"You can slip in,
Try to find me,
Hold your breath, and
Flat deny me.
It makes no difference
To my thinkin';
I'll be here when
You start sinkin'."

"Snake Song" –Townes Van Zandt

Chapter Thirty:

Alfred seemed troubled and distracted over the next few days. So did Bruce, for that matter. The two of them disappeared frequently to God knew where—the manor was large enough that Margot was sure there were parts of it she didn't know anything about, and she wasn't interested in exploring. She just wanted things to return to normal.

Unfortunately, it seemed they never would. Not since Bruce had learned the name of his parents' killer.

It was all he thought about, all he seemed to talk about too, though he didn't talk very much anymore. She could understand why, but she could also see the toll it was taking on him, which in turn took its toll on Alfred.

The man was a wreck, despite his best efforts to hide it. She saw the way he worried for Bruce, resigned to help the boy who was determined to confront the man who had taken his parents from him, because what else could he do? He'd told Margot about the promise he'd made to Bruce. That he would kill the man so that the boy didn't have to. He pretended that it didn't bother him, but she could tell it did.

His nightmares were getting worse. She hadn't noticed them much before, but now he had them every night, twisting and turning, jolting upright in a cold sweat. She did her best to comfort him, but what could she do when he wouldn't talk to her?

One night, the nightmares were particularly violent. He startled her awake with a shout, and for a moment she found herself reaching for the gun under her pillow, ready to shoot any enemies that had infiltrated the camp. It took her a moment to realize that there was no gun under her pillow, there were no enemies, and she was in a bed in a room, not on a cot in a tent.

"Alfred," she whispered as she reached for the man, intending to wrap her arms around him and calm him.

He rounded on her, and suddenly she found herself beneath him, struggling to pry his hands from around her throat.

"Alfred—" she croaked, pounding on his chest with a fist. "Alfred!"

The man started awake, dazed and disoriented for a moment before he stared down at her. A horrified expression slowly grew on his face. "Oh God," he gasped, letting go and staring at his hands as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. "Margot—"

She stopped him with a hand as she sat up. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly. "Nightmare?"

Alfred didn't meet her gaze. "Something like that." It was obvious he didn't want to talk about whatever it was that was troubling him. He never did.

Sighing, Margot reached towards him and squeezed his shoulders with her hands. They were hard and tense. "Come here," she whispered after a moment. "I'll give you a backrub."

"You really expect that to help?" His voice was doubtful, his expression dubious.

"Come here," she insisted.

Reluctantly, Alfred let Margot pull his undershirt over his head, groaning softly as she laid him down on his stomach and started to knead away the tension.

"Is it helping?" she asked.

"No," he responded in a muffled voice. He paused, then added, "Don't stop."

She smiled wanly and kept rubbing. When she was done, he rolled over and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her brow and thanked her, but she could tell that something was still troubling him. She resisted the urge to ask, knowing that he'd only deflect the question.

At least he was there with her and not off on his own.

That had to count for something.

"Where are you two off to?"

It was a harmless question, or at least Margot thought it was when she asked it the next day. Bruce and Alfred both jumped a little, though, slightly startled as they made their way down the corridor.

Exchanging a glance, they hesitated before Bruce finally answered, "We're going to find the man who killed my parents."

"You have a lead then?"

Alfred nodded. "One of his old mates works down on the East Side. Thought we'd start there."

"The East Side?" she inquired incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're not coming," he said before she even had a chance to offer.

"Right," she scoffed, "Like I'm letting the two of you go down there alone. I'm coming."

"That's exactly why we didn't tell you," the man retorted.

Margot crossed her arms and pointed out, "Which one of you knows Gotham's East Side better than I do? I was raised there."

"Margot—"

"If you tell me I'm still fragile, I swear to God I will—"

"Hey!" Bruce suddenly stepped between the two of them like some sort of small referee. Margot found it particularly fitting. As of late, it certainly had begun to feel as if she and Alfred were opponents instead of teammates.

