it's a small apartment with dim lighting," I said. "So a few strategic pieces in the dark wood you like, but we can carry that Gothic Revival aesthetic with other pieces." We discussed and looked, and in the end he bought those pieces and arranged delivery to the house; his apartment wouldn't be ready for occupancy for a while yet. We listed the other pieces he'd need; bedside tables, a narrow dresser, some stools for the counter, and a sofa. He'd had some thoughts about the sofa, and took me to see a very structured sofa, comfortable but not overly padded, and I was fine with that; it wasn't my sofa. It came in a white and had aggressive stain and water resistance, the salesman told us, so he paid for that too. A good day's work, all in all. I had some ideas and could run with them.

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Over the course of the next few weeks, I was really busy. Homework, rowing in the morning, school, tennis after school, work, fun with friends. And it was surprising how many friends I'd made since I'd come to HKHS; there were my best friends, of course, good friends like Rain, Rob, and Arch, and casual friends from classes and clubs. I volunteered to help organize the first aid class for Red Cross club and thinking about that, went to a medical supply company and made myself a good kit, which I stored in the trunk of my pod. I doubted I'd ever need it, but if I did, I'd be able to help myself or others, which had been the point of taking the class in the first place. I talked to my boss at work, and since I was giving her a lot of lead time, she agreed that I could take up to a month over the summer for classes if I wanted to go back to London. Which I did, definitely. I found good fabrics for Miles' apartment, the blues had a hint of violet to them which he liked a lot. There was a collection with a stripe, a solid, and a floral. Since he loves flowers, I got all three for pillows, with accents of a dark red fabric with tiny gold six-pointed stars printed on it. A slightly lighter solid for the draperies, and because he coveted his sister's velvet duvet, I had my boss special order in a darker blue velvet that would look fantastic against the aged brass of the Gothic Revival bed. It was plain velvet, but Uncle Steve knew some embossing tricks and I had a big stamp made that I used to carefully emboss a design on the velvet. It was a basic trefoil shape that echoed the one in the bed detail, so it all went together nicely.

I'd also gotten a special stamp for my paper prints. It was an almost clear ink, matte rather than gloss (I liked the shine of glossy prints and never printed even color photos with a matte finish) in my monogram, which had been approved for a trademark. It couldn't be removed without ruining the photo and was unobtrusive but present. I used it on the photos from Uncle Steve's shoot. I was there when Suzy Parker came in with her sister Dorian Leigh to pick up the prints and had the pleasure of watching their reactions. The models had just taken Uncle Steve's word that they'd want the images and I don't think they were expecting much, but their eyes went big, gloved hands went up to cover dropped jaws (Josee the directrice told me that when they were doing model things they kept up with their habits from the mid twentieth century for which they were known, including wearing pretty little gloves and often hats, never looking anything other than impeccable) and they spread their photographs over the directrice's desk, comparing and exclaiming. They handed over the payment in little envelopes without a hint of protest (it had been in the back of my mind that regardless of what Josee said, it was too much to charge for a fledgling photographer) and most mindblowingly of all, asked for my contact information before carefully separating their prints and sailing out through the door. My first thought was that if I was going to do this, really do this, become a photographer, I should get some kind of nice cover to put my photos in. To present my work.

On the way home, I called Aunt Martha and asked if she had some pointers for creating an image. She hated the concept of branding, thinking it was something done to cows rather than people, and focused on the image of Valkyrie. She was interested in my project and we set up an appointment.

And the regatta was the next weekend. I competed as a single sculler, lightweight division, in the novice race. My family, including some of the cousins, were there with many of my friends to see me row. And win. To be modest (not) I kicked some ass. I won my two kilometer race by two lengths. This was the first thing that I had really won, and it was due entirely to the effort I put in on the river and the weight room, not my name. I shook hands with the winners of the silver and bronze medals and took my boat to the boathouse. Fall was coming early and the afternoon was cool; they said we wouldn't be able to go out on the river much longer, but the club had tanks where we could practice during the winter.

Things were really starting to go my way.

