"My eyes are open wide.
By the way,
I made it through the day.
I watch the world outside.
By the way,
I'm leaving out today."
"Second Chance" –Shinedown
Chapter Twenty-Two:
Margot didn't believe in second chances, which is why she was so confused by Bruce's willingness to offer her one. Alfred, it seemed, agreed more with Margot's way of thinking than Bruce's. She was dangerous, with dangerous connections. She didn't deserve a second chance.
"What are you doing here?"
Margot glanced up and met Cat's gaze as the girl dropped down from the ledge above. "I need to see Penguin," she said quietly, fingering the strap of hundreds she had in her pocket. The teller at the bank had eyed her suspiciously when she went to cash the check, but she'd given Margot the money, and now she was about to be free. Well, free in one sense. She almost felt as if she was simply trading one jailer for another.
"What about?" asked the girl.
"Why do you want to know?"
Cat shrugged. "Just curious."
Margot was about to brush past the girl when something stopped her. "Why are you always hanging around here now?"
"Moving up in the world," she replied flippantly.
Margot pointed at the stark building and told the girl, "This isn't moving up."
"Look who's talking," scoffed Cat.
Margot shook her head and mounted the stairs.
Inside, she waited in the foyer for a while before the guard at the door let her pass. Penguin was waiting by the fireplace, staring pensively into the fire.
"What brings you here?" the man asked, not looking her way. "The job's not done."
"I'm not doing it," said Margot, slapping the strap of hundreds onto the table. "Here's the money."
Penguin slowly turned towards her, his lips pursed in displeasure. "Just where," he asked acerbically, "did you find so much cash, Margaret?"
"That's none of your business," she replied coldly. "In fact, any business we have, you and I, is over."
He forced a smile and took two limping steps forward. "Come now, my friend. We've surely had our difficulties, but there's no need to be snippy."
"We're not friends," stated Margot. "And if you or any of your people try to contact me again, start looking over your shoulder, because I'll put a bullet through your skull."
With that, she turned away and started to leave.
"You'll need me one day, Margaret Vallant!" Penguin called after her, his voice shaking with fury. "I'll remember this when you come back for another favor!"
She shut his voice out of her head as she left the building and descended onto the street below, limping away.
She hadn't felt so much relief in a long time.
Bruce and Alfred were at the front door when Margot rode up on her bike the next morning.
"It's good to have you back," said Bruce with a smile, extending his hand in greeting.
She took it and nodded brusquely. "I suppose it's good to be back," she replied, well aware of the hard way Alfred was staring at her.
"Right, Master Bruce, you've exchanged your pleasantries. Now why don't we let Miss Vallant see to her work?" Alfred's arm went protectively around the boy's shoulders.
"Is there anywhere in particular I should start?" she asked.
Bruce opened his mouth, supposedly to make a suggestion, but Alfred spoke first.
"That's your business. You concern yourself with the grounds. Master Bruce, it's time for your studies." And with that, Alfred led the boy firmly inside.
Margot slowly made her way around the manor, back to the shed. Alfred had been there. She recognized the telltale signs of his need for order. Everything had been cleaned and organized. In fact, it was almost unrecognizable compared to what she'd been used to. Mr. Harrison's methods had been less rigid, and she supposed she'd picked up some of his habits, not seeing the need for change.
Picking up the clipboard, she slipped a fresh piece of paper under the clip and decided to take a walk around the grounds, just to see where things stood. She spent the morning making notes: the hedges had been neglected, the grass needed fertilizing, it was about time to replace the flowers in the planters, and the wisteria seemed to be suffering.
"Well, old friend," she said, placing her hand on the weathered trunk of the vine, "looks like it's you and me."
She returned to the shed with plans to see what she could do about the wisteria that afternoon. She'd need some fertilizer, as well as her pruning shears to cut back some of the extraneous growth. When she went looking in the corner where the fertilizer was usually kept, however, she didn't find it.
Frowning, Margot combed through the shed, wondering if Alfred had moved it. No. It seemed that all of her stock of fertilizer had simply disappeared.
She hesitated for a moment before wiping her hands on her pants and reluctantly heading up towards the manor to inquire after her fertilizer. It was time for lunch anyway.