In the quiet that followed, Alfred stared her down and calmly finished, "I was going to say that you have an appointment today. Your stitches."

Dammit. He was right. Her stitches were due to be removed. She had an appointment at the hospital in just a couple of hours.

"We'll be fine," Alfred reassured her. "You know I can handle myself, and Master Bruce has given me his word that he'll follow my lead, hasn't he?" At this, he shot a pointed look at the boy.

Bruce only nodded grimly.

"And if you both turn up dead in the river?" she responded icily.

Alfred considered the idea briefly before quipping, "Then I suppose you're out of a job."

"That's not funny."

"Be that as it may, we're leaving. Shall I give you a lift to the hospital?"

She glowered at him, feeling particularly surly as she shot back, "I'll take my own damn self." And with that, she stalked away.

Margot sat impatiently in the waiting room, wondering how much longer it would be before the doctor saw to her stitches. She'd already waited for a half hour, and it was driving her mad. She kept thinking of Bruce and Alfred on their own on Gotham's East Side. She knew those neighborhoods all too well.

What the hell was Alfred thinking, taking Bruce there with him without any backup?

Her phone suddenly rang, startling Margot out of her thoughts.

It was Bruce.

"Hey," she answered.

The boy's voice was calm, but she thought she heard an undertone of distress as he explained, "Alfred's been hurt. We're at the hospital now."

"Dammit," Margot cursed, biting back the words "I told you so". Instead she asked, "Where are you now?"

She hung up as soon as Bruce gave her the room number and rushed from the waiting room and down the hospital hallways. She couldn't help but note how convenient it was that she had been there to have her stitches removed.

She found Alfred unconscious and Bruce standing at the man's bedside, staring thoughtfully down at the man.

"What happened?" she asked with concern, unable to ignore the cuts and the bruising on Alfred's face.

"He got into a fight," said Bruce simply.

"Will he be all right?"

"He'll be fine," the boy reassured her distractedly. "I'm sure Alfred will fill you in when he wakes up." He adjusted the collar of his coat and started to walk for the door.

"Hey!" Margot caught him by the arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

Bruce pulled himself loose, staring at her, his eyes dark and determined. He didn't answer her. He just left.

"Bruce!" Margot called after him, following him out into the hallway.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw her behind him, and quickened his pace. Soon he was running, and she was trying to keep up, dodging past doctors and nurses, trying not to knock over any patients that hobbled by.

The boy was surprisingly quick.

Margot almost had him when suddenly he grabbed a loose IV stand and pulled it out. She crashed into it, knocking it over and getting tangled in the IV line.

"Bruce!" she shouted, cursing as she tried to free herself.

A couple of nurses approached, attempting to help, getting in the way.

Margot shouted at them, pushed one of them away, and pretty soon security was there and Bruce had disappeared. It took all her willpower to calm down enough to convince the two security guards that they didn't need to escort her from the building. By then it was clear that Bruce was long gone, and the security guards insisted on accompanying her back to the room where Alfred lay unconscious.

Margot sat at his side, reaching for one of his limp hands and letting out a sigh of frustration. She felt as though she had no control over a situation that was steadily growing worse. There Alfred was, TKO from some fight she knew nothing about, while Bruce was running free on the streets of Gotham, intent on killing a man. How would she explain to Alfred that the boy had escaped her?

She soon found out.

She didn't know how long it had been, but she had begun to drift off when a hand closed around hers, and she looked up to meet Alfred's weary gaze.

"Are you all right?" she asked immediately.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," he responded dryly. His eyes darted around the room and he suddenly frowned. "Where's Bruce?"

Margot glanced away. "He left."

Alfred sat up sharply, wincing as he did so. "What?" he demanded loudly. "You let him leave?"

"He slipped away!" Margot retorted heatedly. "And I have no idea where he went, otherwise I would have followed him. So what the hell happened?"