At the beginning of October, Indira, an up and coming model that Uncle Steve had used for his last capsule collection, called and wanted to know if I could produce a few more shots for her portfolio. I was pleased to do so, of course, and consulted with my teacher for tips. When I showed up that afternoon after school, she was in a bit of a tizz because her makeup artist had flaked out, but that wasn't a problem. She showed me the clothes--she'd borrowed a few pieces from other designers--and we talked about her look, how she wanted to be perceived. She did her hair and I did her makeup, and I shot her in the wardrobe, but I also felt like we weren't necessarily getting her best captured. So she agreed to humor me and put on jeans and a plain orange shirt that warmed her enormous dark brown eyes, and I redid her makeup. She styled her hair more casually and we talked as I shot her. She told me about her childhood in India and her family, and I got some great shots of her in soft natural light; her beautiful face was alive in a way that just posing didn't inspire. I showed her the digital images and she chose several that she wanted. "The film shots are always a mystery," I said. "I like to think of them as a present that hasn't been unwrapped yet."

"Why do you shoot with film?" she asked. "It seems really archaic. We all work with digital portfolios."

"It kinda is," I agreed. "But there are billions of people on the planet who like to have something in their hands; digital is great for a lot of things, but there's just something about having a tangible object, something to touch and hold, that is immediate in a way that digital isn't. For film, I prefer black and white, both for the qualities of the image, but also because by printing the image, I get to create it. It's not just something I put onto a chip and hand over. I'm starting to find value in the making of things. There's a feeling of permanence about it, even if it's just paper. And I don't airbrush them, so the images are... exactly what the subject is."

"I'm looking forward to seeing the full-size images," she said, and I said I'd have everything before Friday, agreeing to drop them off at her agent's office.

I worked hard on the furnishings for Miles, finishing up finally on Wednesday. I'd also found him a really cool secretary since he didn't have a desk. Everybody needs a desk, though, and this was a tall cabinet, the dark wood he liked, that had slightly less than half of the piece as a narrow four shelf bookcase--he had some printed books but preferred digital for the ease of carrying them all around with him--and on the larger half, a fold down desk that concealed a small drawer and slots for stuff. Below that was a drawer, and at the bottom, a cabinet. On top was a shelf with a mirror. It was interesting and although not gothic, there was enough detail in the carving to harmonize. He had a hall closet, so didn't need a hall tree. I'd had it delivered, and Miles was really pleased. By this time, Alfred had helped clean and paint; he'd polished the floor and outfitted the sad tiny kitchen to his standards. It was ready for me, and I showed up with a pod stuffed full of lamps and fabric. I showed him how to hang draperies and had him do that while I stuffed the duvet and put the shams over the pillows. The bedroom was tiny so there wasn't much I could add, but I had gotten the same kind of decorating film I'd used in Iris' place but with a slight iridescence to it and had the manufacturer make a big pattern that was based on a carved stone screen from a palace; I'd gotten two of them and put them on the short walls with the doors to the bathroom and living room. The were unobtrusive but added a hint of something special. It was easier to see when the light was dim, and he could just peel them off when he was ready to move on to something bigger. He'd wanted to live on his salary, which is why he was in this small place with an indifferent building manager. My favorite surprise was a standing candelabra, gracefully shaped like a sapling, that held five beeswax candles, for when he had a date home. His apartment allowed candles in holders, while Iris' didn't.

Out in the living room, he'd finished the draperies and helped me rearrange the furniture. He liked lots of small rugs more than fewer larger ones, and he'd chosen ones with very little design so as not to make the small rooms cluttered-feeling. We got those down over rug pads, I arranged the lamps and Iris arrived just as he was starting to screw in the many bulbs. I put her to work, too. She'd brought a beautiful autumn bouquet that had to go on the breakfast bar, the oranges and yellows bright and cheerful. I fussily arranged everything, took some photos out of habit, including the twins in some of them, and let them loose to explore everything. He practically swooned over the duvet cover, which I'd kept as a total surprise, and Iris popped some champagne. I didn't really care for it, but drank my glass, a small coupe from an antique set that Alfred had installed for special occasions. The twins poked around, exclaiming over the surprises, and Iris was really envious of the candelabra. All in all, a real success.

I was really enjoying classes, which makes it easier to study . This semester grades were no problem, which always took pressure off upcoming midterms. I felt really good about them, and parent-teacher conferences were great. My teachers all praised me, and my photography teacher told Mom that he thought I had the talent to make a career out of it if I continued to work hard and learn. So, yay. She'd been a little concerned about my actual career prospects.

