Settling in

[moonshadows]

“I’ll be super quiet,” Max promised as Bruce Wayne’s way schway car pulled away from the hospital and into traffic. “Totally well-behaved. You don’t even know I’m there.”

“No,” he snapped, ancient gnarled fingers tight around the wheel. He speared her with a sidelong glance. “I want you to be rowdy. Ill-mannered. I want you to talk back to me, to leave your things lying all over, and display bad habits. I want you to be everything that old people hate about teenagers.”

Max blinked. Looked at the old man, looked back at the road, blinked again, and finally said, “Why?”

“Because if I snap at you, I know you’ll snap back and tell me when I’ve gone too far. Terry won’t. I need to get used to dealing with young people again, and I can’t do that if you act like a mature adult. Besides,” he continued, hints of amusement in his gravelly voice, “I know you’re yearning for the opportunity to rebel against your old man, and I’m not about to deny you that. Not after everything you’ve missed out on because of me.”

She thought about that for a minute, as he drove to her apartment. He had a point; she wasn’t going to get much parenting unless she acted out. But she didn’t actually want to be a rebellious daughter.

“It’s not misbehaving if I’m acting the way you want me to, right?” she asked in a small voice. “I mean…I’ll still be a good daughter, won’t I?” A lifetime of being a disappointment at best welled up and manifested in her tear ducts. Max sniffled.

Bruce Wayne pulled into the apartment complex and parked before turning to her. Crying children had never been his forte, and he was acutely aware that he was directly responsible for this one. It took a few moments before he was sure he could speak without sounding as furious at himself as he was. “What’s wrong?”

Max scrubbed her eyes angrily, then gave up and left them closed. “I want to be the kind of daughter you can be proud of. I never got that from my mom. Ever since she died, I kind of dreamed that when I found my dad, I’d somehow do something to make him proud of me.”

“I’m already proud of you,” the old said quietly. “You would have found me even if Terry hadn’t told you; that takes intelligence and cleverness. You confronted me about it; that takes courage. And you endured a childhood worse than mine; that takes tremendous inner strength.

Surprised, she peeled her eyelids open and blinked clumped-together lashes apart until she could stare at him. “You really mean that?”

“I lost my parents when I was eight,” he said somberly. “When I was your age, I was well on my way to becoming Batman so that I could do something to avenge my destroyed family. Like me, you’re not taking your situation lying down. And you’re doing it without sacrificing who you are. Yes, Maxine, I’m proud of you. But I warn you,” he continued in a lighter tone, “that doesn’t mean I’ll let you slack off. I expect a lot of you. You may hate me for it.”

“But it’ll make me a better woman,” she countered. “So in the long run, I’ll love you for it.”

He grunted. “For the moment, let’s get your things out of the apartment. You’ll have the weekend to settle in while I lay out the rules.”

Her old man was proud; that was good enough for her. “Yes, Mr. Wayne.”

 

Bruce Wayne scowled at the tiny, dingy apartment. He had bigger closets, and the rooms that hadn’t been touched in half a century were more wholesome. Subconsciously, he shifted his posture in the way that would have had his cloak covering him completely, were he wearing it.

“This is where you live?”

“Not anymore,” Max chirped, unbothered by the evident disapproval. “Now I live in that schway mansion you’ve got.” Backpack, suitcase, two garbage bags full of assorted possessions. That was everything she gave a half-chewed rat’s ass about. “I’ve got my stuff, we can jet.”

“Gladly,” he muttered, and stumped out into the hall.

 

“This will be your room,” the old man announced curtly.

Max stared. Sure, it needed some dusting, but it was bigger than the apartment she’d lived in as a child. The good one, before her mom died and it was just her and her sister. Heck, just the bed was almost bigger than the cramped bedroom her sister had claimed in the ghetto apartment before she moved out.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” she said hurriedly, clutching the garbage bags a little tighter. “I just…are you sure, Mr. Wayne? This is a big room.”

The stern and stony expression he wore thawed slightly. “It was my room when I was your age. This is a big house; all the rooms are big. Now put your things down and follow me to the study; there’s a few formalities we need to take care of.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wayne.”

It took a handful of seconds for Max to drop the bags and suitcase by a sheet-draped chair and shuck off her backpack, and then she did her best to memorize where her employer-slash-guardian was leading her. The study was unlike any room she’d ever been in. There was dark wood everywhere; the heavy desk and table and ancient, dignified chairs; deep, solid bookshelves in the walls filled with a printed fortune; hardwood floor half-covered with oriental rugs. There were no windows, and the only light came from a matched set of brass lamps: two standing in the corners, flanking the table opposite the desk, and one sitting on the desk itself. The light they cast was warm, teasing gold highlights from the polished wood. Mr. Wayne sank into the chair behind the desk and motioned for her to sit.

“Here,” he said, passing her a tablet. “Read this before you sign it.”

Max took it and sat absently, eyes already skimming the text. “What is it?”

“Your two-year employment contract. It should cover everything, but I’m open to negotiation if there’s something I missed.”

Employment. Right. Max went back to the top and started reading more thoroughly.

“Meals,” she murmured. “Lodging. Uniform provided?”

“I’ll buy you clothes.”

“Schway. Training for all required duties?”

“That ought to cover anything that might come up. I won’t ask you to do anything without being certain that you can.”

“And it covers all the, uh, extra-curricular responsibilities I’ll have.” She kept reading. “Medical…transportation, way schway. Wait.” Incredulous, she looked up. “I get vacation days?”