Ignoring her, Alfred reached onto the bedside table and grabbed his phone.

"Detective Gordon," he greeted the man on the other end of the line. "A word, if you wouldn't mind… Yes, meet me at Gotham General… Don't ask." Hanging up, the man turned his attention back to Margot.

"You're calling the police?" she inquired skeptically. "You think they can stop Bruce?"

"I do," he responded. "Especially since I happen to know where he'll be."

"Damn it, Alfred!" Margot burst out. "Then tell me and I'll find him myself!"

"I'm not sending you," he retorted.

"Why the hell not?"

Alfred asked sharply, "If you find Bruce, what do you intend to do?"

"I'll stop him."

"How?"

"I'll drag him away if I have to."

"Margot," Alfred growled, "he's not going to rest until the man is dead. Now I promised to kill that man for Bruce. If you go, then you'll have to do it."

"I'll do it," she said flatly. "You know I can."

"And if the police catch you? What if they start to investigate you? You have a past, Margot. If they find out about your side projects, we'll never see you again. I want you well out of their scrutiny."

She sat back, trying to figure out how she felt about that. "So I'm incapable of defending Bruce now, is that it?" she growled.

"Well you certainly did a bang up job of it the last time," he noted sarcastically.

Margot had been wondering how long it would take for her knife wound to come up again. "There were three of them, Alfred! What happened to 'we're in this together'? What happened to protecting Bruce?"

Alfred sighed. "I called Detective Gordon. He'll take care of things."

She scoffed. "Right, because obviously the cops have done stellar work taking care of the Waynes before now."

"Oi!" he exclaimed angrily, pointing warningly at her. "Don't."

Margot let out a frustrated growl and stood. "I'm getting a drink," she announced, leaving without another word.

That was a lie. She didn't get a drink.

She left the hospital, Alfred's words still stinging. She was supposed to defend Bruce, but how did he expect her to do that if he kept shutting her out?

Then it dawned on her. Even after everything she had done, the butler still didn't trust her. Not enough, anyway.

Well, damn it, she was going to prove that she wasn't useless. Maybe Alfred wouldn't tell her where to find Bruce, but she knew of one source that could possibly have information on where to find the killer. If Alfred or Bruce had bothered to ask her, she might have shared her source with them.

But they hadn't asked her, so she was on her own.

It was a seedy little apartment building on the East Side, tucked away in a dark and forgotten neighborhood. She knew the way by heart. Margot had been there several times before, but that had been a long time ago. She didn't even know if he still lived there or if he would be home.

Reaching the door, she noticed the same old, worn welcome mat on the floor.

WELCOME—HOPE YOU BROUGHT BEER

Well, that was a hopeful sign.

Steeling herself, she pounded on the door with her fist. At first, there was no answer. Margot knocked again, heard nothing, and was about to turn away when the door cracked open.

She caught sight of one green eye peering at her through the crack. It widened with recognition, and the door started to close abruptly.

Margot shoved her foot in the doorway. "Wait!" she insisted, forcefully pushing the door open. "I need your help, Freddie."

The man stumbled back away from the door, shaking his head emphatically. Since she'd last seen him, his vibrant blue hair had faded to a dull aquamarine, and it hung limply in his eyes. "Oh, no. No, no, no," he told her with a nervous, high-pitched laugh. "We're not doing this again, Margie."

She ignored him as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "I need to find someone."

"What makes you think I can help?" he inquired resentfully.

She backed him up against the wall, scoffing as she flipped a strand of his hair back. "If you want me out of your hair, you'll help."

Freddie eyed her warily before his gaze slipped away, his eyes darting furtively around the cluttered room.

"His name's Malone," Margot continued. "Goes by 'Matches'. Have you heard of him?"

The man shrugged noncommittally.

She slammed her fist onto the wall, just inches from his head. "Come on, Freddie! You know the name of every creep working the East Side. Have you heard of him or not?"

