"Every morning
I'm staring shadows in the eye.
Oh, good morning,
Will you just wait until I die?
We are fallen, we are fallen.
Now we're just gonna ride it out."
"Fallen" –Imagine Dragons
Chapter Seven:
It was difficult for Margot to worry about Mooney as the weeks passed and she didn't hear word from the woman. It seemed as if she'd forgotten about her.
Good.
Margot had other things to worry about anyway, as she tried to balance work and school. She was struggling in her literature class. It didn't sound important, even to her, but she had to pass it to graduate, or else take it again and graduate in the winter instead. Or just drop out of school altogether.
Actually, the idea of not going to school anymore was tempting. She could drop out and work full time at the manor. But she wasn't a quitter—the mere idea set her teeth on edge—and she needed that degree if she was ever going to be anything more than a gardener's assistant. People had already expressed doubts about her. At almost thirty years of age, she was too old, a late start, and people her age weren't as successful in college. What did a Marine know about plants? Even when she had started to become noticed by the professors, including the head of the department, people had said it was because of her limp. She was a handicapped veteran, and that was all there was to it.
Margot was determined to prove them wrong.
Unfortunately, Brit Lit was still kicking her ass.
She was in the kitchen one afternoon, doing a reading for class since she'd finished her work early and didn't feel ready to go home yet. At home, she never got any studying done, too busy caring for her mother.
She suddenly heard the door swing open, but didn't glance up to see who it was. Footsteps approached, and somebody sat across the table from her.
Margot looked up and was surprised to see Bruce staring curiously at her.
She jumped a little, embarrassed to be caught loitering in the kitchen. "You shouldn't be here," she blurted.
Bruce's brow furrowed slightly. "Why not?" he asked, adding with a small smile, "It is my house, after all."
"Right, I know that," she replied, flustered. "I just… I was under the impression that you didn't come down here."
"Because the kitchen is for servants?" he retorted with a hint of amusement.
She let out a soft laugh. "I suppose it sounds a little absurd when you put it that way."
"Not to mention antiquated," he muttered, peering down at the book that lay open in front of her. "What are you studying?"
"Beowulf," Margot groaned softly, running a hand through her hair. "It's for my Brit Lit class. I hate literature."
"You don't like literature?" the boy asked. "Why are you taking the class then?"
"It's required, and I'm failing," she explained.
"Alfred knows a lot about literature," Bruce suggested. "You should ask him to help you."
Margot regarded him with an amused smile. "I'm sure Alfred has better things to do, like keeping track of you."
"I could help you," he responded helpfully, not to be deterred.
"And what exactly do you know about Beowulf?"
"I know plenty of things. I like reading. I can add it to my curriculum. Alfred will teach me and I'll teach you."
"I thought you went back to school," Margot pointed out.
Bruce frowned slightly and glanced down. "I did," he replied softly. "Alfred and I decided that it would be more profitable to continue my studies here for now."
"I see." She didn't press further, sensing that something unpleasant must have happened.
He looked up again and insisted, "I'll tell Alfred to add Beowulf to our curriculum tomorrow."
Margot snorted softly. "Seems simpler just to watch the movie," she muttered.
Bruce smiled. "We could do that, too."
"Why would you want to waste your time watching a boring old movie?" she inquired curiously.
He shrugged. "I don't know," he said mildly. "We have a theater, though. It hasn't been used in a while. Maybe it's time."
She was surprised by the young man's resolve, and a little touched by his concern. "All right," she gave in. "How about Sunday night? I'll come by after dinner."
"Stay for dinner," the boy suggested.
"I can't," she replied apologetically. "I have to check in on my mom first."
Bruce nodded with understanding. "Very well. Sunday at eight then." He rose from his chair and turned to leave, but then he paused for a moment. "That Metallica CD you left behind the other day, I liked it."
Margot smiled. "Some of their music is a bit dated, but they're a classic. I've got more where that came from, if you're interested."
"Yes," he said, turning back to her for a moment and smiling. "I think I'd like that. Thank you, Ms. Vallant."
"Margot," she told him. "You can call me 'Margot'."
He nodded and disappeared quietly, leaving Margot to wonder why he seemed so anxious to help her, to interact with her, the gardener's assistant.
Because, idiot, she told herself, he's lonely.
Of course. He wasn't in school, he'd never had friends over as far as she knew, and lately he'd been wrapped up in whatever project it was that had consumed the study with files and papers and boxes. Sometimes she forgot just how young he really was, distracted by his cerebral vocabulary and serious mannerisms. He wasn't a small adult. He was just a kid, and he still needed people.
Alfred greeted Margot at the door that Sunday, stepping aside to let her enter, muttering, "You're late."
"Some shit-for-brains driver swerved his truck into me and almost sent me off the bridge," she grumbled in reply, shaking her jacket off and handing it to the man.
"With your constant commuting from the city, perhaps a motorbike isn't the wisest choice of vehicle," Alfred pointed out.
"It's that or the bus," she retorted bad-temperedly.
The butler judiciously refrained from responding. He simply led Margot back to the theater room, where Bruce was already waiting.
"Margot," the boy greeted her with a smile. "Alfred, could you make some popcorn?"
Alfred seemed a bit surprised, but he quickly responded with a curt nod. "Of course, Master B."
"I brought you something," she told the boy as the butler left. She opened the paper bag she was holding and pulled out a collection of CDs. Uriah Heep, AC/DC, Iron Maiden.
While Bruce went through the CDs, Margot spent a moment admiring the room. Set down a couple of steps, she could tell by the dead acoustics of the room that it was well insulated. The lights were set on a dimmer—she knew because she touched the switch, curiously sliding it up and down. The projector was already on, showing the title screen on the blank wall that served as a screen. The chairs were wide, deep, and soft. Margot sank into one of them and sighed.
