Grounded

Maggie Wayne sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the grand, sprawling view outside her was officially grounded, courtesy of her recent unauthorized patrols. Grounded at Wayne Manor wasn't like a typical punishment; there was no lack of things to do in a house this large, but it didn't mean she could enjoy any of it the way she wanted. Bruce had been stern: no social outings, no phone. Alfred had taken her laptop, though she could still access the study's computer for schoolwork. She couldn't even text her friends, which left her with a lot of time to think—and to sulk.

The first few days were the hardest. Maggie tried to keep herself busy, burying her nose in textbooks and pretending to care about the reading assignments she usually breezed through. She halfheartedly worked on her chemistry notes, ignoring the urge to message Stephanie and Emily. They had sent her cryptic messages through Gotham Prep's online portal, but Alfred and her dad had insisted she keep interactions brief.

On the fifth day, Alfred noticed her sulking in the dining room over her untouched breakfast and offered a sympathetic smile. "If I might suggest, Miss Maggie, perhaps you'd consider taking up a hobby during this time? It may help pass the hours and clear your mind."

She shot him a look of mild annoyance but soon softened. "Like what, Alfred? Knitting?"

"Perhaps something more... engaging," Alfred suggested, motioning toward the library. "Your father has quite a collection of texts on forensic science. It's fascinating reading, I assure you."

She pulled out a heavy tome titled *Gotham's Underworld: A Forensic Analysis*. Dust particles danced in the slivers of sunlight as she flipped through pages filled with detailed case studies, crime scene photographs, and psychological profiles of Gotham's most notorious criminals. As she delved deeper, one name kept recurring: Harley Quinn. The infamous psychiatrist-turned-villainess fascinated Maggie. There was something compelling about Harley's transformation from Dr. Harleen Quinzel into the Joker's accomplice. Maggie read about Harley's intelligence, her psychological expertise, and the circumstances that led to her drastic change. She opened a file containing old photographs of Harley. In one, Harley's eyes sparkled with mischief beneath a mask of white makeup, her lips painted in a sly grin. In another, a pre-transformation Harleen Quinzel stood in a lab coat, her expression thoughtful and composed. Maggie leaned in closer, her brow furrowing. There was something eerily familiar about Harleen's features—the shape of her eyes, the curve of her smile. She hurried to a mirror hanging on the adjacent wall and studied her own reflection. The similarity was subtle but undeniable.

Her mind raced. Could it be a coincidence? Bruce had never spoken much about her biological mother. The possibility that she might share a connection with Harley Quinn sent a chill down her spine.

Over the next few days, Maggie became consumed with uncovering more about Harley. She combed through every file, article, and photograph she could find. She learned about Harley's early life, her academic achievements, and the tragic path that led her into the Joker's clutches.

One evening, she confronted Alfred in the kitchen as he prepared dinner. "Alfred, can I ask you something?"

He glanced up, his eyes gentle. "Of course, Miss Maggie. What's on your mind?"

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Do you know anything about my mother?"

Alfred paused, setting down the knife he was using to chop vegetables. "That's a question better directed to your father," he replied softly.

"Dad won't tell me anything," she sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "I just... I want to know.

Alfred studied her for a moment before speaking. "I understand your curiosity, but some histories are kept hidden for a reason. Perhaps it's not the right time."

Maggie frowned but decided not to press further. She knew Alfred well enough to recognize when he wouldn't budge.

Later that night, she went down to the Batcave, determined to find answers. The cavernous space was quiet, the only sounds the hum of computers and the distant drip of water. She approached the Bat computer and began searching through encrypted files, using the skills Bruce had taught her.

"Access denied," the screen flashed repeatedly. She groaned in frustration.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," a voice echoed behind her.

She spun around to see Jason leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?" she asked defensively.

"I could ask you the same thing," he retorted. "But judging by the look on your face, I'd say you're digging into something you shouldn't."

"I'm trying to find information on Harley Quinn," she admitted.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Planning a career change?"

"Very funny," she snapped. "I think... I think I might be related to her."

He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "You? Related to Harley Quinn?"

Maggie felt her cheeks flush. "Look, I found some old photos, and there are similarities. I just want to know the truth."

