"I found a good woman,
I found a job that pays.
The tide comes in, I watch it all wash away.
But I'm keeping it steady, that's just how I was raised,
Head held up, walking tall into each breaking wave…
And I say oh, oh,
Rain don't change the sun.
Jealous is the night when the morning comes,
But it always comes."

"Morning Comes" –Delta Rae

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

Nothing good was happening to Gotham. That's what Bruce had come to conclude, and Alfred was inclined to agree with the young master of Wayne Manor. But then again, he knew of one thing that had finally gone right, and she walked through the door to the study late the next afternoon.

"Morning, gents," she said in a fair imitation of Alfred's own estuary accent, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the doorframe.

Bruce glanced up in a hurry from the file he was studying, probably yet another collection of papers for, about, or by Hugo Strange, Alfred thought dryly.

"Margot!" the boy exclaimed, a wide grin spreading unconsciously across his face as he stood. It had been a while since Alfred had seen a smile anywhere near that caliber cross Bruce's face. Not to mention that the boy stood so quickly that he bumped the file from the table and sent it slithering to the floor. "When did you arrive? What are you doing here?"

Margot, looking well-rested, raised an eyebrow curiously at Alfred, a questioning look in her eye. He gave her a faint smile and a fainter shrug; he'd kept a tight lip and saved her the pleasure of announcing her return to Bruce herself.

"Turns out the inner city isn't as nice as I remembered it," she explained in her normal voice. "Seems as though I've gone soft." Glancing around, she finished with a shrug, "So, I came back here, saw the jungle outside that's passing for a garden these days, and decided it would be mutually beneficial for all of us if I returned." As she spoke, she grinned and pushed off of the doorframe she'd been leaning against, entering the room and easily ensconcing herself in the corner of the sofa opposite Bruce.

"Well," said Bruce, remembering himself and moderating his excitement as he sat again, "it's good to have you back."

"It certainly is," agreed Alfred emphatically, casting a meaningful smile of his own at Margot. "Did you sleep well?"

"Incredibly," she replied with great content. It had been a long time since she'd slept in an actual bed. While in the city, she'd simply used a sleeping bag on top of a camping mat on the floor.

Ever eager to be of service, Alfred inquired, "Can I fetch you anything?" He glanced at Bruce, watching the boy gather up the contents of his file, and added, "You too, Master B. Anything for you?"

Margot saw the hint of concern in the butler's eyes. Still the same as always. Bruce, on the other hand, had changed since she last saw him. Granted, he'd visited her while she'd been there a few days ago, but she could hardly remember the brief encounter, as she had still been in a concussion-induced fog.

He was thinner, taller, and had a sudden inexplicable preference for the color black. Perhaps his time on the street had taught him that black was a good, obscure color for blending in and staying out of sight. And she saw a difference in the way he looked at Alfred, the way he addressed the man, still respectful, but more like a colleague or a friend and less like a guardian or an employee.

"Some tea would be nice," the boy replied after a moment of thought, still focusing on his file.

Alfred looked askance at him, and Margot could practically see him straining not to explain that he had meant actual food and not hot flavored water with a few molecules of honey in it. But if the boy even saw the look, he ignored it pointedly, and Alfred could only sigh silently, roll his eyes heavenward, and glance at Margot.

"Tea sounds good to me," she said with a smile. She'd lived at the manor long enough to know that tea was never just tea when Alfred was involved.

Sure enough, once the exasperated butler returned with tea in tow, Margot noticed a plate of hot scones and a jar of fruit preserves accompanying the usual tea service. He'd probably made the scones that morning and simply heated them up for a few minutes in the oven. They were light and airy, the preserves a deliciously tart compliment, and after about four of them, Margot wondered how she'd ever survived without scones before. Then she caught Alfred watching her, the man masking his smile just a half-second too late, and realized that she'd forgotten entirely about the tea.

At least, she thought to herself, Bruce seemed distracted enough by her obvious enjoyment, that he put down the file long enough to spread preserves on his own scone, which he ate while reading quietly to himself, trying unsuccessfully to minimize the amount of crumbs that dropped onto the papers.

There, said the triumphant expression she shot at Alfred, I'm a good influence on him.

The man acquiesced with a faint nod, his face grim again, but his eyes sparkling with a pleased expression.

Suddenly, the significance of the completely insignificant scene that had just unfolded struck Margot. There she was, comfortable in the warm, close quarters of the study, with the two people she cared for nearby. She sipped at her tea and felt it warm her from the inside, though it paled in comparison to the warmth of returning home, where she belonged.

For several minutes, nothing broke the silence, except for the cheerful crackling of the fire in the hearth, and the occasional turn of the page as Bruce continued to read through the file. Alfred moved silently through the room like a restless wraith, tidying up, rearranging piles of books, files, and loose papers. His footsteps were softened by the thick rugs covering the floor, and his deft hands quickly and quietly made short work of the clutter.

