A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Classes have been...well, you know how they are.

"I'll make a soldier's decision to fly away,
Load my gun, paint my face, call me misery.
I can see the sky light up and the ground explode.
Got my sights locked in, I can see you breathe,
Then I watched you fall and somebody scream.
It's the saddest thing when angels fly away."

"When Angels Fly Away" –Cold

Chapter Sixteen:

Margot found Bruce in the waiting room, sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring fixedly at the floor, still in his robe and pajamas. He'd barely managed to throw on a pair of slippers—they were mismatched. Blood stained his sleeves. He hardly glanced up as she sat beside him, but he leaned into her when she draped an arm over his shoulders.

"Any news yet?" she asked softly.

He shook his head, sniffling. He was trembling. She sat forward, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over him. He clutched it in his fingers.

"What happened?"

The boy didn't answer. He didn't have to, she supposed. It didn't matter what had happened. What mattered was the man in surgery, the one who could live or die, depending on how the universe was feeling that cold, dark night.

She held Bruce, staring silently into space, her attention caught by every passing nurse and physician. Even the janitor made her jump. Finally, after an hour that felt more like a year, a doctor approached.

"Mr. Pennyworth has been stabilized," he told them.

Margot opened her mouth to ask the difficult question, but Bruce beat her to it.

"Will he make it?"

The doctor shook his head. "It's too soon to say, but we are optimistic. You can go in, if you like."

Bruce nodded and stood, following the doctor to the hospital room, Margot trailing behind. The boy took a step back as soon as he reached the doorway, his face going pale as he caught sight of Alfred lying unconscious on the bed, hooked up to a ventilator, an IV, and various monitors.

Margot touched his shoulder lightly, reassuring him, "It'll be all right, Bruce."

The boy stiffened and whirled around abruptly, his face distorted in agony. "You don't know that!" he shouted.

She looked down, but only for a moment. Looking the boy in the eye, she agreed, "You're right. I don't."

He lowered his gaze and whispered, "I can't lose him."

"Alfred's a fighter, Bruce. He's not going to leave you. Not without a fight."

Bruce stood rooted in place, avoiding her gaze, his lower lip trembling. Then he turned away and sat down in a chair, staring at the floor. "I'd like to be alone, please."

"All right," Margot sighed. She could imagine how he felt, and it wasn't her place to comfort him, try as much as she might. It was Alfred's place. And even though the man wasn't able to do so at the moment, there was no way Margot could fill the void. Sometimes the void needed to be left alone. She understood.

So she left.

A dark figure waited outside her door as she returned home, and Margot found herself reaching for her pistol in self-defense, before remembering that she hadn't carried a pistol in years.

The figure turned to face her, and a streak of blue flashed under the light. Freddie.

"There you are!" the man exclaimed. "I've been standing here for hours."

"Don't lie," Margot growled as she approached, jerking her head to the side. "Move."

The man didn't budge. "Hey," he retorted irritably, "don't bitch at me. I need a favor."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? Don't you know what's happening? Fish has disappeared, and I—"

"Good!" Margot responded angrily, wanting nothing but to crawl back into bed with a bottle of whiskey.

"No, it's not good!" Freddie insisted. "There are people—"

She grabbed him by the collar. "Look," she snarled, "I don't have the patience for this right now." Letting him go, she pushed him aside and added, "I suggest you leave."

"Is this how you're going to treat me for doing you a favor?" Freddie inquired from behind her.

Margot's hand slipped from the doorknob. "A favor?" She whirled around. "A favor?" She reached for Freddie, snatching him before he could run. She dragged him protesting down the corridor, not caring about the racket they were causing. She stood at the top of the stairwell and heaved him down the stairs, shouting after him, "Keep the fuck away from me!"

She didn't wait for him to land before she turned away and limped to her apartment, all too aware of the worried eyes that peeked from cracked doorways, wondering what the ruckus was about.

"Margot?" her mother greeted her tiredly as she entered. "I heard shouting."

"Probably just another domestic dispute," she responded wearily, locking the door behind her. "You hungry?"

"Always."

Margot disappeared into the kitchen and focused on preparing her mother's breakfast. She glanced at her watch and realized that it was already five in the morning. She had classes in just a few hours.

A shower didn't help to wash the smell of hospital from her body. She could still smell it lingering under the scent of her soap. Packing some oatmeal into a plastic container, she grabbed her backpack and her helmet and left with a quick goodbye to her mother.

She went by Wayne Manor first, stopping in briefly to grab a change of clothes for Bruce, remembering his thin pajamas and mismatched slippers. He still had her jacket. Hopefully that had been enough to keep him warm.

At the hospital, Margot found Bruce dozing in the same chair she'd left him in. As she entered the room, he started and looked up exhaustedly. His eyes were red and swollen, and there was a print on his face from where he'd rested it against the back of the chair.

"Brought you some clothes and something to eat," she told him, handing him both.

He rubbed his face and reached for the clothes and the container of oatmeal. "Thank you," he said quietly, setting them aside.

Margot glanced at Alfred, who was still unconscious. "How is he?"

"The same," said Bruce.

She nodded. Hesitating, she asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

He shook his head. "No."

"All right. I'll stop by after class."

They boy, it seemed, didn't even hear her.

Bruce smiled at Margot when she entered the hospital room that afternoon, and she immediately saw why.

Alfred had awakened.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," she greeted the man. "How do you feel?"

He groaned. "Bit like a pincushion, thanks for asking."

She let out a soft laugh, mostly of relief. "Yeah, well next time try not to get stabbed."

"Oh right," he retorted sarcastically, "that's some really sound advice right there." He winced a little and lay back.

"Do you know who did it?" she asked.

Bruce glanced worriedly at Alfred, who shook his head. "No. Didn't get a good look."

"Well, I'm sure the police will find him." She tried to sound reassuring.

Alfred grunted noncommittally. "Sit," he invited her.

She shook her head. "I'm just passing by. I thought I'd stop in and see how you both were. Is there anything you need?" Glancing at Bruce, she added, "I could stop by the manor."

Bruce looked up at her. "Could you bring a few books? And maybe a change of clothes for tomorrow."

She nodded. "Got it." She looked at Alfred. "And you?"

"Right, like I want you rummaging through my things," he retorted.

"Sounds like you have something to hide," she teased.

"Oh, bugger off. If you stay any longer, I'll need more morphine."

Margot smiled and turned to leave. "You want me to grab you something to eat?" she asked over her shoulder.

Bruce shook his head. "Thank you. I'm not hungry."

"I'm famished," said Alfred pointedly.

"Not you," she told the man sternly. "It's Jell-O and ice chips for you."

And with that she left, feeling the butler's irritated glare on her back.