"I'm on one knee,
Lover please,
How can I put it more simply?
And I wait for your invitation,
And I'm so, so, so, so over waiting.
Hey lady,
Don't give up on me,
Dont' burn your heart out, love,
Till we're ash over seas."

"Hey Lady" –Thriving Ivory

Chapter Forty-One:

What was Alfred thinking, asking her to marry him? Surely he wasn't the kind of person who did that sort of thing. What would it change? Well, other than the fact that they'd legally be husband and wife, and her name would be Margot Pennyworth, and that sounded a little odd—she'd have to get used to that—that is, if she said "yes", and she wasn't sure she would, because what was the point of changing things when they were already just fine the way they were?

Weren't they?

Of course, all of these thoughts went through Margot's mind in the space of a few seconds, and she suddenly realized that Alfred was there, still kneeling in front of her, waiting patiently for her response.

Margot opened her mouth, not quite sure what was going to come out, to be honest. Of course, as soon as her lips parted, the answer came bursting out, belying all of the panicked thought that had gone into it.

"Yes." Feeling giddy, Margot found that once she'd started speaking, it was difficult to stop. "Yes. Absolutely. God, yes."

A relieved expression crossed Alfred's face, and he grinned as he pulled her into a kiss. He'd been fairly sure of the answer, but even so, it was never easy to wait for confirmation.

"What now?" Margot inquired when they parted.

The man shook his head. "Honestly, I have no idea."

Margot laughed wryly. "Great."

Despite the new circumstances, things didn't change much over the next few days.

Bruce seemed unusually brooding, but Margot doubted it was because of the news. For one thing, Alfred had asked him about it first—in the conversation Margot had overheard—and Bruce had given his consent. Besides, it wasn't as if they were forgetting him in the midst of all their planning.

Actually, to be honest, there wasn't much planning going on. Both Alfred and Margot were content with the idea of a small wedding, preferably somewhere on the grounds of the sprawling estate itself. Only a few guests would suffice, and their idea of a honeymoon seemed to include a movie and a couple bottles of scotch, with a late morning to sleep off the inevitable aftereffects. They hadn't even decided on a date, a cake, or an officiator yet. In fact, the only thing that had been taken care of was Margot's dress.

Alfred had brought it up first, mentioning tentatively that should she wish to, she was well within her rights to wear her military uniform.

"I'm not wearing my dress blues," she'd insisted almost immediately.

She may have imagined it, but she thought she'd seen a bit of relief cross his face, soon masked by mild surprise. "I didn't peg you for a woman who fancied the flounces and lace and such."

Margot had laughed at the idea. "I'm not." And even though Alfred had waited expectantly for further illumination, she hadn't said anything more. She'd made a few mysterious trips into the city, but other than that, life at the manor continued much the same as before. There was no reason for Bruce to be upset by those trivialities.

The more she thought, the more she realized that it was probably the weight of his investigation and the frustration of what looked like a dead end. Every time he seemed close to an answer, another trail would unfold, revealing more mystery, more questions. And over the past couple of days, he'd found next to nothing on this secret organization he'd started to investigate. Rather than setting the matter aside and waiting for something to turn up, or even just taking a short break to clear his head, he spent hour after hour digging through documents, researching on his father's computer in that dark dungeon of a room, and pacing.

It was Margot's day off, and she could have probably justified leaving him to his own devices, but she decided to take pity on Bruce. She'd taken so many sick days anyway, that she probably could work every day for a month and not make them up. She rode her bike into the city, stopping by an old friend's house for some equipment, which she brought back to the manor.

She found Bruce in the study, poring through documents on the sofa. His clothes were dusted with dirt, and his face was smudged.

"You look like you've been through the crawlspace," she told him from the doorway.

He glanced up. "Oh. No, I was just…" he trailed off, catching sight of the equipment in her hands. "What's that?"

"Oh this?" She glanced down. "Just something I picked up from a friend. I thought you might like to join me, but you're probably too busy."

She started to walk away, smiling slightly when Bruce said, "Too busy for what?" Margot turned around slowly and noted the small spark of interest on his face.

She shrugged. "Target practice."

The boy raised a quizzical brow.

Margot grinned, beckoning him over. "Come on—I'll show you. This is something best done outside."

She was pleased to notice that after a slight hesitation, Bruce followed her.

Outside, she handed him a lightweight vest and a mask before strapping on her own gear.

"You ever try paintballing?" she asked him.

He shook his head, sliding on his mask.

She picked up one of the paintball guns and held it in front of him. "Couldn't be easier. Just point and shoot. Got it? Try aiming for that shed."

Bruce took the gun from her and aimed it at the shed. He pulled the trigger, and a splash of blue suddenly burst on the wall.

"Looks like you're a natural," she told him, patting him on the shoulder. "Ready?"

"Wait, what are the rules?"

Margot was already jogging out over the grounds. "Try not to get shot!" she called back.