Flinching, Freddie nodded. "Yeah, all right, so maybe I have. What the hell is this about?"

"Where can I find him?"

"How would I know?" he retorted.

Grabbing him by the collar, she shouted, "You hear things! Tell me!"

"Margie—!" he protested.

She loosened her grip with a growl, and for a moment he seemed relieved.

At least until her knuckles connected with his face.

The man reeled and slumped down the side of the wall.

"Tell me!" she snarled, "Before I beat it out of you!"

He looked up at her, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of one shaking hand. "I don't fucking know!" he spat back.

Margot thought it was the defiance in his expression that incensed her. Or maybe she just really felt the need to pummel somebody. Either way, soon Freddie was on his back, and she was straddling him, clenching his collar in one hand, driving her other fist into him with all the strength she could muster.

He didn't fight back, not even to defend himself. He simply cradled his head in his arms for protection as she punched him repeatedly.

"Tell me!"

"I don't know!" Freddie blubbered with blood streaming from his nose and mouth, cringing when Margot raised her fist again. "I don't… I don't know…"

Scoffing, she roughly released her grip on him and got to her feet, gingerly holding her bruised and scraped knuckles. If she was being honest with herself, she hadn't really expected Freddie to know anything. She'd gone there hoping for a confrontation, an excuse to vent her aggression on someone.

Glancing down, she grimaced. Freddie avoided her gaze, curled up into a ball, shaking and sniffling. Sirens wailed in the distance. They weren't for her—how could they be?—but she still decided it was a good time to leave.

"Nice talking to you again," she growled as she stepped over Freddie and left.

Margot climbed onto her bike and rode quickly away. She wasn't going anywhere in particular; she had nowhere to go. All she could do was try not to think about Bruce, wandering the streets somewhere. Perhaps he'd already killed that Malone guy. And Alfred, well he was a different problem, lying in a hospital bed, still not trusting her.

Eventually, she realized that she was running low on gas, so Margot pulled into the nearest gas station. As she was filling up, she checked her phone and noticed that she had a missed call.

Bruce.

She hurriedly called him back.

"Where are you?" she demanded as soon as she heard the phone click.

"I'm at home. Detective Gordon gave me a ride."

A wave of relief washed over her. She leaned against the gas pump and closed her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I'm all right," he reassured her.

"Hold on. I'm on my way. Have you called Alfred?"

"Not yet."

"Right, well you'd better get on that." With that, she hung up and mounted her bike, rushing back to the manor.

"Bruce!" she called as she entered, prowling down the corridors and searching for the young man. He wasn't in his room, the kitchen, or the study. However, as Margot entered the study, she heard his voice call back to her faintly.

She turned towards the source of the sound and found herself staring at the wall where the fireplace used to be. Well, it was still there, but it had been moved back to reveal a stone passageway.

"What the hell?" she muttered to herself as she entered the passage and slowly made her way down the uneven staircase and into the room below. It was less of a room and more like a cavern.

Bruce was sitting calmly at a desk at the far end of the cave. "Hello, Margot," he greeted her coolly, hardly glancing up at her. He seemed to be writing something.

"How long has this been here?" she inquired in wary surprise as she gazed around the dark chamber.

Bruce ignored her question, finishing whatever it was he was writing on the thick, yellowed stationary. He quietly folded it and printed something on the outside.

"What's that?" she asked, coming nearer.

"It's for Alfred," the boy explained. Finally he looked up, standing and meeting her gaze with his as he added, "Will you make sure he finds it?"

"Why can't you give it to him yourself?"

Bruce hesitated. "I have business in the city," he explained, coming around the desk and propping the letter up on it. "Just…make sure he reads the letter. All of it."

He walked past her, and Margot turned to follow. "Bruce, I know it's none of my business, but what happened? And why are you going into the city at this hour?"

They emerged into the study, and Bruce picked his jacket up off of the sofa, slipping into it. "You're right, Margot," he told her with a nod. "It's none of your business."