“I can’t give you the traditional holidays off – not if you want as much of a family experience as I can manage. But if you want to take a weekend to go out with friends…”

“I’d have to have some,” she said dryly. “Wages…” Max stared at the number, counting the zeroes. “Mr. Wayne, that’s a lot of money.”

“Keep reading.”

“…establishment expenses, weekly stipend, year-end bonus…college fund.” She blinked, blinked again, but the tears didn’t go away.

“I’m your genetic father,” he said quietly. “The fact that I didn’t know about you doesn’t change the responsibilities implicit in that. Once we legally establish you as my offspring, I’ll be able to do more – but for right now, this contract is the closest I can come to guaranteeing you everything you should have had as my daughter.”

 Half-blinded by tears, Max signed at the bottom and handed the tablet back before wiping her eyes.

“Now, I’ll need your sister to sign the form transferring legal guardianship to me, but if you can be quiet, I’ll let you listen to the call.”

Max slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet up on the chair, arms hugging her knees. “A mime would be louder,” she promised, eyes wide.

The old man smiled faintly. “Alright.”

The phone on the desk was a video-capable model, she noted as he dialed. Hooked right into his computer. Very schway. She didn’t ask how he got her sister’s number; he was Batman. And, aside from that, he was Bruce Wayne. He probably had backdoors into every system in the city.

The phone rang twice and was picked up by a voice Max recognized as the man her sister had married. “Hello, Rogers residence.”

“Yes,” the old man said in as friendly a tone as she’d heard him use yet, “may I speak with Daniella Rogers?”

Although he sounded vaguely friendly, he was still scowling at the screen. It made Max smile, somehow.

“Sure thing, sir. Honey, phone for you!” There were sounds of the handset being put down and picked up, and then a female voice she knew all too well said, “Hello?”

“Mrs. Rogers, this is Bruce Wayne. I’m calling about your sister-”

“Ugh, what did that brat do now? I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, but I’m not responsible for whatever Maxine did.”

The familiar sinking, burning resentment sparked in Max’s chest, but the old man looked…pleased?

“Legally,” he growled smugly, “you are. You’re her legal guardian, a role you’ve been delinquent in.”

The silence on the other end was gratifying.

“Now, I’d like to hire Maxine as a personal assistant. I’m not as young as I used to be, and having an extra pair of hands around just in case…well, it’s a prudent move.”

“Why are you telling me this, Mr. Wayne?”

The old man smiled coldly at how defeated Daniella sounded. For that matter, Max was smiling, too. “I’d like you to sign legal guardianship over to me. I can send the form through right now.”

Now wary, Daniella asked, “Why should I? What do you want with her?”

“I’ve told you what I want,” he answered almost pleasantly. “As for why you should…well, let’s just say Maxine has been rather…forthcoming…regarding her living conditions these last few years. Now, we can do this the hard way if you like, with inspections and courts and publicity. You do have a lawyer, don’t you? I have several. They’re very good. My name will ensure it’s a media circus, and I’m more than willing to drag it out until the legal fees bankrupt you and your husband, but in the end, I’ll still take Maxine away from you. Or…” he drawled the word, drawing it out and savoring it with an evil smirk, “I can send you the form and you can sign it. It’s up to you.”

The strident laughter on the other end sounded just slightly hysterical. “Sure. Send the form. Take the brat. I’ve wanted her out of my life for years.”

Bruce Wayne punched a button grimly. There was a sound on the other end, then some scuffling, and then the grim expression gained a predatory satisfaction. A few seconds later, the printer spat out a single sheet and he signed it.

“Thank you, Mrs., Rogers. Enjoy your evening.”

There was a click as the call disconnected.

“I’m free?” Max asked, not quite able to believe it.

“Almost. We’ll go by City Hall in the morning to get it notarized and put on record. Now, Maxine-”

“Max,” she interrupted firmly. “Only people who don’t know or like me call me Maxine.”

He studied her for a moment before nodding. “Alright. When we’re in public and you’re acting as my assistant, I’ll call you Maxine and you’ll address me as Mr. Wayne. When I call you Max, I’m acting in the capacity of your old man instead of your employer, and you call me Bruce. Deal?”

“Deal.” Max grinned. This was going to be great!

“Now that we’ve got that settled…on school nights, Max, I want you in bed by ten-thirty unless you can provide a very good reason why you should be allowed to stay up. Any other night, you’re responsible for being awake and functional at the appropriate time if there’s anything scheduled. Otherwise, as long as you don’t keep me up, I don’t care when or if you sleep.” He paused for any argument, but she just nodded eagerly. “I’ve seen your school records,” he went on. “I expect you to maintain your grades, and I don’t anticipate having to discipline you regarding them. Don’t prove me wrong.”

“No worries, Bruce.”

“Good. I’ll enroll you in a Driver’s Ed course as soon as the next class starts. Once you have your license, I’ll let you pick one of the cars for your personal use and I’ll expect you to do the driving for me. Qualify for a motorcycle license, and I’ll buy you whichever model you like.” He allowed himself a small, tight smile as she squealed with glee. “Take the evening to explore and get settled in. Ask before you try opening a door that’s locked. There’s a pad and pen on the fridge; we’ll be grocery shopping after we’re through at City Hall. On that note,” he said, almost threateningly, “I want to leave by quarter to nine. Understood?”

“Yes, Bruce,” she answered obediently.

“Alright. We’ll discuss structured periods of disobedience and extra-curricular assignments tomorrow evening. Dinner tonight is whatever you can find; breakfast tomorrow is the same. Mealtimes are a discussion for next week. Now go entertain yourself, I want to watch the drivel that passes for news nowadays and brood.”

Grinning broadly, Max went.