Just a little quickie for all of you. ;) Enjoy the fluff while it lasts.
"I think I've walked too close to love
And now I'm falling in.
There's so many things this weary soul can't take.
There's a life inside of me
That I can feel again.
I don't care if I lost everything that I have known.
It don't matter where I lay my head tonight:
Your arms feel like home."
"Your Arms Feel Like Home" –3 Doors Down
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Margot took a taxi back to Wayne Manor the day they discharged her from the hospital. It was a long and jarring drive home, and the day felt bleak, despite the warm sun casting patterns through the trees and onto the sprawling green lawns.
The manor was empty, and it felt like it. Every sound she made echoed through the corridors, and the air was dead and still, as if it hadn't been disturbed in years, despite the fact that it had only been less than a month.
Margot didn't like how alone and small she felt, so she closed herself off in her room with a pile of books she'd stolen from the hospital library. She intended to return them eventually.
It was strange and unnerving to have time to read again. She wanted to be outside, taking care of the grounds, which were quite neglected, but she didn't want to strain herself, pop her stitches, and bleed to death out on the lawn. That would be a traumatizing welcoming scene for Bruce to come home to.
So she was careful, only leaving her room to go to the bathroom and answer the door for the pizza delivery boy. She wondered if it was possible for her to go insane after spending so much time indoors with nothing but pizza for sustenance.
Fortunately, it was only a couple of days before Alfred called. He and Bruce were on their way home.
"Don't do anything to prepare for us," he warned her. "I want you resting when we return."
"Alfred, what makes you think I'd do anything stupid for your sake?" she retorted. "I've been good. I'm resting."
He was suspiciously silent.
Margot sighed and added, "I'll be fine. Just come home safely."
"Right. See you soon."
She heard the click on the other end of the line and sighed. Alfred knew her too well. She was going to do something stupid for their sake.
The next day, despite the man's warning, Margot woke up early and limped her way down to the shed for her pruning shears. She spent the morning mowing the lawns and trying to trim the unruliest shrubbery, including the rose garden. She still didn't know if Alfred had seen the rosebushes yet. He'd disappeared the afternoon after she'd planted them, and they hadn't really come up in conversation while she'd been in the hospital.
They were a little dry and neglected, but it had rained enough to keep them in fairly good health. With a bit of trimming, they'd look passably pretty. That is, if she could finish before Bruce and Alfred returned. It was slow going, since she had to stop and sit every few minutes because of the ache in her ribs.
She was taking one such break under the shade of a nearby tree when she heard a car pull up in the near distance. Popping up, Margot hurried towards the house, moving as quickly as she dared. There, parked by the front door, she saw the familiar black town car, and her heart leapt into her throat as she caught sight of Alfred coming around the back to remove the luggage.
She didn't care about the pain or risk of injury any longer. She ran flat out for the car, her feet pounding over the pavement. Alfred hardly had time to turn around before she stumbled into him, holding him tightly and burying her face in his neck.
"I missed you," she told him in a muffled voice, inhaling deeply, letting his smell—cologne, perspiration, soap, all with a strange overtone of airplane—saturate every breath.
Surprised for a moment, Alfred returned the embrace, about to reply when something suddenly stabbed him painfully in the gut. "Oi!" he exclaimed, backing up a little. "Watch it with the shears."
Margot glanced down, remembering that she'd tucked them in her belt for safekeeping. "Sorry," she apologized with a sheepish laugh. She suddenly noticed Bruce watching them calmly from across the top of the car. "Bruce," she greeted him with a smile. "How are you?"
He inclined his head. "I'm doing well." A small crease furrowed his brow and he added with a hint of concern, "Should you be up right now? I was informed you were on bedrest."
"I'm fine." She tried to shrug it off and winced when her wound protested. She hastily pressed her palm to the injury. "I'm fine," she repeated, though she was beginning to regret running.
"Let's get you inside," Alfred suggested as he reached for her and led her into the house.
"Sorry to be a burden on your first day back," she whispered apologetically.
"Don't apologize," he responded firmly. "We both know the reason you were hurt in the first place."
