Title: Mother of Pearl
Fandom: Batman (comics)
Characters: Damian Wayne, Martha Wayne
Rating: PG
Challenge: #129 Amnesty-family
Notes: Spoilers for Batman & Robin Annual 2013
Length: 700 words
Summary: It occurred to Damian that he knew nothing about his paternal grandmother aside from the manner of her death and it was time to change that.



It occurred to Damian that he knew nothing about his paternal grandmother aside from the manner of her death. Father had told him all about the roar of the gun, the thunderous splash of her pearls hitting the water, but little else. It was if the bullet that took her life had erased it too. Martha Wayne had been reduced to a broken necklace and her son’s childhood trauma, and that seemed the biggest tragedy of all.

“Do we still have any of my grandparents’ things?” Damian asked Pennyworth one day while he was trapped in the house recovering from his injuries.

“I believe many of Dr. Wayne’s papers and effects are still in his study.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. His grandfather’s study was Father’s now. Damian couldn’t bear the thought of facing him just to paw through some old papers, not after Ducard. “And my grandmother’s?”

Pennyworth took him to a room he’d never visited before. Even with the curtains drawn, Martha’s relatively small office was both brighter and warmer than her husband’s. The color palette was lighter, softer, and the decor featured a good deal less leather. There were several watercolor paintings and line drawings on the walls and a scattering a framed photographs on the desk. The overall effect was pleasant and cheerful without any of the expected feminine fripperies.

The pale oak bookshelves were filled with albums and daybooks. Each album was organized by subject and date. The one labeled “Charity 1975” was full of pictures of fundraising galas and the expansion of Leslie Thompkins’ clinic. Every photo had notes about the location, date, and subject written in a neat, feminine hand. It was the kind of meticulousness that Father would appreciate. Damian pulled the album “Honeymoon” from the shelf and curled up on the floor with Titus to look at pictures of the happy couple in Barcelona, Madrid, and Saville.

Damian spent the better part of the day looking through Martha’s albums. His grandmother had been involved in charities for the carefully scrubbed poor and photogenic orphans. She’d traveled extensively throughout Europe and visited various archaeological sites in the Middle East. Family must have been especially important to her considering she documented every moment of her son’s life. Damian watched his father grown from a squalling, red-faced infant to a handsome boy with a shy smile.

Somewhat unnerved, Damian turned to the daybooks next. Martha, it seemed, had been a dedicated diarist since college. She wrote about the heady days of her courtship with Thomas, the trials of motherhood, and her plans for the future. Damian’s eye was caught by an entry from a trip to London when Father was just over a year old. Miserable weather, even for London,it read. Stayed in with Bruce and worked on a still life. He quite literally tried his hand at it and left a print right across the fruit bowl. Our first work together. I’ll make an artist of Bruce yet.

Damian set the book down and examined the paintings around the room. The still life of glass and feathers had the initials MKW in the corner. So did the seascape over the mantel. Apparently, his grandmother had been an artist, the artist. Neither Father nor Mother were artistically inclined. Did Damian get his talent from Martha? If she were still alive, would they paint together? If she were alive, would Damian even exist, or would she be painting with some other grandson.

For a moment, Damian wanted to smash the nearest painting to pieces. It wasn’t fair that Martha had to die so that Batman and Damian could be born. It wasn’t fair that he would never have a grandparent capable of loving him. These photos and diaries and paintings were the closest that he would ever come to knowing her and it was not fair.

It was with great effort that Damian that refrained from smashing anything. Instead he climbed down from the mantel and carefully put his grandmother’s dairy away. Then he turned out the lights and walked out the door. The sound of the latch catching behind him was as loud as pearls falling on water.