"There are things I regret
That you can't forgive, you can't forget.
There's a gift that you sent,
You sent it my way.
So take this night,
Wrap it around me like a sheet.
I know I'm not forgiven,
But I need a place to sleep.
So take this night,
Lay me down on the street.
I know I'm not forgiven,
But I hope that I'll be given
Some peace."

"This Night" –Black Lab

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Alfred wasn't yet accustomed to the idea of having Bruce home, probably because the boy had changed, and so things weren't like before, and of course Margot wasn't there, so things certainly weren't like before at all, and he hated the idea that one day he might become accustomed to that, when right now he was still struggling to accustom himself to the idea of becoming accustomed.

Hell, even his own thoughts didn't make sense anymore.

Bruce was different. Leaner, harder, and just a little more jaded. He had secrets now that he didn't want to talk about, whereas before, Alfred felt as if he'd known almost everything about the boy. But the boy was becoming a man, and Alfred knew that men often had secrets. He supposed that what Bruce had done with his time in the city was one of those things he wouldn't talk about. He was growing up.

Alfred only hoped that the boy wouldn't outgrow him.

It was an irrational fear, imagining that Bruce wouldn't need the butler anymore, but the man still wondered sometimes, in the quiet hours of the dark night, if he was destined to be alone. Not hermit-in-a-forest alone. More like the solitude of an introvert in a crowd full of strangers—a close-proximity kind of isolation.

Alfred didn't like to waste time thinking on his life before employment at Wayne Manor. It was superfluous, just a series of events that had brought him there, to his home. When he'd first come there, it had been just a job. He'd done the work with his usual precision and attention to detail, but there had been nights off. Of course, it was just like the Waynes to work their way into even the stoniest of hearts, and soon they'd been like family to Alfred. Soon the nights off weren't spent in the city or closed off in his room with a glass of scotch and a book. It was checkers and chess and Parcheesi and, hell, even poker in the kitchen with the boy whose poker face couldn't ever fool the butler who'd watched over him since birth. And, of course, with the death of the Waynes, the nights off vanished entirely, because there was nobody else there for the boy, except Alfred.

Always.

Suddenly Alfred made a leap in logic. Suddenly something that had been bothering him finally made sense. He realized exactly why Margot had left. He understood why she hadn't at least tried to separate her job from her relationship with the butler and stayed on as gardener. She couldn't separate them, because sometimes there was no separating the two. Sometimes the job became more than a job, and the relationship changed and became something entirely different. If anyone could understand that it was Alfred, the employee/guardian/father-figure to Bruce.

He knew the feeling of the rug being swept out from under his feet. It hadn't been very long—a few months at most—since he'd suffered the disbelief and shock of being told by his twelve-year-old employer that he was fired. That after all Alfred's years of doing his duty, caring for the boy, after sleepless nights of fretting for his health, for his sanity, worrying himself sick, it was being thrown back in his face. And even after patching that up, things had been good for a while, but then Bruce had left and disappeared into the city with nothing more than a note to explain his absence. Well. He'd still forgiven him as soon as he'd returned. That was part of love. He loved that boy, which was why he'd forgiven him in an instant, as soon as he'd seen him in the station, and then again as soon as he'd seen him in that dark alleyway with a wounded Detective Gordon in tow, waiting for Alfred to come for him.

And Alfred had come, as always.

But now Alfred had pulled the rug out from under Margot in much the same way. True, he had never fired her, but perhaps that would have been more merciful. He'd cut her off from all she knew and cared for, and it wasn't for Bruce's sake, no matter how often he said that it was. It wasn't even for her own safety, because how safe was she really in that seedy bar on the East Side? At least if she was at the manor, where she belonged, dragged into Bruce's crusade or not, at least she'd have friends by her side. Family.

Yes, it seemed hypocritical when just the other night Alfred had insisted that Bruce leave Selina out of his crusade. But Selina wasn't a crusader. She lived on the streets of Gotham. She knew the city inside and out. She was safer and more at home there than anywhere else. She didn't know anything about crusades and wars, and she deserved to be left out of this one. She'd be safer that way.