She smiled wanly. Protecting Bruce. "I'd better get a raise for this," she joked.
"I have something better in mind," the man replied.
Before she could inquire further, however, Bruce came running up from behind, accompanied by the all-too-familiar scent of pizza. "We brought pizza back," he said, slightly breathless, as if he'd run all the way from the car. "If you're hungry." He held up two boxes of pizza hopefully.
Margot stifled a groan and forced a smile. "Famished," she answered, her smile growing when she saw the pleased expression on the young man's face.
They gathered in the study to eat, Margot stretched out on the sofa, Alfred and Bruce ensconced in the deep chairs across from her. She closed her eyes and smiled, relieved to be out of the hospital, chewing on a slice of lukewarm pizza, listening as Alfred and Bruce bickered softly about whether or not pizza sauce counted as a vegetable.
It seemed so ordinary, banal even, but she couldn't think of a better way to pass her afternoon. The manor had been too quiet without them.
"Margot," Bruce's voice called her out of her musings.
"What?"
"We noticed the new roses you planted. They look nice, don't they, Alfred?"
Alfred smiled at the boy and nodded. "They do," he told Margot.
"So you like them?" she inquired hopefully. "I could show them to you later, if you'd like."
"Yes," he assured her. "I would like that."
"Good."
That evening, Alfred stopped by Margot's room, just to check on her. She noticed that he'd undressed, wearing just his trousers, his shirt half-unbuttoned and his braces hanging like stirrups at his waist.
She closed the book she had been reading and smiled.
"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked.
"Yes, Alfred, I'm very disturbed," she replied dryly, adding with a grin, "But it's not your fault."
He smiled wanly, not very amused by her attempt at a joke. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all." She shifted with a bit of a wince and patted the mattress invitingly.
Alfred approached and sat down, reclining beside her, his head resting against the headboard. Margot adjusted and curled up against him. He noticed the book in her hand and inquired curiously, "What's this?"
She shrugged. "Some trashy novel I picked up while I was in the hospital. Derek—" she opened the book and turned a page "—is about to take Ramona up to the lighthouse to make love to her. What he doesn't know is that she's his ex-wife's long lost stepsister, and she's already two months pregnant with his cousin's baby."
Alfred glanced down at her with a skeptical look. "I see," he murmured dubiously.
"Don't judge," she told him sternly, setting the book aside. "You're the one that left me here on my own. I had to find some sort of entertainment."
"Margot—" he began.
"Shh," she interrupted, holding a finger over his lips. "I'm not mad. I told you before, I understand. But that doesn't give you the right to poke fun at my reading material."
Alfred's eyes softened a little, and he smiled. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her fingertips.
She smiled back, letting her gaze wander over his face, as if she were seeing him for the first time. The man shifted uncomfortably under her stare.
"What?" he inquired nervously.
"I've missed you," she whispered, not averting her gaze. "It's funny, but I actually started to forget things while you were away."
"Like what?"
"Tiny details." Margot reached up to touch his face. "The squinty lines around your eyes. The shape of your mouth." She smirked and added teasingly, "Your name."
Alfred snorted. "My name."
"Yes. It's Jerry, isn't it? No. Bob!"
"Quit arsing about, will you?" he retorted, though it was obvious he was trying to hide his amusement.
"I'm not!" she insisted. "It's true, Phil!"
"Oh, so you're letting strangers into your bed now, is that it?"
"You're definitely not a stranger. I simply might have forgotten your name." Margot pressed herself into his loose embrace and added, "Like I said, tiny details. Not important." She traced her finger over his lips, which parted slightly, invitingly, and then she kissed him.
It had certainly been a long time since she'd done that.
"Right," he replied after a moment. "So if names aren't important, what is?"
Margot kissed him again, remembering how much she liked his mouth, especially when it was mashed up against hers. "The way you taste," she whispered against his lips. "The way you smell."
Alfred chuckled softly as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.
"That laugh," she added with a smile.
"Margot, luv," he murmured, holding her tightly in his arms. "You've been sorely missed."
She settled into him, resting her head on his chest. "How were things?" she asked, absently picking at a button on his shirt.
