"Oh, angel sent from up above,
You know you make my world light up.
When I was down, when I was hurt,
You came to lift me up.
Life is a drink, and love's a drug.
Oh, now I think I must be miles up.
When I was a river, dried up,
You came to rain a flood."
"Hymn for the Weekend" –Coldplay (ft. Beyoncé)
Chapter Thirty-Nine:
Chamomile tea had been nice. Chamomile tea with a splash of bourbon better. Then Margot had chased down a couple of ibuprofen with a few fingers of bourbon minus the chamomile. Irresponsible behavior? Probably. Definitely. But at least the throbbing in her head had dulled to a numb ache. In fact, she felt pretty good, all bandaged up and bundled underneath no less than three blankets in bed.
It had been at least an hour since they'd finished their bourbon and tea, been subjected to prodding policemen and treated by the EMTs that accompanied them. An hour since they'd seen everybody off, bidden quiet goodnights to each other, and retired to bed separately. Margot had been lying there for the past several minutes in utter silence. She was just dozing, unable to really sleep, when a tall figure darkened her doorway.
Alfred.
"What brings you here so late?" she inquired, trying not to sound too excited. Secretly, she'd been hoping that he'd come, at least to keep her company if nothing else. But as the minutes had passed, she'd slowly been losing hope. The only reason she hadn't just gone to his room was the fact that the wound to his leg was no small scrape, and she'd assumed that he'd want to be left alone. A weak smile crossed her face as she teased, "Surely you're not expecting a romantic encounter of any sort."
"Hardly," Alfred retorted gruffly as he limped across the room, supporting his weight heavily on a cane. He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed, groaning softly. "I tried to sleep," he admitted, "but my mind seemed bent on contemplating my own mortality. I thought if I was going to be awake, I'd be better off with some company."
Margot nodded understandingly. She hadn't been able to sleep either, thanks to a blend of residual anxiety and pain. Her wounds were mostly superficial—a bump and a gash on her head that required nothing more than a couple of stitches, a few cuts and scrapes that were fixed with alcohol wipes and bandages, and a very sore leg. Not as sore as Alfred's, though.
"How's the leg?" she asked, nodding towards his injured appendage, noticing the way he favored it, wincing as he lifted it onto the bed and reclined beside her.
"Feels like butter under a hot knife. I can barely walk on the bloody thing." He glanced at her, eyeing the bandage on her head. "And you? How's that crack on the nut?"
Her head pounded in answer. "Throbbing, but manageable."
Alfred nodded and fell quiet, seeming quite content to simply sit there with her in silence.
As Margot stared up at the dark ceiling, arms crossed behind her head, she got the distinct impression that Alfred was watching her. She didn't acknowledge him in any way, waiting to see if he had more to say, or if he was simply going to stare quietly.
When he did speak, it wasn't at all what she'd expected to hear, not after that evening's previous events.
"How many of these bloody blankets do you have on? Can you breathe under there?"
She felt him shift as he tried to navigate his way under the covers, and could hardly stifle a laugh. "I was cold."
"Yeah, well I'm here now. Shall we discard some of this dead weight, or are we both going to bake in this oven of a bed?"
Margot didn't try hiding her laugh this time. "All right," she assented, "but come here. With the blankets gone, it's your responsibility to keep me warm."
Not a problem," he assured her.
She scooted closer to him and waited for him to toss a couple of the blankets aside before he put his arms around her. He contemplated her quietly for a few moments, a hand ghosting over the side of her face, tracing one of the shallow scrapes on her cheek.
"Why'd you forgive me so quickly?" he inquired in a tired whisper. The ever-present hoarseness in his voice was more prominent than ever as he broke the silence. "Why'd you come back?"
Margot didn't answer at first, noticing the worried lines that permanently creased his brow, the curious way his wide blue eyes regarded her from across his pillow. Ever since she'd returned, they hadn't really discussed the matter further. He'd apologized, and she'd forgiven him, and that was it. She wasn't sure she even had an answer, but it wouldn't do to say nothing at all.
After a moment, she replied, "I guess I was still hoping to give this another chance." Sensing a hint of dissatisfaction from him, she added, "While I was in the city, I could hardly get you out of my head. I worry about you, you know. Even when I was furious I still worried."
