Wayne Manor
16:34pm

"I will."

Agatha Wayne isn't hard to miss—she is announced by the loud clacks of her tall designer heels on the floor of the room. Her long russet brown hair seems to shine in the lighting, but not as brightly as her sneer.

Jim's really glad he read up on the Waynes before coming here, otherwise he wouldn't have a clue as to who she is. If someone told him this is Thomas Wayne's older sister, he wouldn't believe them. There's no family resemblance between them, though that can be attributed to having different mothers.

More surprising than her unexpected appearance as an uninvited guest is, perhaps, her choice of dress.

She's wearing a burgundy dress. But it's not the color that catches his attention, it's the cut. It's off-shoulder and calf-length, with a thin belt cinched at the waist and made of rayon. He can bet it cost a half year's worth of his salary.

It's also the exact same dress Martha Wayne died in.

Pennyworth looks both resigned and wary. "Madame Wayne-"

"I must say," she cuts in, voice dripping velvet, "I felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation to my own brother's funeral. And learning about it on the morning news? Truly dreadful."

"I- my sincerest apologies, Madame Wayne. We have tried to reach your old number, in vain, and-"

She waves her hand. "Nevermind that. Where's Ambrose? Still afraid of the big crowds?" She smirks before her eyes land on Thompkins, or rather, the bundle in her arms. "Is that the spare? Let me have a look at him. I heard he was injured."

Pennyworth steps forward, drawing Wayne's attention away from Rhys. "Miss Thompkins, would you please take Master Rhys back to his bedroom?"

Thompkins doesn't let him repeat himself. She slips away without saying a word.

Agatha Wayne fixes her hawkish eyes on Pennyworth. It reminds Jim of those nature documentaries Barbara and he like to watch, when the lionesses find their prey. The fact that those stilettos add a few more inches to the already five foot eight woman doesn't help.

Bullock steps forward, throwing a casual arm across Pennyworth's shoulders. "Alfred's the one who gets things rolling around here, now, Missy-"

"Missy?" echoes Agatha Wayne.

"-and what he says, goes." He proceeds to wave his finger at her, a little uselessly.

"What my partner means," —Jim pushes Bullock back with his elbow— "Is that Mr. Pennyworth is Bruce and Rhys' godfather. He has legal custody over the kids and is the trustee of the Wayne Estate."

"The butler?" She throws her head back and laughs, long and loud.

He thinks it prudent not to be the one to tell her that Rhys, the newest addition to the Wayne family, hasn't been written in the will. In fact, Rhys hasn't been brought up once. It's as if he doesn't exist. Officially, this means that Rhys is a ward of the state but it's not a big stretch to assume that he'll be entrusted to Pennyworth's care.

Bullock grabs the opportunity to step out of the bubble of tension between the two, a tactical retreat Jim approves of and follows.

The russet-haired woman cocks her head to the side when she calms down. “I don’t suppose you feel the need to share the burden of making sure they grow up into resilient young men? I doubt a bachelor like you knows how to take care of a baby, nevermind a grief-stricken orphan."

Pennyworth’s face is as white as a sheet, his lips a thin, straight line. "I thank you for the offer, Madame Wayne, but I'm certain I could learn no more from a childless widow than from the firsthand experience at childrearing."

Jim can't believe his ears. Bullock winces beside him.

Agatha Wayne's smile widens. "The little mouse has grown teeth since I last saw him."

"This little mouse has had the foresight to make a copy of Thomas Wayne's last will," Pennyworth says in the driest voice possible, fishing out an envelope and presenting it to the older woman.

Bullock leans close. "Are they fighting or flirting?"

Jim whispers back, "I'm as clueless as you are."

She crosses her arms, drawing Jim's attention to the shiny, high-brand watch on her left wrist. It looks familiar. "I could've easily learned this after the will's made public and the
sent me a copy of it."

Pennyworth looks primly triumphant for about two seconds. "The will has been sealed."

The beneficiaries of a will or the executor can ask the probate judge to 'seal' a will and probate records in certain circumstances. This prevents the public from reading the will and all other related court documents. Judges generally only grant a request to seal a will in rare situations, such as when the deceased is famous. And the Waynes have always been recurring front page news.

Seemingly admitting her small defeat, the Wayne lady takes the offered envelope.

She takes the letter inside, unfolds it, and begins reading.

There's a quiet tension while she reads, the air around them heavy with anticipation and barely hidden curiosity. From where he's standing, Jim can't see the contents of the letter, but he does get a front-row seat to Agatha Wayne's reaction.