"Bruce!" she called after him.

He stopped in the corridor and turned to face her. "Please, don't follow me."

"Just tell me what's going on," she pleaded earnestly. "I'm only trying to look out for you."

He nodded once. "I know. But if I'm going to make a difference, I can't keep depending on others." A faint, reassuring smile crossed his face, and he added, "I'll be all right."

With that, the smile faded, and he turned away, hurrying down the corridor and disappearing around a corner. Margot watched him go. She wanted to stop him, but she'd seen something in his eyes, a kind of determination that went well beyond his years. It froze her in her tracks.

Of course, as soon as he was gone, she felt the weight of it all start to crush her. What would she tell Alfred?

She wasn't sure, but she figured it was about time for that drink she'd mentioned earlier.

Sitting in the kitchen, nursing her drink, Margot tried to think about what she would say to Alfred, what she would do. She didn't get much time to think. It wasn't very long before she heard the buzzer signaling that a car had just come through the gate, and she made it to the front door just in time to see Alfred step out of a taxi.

"Taking a taxi? You?" she inquired as the man approached.

He scowled. "Yeah, well I went back for the car, and it wasn't where I left it."

"Unattended cars get stolen on the East Side all the time," Margot pointed out, stepping aside to let him in. "I could have warned you about that, had you asked."

He waved her off irritably. "Not now, Margot. Where's Bruce?"

She sighed. "He's not here. He left something for you, though."

Alfred turned to look at her in astonishment. "What do you mean, he's not here?"

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. The man hastened towards the study, calling for Bruce. He went straight into the dark passageway that led down into the cavern, as if out of habit. Of course Alfred would know about it, Margot thought, unable to keep herself from feeling a little bitter about being left out.

Following close behind, she was there when he found the letter, standing quietly in the shadows while he read it. She wasn't sure what it said, but she could guess by the way his face fell. He faltered a little, having to sit on the stairs before he collapsed.

A quiet curse escaped his lips.

Margot hesitantly approached and sat beside him. "What is it?" she asked.

He handed her the letter wordlessly, letting her read it. She felt surprisingly calm as she read. It did explain quite a bit.

"I assume he didn't kill that guy," she noted, feeling relieved by that, at least.

Alfred didn't respond, staring fixedly at his shoes.

She glanced at him, trying to discern how he was feeling. Concerned. Anxious. Devastated. "Alfred," she whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently.

He flinched away from her touch. "That's twice you've let him slip away today," he stated softly.

The words hit her like a brick to the teeth, crushing her with accusation. "I tried to stop him," she replied defensively.

The man glared at her suddenly. "Did you really?"

"Look, I didn't realize I was supposed to be his prison warden," she retorted.

"You're supposed to protect him!"

Margot got to her feet. "If you would have trusted me—!"

Alfred also stood. "My God, Margot, that's all I've done!"

"You could have sent me after him and you didn't!" she reminded him.

"I didn't want to lose you!"

The declaration rang out in the dark, cavernous room, hovering in the air long after it was said, the words echoing in the silence.

Margot took a step back.

Before she could figure out how to respond, the man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "A year ago, I would have had no qualms in sending you after Bruce. But today I did."

"What did you think would happen?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." Looking up, he added, "This has to end."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. "What do you mean?" She already knew exactly what he meant, but she couldn't stop herself from asking.

Sighing, Alfred indicated the two of them with a hand and explained wearily, "Whatever this is between us, it's distracting, and it has to stop. As you said: Bruce comes first."

Margot felt as if she'd been flung off the side of a tall building. Right now she was still falling, but she knew that soon she'd hit the ground and feel the pain of the unyielding concrete against her fragile body. "Alfred, I…" she trailed off, not sure what she intended to say. What could she say?

Finally, shaking her head, she stepped away, retreating silently up the stairs. Alfred didn't even look at her as she left.

He simply let her go.