Margot watched him in mild curiosity, content to simply watch absently as the man moved through the room. Outwardly calm, Alfred seemed perfectly at ease, but Margot knew him well enough to observe that for a man who could be quite good at remaining perfectly still, he was certainly moving around a lot. Nerves, perhaps? He did seem to cast quite a few glances in Bruce's direction. Bruce, on the other hand, seemed completely absorbed in what he was doing.

"Margot."

In her ponderings, Margot had lost track of the butler, and now she glanced up to notice him standing at the far end of the sofa, his head cocked curiously to the side as he waited for her to acknowledge him.

"Yes?"

"I assume you have some personal effects that you might wish to have handy. I'd be happy to take you to the city to retrieve them, if you'd like."

Margot smiled at the invitation and wondered at the reason for it. Was Alfred simply being kind, or did he have some ulterior motive? Perhaps he was merely searching for something to do, anything to keep his mind off of the pensive young man on the sofa, devouring file after file and hardly eating, entirely wrapped up in the task at hand.

Well, there was one way to find out.

"Sure," she replied, setting her teacup down and stretching as she stood. "I could use some fresh air anyway."

"Not sure how 'fresh' city air is," Alfred murmured as she joined him and followed him from the room.

Margot let out a soft laugh. "What are you saying? That even the air pollution out here is of higher quality?" she teased.

The man shot her a flat, unamused stare, which only caused her to laugh more.

"I see my sharp wit hasn't been missed," she noted.

"It's still missing, as far as I'm concerned," Alfred replied dryly.

Margot still thought she caught a flash of a smile in the man's stern eyes.

Her suspicions about his ulterior motives were proved correct when after only a minute or so of driving, Alfred glanced at her and stated, "Now that you're returning, I think it's best if I bring you up to speed on the way matters have progressed."

Margot nodded quietly and seriously. This was business. As happy as she was to be returning to Wayne Manor, to be in Alfred and Bruce's company once more, she realized that it was coming at a price, and this was it.

"Let me guess," she began, "Bruce found out that the Malone guy who killed his parents was just a hired gun."

"Yes."

"And now he's after the people who hired him."

"Yes."

"And?"

Alfred kept his eyes on the road as he replied, "He has a name. A woman died trying to help him find that name." He paused for a moment, waiting for the weight of that statement to sink in. Continuing, he said, "It's all got to do with some hush-hush program connected to Wayne Enterprises—no need to bore you with the details. Needless to say, our man is well-connected. Strange is his name, Dr. Hugo Strange, head of Arkham Asylum. He won't be an easy nut to crack, not to mention we suspect he's behind Galavan's sudden reappearance."

"What?" Margot whirled so quickly to face Alfred that her seatbelt locked, cutting into her neck suddenly. Managing to fix it with a couple of tugs, she inquired carefully, "Whose reappearance?"

Alfred cast a sidelong glance at her. "You haven't heard? It was all over the news last night. Galavan's back."

"But I thought he was—"

"Dead," finished Alfred. "I know." The man sighed heavily and shifted a little as he braked for a red light. Looking at Margot, his expression was one of utmost solemnity as he told her, "There's a lot I've seen in the past few days that you'd be hard-pressed to believe. That's why we need you, Margot."

She considered the new information thoughtfully, her brow furrowed. After a moment, she voiced her first concern. "Should we be leaving Bruce alone at the manor?"

Alfred was already shaking his head as the light turned green and he accelerated through the intersection. "Galavan's not after Bruce this time. He's after Gordon, probably because he's been heckling Strange."

Margot saw the reassuring glance he shot her way, but she still felt uneasy.

That feeling didn't go away, even as they pulled up to her apartment building. By night it was a sinister, shadowy blot on the side of the narrow street, but in that late afternoon light, it was just a run-down, dilapidated building.

Alfred offered to go up and help her, but Margot declined. "I don't have much."

Which was true enough, she thought as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. Mostly, though, she didn't want the man to see the squalor she had been living in for the past month. She packed her belongings quickly. In her hurried departure from Wayne Manor, she'd left a lot of things behind—clothes, her landscaping sketchbooks and drawing supplies. Now all her belongings fit into a single backpack. Well, except for the rifle, which was still in its case, hidden in a cupboard under the kitchen sink.

She grabbed it, and the backpack, and made her way back down the stairs to where Alfred was waiting with the trunk of the car already open. She noticed the way he looked at her rifle case and held up a hand to reassure him.

"Don't worry, you can hide it somewhere in that big mansion if it makes you feel safer."

"No, actually," he responded quietly as he took the case and the backpack from her and stowed them securely in the trunk. "You should hold onto it this time."