Margot, on the other hand, was different. Alfred didn't doubt her ability to defend herself, but she was vulnerable in other ways. Ways that the streets of Gotham exploited. That's how she'd gotten caught up in contract killing and God only knew whatever other shady business came with it. Gotham hadn't been kind to her. But war? Margot knew all about that. It was the sort of danger she could handle, especially with trustworthy people at her side. People like Bruce and Alfred.

That's why he didn't feel guilty about the decision he made next. He was going to do anything in his power to bring her back.

Alfred was resolved to mend things with Margot, but perhaps when the timing was right, when things settled down for a moment, once all the brouhaha in the city had ended.

Of course, if he'd been honest with himself, he would have realized that it never ended, that bedlam had and always would be a part of Gotham, and maybe then he would have gone into the city to find Margot before it brought her to him.

The afternoon was cold and gray, typical of Gotham that time of year, when the wind had a bite and frost laced the ground. Bruce had only been home for a few days, but it felt like years had passed since Alfred had welcomed the boy home. So much had happened, and was still happening now, and he wasn't quite sure he had a handle on things anymore, least of all Bruce's newly discovered enthusiasm for his investigation.

So, when Alfred glanced through the window and saw Selina Kyle's familiar figure prowling the grounds, he strode for the nearest door, determined to chase the girl off. It was for her own good. She had no business hanging around Bruce when his crusade might get her killed. It would be all too easy; she expected unkindness from the butler, even if he was only trying to protect her.

Except as he came around the corner of a row of overgrown shrubbery, he didn't find Miss Kyle crouched in the shadows. It was Margot, and she was bleeding profusely.

"You're welcome!" a voice called from a distance.

Alfred glanced up and caught a glimpse of Miss Kyle atop the perimeter wall before she leapt down and disappeared. He had no choice but to turn his attention back to Margot, who looked as if she was struggling to remain conscious.

Reaching for her, he grabbed her arm and threw it over his shoulders, helping her to her feet. "What the bloody hell happened to you?" he asked as he led her inside.

"Bar fight," Margot replied, weakly trying to fend him off. "I'm fine."

Alfred ignored her. He led her into the study, but only because he knew that Bruce wasn't there and wouldn't be for at least another hour. There was no need to alarm the boy with Margot's appearance.

"Not your standard bar fight, by the looks of it," Alfred noted, spreading a blanket over the sofa and sitting Margot down on it. He was surprised by how normal it felt to have her there in the study, almost as if she'd never left.

"Low-level mobsters with too much to drink. There were four…five of them…I think. I told them they were getting a little too rowdy. They ganged up on me, dragged me out, left me in an alleyway, where Cat found me." She winced and added ruefully, "One of them had a knife."

"I see that," Alfred replied with a frown as he sat her down and looked her over. She had a few defensive wounds on her forearms, and there was a nasty gash across the side of her skull. "I'm surprised they didn't kill you."

"I'm sure they thought I was dead when they saw all the blood. Head wounds bleed profuse…pro—hold on."

Margot suddenly pushed Alfred's hands away and stood, swaying on her feet. She stumbled towards the door, paused, seemed to think better of it, and veered to the nearest window. She pushed it open, collapsed over the sill, and vomited into the flowerbeds outside.

Alfred couldn't do anything but crouch at her side and hold her hair out of her face.

"You all right?" he asked once she seemed finished.

She spit, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and sat up slowly. "Sorry. Just a bit dizzy."

He shook his head, pulled her back inside, and set her on the sofa once more. "Let's finish cleaning you up."

Alfred had quite a bit of experience treating wounds. He was quick and neat and silent. There wasn't much to say at the moment, and he wasn't sure there was anything he could say to improve the situation. Margot seemed to be hovering in a state of mild catatonia, as if she'd lost any awareness of where she was or what was happening. In a way, it made things easier. At least he didn't have to deal with strained conversation as well.

Once the lacerations on her arms and the gash on her head had been treated, Alfred began to unbutton her shirt, which was torn and bloodied, just to make certain that he wasn't missing any other injuries that needed treatment.