He ran a hand up and down her arm as he considered the question. "Honestly? Boring, really. And Bruce…well, he's been quite churlish lately."
"Churlish," Margot echoed softly. "Good word." She propped herself up and considered the man thoughtfully. "How so?"
He shrugged. "The boy's been keeping secrets."
"Oh. And we both know you don't like secrets."
Alfred frowned, his voice a little heated as he replied, "No. No, I really don't."
"What kind of secrets?" Margot inquired.
He sighed heavily. "He has the name of the man who killed his parents."
She sat up abruptly. "What? How?"
Shaking his head, Alfred answered, "He enlisted Miss Kyle's help. They got the information out of Miss St. Cloud."
Margot couldn't help but be slightly impressed.
It must have shown on her face, because Alfred scowled and added, "He shouldn't have done it."
"Obviously," she agreed. "But he did. So now what?"
He let out a low growl, his mouth just a flat line of displeasure. "Well… I've got to help him now, don't I."
"Do you?"
"Yes, because if I don't, he'll go off on his bloody tod and try to find the man himself." Another sigh escaped him. "He won't stop."
"Do you think he'll try to kill the guy?"
Alfred leveled a flat look at her. "I know he will." The lines on his brow creased deeper as he added, "It's dangerous and foolish, and I've told him as much, but it's not as if he listens anymore."
Margot couldn't hide a scoff. Feeling the weight of the man's glare on her, she explained, "He's thirteen years old. What do you expect?"
"I don't know." He shook his head, drawing a hand down his face. He seemed exhausted. "Sometimes I wish I could throttle that boy," he admitted darkly.
"Let's maybe not share that out loud," she teased, smiling up at him.
The man looked at her and suddenly let out a wry laugh. "God, Margot, I've missed you."
She let him pull her into a long, searching kiss. Parting reluctantly, he cupped the side of her face in a palm and asked quietly, "How are you, anyway?"
"Happy to be here. Happy to have you back."
"And your wound?"
She glanced down, felt the dull, persistent ache, and shrugged. "It's fine." Running a hand down his front, she added suggestively, "In fact, I'm doing well enough for a quick one if you're interested."
"That isn't why I asked."
"I know. It's just another one of those tiny-but-important details."
Alfred chuckled, but he sat up and gently fended her off. "I am tempted," he admitted. "But don't you think it's a bit early? I don't want to break you while you're still fragile."
"Fragile my as—"
He cut her off with a quick, friendly kiss and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I should go. Can I fetch you anything?"
Margot shook her head. "Nah. I'll be all right until morning." She frowned slightly. "Although, now that I think about it, breakfast in bed might be nice."
"Right," Alfred replied drolly. "We offer a wide variety of amenities, including room service, here at the bloody Wayne hotel."
Margot let out a loud laugh and retorted, "Fine, you crusty old turd."
"Oi! You just kissed this crusty old turd." He grabbed her with the intention of kissing her again.
"No! Oh, gross, stop—" she protested, not trying very hard to push him away.
They both fell into each other, laughing.
Margot hadn't laughed like that in a long time. It was surprisingly painful. She winced and pulled away, holding a hand to her ribs.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Alfred asked with concern.
She nodded and waved him off. "Yeah. Fine. It's just a bit sore."
He hesitated doubtfully before nodding as well. "Very well, then. In that case…" he rose with a soft groan "…I'd better be off. Long day and all."
Margot watched him cross the room, calling after him, "Goodnight, Alfred."
He turned back and smiled tiredly. "Goodnight, Margot." He retreated a bit more and then added, "I'll see you in the morning."
She felt a flutter in her stomach, knowing that her long month away from Bruce and Alfred had finally ended. And even though she would have preferred that Alfred didn't leave that evening, it was probably for the best. The wound in her ribs was still tender; the last thing she needed was another body in bed with her, with elbows and knees and other angles that could accidentally bump her.
Still, she hated the feeling of being alone.
She curled up in the middle of the bed and dragged her book towards her, reading for a while before she closed her eyes, clutched a pillow in her arms, and fell asleep.