"I could get used to this," she murmured with a smile, pulling a box of caramels from within the paper bag, which she crumpled up and stuffed in her back pocket. "Want one?" She offered a caramel to Bruce.
He took one, chewing on it thoughtfully as he gazed at the CD covers. "Who introduced you to all this music?" he inquired curiously.
"My dad," Margot replied. "He loved the stuff."
Bruce frowned a little. "My father preferred classical music."
Seeing the melancholy in the boy's eyes, Margot replied, "Have you heard Beethoven? He's practically the heavy metal master of the nineteenth century. Just look at the guy's hair."
The boy smiled and let a soft laugh out through his nose. "I suppose," he agreed mildly, settling back into his chair. He almost disappeared in its depths, and Margot laughed.
"What?" he inquired.
Before she could reply, Alfred returned, carrying a tray with three bowls of popcorn. "Here you are, Master Bruce." He offered the boy a bowl before handing one to Margot.
"Will you be joining us then, Alfred?" inquired Bruce.
"I don't see why not," the butler replied.
Margot thought she caught a bit of a smile on the man's face. It wasn't nearly as difficult to see the smile that lit up Bruce's face as he said, "Turn down the lights then, please, Alfred, and sit down. The movie's starting."
Margot curled up deeper into the chair and watched as the movie began. It wasn't half as boring as she'd thought it would be. She watched with interest, absently mixing some of her caramels into her popcorn.
"What are you doing?" Bruce whispered, leaning over the armrest of his chair. "What's that?"
Margot glanced up at him in surprise, then back down at her bowl of popcorn. "Popcorn to get stuck in your teeth, and caramels to stick your teeth together," she replied with a smile. "Try it."
Bruce tentatively took a handful of the caramels she offered him and dropped them in his popcorn. He made a face when he tried it for the first time, but she noticed that he kept eating as the movie continued.
And Alfred had worried that the boy was going to starve himself.
She watched the butler curiously, noticing the way he kept shooting glances at Bruce. It wasn't a sense of duty that kept him there, constantly watching over the boy. If that had been the case, he wouldn't have worried so much. There was deep care and concern in the man's eyes whenever he looked at Bruce. She remembered what Mr. Harrison had said about them. They really were like family.
A sudden shout onscreen distracted Margot, and she turned her attention back to the movie, only to have her concentration interrupted again.
"Bit gory, innit?" Alfred noted with a hint of disapproval as one of the action sequences ended and the movie quieted down a bit.
"It's fine, Alfred," Bruce responded. "Or are you squeamish?"
"Let me tell you about blood, mate—" Alfred retorted.
"Shh!" Bruce interrupted. "They're fighting again!"
"Lovely," said the butler, but he fell silent for a while.
Of course, by that point, Margot couldn't help but mutter dryly, "Beowulf seems to have a proclivity for running naked into fights."
"Yes. I don't see the reason for not using every advantage he has," Bruce agreed. "Armor would certainly be beneficial in this situation."
"Have neither of you been paying attention?" Alfred cut in irritably. "He's prideful. He hides it behind the excuse of leveling the playing field, but it's pride that's his downfall in the end." He paused and then ensconced himself deeper into his chair, adding darkly, "This is nothing like the book."
"This is only for aesthetic purposes, Alfred. We—I'm not going to write an essay based on—"
"Shh!" Margot suddenly interrupted. "I'm trying to listen to the naked demon lady."
"What?" Bruce exclaimed, blushing a little as he glanced back at the screen.
"Is this really approp—" Alfred began.
"Shh!" Both Margot and Bruce hushed the man, who simply leaned back in his chair with a grumble.
It wasn't a particularly long movie, but by the time it was over, Margot glanced over at Bruce to ask what he thought, and realized that the boy was asleep, curled up in his chair, his face pressed against the armrest. She glanced over at Alfred and caught the man smiling.
As soon as he noticed her staring, the smile disappeared. He rose quietly, beckoning her silently outside. Margot followed him into the corridor, expecting a scolding.
Instead, he slowly turned to her and said softly, "Thank you, Miss Vallant. The boy hasn't done something so normal in a long time."
Stunned, Margot couldn't think of anything to say. She simply stared stupidly at the man.
Alfred cocked his head to the side, raising his brow a little and adding sternly, "Though I will say, your taste in film is questionable at best."
The jibe jerked Margot out of her shock like a swift kick in the leg. "Maybe," she responded, "but it may just help me on my literature exam."
Alfred seemed a bit taken aback. He frowned curiously and inquired with a hint of suspicion, "You wouldn't be the reason for Master Bruce's sudden interest in Old English epics now, would you?"
Margot made a show of glancing at her watch. "My God, it's late," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Mr. Pennyworth, but I really should be going."
He stopped her with a hand. "Alfred, please."
She stared up at him, speechless for the second time that night.
The man took a step forward, and clarified, "Call me 'Alfred', Miss Vallant."
"Margot," she replied, not knowing what else to say.
Alfred inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, I'd best get the boy up to bed now. Shall I see you out?"
"I'll let myself out," Margot replied. "And please tell Bruce I'm sorry I had to sneak away."
"I'll do that. Goodnight." He turned away, then paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I wouldn't use the film as a substitute for studying. They got it all wrong."
And with that, Alfred disappeared back into the theater, and Margot let herself out into the chilly night, still confused and shocked and frankly a little pleased by the strange turn of events. Alfred thanking her. Alfred smiling at her. Alfred letting her call him 'Alfred', as if she'd somehow finally managed to earn even the smallest bit of respect from the man.
She could live with that.
A/N: I don't know if this chapter really fits in well with the whole tone I was going for, but I still included it because for some reason it reminded me of MST3K, and I seem to have a soft spot for three people making random commentary about strange movies…