Rain was the companion I never wanted. It rained when they buried my father. Now, it started to rain again as they lowered my mother into the ground beside him.

I had an umbrella, but I didn't open it. I didn't want to look away, in case I missed something. My eyes stayed glued to the coffin, every last inch of it, until the dirt swallowed it down, down, and away.

The raindrops trickled down my face in place of tears.

My uncle, Alfred Pennyworth, stood beside me. He tapped me on the shoulder and nodded to the mound of dirt piled next to the hole.

"Go ahead, darling."

I walked to the mound and clawed up a handful of the wet soil, grinding it into a clump in my fist. Funerals were supposed to be sad. Why was I angry?

I stood for a moment over the grave, weighing the dirt in my hand. I didn't look down; I had already said goodbye and didn't want to repeat myself. But I knew I should say something. Funerals were supposed to have lots of words. Why couldn't I find any?

I gave up and released my clump of earth; it landed with a sad sort of splatter on wood.

Alfred added his handful to mine, and we backed off to let others take their turn. He opened my umbrella for me and held it over my head, even though it was pointless now. I could feel my nicely straightened hair frizzing as the rain dried from each strand.

I watched the faces of everyone present, noting who cried, who closed their eyes in prayer, or moved their lips in time to silent speeches. I recognized very few of them; just a couple people from back when we went to church, and maybe a nurse or two. The others must have read the various news articles advertising my parents as "Victims of a Frightening New Disease," "Lost to a Phantom Illness," "Heroes to Researchers Everywhere."

Many of the passing faces glanced my way. I heard a couple older women chatting a little too loudly under their parasols: "Poor dear. Lost her whole family, both parents and a twin brother. What a shame. What a shame."

I lost interest for a while, as face after grim face paraded by. Then, I saw one I really knew - Gotham's poster child. Billionaire Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Why would he come to a funeral for an obscure city family like mine?

/

I found out at the reception. I sat alone on a chair with no table, in a corner with no windows. I held a sparsely filled plate on my lap and stared into the abyss of a roast beef sandwich, wishing I would stop imagining myself chucking the whole thing at the wall.

"Samantha."

I looked up. And up, and up. Standing over me like a skyscraper was Bruce Wayne, cool as punch in his expensive suit and friendly smile. There was something about him that wasn't as simpering and sad as the other guests, and I liked it.

"This is my employer," Alfred said. "Mr. Bruce Wayne. I think you knew that, though."

Employer. Of course; he was here for Alfred, not me. But I still held out my hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"And you," Mr. Wayne said. "When Alfred told me he had a… what is it, grand-niece?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Huh. Well, the point is, any family of Alfred's is family to me. And I want you to know how sorry I am for your loss."

I just nodded along. That's what everybody said.

And then, Mr. Wayne lowered himself to one knee and looked me in the eye. Nobody did that. Suddenly, we were on the same level, equals.

"I'm going to be direct, since I can't stay long," Mr. Wayne said. "I've been where you are right now, and I want to help."

I smiled as nicely as I could. "Thank you, sir, but I really couldn't accept your charity. I want to… I want to do things myself. I'll get a job, and I can drive, so…"

"What if I hired you?"

I laughed. "I don't think I have the sort of skills you're looking for at Wayne Enterprises."

"I don't want you at Wayne Enterprises," he said. "I want you at Wayne Manor."

My eyes stared into his, searching for the joke, the lie. There was nothing but sincerity. He meant it.

"You… want me to work in your house?"

"I'd like to hire you as a maid," Mr. Wayne clarified. "I know Alfred would love having you there, and, frankly, so would I. What do you think?"

I didn't really think anything. I was overwhelmed that the richest, most famous man in Gotham wanted me to work for him.

"I think… I need some more time."

"Fair enough. Take all the time you need and get back to me when you can." Mr. Wayne rose to his full height and turned to Alfred. "I need to head out. Meeting starts at five."

"Very well, Master Bruce. I assume you don't need me to drive."

"I think I'll be fine. I'll see you whenever you get back."

"Thank you, sir."

As he walked away, Alfred gave me a pointed look. "You'd be in a good place, Samantha. Master Bruce is quite used to taking in—"

"Yeah, strays, I know."

I knew very well. I had grown up seeing the celebrity magazines in the store and the dentist's office - "Billionaire Adopts Again!" "Surrogate Son Number Three?" I think he had three right now; the numbers did have a certain amount of flux. There was a small scandal a while ago when one of them died, but Mr. Wayne clearly wasn't going to let that stop him.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I never thought I'd end up being another one of Bruce Wayne's charity kids. I mean, granted, I'd only be the maid, and I'm still debating whether to take the job, but… wow."

"If I may put in a good word on Master Bruce's behalf—"

"Don't you always?"

Alfred chuckled. "I suppose I do tend to gush, don't I?"

"Well, he is a celebrity. Everybody has an idol."

"Oh, certainly not. But there are qualities about him that I greatly admire - one of them being the ability to make even the household staff feel at home. I believe you could be very happy at Wayne Manor."

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Just… maybe not yet."

Alfred smiled and bent down to plant a kiss on my forehead. "Everything at your own pace. Whenever you're ready to go, let me know."

"I can drive."

"Of course. But, right now, I'd… like to stay with you. If that's alright."

I slipped my hand into his, and he squeezed back with a strength few would expect from a man his age. At times, it was hard for me to believe Alfred was older than the second World War. I glanced up at his eyes, where I could see the smile lines that creased his skin. Those lines weren't all from smiling. Time is never that kind.

I had lost my brother and both of my parents; Alfred was the only family I had left. I had to keep him with me at all costs.