Jason's expression softened slightly. "Sometimes the past is better left alone. Trust me."

Maggie considered his words, torn between her desire for answers and his advice.

The next day, Maggie found Bruce in his study, engrossed in paperwork. She took a deep breath, steeling herself before speaking. "Dad, can we talk?"

He looked up, his expression calm but guarded. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment, then pushed forward. "I want to know about my biological mother, specifically... if there's any connection to Harleen Quinzel."

Bruce's face shifted almost imperceptibly, his usual composure slipping just a bit. "What makes you think that?"

"I've been looking through the files," she said, choosing her words carefully. "And there are similarities… things I can't explain, but they feel real."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze unreadable. "Maggie, your mother past is... complicated. It's not something that will necessarily help you to know."

She felt a pang of frustration but pressed on. "Maybe it would, Dad. Maybe knowing would actually help me understand who I am."

Bruce sighed, a distant look in his eyes. "The truth isn't always what you want it to be, Maggie. Sometimes, it's better left alone."

She crossed her arms, trying to keep her tone steady. "Why won't you tell me? Don't I deserve to know?"

"You deserve a life free of certain... burdens," he replied, his voice firm. "There are things in your mothers past that I chose to keep hidden for your own protection."

She clenched her fists, swallowing back the disappointment that was building inside her. "Protection from what, Dad? Her?"

He simply watched her, silent not saying another word to her.

Maggie shook her head, feeling the weight of all her questions left unanswered. She'd hoped he would at least acknowledge her need to know.

"Fine," she said finally, a bitter edge to her voice. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's not around, so why should I care? It's not like she's a part of my life anyway."

She turned on her heel, her heart heavy with a mix of frustration and resignation. She'd wanted so badly for her father to open up, to share this part of her life that felt so empty and uncertain. But it was clear he wasn't going to, and if he didn't think she needed to know, maybe she was better off forgetting about it. Back in the solitude of her room, Maggie trying to convince herself it didn't matter.

A week into her grounding, Jason Todd became a regular presence. Bruce had mentioned to Jason that he could work on his studies alongside Maggie, since she had "free time" and could help him out with a few subjects he found challenging. Though Jason wasn't thrilled about the arrangement, he grudgingly agreed. She'd challenge him with flashcards, he'd make a sarcastic remark about them, and they'd end up laughing.

"Why are you even helping me?" he asked one afternoon, looking at her with suspicion.

Maggie shrugged, a small smirk on her face. "Because if you fail, you're going to make both of us miserable. And there enough broody going around this place already."

They continued their routine of studying and occasional squabbles. In between, Maggie would sneak down to the Batcave to tinker with gadgets or inspect the latest updates to the Bat computer's system. She wasn't allowed to go out on the field, but she wanted to stay sharp.

One evening, she found herself deep in conversation with Alfred, who sensed her frustration. "It's hard, isn't it?" he asked, setting a cup of tea on the table beside her. "Being reminded that you have limitations."

Maggie sighed, looking down at her tea. "It's not just the grounding. I feel like everything's a mess right now. School, friends... Dad and I aren't really talking."

Alfred listened, then gently patted her shoulder. "He cares, Miss Maggie. In his own way. Sometimes, we must face consequences to understand the impact of our choices. It's his way of preparing you to make decisions wisely."

She mulled over his words, taking a sip of her tea. It wasn't easy, but she couldn't deny that Alfred's advice helped.

As the weeks dragged on, Maggie found small ways to connect with people. Bruce remained distant, but Alfred kept her spirits up, providing subtle encouragements. Jason, even teasing her for "actually enjoying" their study sessions. Her mind grew sharper, more disciplined, and she realized how much she missed her old routine with new clarity.

On the last day of her grounding, Maggie sat on the steps outside the library, looking out over the vast halls of Wayne Manor. Alfred approached, giving her a slight smile. "I trust the time spent was... fruitful?"

Maggie smiled back, nodding. "Yeah. It wasn't exactly fun, but I think I learned a few things."

"I should hope so," Alfred said, amused. "Although I'd suggest avoiding unauthorized patrols in the future. It seems grounding doesn't entirely agree with you."

"Noted," Maggie replied with a grin.