A/N: this will take place between the first and second seasons. There will be scattered second season spoilers in chapters from here on out, just as a warning.

"Give me a reason to stay here,
'Cause I don't want to live in fear.
I can't stop the rain,
But I can stop the tears.
I can fight the fire,
But I can't fight the fear."

"No More" –Three Days Grace

Chapter Eighteen:

Sunday approached, and despite the distractions of finals and turning in projects, Margot found that she was actually looking forward to dinner with Alfred and Bruce. It was like a beacon of something pleasant and normal in the midst of gang wars and graduation and whatever odd project Bruce had lost himself in. She'd walked past the study just the other day and noticed that all the books had been pulled from the shelves, piled around the room in lopsided stacks.

Sometimes, she didn't envy Alfred his job.

Actually, she never envied him his job. It was a job at which only Alfred could possibly succeed and even enjoy.

At least things had seemed to settle down a bit over the past week. Maroni, Margot had heard, was dead, and Falcone had just up and left. She'd heard nothing of Mooney, but she suspected that the woman was gone as well. She hadn't had any word, which gave her reason to hope. If Mooney was gone, Margot's contract was void.

She could hope, at least.

Finally, Sunday evening came, and Margot quickly hurtled down the stairs from her apartment, exiting out onto the street. It was the first time she'd bothered to wear lipstick and something other than a hoodie beneath her worn jacket. It was, after all, a somewhat special occasion, and she didn't think Alfred had seen her with makeup instead of dirt on her face in a long time, if ever.

Of course, why she cared, she wasn't quite sure at all. She felt a little giddy and stupid, and she almost convinced herself to turn around, wipe off her face, and trade her blouse for a t-shirt and hoodie.

Except just as she approached her bike, a man stepped out of the shadows, flanked by two heavyset thugs with what looked like nightsticks in hand, and suddenly lipstick was the last thing on her mind.

"Freddie?"

The man came forward. "You look nice," he said with a smile. "Going somewhere?"

She eyed the thugs warily. "Don't do this," she warned them. "I have people expecting me."

"You're going to be a little late."

As if on cue, the two goons attacked her. Margot grabbed the lid off of a nearby trashcan and managed to use it as a shield, blocking most of thugs' blows. Each one rang on the metal lid, resonating up her arm like a sharp shock. One of the men got through her defenses long enough to ram his club into her gut, knocking the breath from her. Retreating, Margot found herself backed up against a wall—not a good place to be. She tried to dodge past them, but one man wrenched the trashcan lid from her grasp while the other brought his club crashing down on the back of her head.

Light exploded in her vision, and Margot collapsed to the ground. As she faded away, she felt a hand brush her hair out of her face, heard Freddie's voice murmur, "I said you were going to meet the new boss."

Then everything went dark.

She woke in a dark room, slumped in an uncomfortable wooden chair, her face pressed against a table. A fire cracked in a nearby hearth.

Margot lifted her head with a groan, and heard an unfamiliar laugh erupt from nearby.

She blinked a couple of times, letting her eyes slowly focus on a man that sat at the head of the table. He was pale and thin, with dark hair that was greased into a faux-punk shape. He smiled widely at her, but there was a certain glitter in his hard, pale eyes that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Hello, Margaret," he greeted her in a reedy voice. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you from our mutual acquaintance."

Margot glanced across the table and saw Freddie there. She looked around the room, seeing a couple of other faces that she didn't recognize, and one that she knew too well.

Cat.

What was she doing there?

"Who are you?" she inquired, looking back at the man at the head of the table.

"Oh yes," he chuckled. "I believe introductions are in order. They call me 'Penguin'. I'm certain you've heard of Falcone. Well, he's gone now, and here I am."

"And Mooney?"

He seemed quite amused by her question. "She went for a swim."

"What do you want?" Margot inquired bluntly. She had a headache, and his laughter had just the right quality to grate exceedingly on her nerves.

"Straight to business, I see. Well, then, let me put it simply. You owed Fish Mooney a debt. Now that I've replaced her, you owe that debt to me."

"My deal wasn't with you," Margot sneered.

"Ah, yes," he agreed with a nod of his head. "But," he added, holding up a finger and sliding a folder across the table towards her, "I have your contract."

"So?"

"So you can pay me, or you can continue to do jobs. Our mutual friend, Freddie, speaks very highly of your work."

Margot glared at Freddie, noticing with a small hint of satisfaction that he flinched a little. She tried not to notice the curious way Cat was staring at her.

"And if I refuse?"

A small frown flickered across Penguin's face, but it vanished quickly. "Well…I hate to make threats, but try to understand. If you refuse, others like you might refuse to pay their debts, and then what do we have?" He suddenly slammed his fists onto the table. "Total anarchy!" Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to compose himself before he continued, "And we can't have that. Which is why I'm willing to make a few sacrifices for the sake of order. Your mother, for example?"

She sank back into the uncomfortable chair, and regarded the man with surprising calm. He returned her gaze curiously.

"So?" he finally inquired, cocking his head to the side.

"My fee is two-thousand. Every job I do."

Penguin laughed. "That's a bit steep, don't you think?"

She stood, but it didn't quite have the effect that she wanted when she had to grab the edge of the table to keep from losing her balance. "That's the deal," she insisted.

The man also stood, coming around the table. She noticed he had a limp himself. He was just about the right height to look her straight in the eye.

"One-thousand."

"One-five."

He stood uncomfortably close to her, staring for a few moments before a smile broke over his face. He nodded and offered her a hand. "Very well."

She reluctantly shook his hand, taking a step back.

"It's been a pleasure, Margaret, but I fear I have other business to see to now. Would you like an escort back to your apartment? I'm certain Freddie would be more than happy."

"No," she answered curtly, shooting another glare at Freddie. "I'll find my own way."

And with that, she limped unsteadily from the room, her head pounding with every step she took. She glanced at Cat, who stared back at her, completely unperturbed. At the door, a man stopped her and handed her purse back to her, along with all of its contents.

She stepped out onto the street, trying to regain her bearings. Pulling out her phone, she noticed several missed calls, all from Wayne Manor.

Dinner.

Margot didn't want to call, she didn't want to explain, she didn't want to invent some excuse for not showing up because she wasn't going to go, not now, not with the guilt of her previous jobs fresh in her mind, the dread of future jobs, her own self-loathing and her hatred for people like Penguin and Freddie and Mooney, who just didn't let go. Most of all, though, she didn't want to hear the accusation in Alfred's voice—or worse, the concern.

Despite that, she dialed back and waited nervously as the phone rang.

One ring, and then halfway into the next ring a click, and Alfred's gruff, worried voice.

"Margot, where the bloody hell are you? We've been expecting you for over an hour."

She inhaled shakily and forced the words from her mouth. "Something came up, Alfred. I'm sorry."

And before he could ask her what was wrong, she hung up and started the long walk home.