Margot jerked upright suddenly and protested fiercely, "Back off!"

"You may have other injuries—" Alfred began to explain calmly.

"I'm fine!" she snarled.

"You're not bloody fine!" he responded just as aggressively. "Now take that bloody blouse off and let me look at you, or I'll drag you off to the hospital where all the doctors and nurses can poke and prod you."

Margot reluctantly finished unbuttoning her shirt, her eyes trained fixedly and with great suspicion on Alfred the entire time. He gave her a quick examination and found nothing more than the beginnings of a few bruises on her torso.

"You've a couple of bruised ribs, some cuts, and what seems to be a mild concussion," he told her after a moment. "On top of that, you've lost a lot of blood. You should be in a hospital."

"No hospital," Margot insisted with a shake of her head, which she seemed to regret immediately.

"Well then there's nothing more I can do except offer you a glass of scotch and let you sleep this off."

Margot stood on wobbly legs. "I'll be fine if you give me a ride back into the city."

Alfred caught her just as she stumbled. "You're staying here."

He noticed that she didn't protest much as he led her upstairs and to her old bedroom. She was probably too weak. He settled her in and fetched her the promised glass of scotch.

"Will you be needing anything else?" he asked, mostly out of habit, but partly out of concern. He already knew what she needed, and it was rest. At this point, he was just in the way.

"No," she whispered in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.

"Right. You rest then. I'll return in a few hours."

Alfred turned to leave, but just as he was crossing the threshold, he heard Margot's faint voice behind him.

"Thank you."

He nodded and forced a smile, but he was frowning as he walked away.

She shouldn't be thanking him, he thought. Not when it was his fault she was even in such a state in the first place. It was his fault she'd left; his fault she was even in the city. And he knew that if anything ever happened to her, he'd never stop blaming himself.

"Alfred, was that blood I saw on those rags in the study?"

Bruce's question drew the butler out of his thoughts, and he forced himself to be calm as he replied, "Yes, Master B. Forgive me; I was just about to take care of them."

It wasn't like the man not to clean up after himself, to forget and leave something like bloody rags lying about the house. But his mind was occupied and worried, mostly about Margot, who at the moment lay unconscious upstairs.

"You're not hurt, are you?" the boy asked.

"No," he reassured Bruce quickly. "It's Margot. She popped by earlier today."

"Margot?" Bruce's eyes widened with concern. "Is she all right?"

"Yes," said Alfred with a nod. "She's resting upstairs. She may appreciate a visit from you later this evening if you feel like nipping upstairs for a quick hello."

"Of course. But why is she here? And why is she hurt?"

"I would like answers to those questions myself, Master B," Alfred replied honestly. Sighing, he turned to the young man and changed the subject with his usual amount of tact and grace. "Now, will you be taking your dinner here in the kitchen or up in the study?"

Bruce decided to eat in the kitchen, a pleasant turn of events, but Alfred wasn't in a position to appreciate it. He only lost himself in his thoughts again. Finally, he excused himself and went upstairs to check on Margot, mostly to make certain that she hadn't slipped into a coma or done something drastic.

Except she wasn't there when he peeked into the room.

Cursing, Alfred rushed down the stairs and towards the front door. Just as he suspected, he found Margot outside, limping down the lane, doggedly making her way out towards the main gate.

"Not even a goodbye?" he called to her from behind.

Margot jumped a little and whirled around, flushing red with the shame of being caught. "I didn't want to cause a scene," she replied, trying to keep her voice even.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

"I don't belong here," she answered quietly, but with a hint of steel in her voice. "Not anymore."

Alfred sighed. "Margot, this is neither the time nor the place to be having this conversation. Come inside. We'll discuss this when you're well."

She didn't move, not towards him, but not away from him either.

Sensing her hesitation, Alfred continued, "Look, I should have never let you leave. Margot, please. Stay."

She wobbled a little, obviously losing energy quickly. Her face was blanched and she'd broken out in a cold sweat. She was shaking. "I—Alfred, I can't—"

For the second time that day, Alfred leapt forward in time to catch her before she toppled over. "You're in no condition to leave," he told her sternly. "Come."

