the ghost of Martha Wayne shows up somehow and takes one look at Bruce and calls them her beautiful daughter and Bruce realises her parents knew and would accept her blah blah, PLEASE LET TRANSFEM BRUCE BE HAPPY
Yeah this I can work with
Martha brushes her hands over her pristine skirt, a nervous tick Thomas always teased her for. Oh Tommy, he'll be so jealous she was the one to get this opportunity and not him. They'd talked about this before, what they would do if they ever got to talk to her again, if they would want to disrupt her life like that, but... Martha knows her daughter needs some kind words right now, needs a very specific disruption to her life, and she cannot bear the idea of just letting this chance pass by without at least trying to help.
"Your son will be here in just a moment," Bruce's friend says, Clark, and Martha drags up her polite society smile for him, using all her years of being raised in high society to not react. Bruce kept her secret very locked down after all, even little Dick only found out a few months ago, there is no way for even Superman to know the truth.
He smiles back nonetheless, and when his head snaps to the door she knows it is time. Bruce steps in, and goes perfectly still in the doorway, eyes fixed on her. "You said you can make me corporeal?" Martha asks over her shoulder to the wizard that was called to banish her before they realised who she was.
"Yes, ma'am," Mr Constantine agrees, and she feels a zing of electricity bolt through her. Clark gived her an amused smile when she pokes him, testing it, and she gently clasps her hands, bringing forth the long dormant authority she used to carry easily.
"I would like to be alone with my—son," she says, tripping over her words, tripping over what they think they know, and gets a dozen accommodating smiles as everyone files out of the room.
Bruce closes the door shakily, flicking the lock, and looks at her with something akin to fear, which just breaks her heart. To be looked at like a stranger by the woman she lives with her whole being.
"Mother," she greets, head held high.
"Bruce," she sighs, reaching out to cup her cheek. "My beautiful little girl."
Bruce jerks in surprise, but Martha is already pulling her into a hug, holding her close, and soaking up her first chance to hold her little girl since that godforsaken alley.
"Mama—" Bruce chokes, trying to pull back, and Martha reluctantly lets her go. "H-how—"
"The afterlife is a peculiar place, honey. But I promise you that your father and I have been watching over you this whole time, and we could not be prouder of the woman you have grown into."
Bruce flinches where her face is trapped between Martha's palms, eyes flicking to the door, like she's expecting that godforsaken butler to burst in at any moment. "N-no. I'm not—"
"If you truly think that, then I will call you my son," Martha assures. "But if, at your core, you are a woman, then I promise you, no matter what you were told, your father and I have no issue in accepting that. You are my beautiful child, no matter what. I love you, no matter what. No matter what anyone tells you, or what those bad thoughts you have say, I love you, I accept you, and nothing will change that. You are my child."
Bruce's chin wobbles, tears spilling over those pale cheeks, and she sniffs. "Mama," she sobs, breaking, and throws herself into Martha's arms. Her daughter may be twice her size, but she still catches her, holding her close. "I thought—"
"I know, love. I know, but you were wrong. There is no world in which I turned you away."
Martha thinks of the women she knew, back when city records were all on paper, before all the technology, when a man would disappear from society, and a woman of similar stature and disposition would turn up not long after. When you were hard to keep track of anyway, so it was all too easy to remake yourself into who you were meant to be.
She wonders what would have happened to Bruce if she knew the women Martha did. If she knew Martha as more than a memory, or a portrait above the fireplace.
She isn't sure how long she holds her daughter, the dress she's spent thirty years wearing wetting under Bruce's tears, Bruce's hairs curling as they do when wet as Martha's own tears slip down to disappear among the locks reminiscent of the ones on her own head.
But eventually Bruce pulls back, face red and puffy, and Martha laughs softly, wiping away the wetness on her cheeks, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Come. The first lesson a mother teaches her daughter is how to look presentable."
Bruce laughs incredulously and lets Martha pull her out of the room, taking the lead to show her into one of the powder rooms, and Martha takes over again, splashing both of their faces with cool water and pulling out all her tricks until it doesn't look like the two of them have been bawling together. Bruce watches quietly the whole time, nodding along, a faint, treasured smile on her face as she looks softly after Martha's each moment.
She wishes she had longer with her.
She will have to make the most of it, in every sense.
"Do you feel ready, my dear?"
Bruce's eyes lift to hers. "For now..."
"I will keep your secret. It is not mine to tell. And do not rush. Wait until you are ready." Bruce nods. "But...if I may..." Another nod. "Richard has already discovered the truth. And he worries for you. Tommy likes to spy, he says that Richard has been agonising over this on your behalf. If I may suggest that you trust in him in the meantime, I believe you would both profit from it."
Bruce nods, serious. "I will bear that in mind, Mother."
"Good." She pats her cheek. "Then let us go and greet everyone. If I have gathered anything from watching your life, it is that your circle is nothing if not nosy."
Bruce's laugh warms her heart that only temporarily beats, and the two of them exit the powder room hand in hand. Bruce leads her to a room and rests her palm on the handle, hesitating. Then she pushes it down, and they walk in together. Smiles turn to them, and Martha's eyes flick over the room.
She spots Clark, and knows again that he has a habit his mother never managed to fully train him out of, his habit of eavesdropping when he's worried. Sure enough, there is a careful mask on his face, but he knows. Her eyes dart to Kon-El next, and is not surprised to find him next to Timothy, is not surprised to see an identical look on his face, for her grandson has a worse habit of asking Kon to eavesdrop for him when he is worried. Timothy seems unaware, so she breathes easy. Three out of several dozen is not too bad. It could have been worse.
She trails her eyes over the rest of the room, taking in friends, heroes, family, her grandchildren, and:
"Alfred!" She calls, allowing her hand to fall from Bruce's as she starts forward. Her jovial tone brings a smile to the old man's face, and he steps forward.
"Mrs Wayne, a pleasure to see you again."
"Oh I have so much to say to you," she gushes, and hears Bruce's noise of alarm behind her. Which is fair. She always could tell sooner than Tommy or anyone else when Martha was going to cause a scene.
"Oh?" Alfred asks, still smiling, and she nods eagerly.
"Indeed," she confirms, and kicks her foot forward to wallop him right in his shrivelled, old balls.
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