A/N: This chapter takes place somewhere within episode 2.7 "Mommy's Little Monster". Thanks for sticking with it so far! I have a feeling things will start to pay off between Margot and Alfred very soon. ;)
"I'm so happy because today
I've found my friends—
They're in my head.
I'm so ugly, but that's okay, cause so are you.
We've broken our mirrors.
Sunday morning is every day for all I care,
And I'm not scared."
"Lithium" –Nirvana
Chapter Twenty-Four:
Alfred came to Margot's apartment early the next morning. "All packed and ready, I expect?" he said by way of greeting.
She glanced around the apartment, then at the two suitcases sitting by the door. Her rifle case rested behind them. She nodded and sighed, "Yeah."
"Shall I help you with your bags?"
He didn't wait for a response. He lifted the gun case, gazing down at it for a moment before he held out his hand to her. "The key."
She realized he wanted the key to her rifle case. That was only fair, she supposed. She wasn't going to get rid of a thousand-dollar rifle with a scope that was worth twice that much mounted on it. Especially not if it might still prove to be useful at some point. But Alfred wasn't going to let her into the manor with a rifle and the key to the case.
Margot reached into her pocket and removed the key from her chain, dropping it into Alfred's waiting hand. He pocketed it quietly, and then picked up one of her suitcases and swiftly carried that and the rifle down to the car. Margot followed with her other suitcase in hand, locking the apartment door behind her. She dropped the apartment keys in the manager's mailbox on her way out, handing her suitcase to Alfred, who placed it in the trunk of the car.
He got into the car, and she straddled her motorbike, strapping on her helmet and following him until they crossed the bridge. Then, with a smile, she revved up her motor and sped around Alfred, pressed close to the bike as she shot down the road. It whined beneath her but remained steady. It had been a long time since she'd ridden like that, hard and fast, just for the sake of enjoying it. Soon she was at the gates of Wayne Manor, Alfred pulling up just as she'd parked and removed her helmet.
"You're going to turn yourself into bloody roadkill," he told her disapprovingly as he stepped from the car.
"I haven't yet."
"Yeah, that's sound logic," he retorted under his breath, opening the trunk. He helped her carry her things to her room. Of course, he kept the rifle.
"I'll put this somewhere safe," he assured her.
She nodded.
It was only fair, she told herself, turning towards her things and beginning to unpack.
Margot was worried that staying at the manor would cause additional and unwanted tension, but she was surprised to find that things seemed—if possible—less tense. Alfred was probably just relieved to know that Margot wasn't sneaking off to the city every night to live her double life as a hired assassin for thugs. She noticed that he kept checking, passing by her room two or three times a night, just to see that she was still there.
It made her feel like a criminal on parole. Well, that was actually almost accurate. She wondered why Alfred hadn't simply turned her in to the police, or disappeared her himself. She'd betrayed his trust, after all. Had he and Bruce spoken at all about her? Had Bruce explained to Alfred why he'd forgiven her? Had he really been convincing enough to sway a man almost forty years his senior?
She wanted to tell Alfred everything herself, express the depths of her remorse, explain that she woke up every morning with guilt and self-loathing for what she'd done, that sometimes she didn't sleep at all because of the nightmares. The idea of hurting either Bruce or Alfred made her feel physically ill, because she would never…
Never.
She would tell him how profoundly she cared for them, and it would sound flat, false, because of what she'd done.
That's why she didn't tell him anything. She simply worked, quietly keeping her distance the way Alfred expected her to. And Bruce obediently stayed away from her for the most part, though every so often they'd pass each other in the corridor or out in the gardens, and he'd smile and greet her pleasantly.
Of course, she didn't see him often. Lately, Bruce spent a lot of time away, not just at school, but in the company of his new friend, Silver St. Cloud.
Margot saw the girl from a distance, very pretty and put together as far as thirteen-year-olds went. Maybe that's why she didn't like her. She'd known girls like Silver. They'd been the ones that wrote awful things about Margot's best friend, Sam, in the bathroom stalls. Sam, who'd cried in the corner of the locker room. Sam, who'd gotten high under the bleachers when she was only thirteen, just to numb the pain. Sam, who'd stuck a gun in her mouth one night, because pulling the trigger was easier than enduring one more day.
The other girls had laughed the next day when Margot cried in fifth period.
She hated to admit it, but those girls still held some strange kind of power over her, though they were all long gone, grown women with college degrees and pretty husbands, perfectly poised children adorning their Facebook feeds. Margot was a Marine, a fucking sniper for chrissakes, but back then, she had just been another thirteen-year-old girl.
Speaking of, Margot glanced up from the petunias under the front windows and caught sight of Cat creeping cautiously through a window.