Just as she reached for the knob on the kitchen door, however, the door swung inward on its own. Margot took a step back when she realized that it was Alfred standing there in the doorway.
"Going somewhere?" he asked.
"Yeah. The kitchen," she responded bluntly.
If he moved at all, it was only to further block the entrance. "Were you now?"
Margot looked at him wearily. She knew she deserved his suspicion, she deserved the distance, and the hard looks, and the coldness. But she was tired of it just the same. It was torturous, returning to the manor, to a job she loved, and being constantly reminded that she didn't deserve to be there. The happiness she'd found there had been a lie, because she had lied, and now that Alfred and Bruce knew who she really was, that feeling of belonging was gone.
"Damn it, Alfred," she sighed heavily, "I can't do this today."
He held fast. "Shall I fetch you a glass of water? Or will you be getting back to work?"
Looking away, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to let her knuckles connect with his chin. Instead, she growled, "What did you do with my fertilizer?"
The man hesitated for a moment. "Fertilizer. Right. You'll have to order more. We used it for a science project of sorts."
"There were ten bags of the stuff!" Margot exclaimed. "What the hell did you need ten bags of fertilizer for?"
Alfred frowned at her, but didn't reply. Instead, he simply repeated, "You'll have to order more." And he shut the door in Margot's face.
Margot was resting on the bench under the wisteria, massaging her sore knee when Bruce approached, carrying a sandwich on a plate and holding a glass of lemonade.
"Thought you could use this," he told Margot with a tentative smile.
"Does Alfred know you're out here?" she inquired, trying to hide her surprise.
He shook his head. "No. Why?"
"Because if he knew, he'd probably start taking shots at me," she replied wryly.
Bruce snorted softly as he sat down, offering Margot the sandwich and the drink, which she took gratefully.
"Alfred thinks you're not trustworthy."
She nodded. "He's probably right." Glancing at him, she added, "I shouldn't have done what I did."
"Alfred said you borrowed the money to help your mother."
Margot looked at him with surprise. "Alfred told you that?" She frowned, wondering why the man would even think to add that detail, instead of just telling Bruce that she'd been a complete idiot and taken dirty money.
Bruce nodded. "Is it true?"
She sighed and rested her elbows on her knees. "Yeah. My mom was sick. She needed medical attention, and I didn't have the money to pay for it all. I'd been turned down by everybody else. I never intended to end up working for the mob." She scoffed bitterly and added, "Fat lot of good it did."
The boy stared down at his hands, silent for a while before he looked up at Margot. "I would have done the same, I think."
"What?"
His face was pensive, sad, the expression making him seem so much older than his twelve-going-on-thirteen years. "If I could have saved my mother," he whispered, "I'd have done anything."
Margot placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Bruce…"
"Oi! Master Bruce!" Alfred's shouts echoed over the grounds as he approached at a near run. "Get your bloody arse back inside," he growled. "And as for you—"
"Yeah," Margot interrupted irritably. "Work."
"That's right." He pivoted and stalked away with his hand clenching the back of Bruce's collar as he reprimanded the boy. "I don't want to catch you alone with her again, do you hear?"
Margot snorted, trying not to let it bother her that she was being treated like nothing more than a common criminal. She was, technically, but what Bruce had said… It shook her.
And it all made sense, suddenly, why he'd forgiven her so easily, why he didn't seem to care about what she'd done. Because he could understand that she'd only wanted to help her mother get the treatment that she'd needed. He understood how much she'd wanted to save her mother, because every day, he probably woke up with the same desire to have his parents back.
And of course Alfred didn't understand that. Maybe he could have, under different circumstances, but Alfred was Bruce's guardian, his staunch and loyal defender. He was only able to see the danger of Margot's decision, drawing the attention of mobsters to herself, turning herself into a cold-blooded assassin. Of course he didn't want her anywhere near the boy. Even if he knew in his heart of hearts that she would never hurt them intentionally.
He still had to look out for the boy's safety.
She understood him. She agreed with him wholeheartedly.
But she was still grateful for Bruce and his ability to look past her mistakes, his calm acceptance of what she'd done, and the way he refused to let her deeds define her. Because to him, she was still just Margot, the gardener with the limp, the one who made jokes and teased him, and gave him her jacket when jokes and teasing and comforting words wouldn't work.
To him, she was who she wished she could always be.