Already uneasy, Margot was further unnerved by his statement. "I noticed you've got a gun on you now," she said, having noticed the faint bulge of the gun against the small of his back.

"It's been locked away, but lately it's spent a lot more time out of the safe."

She quietly pondered that. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Alfred noticed her anxiety as he opened the door for her. Coming around the car, he got into the driver's seat and asked wryly, "Tempted to back out yet?"

"No," Margot replied. She'd been looking through the window, giving the apartment building one last once-over, but now she looked at Alfred with a fixed smile. "Not until I'm dead."

"Let's try to avoid that, shall we?" he murmured with a flat smile of his own. But he wasn't making any promises. Not after he'd seen the way Bruce's promise to Karen had shattered.

Bruce was waiting for them back at the manor. He approached Alfred as Margot took her things up to her room. Even the boy noticed the rifle case, his keen eyes following it until Margot had disappeared around a corner.

"I need to go into the city."

Alfred paused, his hand lifted to hang the key to the Bentley on its hook. "We just came back from the city, Master B," he said with a hint of exasperation. "And it's late."

"Even so, I need to go."

"What for, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"

"I've been poring over documents all day, and I have nothing to show for it. Meanwhile, Strange knows we're closing in on him—he's probably covering everything up right now—and Galavan's all over the news—"

"Yes," interrupted Alfred in a stern tone, "running free somewhere in Gotham. So forgive me, Master B, if I don't leap up to take you into the city tonight."

Bruce's brow furrowed, and his eyes had that unmistakable stubborn glint in them. "Alfred, I highly doubt that—"

Exhausted already, and wearied by the boy's protests, which seemed as if they could continue interminably, Alfred did something that rarely happened, at least rarely enough that it startled Bruce.

He lost his temper.

"Just wait one bloody moment, will you?" he roared. He inhaled deeply, his jaw set stubbornly forward, and in the shocked silence that followed, he amended in a calmer voice that was no less stern, "Wait, Master B. That's all I'm asking. Wait until morning and I'll take you then. There's no need for you to take unnecessary risks that could jeopardize the success of your mission."

The two men, one young and energetic, the other older and experienced, stared at each other in silence until they seemed to reach an impasse. Then Bruce, not lowering his gaze, nodded his head curtly. "Very well, Alfred. First thing tomorrow."

Alfred also nodded. "Good. Now why don't I fix you something to eat?"

"I've already eaten," said Bruce calmly. "Shouldn't you be upstairs with Margot? You must be dying to…" at this the boy paused, brow furrowed, and continued carefully, "…help her unpack."

Alfred eyed the boy with great suspicion. "Are you sure you're not trying to distract me so that you can sneak away?"

Bruce allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Alfred, you worry too much." Seeing the doubt that lingered, he added reassuringly, "I promise I won't leave. I see the sense in waiting. We'll leave tomorrow, first thing."

The man nodded. He wasn't sure how, but he could tell that Bruce wasn't lying. "Very well, Master B. As you wish. I believe I will go help Margot…unpack."

Still smiling, Bruce turned away and replied, "I'll be in the study. Try not to stay up too late."

Alfred grumbled under his breath, but said nothing more. He already didn't like this new teenage side of Bruce.

Margot had already unpacked most of her belongings and was now folding her clothes—which she'd simply shoved into her backpack—in neat piles on the bed. She glanced up and noticed Alfred in the doorway.

"What did Bruce want?" she asked with mild curiosity as he entered the room.

"To go into the city," Alfred responded wearily. "I suspect he intends to enlist Selina Kyle's help to find any dirt Strange may be hiding."

Her brow rose. "Tonight? With Galavan out running around? Gotham's not even safe on normal nights."

"I managed to dissuade him. We'll leave first thing in the morning."

Margot considered him for a moment. "Then you really should get some rest." She paused and asked suspiciously, "You're not worried that Bruce is going to try to sneak out, are you?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. He sees the sense in waiting."

Margot sighed as she shook a shirt loose from the other clothes and began to fold it. "I can see why you're exhausted. Keeping track of that kid alone is more than a full-time job."

He smiled wanly. "Well now that you're here, hopefully I won't have to do it alone."

She glanced up, echoing his smile. "Whoa, I'm just the gardener," she teased.

Waiting for her to finish folding the shirt, he pulled her closer, looking into those hazel eyes that always seemed full of mischief. "You've never been just the gardener," he told her, right before he kissed her.

It had been a long time since he'd kissed her like that, pulling her into him, pressing his entire body into hers, feeling her bend just a little under the force of his kiss. One of her hands clenched the lapel of his coat, while the other slid up the back of his neck and into his hair, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Watch it," she whispered as they parted, her voice giving him goosebumps. "I'm starting to get the impression that you've given up sleeping altogether. Aren't you too tired to be doing this sort of thing?"

