A/N: I know I'm taking a few liberties, adding not only a gardener but an assistant to the Waynes' staff, even though I think traditionally it's just Alfred. :O I'll try to keep everything else as canon as possible.
I caught a chill
and it's still frozen on my skin.
I think about why
I'm alone, by myself.
No one else to explain
how far do I go?
No one knows.
If the end is so much better, why don't we just live forever?
Don't tell me I'm the last one in line.
Don't tell me I'm too late this time.
"Breaking Inside" –Shinedown
Chapter Two:
One year later…
It was a blustery gray day. The trees were bare, the grass brown, and there was a bite in the wind. A normal day for Gotham.
Except the city awakened to news of the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and suddenly it felt like nothing would be normal again.
Margot emailed her professors that she wasn't going to be in class and rode her motorcycle into work, called there by Mr. Harrison, who said Alfred wanted to talk to them. The commute seemed twice as long and three times as cold. She couldn't keep herself from worrying selfishly about her employment. With his parents gone, would Bruce leave? Would he sell the manor? Would Margot still have a job?
She stopped herself. A twelve-year-old boy had just lost both parents—his entire family—in one night. Margot suddenly felt guilty for worrying about herself.
She went to the front door and let herself in quietly. She knew where to go for staff meetings, which though infrequent, still occurred on occasion.
There wasn't much of a staff. Alfred really did most of the work himself, contracting the rest with outside services on the rare occasion they were needed. It was pretty much just Mr. Harrison and Margot. The gardener greeted Margot with a wan smile and a nod. Usually the man was more cheerful, sharing a joke or a funny story. This time, he was quiet. Neither spoke, in fact. They just stood in solemn silence, glancing around furtively. It was eerie.
Alfred entered suddenly, looking tired and haggard, his short hair ruffled a bit, as if he'd been running his hands through it recently. Margot wondered if he'd gotten any sleep.
"Right," he greeted them with a nod, "Glad you both could make it. I assume you've heard the news."
They nodded.
"I just wanted to reassure you both personally that things will proceed as normal. If you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them. If not, report for your duties as usual."
With that, the meeting ended and Alfred excused himself.
"Well…that was abrupt," Mr. Harrison murmured. "I apologize if you had to miss classes," he added quietly.
She shook her head. "It's fine. They'll understand. Since I'm here already, is there anything I can help you with today?"
"As a matter of fact, there is."
Soon Margot found herself outside with a pair of shears in hand and orders to trim the wisteria. Over the past year, she'd saved it from cankers, a case of root rot, and even a borer infestation, but the plant almost seemed to like causing her trouble. They were like mortal enemies in a way.
She turned the corner and saw, sitting on a bench nearby, his knees drawn up to his chest, Bruce Wayne. He seemed unusually small, as if he could fold himself into a tiny, pocket-sized version of himself. He looked like a little ghost that would blow away with the slightest breeze. He wasn't wearing his coat, just a sweater. He was shivering, Margot noticed.
She dropped her shears in the gravel and approached slowly, tentatively sitting on the other side of the bench. The boy didn't even look at her, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
Not sure what to say, Margot gazed up at the vine that climbed above them, covering a good portion of the house. It was fitting to find the boy there. Wisteria, with its drooping blue clusters of blossoms, was often considered a symbol of sorrow. But Margot had also learned that the hardy plant was a symbol of survival because of its ability to grow and even flourish despite mistreatment and hard conditions.
The wisteria was still mostly bare, with just a few leaves bravely beginning to sprout. The flowers had yet to bloom, but Margot could see the new buds. She plucked a sprig with a few buds on it and twirled it absently between her fingers.
Glancing at the boy by her side, Margot slipped out of her jacket and draped it around his narrow shoulders. He didn't even look at her then, but she saw his hands move, his fingers clinging to the edges of her jacket.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Margot rose then and started to prune, realizing that she didn't have to say anything else. In fact, it was probably better if she didn't. She'd lost people close to her before, so she knew that sometimes silence and a warm jacket was the best a person could do. Comforting words, no matter how well-intentioned, were often unwelcome.
"Master Bruce!"
Alfred's voice startled Margot, and it was only luck that she didn't accidentally cut the wrong branch, or a finger for that matter.
"There you are," said the man in a softer tone as he approached. "It's frigid out here," he told the boy. "Come inside."
Bruce glanced up at the butler and nodded quietly. He rose, and Alfred reached for him.
"This yours?" the man asked, lifting the jacket from around Bruce's shoulders.
She nodded and took it when he offered it. She noticed that he removed his own coat and wrapped it around the boy, leading him away with an arm and scolding him, "Now what have I said about going outside without your coat?"
Margot watched as they retreated, the boy and his butler. Was it daunting, she wondered, managing the Wayne estate alone? Caring for the boy that had lost so much so young? It was no wonder Alfred looked so haggard, as if he'd lost ten years of his life rather than a single night's sleep. He was keeping everything together, maintaining the sense of normalcy as best he could for the sake of that young man.
But things would never be normal again. Not for Bruce Wayne.