Her face does something strange, at some point. It scrunches up, her eyebrows furrowing. For a moment Jim thinks she wants to cry, the next that she wants to shout. Instead, her expression smoothes back into that prideful gaze and she folds the letter back with crisp movements.

She says, derisively, "It seems the matter of my brother's inheritance could've been done by old-fashioned mail. What a waste of my time and money."

"My apologies for the inconvenience being an unexpected guest has brought you, Madame," Pennyworth says, cool and insincere, "We can arrange-"

"Alfred," Agatha Wayne smiles, lips bright red against white teeth, "You call me Madame Wayne, you even treat me as such, but we both know you do not mean either."

People might think it strange that Thomas's own sister didn't inherit anything from their late father, but it's actually pretty common for children born out of wedlock to be excluded from earning a part of the heritage. Sometimes, that heritage includes respect, acknowledgment, recognition.

She turns around abruptly and makes for the door and they hasten to follow her.

The hallways are empty, guests and personnel having vacated the premises a short time ago. The two detectives still move to flank Pennyworth, more out of habit than anything else, and Bullock leans close to ask in a casual tone, "So, who's Ambrose?"

"Madam Martha had… a unique sense of assigning names. Ambrose is, shall we say, Master Bruce's real name. It's what is written on his birth certificate. One would've thought that a detective assigned to this case would know of this." The way he glances at him is very pointed.

Bullock, taller than the butler, lifts his head to shoot Jim a nasty look. Jim shrugs as if to say, "Don't blame me. I actually read the files they give us."

"Uh, yeah, it was in his file… which I read. I mean, it just slipped my mind for a sec," Bullock coughs, "What about the wee one? What's his secret name?"

Pennyworth’s mustache twitches. "Demetrius."

"That's… really fancy," says Bullock with a grimace.

"Madame Martha was a fancy woman."

"And a fool." It's Agatha Wayne who says that.

They've arrived at the entrance hall but she lingers at the door of the hallway, turning to look at them. The grand doors are still open, letting in an orange sunset light that haloed the woman, and the cold wind, ruffling her hair, her dress, the letter in her hand. She looks like she stepped straight out of a movie poster.

"I will deal with the press," she tells Pennyworth, "Take care of the Estate my brother has left in your hands. I won't tolerate it falling into disrepair or disregard.

Pennyworth acquiesces. "Of course, Madame Wayne."

She makes to leave but pauses when Pennyworth says, "Oh, Madame Wayne? They're not a burden."

She tilts her head in question.

"The children." Pennyworth stands tall and straight, looking her right in the eyes, unyielding. "They're not a burden, whether I share custody or not."

Agatha Wayne studies him silently for a few moments, before snorting. It's the first inelegant thing she's done and combined with the evening light softening her edges, "Of course, excuse my poor choice of words. I had a long plane ride and fatigue leads me to say things I don't mean. Ah, I left my contact information in the study. I trust you'll only use it for emergencies."

Pennyworth nods.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've left my escort waiting for way too long." She turns away without a second glance at Bullock or Jim, as if they are beneath her notice.

Her escort turns out to be a bear of a man, standing at the entrance with his back turned to them and seemingly waiting for Agatha Wayne, which he wasn't there a minute ago. Even from where he's standing, Jim can see the built muscles of the man's back shifting under the immaculate suit. That suit must've cost a year of Jim’s paycheck. No, he's not jealous.

The man turns around when Agatha reaches him.

Jim knows he'd compared the man to a bear before but now he actually thinks the man might have fought a bear. Three ragged scars bisected diagonally across his face, not deep enough to twist his broad features, but still an angry glaring red. And those are some impressive sideburns.

Agatha and he exchange a few words before she slips her arm through his and they walk out the doors of the Wayne Manor without a backward glance.

Bullock whistles under his breath. "If I’da known women like that go for guys in suits, I maybe I would have gone to business school after all.”

"Believe me," Jim says, pulling out his notebook and quickly writing down everything he's just learned. "I don't think women like that go for guys like you, no matter what school you've gone to."

....

Afterword: Agatha Wayne is a canon character but, as I said before, she might as well be an oc because I know nothing about her aside from that she's Bruce's aunt. One observation: these chapters were written from Jim Gordon's pov, as such, he uses last names for everyone because that's how he is at 24. He'll lighten up with age. He calls Agatha by her full name because he's intimidated by (and in awe of) her.

Chapter not beta-ed. I'll come back later to fix mistakes. By the way, I've written two Chekov's gun thingies in the last two chapters, one more obvious than the other. Props if u can find them.

Who can guess who Agatha's 'escort' is?

Next chapter will have a time-skip. And small Bruce!!