Chapter Text

CRAZY ABOUT YOU

There used to be a weekly column in the Gotham Gazette called "Gotham Is," where random Gothamites were invited to complete the sentence describing their chaotic city in no more than three words. Over the years, she read and agreed when people called it vile and cursed. Gotham is forsaken by God. Gotham is a lost cause. Gotham is corrupted.

In some long-lost Saturday edition from the past, a young Samantha, then a journalism student, answered with a timid smile: Gotham is scary as fuck. Which was, of course, censored by the editor and replaced with a tamer version. But if Samantha had to answer now, more mature, it would be very different. Gotham is Elizabeth Wayne. With her dark curls and blue eyes, her stuffed animals and boundless innocence. A different kind of breath of life after a near-death that had nothing to do with an ancient absinthe-green lake commanded by an old physician.

Her daughter was the reason she still kept her feet firmly planted on Gotham’s soil and why the urge to leave the city that had hurt her so much slipped through her fingers.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel after finally hearing the doorbell ringing frantically and rushed to answer it, calling out for patience and saying she had heard it. It was probably just a vendor offering something she would refuse, or Bruce standing at her door about to do something incredibly strange under the excuse of visiting his daughter. His urgency for the door to be opened quickly was typical of him. Samantha struggled for a few seconds with the gadgets her ex-husband had installed, paranoid about their security, and which now made it difficult to open the door.

“Bruce, how many times do I have to beg you to stop installing this tech crap without my permission?” she shouted, punching the door lock to open it, which, fortunately, worked.

She frowned when she saw her visitor was several inches shorter and had a pair of green eyes Bruce did not share.

“I think I can deliver the message,” Damian replied. Hands in his pockets and with a determined look, he walked in uninvited, prompting Samantha to step aside to let him through.

She closed the door silently, turning toward the boy who remained still, staring at Liz, lying on the couch in front of an episode of My Little Pony. The redhead rushed away when she smelled something burning and remembered she had left the stove on. She groaned in frustration at the sight of some burnt fries and tried to disperse the smoke with her hands. Tossing out the most ruined ones, she grabbed more to fry.

“I think it’d be more practical if you used an air fryer, at least it would spare the kid’s lungs and your lack of cooking skills,” Damian muttered in his know-it-all, authoritative tone, standing in the kitchen doorway.

She rolled her eyes.

“Haha, very funny. This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t desperate outside. Most of them are still edible, at least,” she muttered, throwing more french fries into the pan and glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

Damian had grown a lot since the first time they met, back when she was just Bruce’s girlfriend. She still remembered how everyone at Wayne Manor seemed unable to understand Damian and his standoffish behavior in those early months, how Bruce treated him like a small criminal needing rehabilitation. She had quickly realized she was dealing with a child raised in a very unorthodox household, who had seen things most grown adults never had.

She remembered how Damian’s walls slowly came down and the small hesitant smile he gave when she took him to her favorite Arabic restaurant. He ordered lentil soup and confessed it tasted just like the one his mother, Talia, made every time he got sick. And she had been sure that adapting to a new culture and strange people had been hell for such a small child away from his mother. “Didn’t know such a strong little boy could get sick,” Samantha had joked, and in return received Damian’s classic scowl and an eye roll.

She smiled at the memory and turned off the stove. Damian, as much as he was good at putting on a tough act, was no longer the grumpy ten-year-old.

“So, to what do I owe the honor of such an illustrious visit to my house this morning?” she asked playfully, grabbing a clean plate from the cupboard and placing it on the table. She transferred the fries from the pan to the porcelain. “As far as I know, you’re supposed to be at school.”

Damian grunted, sitting at the table with his elbows propped up and hands clasped. His brow was furrowed and his face thoughtful.

Before he could answer, the sound of tiny footsteps and a small Liz yelling “Damian!” in her childish voice filled the room. She jumped into his lap, and he straightened in the chair, seeming to want to maintain some distance, patting her head lightly to calm her.

“Don’t tell me you skipped school and decided to hide in my house!” she went on.

Elizabeth snatched a frie from the plate and chewed it slowly, watching the exchange between her mother and brother. Damian grabbed one too and popped it into his mouth right after.

“It’s not exactly like that, okay? I had some problems.”

“Oh my God, don’t tell me someone called your mom a cheap model who hooked up with your dad on a business trip again and this time you couldn’t hold back,” Samantha murmured, though it was obvious she was panicking, trying to keep Elizabeth from hearing and asking questions. The child simply looked up at her older brother and asked, “Papa?” upon hearing Bruce’s name.

Damian got annoyed, but Liz’s cute expression softened him. He adjusted her in his lap.

“It wasn’t like that, please,” the boy threw his head back and groaned in frustration, impatient with the older woman’s nerves. “Listen, I need your help and I don’t want father to know. You know how he is with those endless lectures.”

Liz’s little eyes shifted from her mother to her older brother, lips slightly parted as if concentrating on a very serious matter her brain couldn’t quite decode.

Samantha knew, oh, how she knew, how annoying Bruce could be when he started throwing out arguments just to win an argument. She muttered a “yes” to her ex's son, turning her back to grab clean glasses to serve juice for him and Elizabeth.

“The principal wants to speak with my father and I want you to go instead of him,” Damian continued.

Samantha handed him the orange juice.

“When the principal asks for an adult, they usually mean the father or the mother,” she replied flatly.

“You’re still Mrs. Wayne. When a father can’t attend his son’s meeting, his wife takes charge.”

She took a deep breath. Thanks for the reminder that I never formally divorced your father, Damian.

That title still did something to her gut, a kind of happiness she couldn’t describe but recognized as the same she felt the first time she was called by the surname of the man she loved. Yes, she hadn’t divorced Bruce and was legally still his wife, legally Samantha Wayne, but the gossip columns had been quick to speculate that Samantha and her daughter had left the manor, which smelled like separation.

She didn’t need the whole city to know they weren’t together anymore and that it was all an agreement for Liz’s wellbeing. They came up with their own theories to explain what was kept secret, anyway. There was always something to say. Even when it came to how the Waynes were raising little Elizabeth, who had once raised her middle finger to the paparazzi in Bruce’s arms, trying to imitate Jason in an adorably inappropriate way.

“Only someone completely clueless wouldn’t realize that,” she looked at Liz and silently asked her to cover her ears. What the child saw as a game, Sam saw as a way to keep her from grown-up conversations. “I’m no longer with your father.”

“You have to go. Please, please, please,” he begged dramatically, and in that moment, he was the closest he’d ever sounded to a regular teenager. “I’ll have to listen to two hours of Bruce Wayne going on and on and it’ll be all your fault.”

She sighed, defeated by exhaustion. It was hard to say no to Damian Wayne because, well, he was Damian Wayne.

“Depending on what you did, I might have to tell Bruce.”

“Deal,” he replied, and for a moment, she could almost catch a glimpse of a smile.