"Hey!" she called out. "What are you doing here?"
The girl froze and glanced her way.
Margot stood, about to chase the girl away. Cat, who had once been somewhat welcome at Wayne Manor, a guest even, was involved with Penguin. And now that Margot finally had a chance at proving herself to Alfred, she wasn't going to blow it.
At least not until she saw a tear streaking down the girl's face.
"Go away," Cat told her as she stalked across the lawn. "I was leaving anyway."
Margot caught her by the back of her jacket and stopped her. "What is it?"
"Like you care," the girl retorted, brushing her off.
"Cat—"
The girl whirled on her. "Buzz off! Stop trying to pretend that you belong here."
That stopped Margot long enough for Cat to make her getaway.
She stood silently and stared after the girl.
Only moments later, a car pulled up in the driveway, and she watched as Silver got in, wiping her eyes, and left.
Something had obviously happened, and it reeked of young teenage drama to Margot. She shook her head and picked up her gloves and her spade, deciding to call it quits for the afternoon. She dropped her things off in the shed and made her way to the kitchen to wash up.
Alfred was there at the sink, washing dishes.
"Did you know Cat was here?" she asked, sitting at the table while she waited to use the sink.
"You mean Miss Kyle?" he replied without looking her way. "Yes, I was aware of it. Why?"
"She left in a hurry."
"Yes, well, doesn't she always? First sign of trouble and she disappears quicker than a sailor on shore leave."
Margot was about to insist that something seemed to be wrong when the kitchen door swung open and Bruce entered, looking distraught.
"Alfred, I need to go into town."
Alfred turned to him. "Everything all right, Master Bruce?"
"Yes. I need a ride into town."
"I heard you the first time. Will you give me a minute to finish up?" He nodded at the water that was still running.
Bruce shifted anxiously from foot to foot.
Margot stood. "I'll finish the dishes," she offered.
Alfred looked at her. "Margot—"
"I know how to wash dishes," she interrupted.
"That's not—" he began, only to be cut off by Bruce this time.
"Alfred," said the boy in a pleading voice. He seemed anxious.
"All right, all right," Alfred gave in. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."
Margot took the butler's place quietly as he and Bruce left. She wondered which of the two girls Bruce was going to chase down. Personally, she thought they were both dangerous in their own way. Cat, who cared for the boy, but was involved with unpleasant people. Silver, whose intentions were difficult to discern, cold and aloof, and maybe just a little too interested in the young man.
Either way, Margot was happy it was none of her business.
She finished the dishes and then made her way up to her room, where she took a long, well-deserved bath before drawing up a few sketches of her plans for the south grounds. She'd likely need Alfred's approval before she began making any changes to the landscaping, and to have that, she'd have to show the man that she'd put some thought into it. Fortunately, Bruce and Alfred were gone for quite some time, giving Margot the solitude she needed to finish up the sketches.
Eventually, though, she heard the buzzer sound faintly downstairs, as it always did when a car came through the front gate. Glancing through the window, she saw the glow of the headlights and caught a glimpse of one of the Waynes' sleek black town cars as it pulled around towards the garage.
Bruce and Alfred were back.
She looked at her clock and realized how late it was. Bruce's business in the city had taken quite some time.
Margot quietly packed up her things for the night and started to get ready for bed. She was just settling under the covers when she heard a knock at her door.
"This is why I prefer living alone," she grumbled to herself as she rose to answer.
It was Bruce.
"I'm sorry to disturb you so late," he apologized. "I was hoping to have a word."
"Of course," Margot replied with mild surprise, opening the door further to let him in. "What's up?"
"What do you know about girls?" he asked, taking a seat in a chair.
Margot sat down on the corner of her bed and considered the boy thoughtfully. "Besides being one myself?" she responded with a teasing smile.
He was too distressed to be amused.
She sighed. "What do you want to know?"
Bruce hesitated, before suddenly spilling out, "Selina attacked Silver today. I don't know why. She just…doesn't seem to like her."
So there it was, she realized. The reason for all the drama earlier.
Margot was tempted to tell the young man that maybe Cat had a point. But it wasn't her place to get involved. Trying to be impartial, she stated instead, "It's best if you learn this now, Bruce. Girls your age are weird. Now look, I don't know Silver, and I don't really know Cat—"
"Who does?" he joked softly.
She smiled and continued, "But, I will tell you this. Cat comes around a whole lot more often than you think. I've caught her prowling around here more than once."
"Selina?" he inquired in surprise. "Why?"
Margot shrugged. "It could be she feels protective of you."
She was about to say something else, but a knock sounded on the open door, interrupting her.
Alfred stood in the doorway.
"Everything all right?" he asked, glancing warily between the two of them.