After this triumph, I was in a groove, having gotten my activities as part of my routine, really busy but happy. I was even dating again. Homecoming was upcoming, the week of Halloween, and my friends agreed to go as a group for those who didn't get dates. Nobody had one yet, but that was always subject to change. Homecoming wasn't as big a deal as prom, but it was still a step above regular dances, wardrobe-wise, and Imogen and Justine and I were going to go shopping for it over the weekend. I was contemplating this trip in calculus, when the teacher called roll. Then there was a surprise announcement before we got down to the business of math. "We're getting a new student tomorrow," she said. "It's rather late in the year, but I expect that you'll be willing to help the newcomer get caught up if necessary. Since you're seated alphabetically, everybody from Sandy Price on down should sit one seat back tomorrow." That would put me right across from the new student, so I could introduce myself and offer any help that might be needed without a fuss.

I forgot about it as the day went on; we had a Red Cross club meeting to put the final touches on the first aid class planning, and I had work right after school, filling in a half-shift for a coworker with the flu. It was colder than expected, and I hadn't brought gloves along with me. Fortunately Bob the Pod had a great heater. When I got home, I had a surprise: after Aunt Martha's lessons and information about image, I'd found a stationer who had made me some portfolios in glossy papers, three different sizes that corresponded to the three sizes of photographs I most often printed. The smallest ones were dark red, the medium dark blue, and the largest in aubergine. Two thin stripes of silver foil ran across the top, one slightly larger than the other, and my watermark was centered and picked out in silver foil as well. Inside, the paper folded up to help keep the photos inside and slots were cut out for the insertion of both a chip of digital images and a business card, which I also had a box of; thick textured white paper with the watermark on the left side and my name, email address, and communicator number to the right. Looked pretty classy. Too bad I hadn't had these for Indira's photos, but she'd loved the photos anyway, even though they just came in a regular envelope. I also had white mailing envelopes, just in case. They were preprinted in the return address area with my watermark and I had a stamp with my address; I wouldn't always be living on the estate and it would be easier to change the stamp than the envelopes.

So I was a little surprised the next day, making sure my schedule was up to date and I wasn't over-committing myself (getting close, though) when somebody thumped into the empty seat next to mine in calculus. I looked over and felt my jaw hang open.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

Chapter Text

John Pennyworth looked at me, grinning. "You didn't even tell me you were coming back, jerk!" I reached over to swat his arm.

"I'm crushed that this is the reception I get from my dearest childhood friend," he said in his posh accent. I rolled my eyes. "I got kicked out of Eton. Spot of bother with one of the students." For a second, his eyes went glacial. Before he could say more, though, the teacher called us to attention, introduced John, and called roll before passing back our homework. Answers from my friend would have to wait. He grabbed my homework to scan it (luckily I had an A, no need to be embarrassed) and see where we were.

I dragged him to the cafeteria with me after class and plonked him down at our table. "This is John Pennyworth," I told my friends. "Fresh from the UK, unexpectedly." I went to get our lunches and let my friends ask questions. John has an eidetic memory, a wonderful sense of humor, and lots of stories about our childhood. Sure enough, they were roaring when I returned. Jinx was actually wiping his eyes, he was laughing so hard. "So...what student?" I asked him briskly, handing over his tray after he'd finished telling about the time we'd gone swimming with some of the cousins in the pond and gotten scared by an enormous dark brown water snake. In our defense, even though they're not venomous, they're aggressive with foul tempers. We'd all fled the pond, and I'd beaten the pack back to the house.

"Lucius Montgomery," he said, his voice hard. The British PM, Winston Montgomery, had just resigned over the collapse of his government, and I remembered what John had said over the summer.

"So... did you punch him?" I asked. John has a sunny disposition usually, but he's got a real hot temper when you push him to far.

"Broke his nose. It can only improve his looks," he said.

"What did he say?"

"Doesn't matter. I beat him up, our headmaster said I should be more compassionate because of his family's reversal, and he gave me the boot. Despite other incidents where the boys were just disciplined rather than expelled. Mum was waiting for me at the airport; your dad insisted on her going by suborbital."

"And they never told me!" I fumed. He patted me on the back.

"I thought it would be fun to surprise you," he said affectionately. "Told you I was getting bored, anyway." The others had questions about Eton and relocating. I leaned back after finishing my lunch and watched the interactions. John seemed to be fitting in well.