"Come here to protect me then, did you?" he said with a wan smile.
She let out a quiet laugh. "Something like that." Her amusement faded and she continued in a more serious tone, "Alfred, I've never been happier than when I'm here. Even when maniacs break in and threaten to kill us all."
"That's the part that worries me."
"Well, of course it's dangerous," she agreed. "We all knew that, especially since Bruce's hobbies seem to include digging into uncomfortable secrets and irritating powerful and deadly people. But pursuing the truth is something Bruce needs to do. You've got to admire his tenacity."
"Oh, I do," Alfred reassured her calmly. "It's just that I question whether you ought to be risking your life for this."
Margot nodded slowly. "You don't think I feel the same way about you?" she inquired carefully. "You'd give your life for Bruce."
"Well it's expected of me," he explained. "I made a promise to his parents…"
"And you love him," she pointed out gently.
"Yes. As if he were my own son," Alfred asserted with quiet ferocity.
"Well I love you both," she stated, evenly meeting his gaze. "It would kill me if I lost either of you. But I'd rather be here, risking the pain of losing you, risking my own life even, than to leave and lose you for sure just because I'm afraid."
A slow smile spread across the man's features, and he cupped the side of her face in a hand, his skin warm against hers. "Well, for the record, I'm glad you're here," he admitted.
She smiled back. "So am I."
Margot woke late, not surprised when all that she found on the other side of her bed was an empty impression roughly the size and shape of a middle-aged butler. Sitting up abruptly, she fell back almost immediately when the room started to spin around her. She blamed the interesting cocktail of painkillers and booze that she'd had before bed.
After a moment, she tried to sit up again, slowly. This time, the room didn't spin quite as much, the movement more like the rocking of a ship. Margot could manage that.
Head pounding, she found a robe and slipped it on before making her way downstairs, her feet padding a soft, uneven rhythm on the cold floor. Nobody was in the kitchen, but there was a bagel on the table, already halved, with a collection of toppings placed delicately on each half. An empty mug rested beside it, and a glance in the coffee pot proved that there was some left for her. It was still fresh, barely at the stage between hot and warm.
Margot only filled the cup halfway before pulling down an open bottle of bourbon from one of the cupboards and splashing some of it into her cup.
Warm sunlight cascaded from the windows, a yellow glow that made her feel drowsy, despite the coffee. Margot had hoped to work the grounds today, but her headache wasn't fading, and she thought that maybe some painkillers and a quick nap would help her to feel better by the afternoon.
Standing, she swilled the rest of her coffee, then took a swig of bourbon straight from the bottle, just for good measure, and started the long return toward her room, where she was sure she could scrounge up a few painkillers.
Before she made it there, however, something through the window caught her eye, and she stopped to peer out onto the grounds. The scorch marks in the driveway from last night were still obvious, but most of the debris—previously known as Theo Galavan, aka Azrael—had been taken by the investigators.
"Thank God for that," Margot snorted softly to herself. She hadn't been looking forward to cleaning that up.
That wasn't what had drawn her gaze, however. There were two cars in the driveway. One she recognized. It was Gordon's. The other was unfamiliar.
Frowning, Margot changed plans, turning around and making her way back down the stairs and towards the study. As she approached, she heard voices. Bruce and Alfred.
Just as she reached the door, Bruce stepped from it, smiling wanly at her and offering a quiet greeting and farewell as he passed. "Hello, Margot. Goodbye."
Caught off guard, she didn't have time to reply other than to grunt a curious, "Huh."
In the study, Alfred stood near the desk, shoulders slumped, face drawn. He was still using a cane for support, Margot noticed. She wondered vaguely if it was to take the strain off of his leg, or if it was helping him bear the weight of his tumultuous thoughts and emotions.
He looked even worse than she felt.
She wisely didn't mention that, though. Instead, she simply asked, "What's going on?"
Alfred's piercing gaze swept over her for a moment before he sighed and groaned, "Bloody lunacy it is."
"Well that's a given," she joked in a lighthearted attempt to raise the man's spirits. "Any particular kind of lunacy?"
A weary shrug prefaced the man's brief explanation. "It seems young Master Bruce sent Selina Kyle to Arkham to dig up anything she could on Strange. It was a serious lack of good judgement, in my opinion, and she has yet to return. Master B left with Jim Gordon and Lucius Fox to rescue her and investigate further."
