Chapter Text
We glided across the floor like two graceful swans, completely entrancing the crowd. She looked like Dad. She was the constant reminder of our late father, with her green eyes that could grow dark or sparkle like the genuine diamonds on her necklace. She had a strong jawline like him; her face looking like it was sculpted to resemble our father. She had her jet-black hair back in a curly updo, with a diamond crown tracing her head, bangs falling slightly to frame her face.
“Stop staring, will you? Creeps me out.” Martha giggled quietly. I let a grin settle over my face. I contemplated whether or not to justify my staring with the truth or make something up. She always hated it when I mentioned Dad. She had taken the hardest hit. Martha never knew Mom, Mom died months after Martha was born.
“Your eyes. They remind me of someone familiar.” I smirked. Her grin toned immediately down to a sad smile. She nodded lightly.
“From all the pictures I’ve seen, you look like Mom. That’s not such a bad deal.” I upturned the melancholy smile, as her green eyes shone brightly. I chuckled lightly.
“Yeah, not a bad deal.” I murmured, thinking back. Martha didn’t know that I was adopted. She thought that her and I were the only two kids of Bruce and Diana’s. Our three brothers were adopted as well, and she knew that. But we all looked alike. I think that Bruce and Diana wanted to appease the public by getting kids that all looked the same. But me especially, you could have mistaken me for Diana’s son any day. I had her bright blue eyes, her jet-black hair, and her knack for truth, as well as a need for justice (instilled in me by Bruce). Martha was the only one out of the 5 of us that had powers, inherited by Diana. She had flight, enhanced strength, and Bruce’s sense of curiosity and knowledge. She was a human weapon, and that made for a rough childhood on all of us, but it was especially trying Bruce and Diana.
“Look at Jason, he’s all over Cass.” Martha snickered. I shrugged.
“It’s their wedding, I think that’s how they’re supposed to be.” I murmured. “Speaking of which, how are you and Connor? I thought he would be the one dancing with you tonight.” I laughed. She shrugged.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for that. And we have been linked together since birth, it’s like destiny for us to end up together, and that’s kind of a daunting thing to think about.” She drew out a steep breath. It’s was Bruce’s sense of isolation and fighting destiny that I most feared and admired about Martha. Sometimes her conscience could be skewed, and she could be ruthless.
“I don’t see what’s so bad about that. If he loves you, and you love him, I think you should be together.” I muttered, trying to talk her out of Bruce’s dark side. It was the Diana in me that wanted the best for her, and wanted her to be happy. It had been that way since I was 17. That’s when dad died. And my four siblings were thrust upon me, unable to gain help from Alfred; he lay in the cemetery right next to our mother and father. Damian and Jason wanted to deal with it on their own, but there were many nights that I held a 7-year-old Martha after she had woken up screaming from a nightmare. I was still a teenager myself; it was hard to be a good father too. But Bruce had made me promise, he had made me swear after Martha was born and we adopted Jason, Tim, and Damian, that I would protect them and keep them safe when he and Diana were gone. It’s a lot to put on a 10-year-old boy, but I promised. And I knew that I had to live by that vow, remembering what they would have wanted for us kids. Sometimes, the only thing that got me through days or weeks or months, was the grace of God himself, and even then, it didn’t feel like anyone was in my corner.
“I don’t know, I look at Jason and Cass, and really wonder if that’s going to be me. I see you and Barbara, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. And it just seems like that’s where the road is going to end.” She murmured, sighing. I snorted.
“You’re 17, Jason and Cass are 22. Barbara and I got married when we were 23. Tim’s 20 and he and Stephanie aren’t married yet. You don’t have to be ready now. You’ve still got time.” I smiled, twirling her around. The bottom of her sparkling black ball gown flared up, hitting my legs gently. “But I don’t know how Connor could say no to you when you look like this.” She blushed deeply. “Definitely better than your bedhead and morning breath.” I laughed, lightening the mood. She elbowed me gently.
“Watch it, dude.” She grinned, displaying her perfect smile. She was a true vision of upper class society. But when you spoke to her, she was so relatable and well rounded.
I took a second to really let this moment sink in. It had been decades since the manor had been opened up for a formal event, and it probably wouldn’t be open again until Damian or Tim got married. I had technically inherited all of Bruce’s assets, including the manor, but I let Lucius handle all of my affairs up at Wayne Industries. Especially in moments like these, I liked to look back on everything and assess how it would have been different if Bruce and Diana were still alive. But thankfully, Bruce and Diana were incredible parents to me, and taught me how to handle things when they would eventually be gone. When they originally said that, I think that they were under the assumption that they would have more time with us. But I learned the important things, and taught them to my younger siblings. Things such as dancing.
“You know, you’ve got quite the knack for dancing. Mom was like that too. When Dad was teaching Mom how to dance, she picked up the foxtrot and Viennese waltz incredibly quickly.” I smiled. She laughed, a grin surfacing on her face.
“You’ve been teaching me since I was 9. So I should be decent.” She laughed. I shrugged.
“Yes, but Mom had this distinct grace and elegance that you wouldn’t expect from an Amazonian warrior. She just fit with the dances, and made Dad look good.” I chuckled. She smiled, nodding slowly.
“I wish it didn’t have to be like this. You have so much going for you right now—“ she shifted her gaze over to Barbara, looking beautiful as ever, “—and I don’t want your responsibilities to damper the life you could be living. You’ve raised us since we were kids, and you somehow managed to raise yourself. I just wish you could be free of us. You shouldn’t have to deal with all this.” She sighed sadly, avoiding my gaze. I could see her green eyes growing slightly darker, glimmering with the slightest hint of a tear. I felt a pain in my chest, a metaphorical pain that hurt so bad, I almost couldn’t breathe.
“Martha—You and Damian and Jason and Tim are my life. You four come first, no matter what might be going on in my life. And I was happy to step up to the plate, not only as your guys’ father, but as a mentor and teacher in most everything. Whether we’re all out on the streets of Gotham, dressed up in glorified Halloween costumes, saving the world, or in our best attire, gliding across ballroom floors, I’m so proud. I’m so incredibly proud of you kids. And it has been my greatest honor to be anything close to a father to you.” I preached quietly, a tear slipping out of both of our eyes. “When I was 10, after we had adopted Tim and Damian and Jason, on the day you were born, Bruce put you in my arms and said, “Protect them. When we are gone, you are their only guardian. Trust no one, and keep them safe. They need you.” But looking at you tonight, all grown up and a true beauty, inside and out, I really don’t think you need me anymore.” I sighed, grimacing a little. I tried to hold back the overflow of tears that were about to escape. She coughed out a sad and stifled laugh.
“They would have been so proud of you.” She whispered. I felt all the air in my chest cavity vacuumed out. All I had ever wanted in life was to be good to my brothers and sister, and gain the respect of my mother and father. Hearing it now, from the closest thing I’ll ever get to my late parents, was an experience.
“I didn’t know Mom, although the way you talk about her, makes us all feel like we know her. But I knew my father, and he would have been so—“ she drew in a deep breath, trying not to cry too much. “—proud of you.” She finally exhaled, almost trembling. She collapsed into my chest, tightening her grip on my shoulder and right hand. Even when she was a mess, she still danced with elegance and grace. Just like Mom. Then, muffled from my chest, came a little whimper of a statement.
“I will always need you.”
And a gunshot rang through the air.