Sorry for the long radio silence. Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/follows! I appreciate it.
"I just wanna stay in the sun where I find
—I know it's hard sometimes—
Pieces of peace in the sun's peace of mind
—I know it's hard sometimes…
I've been thinking too much.
Help me."
"Ride" Twenty-One Pilots
Chapter Forty-Four:
"Alfred, I don't want to do this."
Margot peered down at the long white stretch of snow in front of her, still wobbling a little on her skis. She almost lost her balance and had to grab onto Alfred's arm to keep from landing on her backside for the third time in as many minutes. What had seemed easy down at the lodge suddenly looked much more intimidating.
"Use your poles," Alfred told her. "That's what they're for."
"Right." She dug the ends of both poles into the snow and found that they did help a bit. "I still don't want to do this. Can't I just ride the lift back down?"
"No." He pointed down the hillside at a small, dark figure that was already nearing the bottom, skiing down the slope with ease. "If Bruce can do it, you can," he encouraged her.
"Bruce doesn't have a bum leg," Margot muttered. Still, she could tell that Alfred wasn't going to let her back out.
"You'll be fine. I'll be right beside you. Come on."
Sighing, she nodded. "All right then. Let's get it over with."
Alfred, still not trusting her, waited for her to push off first before following. It was an easy run, and Margot only fell at the bottom, when she tried to stop and lost her balance.
Laughing, Bruce slid up to her and offered her a hand up. "Not bad for your first time," he admitted with a smile.
"Right," chuckled Alfred as he joined them. "Did you see that form, Master B?" He imitated Margot's wobbling, imbalanced skiing.
"It was my first time!" she retorted defensively.
"Well, the only way to get better is if you practice," he noted pointedly, indicating the ski lift, which was conveniently nearby.
"Really?" Margot groaned. "Why don't you two just go on ahead? I'll wait for you in the lodge."
But neither Bruce or Alfred were having any of it. Alfred was right, anyway. If Bruce could do it, she could. The boy had been sulky and pensive since they'd arrived at the chalet, but she'd seen the look on his face when Alfred had suggested that they go skiing. Distaste at first, reluctance to do something so trivial. But then, looking up at his butler, his expression had softened. Alfred wanted nothing more than to see him enjoying things like a normal child his age, silently pleading with him not to trade his childhood away too soon.
Sometimes, even the most dedicated people needed a break.
Bruce had temporarily set aside his own desires for the sake of his butler's sanity. Couldn't Margot brave a bit of skiing for the chance to spend time with them?
It was like riding her motorbike, she told herself, feeling the wind biting her face, the smooth sensation of the snow beneath her skis. Except that didn't really help. Every time she tumbled, she felt that jolting sensation of hitting the back of the truck, soaring over the guardrail, falling for what seemed like forever. It didn't matter how small the fall, every single stumble jerked her back to the scene of the accident for a split second, and she felt the terror of almost dying all over again.
But it wouldn't do for her to express such fears. That's not what soldiers did, not in her experience. And wasn't she a soldier? A Marine? Buckle down and bite the bullet, she told herself. For God's sake, she'd nearly been blown apart before—what was a motorbike accident, or a tumble in the snow compared to that?
Her leg made things more difficult than necessary. The smallest irregularity on the slope—a small bump, a rut, a bit of ice—would immediately cause her to collapse, sending her skidding several yards down the slope on her backside. Her bad knee had been acting up since they'd arrived, probably because of the cold.
Bruce and Alfred kept teasing her, which only seemed to make her more determined to show that she could learn to ski. Eventually, she felt daring enough to try one of the harder slopes, if only to stop the teasing. It was all in good fun for them, but for her it was a challenge, and she never turned down a challenge.
The piste she had in mind was of intermediate level, running directly beneath the lift. As they rode to the top, Margot could see other skiers zig-zagging dexterously between the large metal beams below.
"What happens if you hit one of those?" she wondered aloud.
Bruce glanced down. "They pad them in case that happens," he reassured her.
"You'd still get a nasty conk on the nut," Alfred murmured.
It wasn't reassuring, especially not when Margot stood wobbling at the top of the piste, staring down the long expanse of groomed snow. It seemed narrower than before, with less room between the trees and the support beams of the lift.
