Legend

New challenges

I was on my way out to go to work when Alfred hailed me, a slight perturbation on his normally placid face. "I apologize for the interruption as you are leaving for work, Miss Alex, but Master Damian is...fractious this morning. I wondered if you'd try to speak to him?"

I can't turn Alfred down. So I hiked up to the third floor and walked in on Bruce looking like he'd like to nail his son in the head with the bottle of cough syrup. The bed was a wreck, all the sheets pulled loose and crumpled. Damian was swearing at his father, he was clutching the antibiotics bottle like he was going to throw it at his father. The gist was that he didn't like the taste of the medication.

I was tired, and when I'm tired I'm often cranky. "Damian Thomas Wayne, put that thing back where you found it, or so help me..." I said, very firmly. In my mom's Mom Voice. He glared at me but his hand inched toward the night stand. "Don't you be saying things like that to your father, who is trying to help you, idiot," I directed. Ok, it might have been more like 'bellowed.' Bruce also shut his mouth, which he'd opened to yell. I took the little cup of the medication from him, pinched Damian's nose shut, and poured the medicine in his mouth when he opened it to breathe. He choked it down and started swearing again.

"You're not my mother," he said bitterly.

"No, I am your beloved, and by God you'd better start acting like it. Your mother has a lot to answer for." I pointed at the bathroom. "Get up and go clean up," I directed forcefully. There were splashes of cough syrup on his chest. "Put on a tshirt so that you don't get a chill. Now!" Sulkily, he got up and trudged toward the bathroom. I smacked the little cup down on the nightstand and tossed the covers off the bed. There were no fitted sheets in the manor; Alfred made the beds the old-fashioned (and military way) with flat sheets. I'd learned how to do that as well from Uncle Bucky because I liked the look of the pleats on the corners of the mattress. When Damian shuffled back out, looking slightly wary, I was just finishing the bottom sheet. Bruce looked between us speculatively and Alfred stood in the doorway, watching the situation unfold. I fluffed and arranged the pillows so that he'd be slightly inclined for help with breathing, then waited until he stopped coughing to point to the bed. With ill grace, he pulled on an old t shirt and stretched out. I flicked the top sheet over him and tucked the sheets in, using all of Uncle Bucky's tricks to keep the sheet firm and tight. Then I shook the blanket out and spread that across the bed, then had Bruce help me shake out the comforter, fold it in half, and place it across the lower half of the bed. I inspected my work; Damian was neatly mummified under the sheet and for once he wasn't saying anything.

"Now, you listen to me, young man," I said, channeling my mom and stringing together her oldies but goodies. I'd have to tell her about this, she'd get a kick out of it. God help me, I actually shook my finger at him. "Today you will rest. You will take your medication when it is given to you without profanity of any kind, in any language, and you will be grateful that there are people who care enough to want to see to your comfort. If you cannot say something nice, you will not speak. Believe it or not, you aren't that ill or you would be in the hospital. You will survive this unless you provoke somebody to beat your head in. If you want to be treated like a grown up, you will act like one. You may not be aware, but there are people who have real troubles today, like Dick and Barbara, who were victims of the S'mores killer last night. They made it out with minor injuries, but others were not as lucky. There are 27 confirmed dead, almost 20 still in the hospital this morning, and many more were treated and released." He looked shocked. "If you can manage to behave with a semblance of manners, this afternoon you may have your phone or your tablet." I saw Alfred nod out of the corner of my eye. "Do I make myself clear? You will adjust your attitude, or I'll do it for you."  Damian, looking a little cowed, managed to free one arm from the sheet and grip the top of it, nodded. I had no idea how to adjust his attitude; Mom's threats had always been sufficient to inspire the necessary degree of  change in J and me.  I grasped Bruce by the arm and steered him out, sweeping up Alfred in the process and closing the door behind me.