Bruce really was a natural, Margot noticed. He was quick on his feet, and he made good use of the landscaping for cover. Of course, talent couldn't make up for the years of training that Margot had. After the better part of an hour, Bruce looked as if he'd become part of a Jackson Pollock painting, while she'd only been hit five or six times.

Still, he seemed to be enjoying himself, distracted from whatever it was that was troubling him.

At least until Alfred came looking for him.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" he exclaimed as he approached, still leaning on his cane, though his leg had improved greatly.

Bruce ducked behind the cover of a shrub, leaving Margot standing guiltily in the open. "Margot was teaching me paintball," the boy called from behind the bush.

"Yeah, I can see that, can't I?" retorted Alfred. He glared at Margot and growled, "What do you think you're doing, teaching a bloody fourteen-year-old how to handle guns?"

Bruce stood and protested, "They're not real—"

The look Alfred shot him silenced him.

Margot felt a rush of guilt, suddenly doubting herself, wondering if what she'd done had in fact been a bad idea. She'd had good intentions, but she also knew that Alfred disapproved of weapons, only using them when they were absolutely necessary, and never encouraging Bruce to even handle them. She would have thought that the butler's disappointment wouldn't sting quite so much, considering that she was now engaged to the man. But somehow, that only made it worse.

"He's right, Bruce," Margot said in the silence that followed, pulling the mask from her head. "This wasn't a good idea."

Alfred seemed surprised to hear her agree with him. In fact, he seemed speechless. It wasn't often that Margot admitted when she was wrong. Finally, shaking himself out of his shock, he managed to mutter, "Right. Well. You should know better." Something in his voice sounded almost apologetic.

"I'm going to go clean up," she said, starting to leave.

The butler turned to Bruce. "That's not a bad idea for you either," he noted.

Bruce, who had hung his head in shame, suddenly looked up with a mischievous smile and pulled the trigger.

"Ha!"

A yellow paintball splattered on Alfred's thigh, and the man jumped. "Oi!" he barked, going after the boy and grabbing him by the collar. "That's enough."

Margot left. Despite her chagrin, she silently agreed with the butler's words. Despite the questionable nature of the idea, Bruce had spent almost an hour outside, distracted from his heavy burden and—dare she admit it?—enjoying himself. No matter what Alfred thought of it, that certainly was enough.

Margot had taken a quick shower to rinse off any residual paint, dressed in clean clothes, and was in the process of drying her hair when Alfred appeared. Margot quickly shut off the hairdryer and stood up straight as she caught sight of him standing in her bathroom doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

"You're quite the sly little minx, aren't you?" He didn't sound angry anymore.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, running her fingers through her tousled, half-dry hair.

"The boy needed a diversion," he clarified. "I've been trying to get him out of that study all day, and you did it in a matter of minutes."

Margot shrugged. "Well…he knows how strict you are about weapons in the house. There's a certain allure to the forbidden, even if it's just paintballs. He may be precocious and determined, but he's still a kid at heart."

"I can't say I approve," Alfred began, pushing off of the doorframe and coming nearer. "Still," he added in a quieter voice, pushing back a damp strand of her hair, "Well done, Margot."

She smiled, pleased by his praise. "You're not angry?" she inquired, though she already knew the answer.

He shook his head, his face very close to hers. "No," he murmured, bending to press his lips to hers. It didn't matter how many times he kissed her—she still felt a thrill course through her every time it happened. Looking her in the eye, he smiled and continued, "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Funny," she replied quietly, "I could say the same thing."

Another kiss was followed by a soft inquiry. "Why don't you join me in the kitchen and keep me company while I prepare dinner?"

Margot shook her head, explaining apologetically, "Wish I could, but I've got to run into town for a fitting in a bit."

"A fitting?" Alfred's brow furrowed.

"For a dress."

"A dress?"

"What are you, a parrot?" she teased. "Yes, a dress. I've found one."

"So quickly?" Alfred seemed concerned.

"Why do you look worried?"

The man sighed and shook his head. "I've just realized all the rest of the plans we still have to make."

Margot scrunched her face in a sympathetic grimace. "Don't worry about it. If worse comes to worst, we'll just forget the plans and drive down to city hall. We fork over eighty bucks and it'll be done in five minutes."

"Right," he retorted sarcastically. "And we'll honeymoon in the bar across the street."

"Don't be ridiculous," Margot insisted seriously. "It's not a bar; it's a burger joint. And I hear they give free milkshakes to newlyweds."

Alfred's voice was about as sweet as one of those novelty suckers with the scorpion in the middle. "Perfect."

Margot received a call the next week. Her dress was ready.

She caught Alfred in the foyer, just as she was slipping on her coat. "I'm going into town," she told him. "Do you need anything?"

"I'll drive you," he suggested, reaching for his own coat.

She shook her head, stopping him with a hand on his. "I'll be all right," she reassured him. "It's just a little rain. Besides, I'm picking up the dress, and I don't want you peeking."