"How—?"
Before she could finish voicing her reservations, Bruce was pushing off, shouting, "Race you to the bottom!"
"Go!" Alfred bellowed encouragingly to her.
Suddenly, Margot was off, gathering speed, trying not to think about all the things she could crash into—the beams, the trees, other skiers—and how much it would hurt. She resisted the urge to slow down or simply stop entirely. Bruce was close; she was catching up.
She was almost on top of him when he abruptly cut in front of her. Panicking, Margot swerved, overcorrecting. A big black beam loomed in front of her for a split second before her skis punctured the padding fastened around it.
This probably saved her life, or at least several bones.
Her boots came loose from the skis, and she flew past the beam, tumbled down the slope, losing her poles, her gloves, her goggles. Everything went black for a moment. When she opened her eyes again, the sky above her was incredibly blue, the snow gleaming with such whiteness that she had to squint to see.
Alfred leaned over her, and she saw every detail of his face with unusual clarity. "You all right, luv?" he inquired with concern.
Margot couldn't answer. She couldn't breathe. She panicked for a moment before a deep cough shook itself from her frame and frigid air came rushing into her lungs again.
She groaned, letting Alfred help her sit up. "Just sore," she wheezed, testing her limbs, gingerly prodding her head. She hurt, but nothing was broken. Her fingers and toes burned with cold. "Where are my socks?"
The tumble, it seemed, had knocked even her socks off.
Collecting her things, Alfred slowly accompanied her down to the bottom of the hill, where they met Bruce.
"I'm sorry, Margot, I didn't see you," the boy apologized profusely.
She waved it off with a shake of her head. "It's fine," she reassured him. She'd gathered her wits a little more and was starting to feel the effects of the adrenaline shock, which made her more than a little giddy. In a way, it was almost like being drunk.
"Perhaps we'd better take a break," the butler suggested gently. "Let's get you both inside and warmed up."
"How warm?" Margot inquired curiously, giving Alfred a meaningful look.
He raised an eyebrow and responded suggestively, "How warm do you want to be?"
Bruce groaned and rolled his eyes. "I'm beginning to wonder if this is the honeymoon and I'm just a third wheel."
"Don't be ridiculous," Margot scoffed. "We all know who's the third wheel in this boys' club of yours."
"That's right," Alfred agreed, confiding to Bruce, "I only kiss her to shut her up."
A loosely packed wad of snow hit him in the back of the head. "Oi!"
"Watch it," Margot warned him as he whirled to face her.
Bruce only laughed.
It was dark and cold. Margot pulled her jacket collar up and crossed her arms tightly across her torso, tucking her hands under her arms. The endless traffic of the city blinked and blared below, like some odd and noisy deep-sea creature, its tentacles trailing through the city streets.
She glanced through her scope, keeping a close eye on the lit glass doors across the street below. The target hadn't arrived yet.
"Hurry up," she muttered, wishing she'd thought to bring a thermos of hot coffee or something to warm her.
People filed in and out of the building, obscuring her view. None of them were familiar to her. What if the target was aware of the danger? What if he'd snuck out the back way to avoid her?
There.
There he was, standing silhouetted in the doorway. A black town car had pulled up on the curb, and he began to walk towards it. She only had a few seconds in which to act.
Her finger squeezed the trigger smoothly, the rifle jerked against her shoulder, and the bullet pierced straight through her target's skull. There he lay on the ground, face calm, despite the pandemonium that erupted around him. He hadn't even had time to be surprised.
Bruce Wayne was dead.
Margot sat up abruptly, clutching her heart, gasping for breath, her mouth dry.
"What is it?" Alfred's groggy voice drew her out of her panicked state.
"Nothing," she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head. "A nightmare."
Alfred didn't ask what it was about. He simply opened his arms and pulled her into his embrace. Margot wondered guiltily if he'd still hold her like that if he knew what she'd dreamt about.
"Thank you," she told him, her face buried in his shoulder.
He petted her hair with a hand, kissing her on the forehead and murmuring, "Margot, luv, I hate seeing you like this."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Margot admitted. "I feel like I'm slowly unraveling and I don't know how to stop it."
Alfred was quiet, worried. He held her close until she fell into restless sleep, plagued by yet another nightmare.