Margot furrowed her brow. "And they didn't invite us?" It seemed strange to her that Bruce would overlook his two staunchest defenders.
"Well I'm no good with my bum leg, and you—well, you've got a bum leg too, haven't you? Not to mention that great bloody conk on your head and the fact that you smell like a portside pub the morning after."
It was obvious that Alfred was upset about being left behind as well, but Margot thought he was going a little overboard with the insults. Offending her wasn't going to help him feel better. In fact, it was a quick way to provoke her into giving him two bum legs instead of one.
She didn't mention that. She simply gave him a flat glare. "This leg hasn't stopped me before. Maybe I should go with them."
But Alfred was already shaking his head. "Now wait a moment. I just tore a strip off Master B for involving Miss Kyle in this. I can't turn around and ask you to get involved. It'd be dangerous and I'd look like a bloody hypocrite."
"Look, you're not asking me. I'm volunteering," Margot protested. "There's a difference."
Alfred remained firm. "Absolutely not. They have a plan. You can't help by charging in after them." Seeing that she still seemed antsy, he took a faltering step forward and held her shoulder with a hand. "Margot." He waited for her to meet his gaze. "I know you're worried. You don't think I'm positively itching to be there, protecting that boy? Hell, I did all but threaten to stick him on an airplane. In fact…no, I do believe I did threaten that. The point is, I remembered something that you said last night, and I believe you were right to say it. Master B does need to pursue the truth. His father would be very proud of the man he's becoming, and I'll be damned if I stand in the way of that."
Margot hesitated, bowing her head and nodding after a moment. Alfred gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, adding reassuringly, "Now, that's not to say I haven't taken precautions. If we don't hear from them within the hour, I'm going straight to the police."
She couldn't keep a scoff from escaping her throat. "Like they can do anything. If they could, they would have already."
Alfred shot her a warning look, indicating that he'd brook no more argument. Margot was only an average tactician, having barely scraped by in most of her tactical training, but she knew enough to pick her battles and this wasn't one of them.
Although she was pretty sure that with his leg injured, she could take the man.
Pretty sure.
If she kicked his cane out from under him.
Alfred caught her eyeing the cane. "Don't even think about it," he growled.
The hour passed slowly, dragging on like eternity, though both Margot and Alfred tried to distract themselves. The distractions didn't work, a common occurrence in such uneasy situations. By the last fifteen minutes, they didn't even pretend to try any longer, simply sitting by the phone, waiting and watching the clock.
Finally, Alfred stood. "It's been too long," he announced. "I'm going."
Margot also got to her feet, swaying a little as she steadied herself. "I'll go with you." Her head still ached, but that wouldn't stop her from helping any way that she could.
Alfred turned on her. "No. You need to stay in case they try to call the manor. In case they return."
She frowned. "You're not just trying to keep me out of the danger, are you?" she inquired accusingly.
He looked at her and shrugged, not even bothering to hide the truth. "Of course I am, luv." Sighing, he added, "There's no sign that anything's gone wrong. They may simply be unable to contact us at the moment. But it's best to be cautious. If anything is wrong, I'll let you know immediately. In the meantime, I need you here in case Master B returns."
Margot hated the idea, but she could see the sense in it. "All right," she gave in, adding hurriedly, "but if you're not back by this evening, I'm coming after you."
Alfred smiled wanly and nodded. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
More waiting.
Margot hated waiting.
As a sniper, she'd been trained to wait for hours without moving more than a few inches. Her missions always required stealth, but most importantly, patience. Still, that was a different kind of waiting, the kind that usually kept her from being spotted by the enemy, the kind that saved her life.
This was entirely different. She was on the sidelines, kept out of play for safety's sake, unable to help. Waiting for the slim chance that Bruce might phone the manor, or simply show up safe and sound. Given the time that Alfred had been gone, she doubted that would happen.
The only thing that kept her there was the small chance that Bruce might call, that he might return, and Alfred would never forgive her—hell, she would never forgive herself—if she wasn't there. She had promised, and she wasn't about to break a promise to Alfred.
Still, it was anxious waiting, filled with restless pacing and muttering as she constantly shot glances at the phone on the desk, while also checking her own phone for messages.