"Yes, Alfred," replied Bruce, turning in his chair to face the butler. "I was just asking Margot for some advice."
"Advice?" inquired Alfred, pursing his lips and regarding Margot thoughtfully. "On how not to shoot yourself in the foot, I suppose?"
"Girls, Alfred," Bruce responded with a hint of long-suffering.
"Ah. And you thought what? That she'd know something about girls?"
Margot got to her feet, unamused. "I think he means that you should probably get going," she told Bruce.
He nodded and also rose. "Thank you, Margot. I found your advice…enlightening."
She smiled and walked him to the door. "Anytime. Goodnight, Bruce."
"Goodnight, Margot. Alfred."
"Goodnight, Master B. Will you be needing anything before bed, sir?"
"No, thank you, Alfred."
The man shifted to the side to let Bruce pass, but otherwise remained in the doorway once the boy had left, watching Margot curiously.
"Shelling out advice now, are we?" he inquired, his skepticism twisting his face. "You're turning into a regular Dear Abby, you are."
Margot pointedly ignored him. "Is there a lock on this door?" she asked, testing the handle.
"Yes," said Alfred. "Why?"
"So I can keep you out." And she closed the door on him.
Margot woke early the next morning, intending to go for a short run to warm up her leg before work, only to barely avoid a collision with Alfred in the corridor. He was massaging his shoulder with a bit of a grimace.
"You get into a fight or something?" she inquired.
"Training Master Bruce," he responded brusquely.
"More boxing?"
"Something like that." His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why?"
She shrugged. "Just curious."
For some reason, she started to bounce on her toes, circling the man, jabbing experimentally, almost playfully at him. "You think he's ever going to need it?"
One of her jabs came a little too close for comfort; Alfred had to dodge out of the way, a disapproving frown on his face. "It's about discipline, perseverance, and precision. Skills one could use in any situation, not just fighting."
"Yeah? Show me." She continued to dance in a circle around him, fists up defensively.
Alfred scoffed. "I'm not going to fight you, Margot."
"I'm sorry, did little Bruce tire you out?" she taunted, throwing a punch at his face.
He didn't dodge this time. He threw one hand up, blocking her blow with his forearm, his other fist jabbing her painfully in her ribs.
She grinned, backing up and holding her hands in front of her face. "Looks like the old man has game."
"You're a little bumptious for a cripple, don't you think?" he retorted.
They circled each other slowly. Margot noticed that Alfred moved smoothly, light on his feet, each motion very carefully measured. He was aggressive, too, now that she'd gotten him started. He came at her, crowding her, keeping her on the defensive with several blows. She blocked them, waiting and watching for an opening.
He was careful not to let up, and she realized that she'd have to make an opening. So she dropped her arms, bracing herself for the inevitable blow. His fist connected firmly with her stomach, and she doubled over, the wind knocked out of her.
"Bloody hell, Margot!" he cursed with a hint of concern in his voice. "You weren't supposed to—"
She suddenly swung with a leg, sweeping her foot under him as she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back. The man lost his footing and landed with a bump on his backside.
"Ha!" she crowed triumphantly.
Growling, Alfred reached out and snatched her by the ankle, yanking forcefully.
Margot let out a cry of surprise and fell to the floor, banging her elbow painfully. "What the hell!" she protested with mild irritation, rubbing her elbow with a rueful grimace. "That was my bad leg!"
"You think your opponent's going to play fair, do you?" he responded as he slowly got to his feet, offering her a hand up.
She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "And here I thought you were a gentleman," she teased.
"And here I thought you knew how to fight," he answered with a small smile.
Margot couldn't help but grin. For once, the conversation wasn't forced, there was no awkward undertone, no sense of mistrust. Almost as if she belonged again.
"I'll take you anytime," she told him confidently, jabbing at him one last time.
He caught her fist in his hand, meeting her gaze steadily. She saw something different in his eyes this time, and it caught her off-guard. She took a stumbling step backwards, wondering if she'd read his expression right. Alfred looked at her for a moment longer before forcibly releasing his grip on her fist and stepping back himself.
Pointedly avoiding her gaze, he murmured, "Yes, well, I should be getting on. I won't keep you any longer."
With that, he left, while Margot watched him in consternation, still wondering what it was that she'd seen in his expression, right before he'd distanced himself again. He was probably still wary about trusting her. She understood that. But this felt different, almost as if he was trying to hide something from her. For a moment, she'd thought she'd seen something sad in his eyes.
No, that wasn't quite right. Not sadness.
Longing.
And Margot suddenly wanted to know what it was Alfred Pennyworth, the stiff and proper butler, could possibly long for, and why he was so keen on concealing it from her.