Margot woke to the soft touch of lips on her forehead. Afraid it wasn't real, she kept her eyes closed and was careful not to stir. A moment later, lips brushed her chin, her mouth, her nose, her cheek. When they reached the corner where her jaw and ear met, she couldn't keep herself from shivering and letting out a soft laugh.
"Gotcha," Alfred whispered triumphantly.
She opened her eyes, meeting the man's calm blue gaze.
"Morning, sunshine," he greeted her with a smile.
"Morning," she whispered in response, slowly sitting up.
Alfred was already freshly showered and dressed, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. Glancing around, Margot saw why. He'd prepared an elaborate breakfast, which waited for Margot on a tray on the bedside table. Muesli with cold cream and fresh fruit; savory French crepes with a filling of mushrooms, spinach, and gruyere cheese; toast with black currant preserves; and a mug of hot chocolate with a generous dollop of whipped cream on top.
"I hope you intend to help me eat all this," Margot said, looking up at Alfred.
"I'm afraid I've already had my breakfast," he told her regretfully. "I've got to get down to the study to help Master Bruce."
"It doesn't matter what country he's in, does it?" she noted with amusement. "He's always in the study."
Alfred chuckled. "We're all creatures of habit in the end, aren't we?" He paused, frowning thoughtfully, and added, "The boy's anxious to return to Gotham."
"Well, I for one am dreading it," Margot admitted honestly.
The man smiled wanly and nodded. "If I could, I'd keep him here under lock and key, but…" He shrugged. "There's nothing to be done, no stopping him."
"He's like an avalanche," she agreed pensively.
"Well, I'll leave you to your breakfast before it gets cold. Tuck in." Alfred turned to leave, but he didn't make it far before something called him back. "Margot?"
"Yeah?" she looked up, pausing with a bite of crepe en route to her mouth.
"There's one more thing." Alfred approached again, sitting down beside her on the edge of the bed. "I've been thinking about that night we nearly lost you. We've replaced nearly everything—your ID, your cards, your keys—except one thing."
Margot took a sharp breath in, watching as Alfred pulled something from his pocket.
A ring. This one was simpler, smaller—apparently the butler didn't have entirely unending funds.
"Alfred," she whispered in a choked voice.
He took her hand in his, intending to slip the ring on her finger, but she retracted her hand.
"Oh, go on. Don't tell me I have to ask the question all over again too." He looked up with a teasing smile, which vanished when he saw the expression on her face. "What's wrong, Margot?"
She shook her head. "Alfred, I can't."
He frowned in consternation. "What do you mean, you can't?"
Margot sighed heavily and stared down at her hands, which she had clenched in her lap. "I don't think I'm ready," she explained reluctantly. "There are things that I need to take care of, questions that I need answered first."
"What questions? Margot, I thought we were partners. I thought we did these things together. No more secrets."
"I need to know what happened to me while I was gone." She raised her forearms, showing him the healing scars on them. "Where did these come from? Why did I wake up next to a dead man?"
"It doesn't matter," Alfred replied, taking her hands in his. "You're here. You're safe. That's all that matters."
"It matters to me," Margot insisted. "And I'm going to find out."
Alfred looked down at the floor, subdued. "What does this mean then? Will you be leaving us?"
Margot shook her head emphatically. "No! Why would you even think that?" she demanded. "I just want to take a step back," she explained. "Things can stay exactly the same as they were. Just no more wedding plans for now, that's all."
A muscle in his jaw worked, and his lips pursed in thought. He was quiet for a long time. "Yeah, all right," he agreed eventually, glancing up at her with a wan smile. "Whatever you think is best. I trust your judgement."
Margot smiled back warmly, wrapping her arms around him and holding him in a tight embrace. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully.
He nodded and slowly got to his feet, bidding her a quiet farewell. Margot watched him leave, feeling slimy and unpleasant inside. She'd been honest with the man; she could hardly be angry at herself for that. But no matter what logic told her, she couldn't help feeling terrible.
Even though she'd told him that nothing would change—and she wanted to believe more than anything that things would stay the same, that she would work through whatever was wrong with her and then she could have that happily-ever-after ending—she had a bad feeling.
Something was definitely going to change.
And soon.