"Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing,
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be.
Say it for me, say it to me,
And I'll leave this life behind me.
Say it if it's worth saving me."

"Savin' Me" –Nickelback

Chapter Twenty-One:

Margot stood over the stove, heating a can of soup when the doorbell buzzed. It startled her. She hadn't heard the doorbell in what felt like ages. Most people just knocked. Not that many people visited.

She frowned and checked her watch. It wasn't very late, but she still didn't know anybody who would visit at that hour of the evening.

Turning the stove off, she made her way to the door, which she opened cautiously.

Bruce stood in the doorway. Alfred was just behind him, looking very unhappy.

Margot took a step back in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Alfred's brow rose. "Are you going to invite us in, or shall we converse here in this charming vestibule?" She saw the distaste in his eyes as he glanced around, heard it in his voice.

Any other time, such a comment would have angered her, but not that evening. She simply stepped back from the door and invited them inside, turning on the light.

The living room was dusty and bare, almost as if nobody lived there. Nobody did really. Margot spent most of her time in her bedroom or out on the streets.

"You want something to drink?" she asked, wondering if she had anything but tap water and Jim Beam to offer.

Bruce shook his head as he perched tentatively on the sofa, sinking into the worn upholstery. "No, thank you."

"Sit," Margot said to Alfred, who was standing at the end of the sofa.

"I prefer to stand," he replied curtly.

She eyed him warily for a moment, but took a seat on the edge of her mother's lounge chair. "What brings you here?" she asked.

She noticed Alfred shoot a glance at Bruce that expressed the greatest displeasure.

"Alfred said you were in trouble," Bruce told her.

Margot glared up sharply at Alfred. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"That's not the impression I have," Bruce replied.

She seethed at Alfred. "Where do you get off telling him?"

"He wanted the truth," the man explained shortly. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Master Bruce's insistence." He stared accusingly down at the boy. "I still don't think we should be here."

"Alfred, we talked about this," Bruce replied calmly, a sharp barb hidden in his voice.

Alfred pressed his lips together and clasped his hands behind his back, but he remained silent, his disapproval rolling off of him in waves. Margot wondered what kind of conversation they must have had to create such tension.

"Tell me what you need," the young man continued, turning back to Margot.

She shook her head. "I can handle it, Bruce."

"Can you?" he inquired skeptically. "How much is this debt of yours?"

"Twenty-thou," she replied uncomfortably, "but I've knocked it down to ten."

"Alfred," said Bruce without looking at the man.

The butler's frown deepened, but he reluctantly reached into his coat and pulled a checkbook from his pocket, which he handed to the boy.

"No—" Margot began to protest emphatically, but Bruce silenced her with a stern look before beginning to write out the check.

She watched as he slowly tore the check from the book, her face burning with embarrassment. Receiving help from a twelve-year-old boy. Maybe for a billionaire, ten-thousand dollars wasn't anything, but to Margot, it was more than six months' of pay. She couldn't stand the thought of accepting something like that from the boy.

He held it out to her, but she didn't move to take it.

"I'm not a charity case," she told both Bruce and Alfred firmly. "I'm managing fine on my own."

"Right," said Alfred as he glanced around the small, dark apartment. "Looks fine to me."

"I didn't ask either of you to do this!" Margot retorted, getting to her feet. "Where do you get off, coming here and judging me? I don't take donations!"

"This isn't a donation," Bruce interjected, also standing up.

Margot eyed the boy suspiciously. "Then what is it?"

"You can have the money to pay off your debt. But I'm not giving it to you for free. It's an advance. I want you to come back to work for me."

"What?" She took a stumbling step backwards and almost fell into the lounge chair again. Her gaze flickered to Alfred, who was glaring darkly at her. "Bruce, I can't—"

"Make it happen," the boy replied, setting the check down quietly on the table.

Margot stood in shocked silence.

Alfred turned to Bruce and jerked his head towards the door, muttering, "Wait outside a moment, will you, Bruce?"

"Yes, Alfred."

"In the car," he added warningly, "and lock the doors."

Margot watched as the boy left calmly. She looked at Alfred again, and met his disapproving gaze. "I want you to know that I am wholeheartedly against this," he growled, advancing on her. "I only told the boy because he demanded to know why you weren't at tea yesterday."

"And you couldn't make something up?" she inquired bitterly.

"He has a right to the truth, Margot!" the man responded.

"And I have a right to be left in peace!"

For a moment, the fury melted off of Alfred's face, and he seemed tired. "You'll never have peace. Not like this. So," he added, recapturing a bit of the steel in his voice as he nodded towards the table, "Take the money. Get yourself out of this debt. But—" he took a step forward and raised a finger warningly at her "—know that you're returning only at Master Bruce's behest, and against my better judgement. One false move, and I'll put you down myself."

By then, he was close enough to Margot that she could feel his breath on her face, see the gunmetal flecks in his blue eyes as he gazed steadily at her. And she saw that he wasn't lying. He'd kill her.

If it ever came down to it, she'd let him do it, too.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I would never do anything to hurt the two of you," she whispered emphatically.

"Yeah, it's too late for that, innit, treacle?"

And then he left.