And with that he took her back inside.

Margot slept through the night and most of the next day. When she emerged from her room late that afternoon, she found Alfred in the study, polishing the silver. He didn't hear her approach, just saw her watching him quietly in the doorway when he happened to glance up.

Well, at least she wasn't trying to sneak away again. She did, however, have her boots on, as well as the fresh change of clothes Alfred had left at the foot of her bed earlier that morning. It hadn't been a problem to find her clothes—she'd left in such a hurry that many of them had still been in the laundry, and she hadn't come back to claim them.

"Margot," he said. "Come in."

She limped her way into the room, taking a seat cautiously on the end of the sofa. Alfred noticed that she seemed more sure on her feet today. The dizziness must have passed.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired after a moment.

She was quiet for a bit, resting her head back against the cushions of the sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Finally, she shrugged. "Still woozy."

"Well that's a right nasty knock on the head you have." He put down the rag and carefully removed his gloves. "Here, let me have a look."

Margot flinched as he reached out to touch her, but she didn't protest, letting him examine her head without complaint.

"How's the dizziness?" he asked.

"Better."

"Are you having any other trouble? Has it affected your vision? Any severe headaches?"

"No. I mean, yeah, it hurts, but I've survived worse."

Alfred pursed his lips. "Well, it seems to be healing, but you should still stay for a few more days, just to be safe."

Margot craned her neck around to get a good look at him. "Why the sudden change of heart? I thought you wanted me gone."

"I never wanted you to leave."

She snorted derisively. "Right."

Alfred retreated calmly, resuming his polishing before he replied honestly, "I was angry and afraid."

"For Bruce," she scoffed. "I know—"

"No, Margot," he answered firmly, staring fixedly down at his hands. He'd been anticipating this moment ever since he'd realized that he needed to confront Margot, and now that the time had come, he didn't know what exactly to say. Words that he'd rehearsed repeatedly had now left him. So he kept his gaze down as he opened his mouth, hoping that whatever came out would be right. "Yes," he admitted. "I feared for Bruce's safety, and I was angry that you were here with him and didn't stop him. But that's not why I pushed you away."

Margot's voice was quieter, less accusatory and more pleading as she asked, "Then why?"

Alfred sighed and stopped polishing for a moment. It was probably for the best. He wasn't exactly in a state of mind to be cleaning the black bits of tarnish from the delicate whorls and ridges of the silver dessert fork he had in his hands. "You and I never really discussed what happened between us. This is the first time in several years that I've felt this way for a woman." He looked up and met Margot's hazel eyes with his own gaze. "For you."

"And how's that?"

After all the time he'd spent agonizing over the very conversation he was currently having, the man had no more cards to play, no more excuses or explanations. Anything he'd considered saying was gone, except:

"Margot, I need you."

She recoiled visibly, stunned and more than a little taken aback. Not the reaction Alfred had hoped for, but not necessarily a surprise to him.

"Why the hell would you even say that?" she demanded. "I am so fucking pissed at you—and rightfully so—and here you are trying to tell me that you need me? Do you really? Is that why you ended things? Did you 'need' me then?"

Alfred opened his mouth to explain, but Margot wasn't finished. She was on her feet by now, and her voice was starting to fill the room.

"This place was the closest thing I had to a home! I had a job here that I loved! People here that I loved! And you took it all away. I bet you didn't even think about it!"

"We never considered the risks we were taking—"

"I did! I knew it would be a disaster if anything ever went wrong, but I did it anyway. Alfred, you stupid ass, I was head over heels for you!"

He winced a little, but otherwise remained impassive as he inquired softly, "Am I to take it that you're not anymore?"

Margot grimaced and snarled, "Damn it, of course I am! But I'm not some wind-up monkey you can send away and bring back whenever the hell you want, just because you need me! I'm going back to the city. Thanks for patching me the fuck up, you ass."

"Margot—" Alfred began to protest, only to be silenced with a glare.

She limped for the door, pausing long enough to add, "You can call me a taxi. Tell them I'll be somewhere between here and the city."

Then she left.