"Too tired?" he inquired incredulously. "What, and I'm suddenly ninety years old, I suppose?"

Margot smiled broadly and mildly replied, "Well, you certainly have a lot of gray hair—"

"I'll have you know that before Master Bruce came along, I had nary a gray hair on me."

"Right," she agreed with a sagacious nod, "And I suppose the fact that that was nearly fourteen years ago has nothing to do with it."

"All right, you," he growled. "Come here."

It certainly had been a long time, Alfred thought to himself, kissing away that teasing smile of hers, picking her up and depositing her on the bed, scattering the neat piles of clothes as he joined her, determined to make up for lost time.

Margot, apparently thinking the same thing, murmured, "Looks like we have some making up to do."

Alfred said nothing, but he still managed to make his agreement very clear.

He'd dreamt of her while she'd been away, remembering the feeling of her body against his, her smooth skin under his hands, warm and supple. But he'd forgotten the way his fingertips could raise goosebumps on her flesh, the way she watched him through half-lidded eyes as he touched her, uttering soft, pleasant sounds.

She gasped softly, her breath hitching for a moment when he buried his face in her neck and pressed his lips to that slight curve where jaw and ear and neck met. A favorite place of hers, and of his, considering the way she arched up into him, rubbing the front of her body against his.

God, he'd missed her.

For all of the good intentions he'd had, wanting this to be one of those memorable nights, Alfred didn't have the time or the endurance to waste on little pleasantries. Margot was finally there, in the flesh, warm and welcoming, with a hint of teasing, just enough to drive him mad for her. He'd be lucky if he lasted through the next few minutes.

Margot sensed his urgency and seemed, surprisingly, to be in agreement. Basics now, simple and unadorned. Romance could wait until later.

He noticed that, in the course of undressing her, she still seemed a little hesitant. She tried to hide her anxiety, flashing a smile up at Alfred, but he saw through it. Her legs, or more accurately the scars that disfigured them, were an obvious point of discomfort to her. He'd told her more than once that he didn't care; Margot was still pretty and pleasant to look at otherwise. Hell, she was beautiful to him, and once her trousers came off, he was usually too far gone to be distracted by the scars.

He'd always had to whisper something encouraging to her by this point, and tonight was no different, except perhaps that this time he held the card that could trump all doubts.

"Margot," he murmured, meeting her eyes with his, sensing the hesitance in her gaze. Sure he had her undivided attention, he told her firmly, "I love you."

Her unease melted away instantly, like snow he'd seen turn instantly to vapor, steaming under a hot morning sun. Unable to hide her grin, she kissed him soundly and replied in kind, "I love you, too."

It was over in a matter of minutes.

Alfred was asleep. He'd tried his best to stay awake, to coddle Margot, to kiss her, to show her all the gentleness he kept hidden during the day, but he was exhausted, and she couldn't have kept him awake, even if she'd wanted to.

She watched him in the dim light from a lamp on the bedside table, knowing it wouldn't disturb him. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful except for the slight furrowing between his eyebrows. Even in his sleep, Alfred seemed concerned. It was his natural state of being, Margot supposed.

Still wide awake, Margot tried to relax and join the man in sleep, but she couldn't get comfortable. She'd slept through most of the day, and now her body was ready to be awake and active, despite the late hour. Her mind raced, not content with watching Alfred sleep, which was actually quite boring.

So Margot rose and dressed herself to make the rounds through the manor. Bruce was already in bed, though probably not sleeping if the light under his doorway was anything to judge by. She checked the windows upstairs, except for those in the master suite. Those doors hadn't been opened in ages, and the rooms behind them sat undisturbed. Margot wasn't going to be the one who disturbed them.

Downstairs, she checked more windows, locked the doors, and cleaned up after Bruce's attempt to make himself dinner—some pasta with sauce and vegetables. Tasting a bit of the leftovers curiously, Margot realized that it wasn't all that bad. He'd come a long way since the days when he couldn't cut a straight slice of bread.

Finally satisfied that the manor was secure, Margot made her way back upstairs, hoping that by now she'd be ready to sleep. She passed by one of the windows and caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Freezing, she stood in the dark window, her sharp gaze fixed outside.

Her eyes scanned the grounds, darting from place to place. She never fixed her gaze on one spot for too long; she'd been trained to notice everything by keeping her eyes moving.

There—something stirred. Even as she saw it, however, Margot realized it was nothing more than a tree branch swaying slightly in the breeze. Other branches on other trees swayed as well. Doubtful, Margot still remained on alert for several more minutes, until she was certain that there was nobody outside.

She returned to her room, undressed, and joined Alfred once more. He didn't stir. Curling up beside him, she closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep. Her body, faced with the prospect of sleep or a long night of absolute boredom, finally chose sleep.

But it was a fitful, restless sleep, and Margot was exhausted by morning.