The man frowned. "Margot, you know I don't like you riding that bike of yours, especially in the rain."

"It'll be fine," she insisted. "Look," she added, indicating the window with a nod of her head, "it's already starting to let up a bit."

He reluctantly hung his coat back up and reached for her, pressing a small kiss to her brow. "Be safe," he told her, running his hand up her arm.

"I will."

"Oh, and bring back a bottle of Macallan, will you?" he added with a smile.

Margot held out her hand to him, palm up. "That stuff's seventy-five a bottle," she replied. "Start shelling out."

Alfred eyed her with one raised brow as he pulled out his wallet and counted out a couple of hundreds. "Fetch two," he murmured, his lips pursed as he pressed the money into her hand. "And I expect change back."

"Of course." She grinned and added, "That is, after I take out the delivery fee."

"Of course," he grumbled, barely hiding a smile of his own.

Margot turned to leave, only to feel Alfred's hand on her wrist. He turned her around and—for no reason at all—pulled her into a long, affectionate kiss. He cupped the side of her face, pressing his brow to hers. He didn't say a word; he just held her there for a few moments.

"I'll be back," she promised him with a soft laugh. "It's not like I'm leaving forever."

"No," he agreed, stroking her hair before reluctantly parting. "I'll see you soon."

Margot nodded and plucked her helmet from its hook as she left, jamming it over her head and lifting her collar against the rain.

Her bike had a little trouble starting once she pulled it out of the garage. She hadn't used it in a while. For a moment, Margot worried that she'd have to go back inside and ask to borrow one of the cars. She wasn't going to let Alfred drive her. She couldn't care less if he saw her dress or not, but she had another stop to make on the way back that she didn't want him to know about.

Just a few days ago, she'd caught Alfred trimming the rosebushes, and he'd expressed his desire to start breeding them.

"Did you know," he'd commented, "a truly blue rose has never been bred before?"

Margot had nodded. "Yeah. They have to dye white roses blue."

"I think I could breed one," he'd told her.

"A blue rose?" she'd retorted skeptically.

"Why not?"

Margot had simply snorted and shook her head. "I'll believe it when I see it."

A few hours of research later, she'd contacted a rose breeder with a shop in the city, who said he had a few cuttings off of a blue moon rosebush that he'd be willing to sell her. The flowers were more lavender than blue, but if Alfred really was interested in breeding a blue rose, it would be a good start. She intended to surprise him with the cuttings and help him plant them.

Just as she was about to give up and go back inside for the keys to one of the spare town cars, Margot's bike roared to life. She patted it affectionately and revved down the driveway onto the main road.

She spent most of the afternoon in the city, noticing with pleasure that the rain had stopped and the sun was beginning shine through the clouds as she finished up her errands. The day was turning out to be quite pleasant. A thrill of energy coursed through her as she collected the rosebush cuttings and carefully placed them inside her backpack.

Alfred would certainly be pleased with the surprise.

Out on the street again, Margot mounted her bike and pulled on her helmet. Her dress still rested in its weather-proofed box, strapped to the back of her bike, and the two bottles of Macallan clinked gently in her backpack, next to the rose cuttings. That afternoon had produced successful results.

She sped away, hoping to reach the manor before Alfred started to prepare dinner. She wanted to plant the cuttings with him that day if possible. Traffic, unfortunately, wasn't cooperating.

Margot turned off onto White Street, taking the back way towards Queens Bridge. She knew the streets of Gotham well enough to navigate around most of the backup.

Turning onto Queens Road, she noticed that the traffic was still stop and go, but on her bike, she was able to maneuver between the rows of cars, steadily making her way to the bridge. She knew the traffic would begin to dissipate once she crossed into Bristol County.

Margot reached the bridge, navigating the narrow space between the right lane of traffic and the barrier. Cars horns blared as she sped past, and she laughed.

"Told you, Alfred," she muttered to herself. "This bike's more of an asset than a liab—shit!"

Just a few cars ahead, a truck suddenly pulled out, apparently intending to do the same thing Margot was doing, despite the fact that trucks didn't maneuver narrow spaces the way motorbikes did. She hardly had time to react, much less time to stop. She squeezed the brakes hard, her front wheel hitting the back of the truck, flipping her up off of the bike and over the barrier.

The city, the riverbank, and the water all blurred together as Margot tumbled through the air. She knew she was going into the river, but she was so disoriented that it seemed impossible to tell when she'd hit. She could only feel the wind whipping at her, her heart dropping into the bottom of her stomach as she fell. Her thoughts ran through her head at light speed. What should she do? Brace herself? Try to relax? The fall alone would probably kill her, if she wasn't already injured from the impact with the truck. Her back was soaked through—at first she panicked and thought it was blood, until she remembered the scotch in her backpack.

Dammit, that stuff was expensive—

Then she hit the water with a shocking splash that jarred her entire body, and everything went dark.