Finally the sun disappeared below the horizon, and with it went any obligation Margot had to wait there. She'd told Alfred until evening, and that's exactly what she'd meant. So, hastening through the manor, Margot left, snatching her coat from the rack and throwing it on as she straddled her motorcycle.
She tried not to think of all the possible ways Bruce's plan could have gone wrong, what could have happened to invoke such a dreadful silence that seemed to be stifling all communication. First Bruce hadn't made contact as planned, and then Alfred had failed to update Margot on the situation. Was something truly wrong?
Or had Margot simply been forgotten on the sidelines?
She went first to the station, only to learn that Alfred was not there. He'd gone with acting Captain Bullock and most of the police force to Arkham, leaving behind only a skeleton crew of disgruntled officers to man the station. When she pressed for details, all she received was a curt reminder that this was police business and that as a civilian, she wasn't privy to such information.
Well, she thought with determination, at least she knew where Arkham was.
It wasn't a long ride, but it seemed to take forever, with panicked thoughts of what she would find there flashing through her mind. What if Bruce had been hurt? Alfred? To have the police so involved, she feared a disaster of cataclysmic proportions.
At first, her fears seemed realized when she pulled up to find the gates of Arkham thrown open, the courtyard filled with patrol vehicles and milling police officers. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar form crouched on top of a patrol car. Cat. As soon as she spotted the girl, it was easy for Margot to recognize Alfred and Bruce, who both stood nearby. They appeared to be relatively unharmed.
Her fear and alarm vanished in a flash of relief, which soon melted into irritation and anger as she dismounted from her bike and stormed over to them, ignoring the protests of several nearby officers.
"What the hell?" she shouted, satisfied to see the others start in guilty surprise as she approached. Bruce was nearest, and without warning she simply pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing the breath from him and growling quietly, "I thought you were dead."
"As you can see, I'm perfectly all right," Bruce reassured her with a slightly nervous laugh. "We all are."
She loosened her grip on him and faced Alfred with a scowl. "I can see that," she responded darkly. "A call might have been nice," she added.
"Oi!" the butler protested, holding up the phone that was currently in one hand. "I was just about to ring you."
"Right. After the danger has passed, I see."
"It seems our young friends here had things mostly sorted by the time I arrived," Alfred explained, indicating Bruce and Cat. "Had you waited a few minutes longer, I could have saved you the trip over."
"Too late for that," Margot muttered, managing to stay stern for just a moment longer before a smile broke over her tired features. "Screw it, I'm just glad to see that you're all OK." And she limped to Alfred to give him the same tight, relieved embrace that she had given Bruce just moments before.
"Sure, hug the butler," groused Cat. "He barely got here in time to watch the cleanup."
Alfred seemed as if he was about to retort sarcastically when Gordon approached and called to Bruce, distracting them from the beginnings of a heated dispute.
The ex-detective nodded briefly to the others before he took the boy by the shoulder, his weary face grim.
Bruce looked up at him in curiosity, wondering what had drawn the ex-detective away from the clamor and milling confusion of the police as they tried to sort everything out.
"I have to go," he said enigmatically. "I might not see you for a while," he added apologetically, "but I'll try to stay in touch."
Margot frowned slightly, surprised by the announcement. She didn't profess to know the man well, but Gordon hadn't seemed like the kind of man who'd simply pick up and leave Gotham. Sure, there were those that ran away. She didn't blame them. She'd been one of them, at least for a while. But Gordon had promised to help Bruce find those responsible for his parents' deaths. Did his departure mean the deed had been accomplished?
She didn't think so, judging by Bruce's reaction. He also seemed a little surprised. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"I have to find Lee," the man explained, a pained expression crossing his face as he spoke.
"Lee", Margot assumed, seemed to be someone close to Gordon. A girlfriend, perhaps?
Alfred's response seemed to confirm her conjectures. "Right move, mate," the butler spoke up beside her, nodding his head in curt approval.
Margot glanced at him, head tilted, a questioning look in her eyes. "His fiancée," Alfred informed her under his breath. "Met her once." A wistful expression flickered over his face, and he added with a wry smile, "One look at those eyes and suddenly I was asking her to dinner. Don't know what came over me, really…" The man trailed off, meeting Margot's gaze. He cleared his throat hastily and quickly added in a whisper, "It was while you were out blowing mobsters' heads off. I didn't expect to see you again, and I most certainly didn't realize she was already taken."