"How did your folks take it?" I asked as we went to return our trays at the end of lunch.

"Dad told me to watch my temper, but both Mum and Dad seem glad I'm back. Dad had my room ready by the time we came home." I smiled. Alfred is both the definition of efficiency and one of the most thoughtful people I'd ever met. "They enrolled me yesterday, Mum got me kitted out afterward. I'm not going to be wearing that ridiculous uniform anymore." He frowned. "Dari and Z both think I'm a hotheaded idiot for getting chucked."

"They're half right," I said, considering, and he laughed.

"But what part?" he wondered, and I just laughed. He's no idiot, and he knows it.

I wasn't working, so after tennis (might be my last afternoon with the tennis club, it's too cold to practice outside) I went home and did my homework. Mom had texted that we were having the grandparents, Alfred, Delara, and John to dinner. After dinner, Alfred took over coffee and dessert, and Alan got to go home a little early. John has a way of livening things up and after the reasons for his dismissal were skirted around and Alfred and Delara's delight at having him back was sufficiently explored, conversation got more general and although I participated, I watched John. I thought he was mad at himself for losing control. Regardless of his remarks about Eton's drawbacks, I'd felt that he was proud of succeeding in such a competitive school and this was a blow. He was talking about finding an after-school job and I suggested that he join the same rowing club I belonged to. He brightened up and his dad, topping off the coffee, squeezed my shoulder. We made arrangements for him to come with me the next morning; the club allowed us to bring potential new members for a tour and he could sign up for a trial membership to see if he liked it.

He did. He said that the facilities were first rate and he knew some of the coaches by reputation; the one he'd be working with was a former Olympian. They signed him up for the trial and he was eager to get back to the sport. And I had a happy surprise too; Miles had deposited some money with the club, so I had a balance I could draw on for things like extra training or branded merchandise from the small stock of shirts and things that they sold. It was a couple of days before John found a job at the Asgardian embassy, courtesy of Uncle Loki, who was both amused by John's temper and sympathetic to his predicament. He'd be working with embassy staff to ensure the smooth running of the embassy; they didn't have butlers, but he'd be in effect training under their chief of staff in a sort of assistant position. He was settling in at school just fine; outgoing, he made friends fast although he ate lunch with me and my friends and started going out with us some. He said that classes weren't nearly as easy as he'd anticipated, and I was pleased that he wasn't going to just walk all over us.

Justine, Imogen and I had actually gone out twice before we found Homecoming outfits we liked. I liked a pink knit dress that matched the pink in my hair; it was a wrap style, but in place of a knit band of the same yarn to tie, it came with a tapestry-woven belt with a clasp. It looked neater and I liked the detail. The yarn itself had some angora, so it was slightly fuzzy and nicely warm. It was above the knee and the skirt was fun. Justine chose a denim-blue sheath dress that showed off her shape nicely, and Imogen chose a pretty pantsuit with a weskit top and almost palazzo pants, not quite as wide. It was in a lush coral that looked lovely on her. Homecoming week had a lot of fun activities, and the dance was a good time too. Only about half the students took dates, so our group of friends fit right in. John joined us and seemed to really enjoy the dance.

The next weekend, I met Jinx for lunch; we were both working and this was something we did whenever we were scheduled during the day. He was really steamed because he'd arrived for a lunch with Harley, but she'd neglected to show up again. I commiserated, and then we moved on to other topics. He ran cross-country, and they had their final race next week. He was feeling good about it; he might not medal, but there were always personal bests and team rankings to look out for.

"Excuse me." We looked up to behold a middle-aged woman with long red hair. "Jinx, isn't it? I'm a friend of your biological mother. May I have a moment of your time alone?" Despite her words, she wasn't really asking, so I stood up and balled up the wrappings from my sandwich, taking my drink with me.

"Talk to you later," I said to Jinx, who nodded. The woman took my seat and I headed for the door. It was starting to snow, and I had hopes that we'd actually get the accumulation the weather forecasters had promised. You'd think that after all this time, they'd be really good with their predictions, but not so much. I was back at work before my communicator buzzed with a text.

JJ: The woman was Dr Pamela Isley. She told me why Harley's flaked out. You need to tell whoever you feel needs to know. Harley's not around because the Joker is back. He is not dead, despite what everybody thought. Be careful.

***The adventures of Lys and company continue in "Identity."***