"Comforting," Margot retorted dryly. She wasn't really bothered by the revelation, but she wasn't going to let him know that. She opened her mouth to press further, but was interrupted before she could speak.
"Chocolates," called Cat, as Gordon started to leave. The man turned to her with his brow furrowed in curiosity, and she shrugged uncomfortably. "Girls like chocolates."
Gordon emitted a soft laugh and smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Hear that?" Margot whispered with a pointed look at Alfred, nudging the man gently with her elbow and slipping her hand into his.
The butler smiled, his blue eyes warm as he regarded her for a moment. He squeezed her hand, taking a few steps forward as he watched Gordon go.
"Well," he said to no one in particular, "there's a man who's got his priorities straight." Margot glanced questioningly at him, and he added in explanation, "The love of a good woman, and all that."
She saw the meaningful look in his gaze, felt the reassuring warmth of his hand around hers. For a moment, everything was right.
But Alfred wasn't one for maudlin moments, and soon he'd turned to Bruce. "Well, I hope you learned your lesson, Master Bruce. And that's the end of your adventures with the police, eh?"
Margot saw a familiar look creep over the boy's face. She'd seen the same expression when he'd come down from the roof not long after he'd lost his parents. Alfred had scolded him, demanding that he never return to the roof again. But Bruce's expression had betrayed him then, and it betrayed him now.
"There's a secret council, Alfred," Bruce hurriedly explained. "A secret council that runs everything in Gotham."
Alfred's face fell, his hopeful smile fading into the same grimace that Margot made when she was on the verge of vomiting. "Oh, bloody hell…" he began in an exhausted growl.
Bruce continued with even more energy, gaining momentum, "It's them that wanted me dead. We're so close, Alfred. We're so close to the ultimate truth."
"Oh, bloody hell." The butler was leaning heavily on his cane, his eyes rolled heavenwards, and he looked almost ready to faint with despair on the spot. He shot a desperate, pleading look at Cat, as if she were somehow responsible for this and in a position to talk Bruce down.
"Hey," she threw up her hands defensively, "don't look at me."
Margot quietly slipped an arm through Alfred's, squeezing gently. Mostly it was for encouragement, but also to be absolutely sure that the man wouldn't fall to the ground.
"Right," he finally uttered, unable to say anything else. "Right," he echoed to himself, trying to come to terms with what he'd just heard.
He shook himself loose and turned away, taking a few limping steps from them and staring off into the darkness. Behind her, Margot heard Cat whisper to Bruce, "The old man took it pretty well, I'd say."
"He'll probably be up all night, coming up with reasons why I shouldn't pursue the matter," Bruce responded dryly.
Margot scoffed quietly to herself, "I can already think of three or four myself." She didn't share her thoughts, though. Tonight at least, she'd rest well, knowing that one crisis had been averted, and the larger one looming on the horizon could be dealt with in the morning. Hopefully by then she and Alfred would both figure out how the hell they were going to survive this endless crusade with their sanity intact.
After giving Alfred a couple of moments alone, she approached, touching his shoulder gently. He didn't turn around, but he didn't send her away either.
"That boy will be the bloody death of me," he asserted hoarsely after a long silence.
"It seems that way," she agreed with a nod.
The man glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "Some help you are. You've defected to his side, haven't you?"
Margot laughed. "I've always been on his side. Be honest—so have you."
Alfred nodded slowly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "I'm glad to have you here."
She smiled and leaned into him. "Glad to be here," she responded. "Now let's get home. I'm starving. Haven't eaten all day."
This drew a laugh from the man, and he seemed a little less morose as they turned and collected Bruce. Margot paused and glanced back at Cat, who was hanging back hesitantly.
"Hey," she called to the girl. "I brought my bike. You want a ride home?"
Cat grinned. "Only if we stop for food on the way."
"A girl after my own heart," Margot said with a nod of approval, beckoning the girl to follow her.
Terrible as the day had seemed, she had to admit that things could have turned out much worse. Margot supposed she should be grateful that they hadn't.