“Ah, Mrs. Maroni,” Alfred offered a young woman his arm. “Here for Jacob, I suppose?”

Margot politely held the butler’s arm as she walked up the steps of Wayne Manor.  “Right as usual, Mr. Pennyworth,” she said. “Is there any chance Martha is here?  I’m sure the boys don’t want their fun to end yet.”

“As a matter of fact-” Two boys raced past, nearly knocking the pair over.  Alfred steadied Margot - who momentarily wobbled in her heels. “Ay!  Steady on, boys!  Master Bruce, you know better than to run in the house!  And you, Master Jacob, nearly knocked your poor mum on the ground!”

Giggling apologies echoed down the hall.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on them Alfred,” Margot said. “I’m sure you were the same as a boy.”

The butler shook his head as he helped Margot with her coat.  “Possibly.  But my dear dad would have given me a right kicking up the backside.”

Margot laughed at Alfred’s words.  She had never left Gotham, but imagined that Alfred was more English-blooded than the Queen. There was no way Alfred was simply a sample of the English population.  Regardless, he was a fine man.  Margot never felt uneasy leaving her twelve-year-old son at the Waynes as long as Mr. Pennyworth was present.

“Anyway,” Alfred continued. “Mrs. Wayne is having tea in the kitchen.  She’s been waiting for you, actually.”

Margot followed him into a spacious, yet modest, kitchen at the end of the manor.  Martha Wayne sat at the table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.  “Oh, Margot!  Please sit down! I’m reading the most interesting article.”

The young woman sat across from Martha. Despite their sons being playmates, the age difference between the two was clear.  Martha, who recently entered her forties, wore a face with smile-lines framed by graying hair.  Margot still maintained a youthful glow and monochromatic black curls.  Margot viewed Martha as both a dear friend and a motherly figure. Even though she had a boy who was nearing his teenage years, Margot needed Martha's nurturing presence to even remain sane.

“What is it about?”

“This Professor Strange,” Martha said. “I know he was your mentor at Gotham University and that he went to school with Thomas, but he has so many interesting ideas.  The Gotham Gazette interviewed him after Thomas chose him as the head of the new Arkham project.”

Margot thanked Alfred for the cup of tea he set before her.  “Yes, he has many… unusual ideas.  His background in psychiatry is quite secure, I assure you.  I’m most familiar with his theoretical work.  I wrote several papers about human biochemistry while studying under him.”

“Oh, really?” Martha sipped her tea.

“Yes,” Margot continued.  “I actually sent him a lab report earlier today.  I hope he looks at it.  It’s rather relevant to his work right now.”

“I would ask you what it's about, but we both know it would all go over my head,” Martha said. “I do hope that Thomas’ contributions have been helpful.  He’s so excited to be backing you.”

“I’m so incredibly grateful,” Margot held her cup, letting it warm her hands.  “Most companies would push me to apply my work to human subjects, so they can make a profit.  It's refreshing to know that my work remains ethical.”

She took a sip and heard two boys running up behind her.

“Mom!”  Jacob yelled, unaware of his volume, and gave his mother a hug.

“Jacob,” Margot said, slightly strangled as the boy climbed into her lap. “Let me set down my tea.”

Bruce was far more restrained than the redhead- to a point.  He bounced on his toes around his own mother.  Instead of climbing on her, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair.

“What have you two been up to?” Martha asked, smiling.

“We went outside and played with swords, then we made a fort in the attic, then we read a bunch of books, then we had a snack, then-” Jacob rambled on and on.  Martha and Margot exchanged grins.  Jacob was usually more intense than Bruce, because of his ADHD.  Margot knew that Jacob had consumed massive amounts of sugar during the day too.  The minute Jacob sits in the car, he was going to crash. 

Bruce yawned.

“Well, Jacob,” Margot gently pushed him off her lap.  “I think it's time to go.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Margot stood. “I’m sure the Waynes have things they need to do.”

Jacob frowned, but accepted his mother’s words.  He stuck a hand out to Bruce, who then shook it.  The adults in their life had inspired the pair’s businessman-like approach.  Margot found it cute.  Two boys ending a playdate like they just completed a contract.

Bruce then held out his hand to Margot. “Thank you for letting Jacob come over.”

Margot shook it and kissed his cheek.  “Thank you for having us.”
 
Bruce’s ears turned bright red.

Martha and Margot hugged each other. “Stay safe, Margot,”  Martha whispered.  “Don’t hesitate to call.  We’ll take in Jacob anytime.”

Margot nodded.  “Of course.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

The boys ran ahead to the door with Alfred on their tail.

“What are your plans for this evening, Martha?” Margot asked, strolling through the hallways. 

“Well,” she said. “Thomas and I are planning on taking Bruce to a movie.  Mark of Zorro.  He’s never seen it on the big screen.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it!”
 
The two women continued talking about nothing in particular.  When they arrived at the front door, Alfred had successfully ensured that Jacob had his shoes and coat on.  Bruce and Jacob were whispering about what they planned to do the next time they saw each other.

Alfred helped Margot into her coat.  “Have a wonderful evening, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Alfred,”  Margot held out her arm.  “Let’s go Jacob.” 

Bruce followed the pair so he could wave the car away.  Martha’s smile disappeared and became a worried frown. 

“Ma’am?”

Martha looked up to Alfred.  “I worry about them,” she said. “I feel like I’m sending Margot into the lions’ den.  And that poor boy.” 

Silence hung in the air as Alfred searched for the right reply.  Martha noted his silence. “Go tell Thomas it’s almost time to go, will you? Thank you, Alfred.”

~~~

Margot ran her fingers through her son’s bright hair.  Her boy.
 
Sometimes, she felt like pinching herself.  It all felt like a dream that could fade away at any moment.  When she was younger, Margot never imagined that she would have a child.  She didn’t even care to get married, but now she was the wife of one of Gotham’s crime lords. 

While Margot was thankful for Jacob, she despised her husband.  Salvatore provided food, shelter, expensive clothing, jewels, and a proper education for their son.  The trade was Margot’s personal sacrifice of her pride and dignity.  Salvatore took her to parties just to show her off.  “Look at my beautiful wife!” he would say. “Isn’t she a doll?”

Fish Mooney, an under-lord on the other side of the aisle, would occasionally share sharp side-eyes with Margot.  Almost to say, “How have you not killed him yet?” Margot didn’t blame her.  Mooney was an independent woman, who could function easily without Carmine Falcone’s help.  Margot supposed she enjoyed the extra security and oomph to her name under Falcone. 

Margot did not have that luxury- she had Jacob to care about.  Sal didn’t truly see Jacob as his son, but only leverage against Margot when he did not have his way.  Poor Jacob, only twelve, had seen his mother throw herself between him and Salvatore more than once.  No child should have to witness that. 

Salvatore was oblivious to how he appeared in the underworld.  While he had fame, money, power, and men- nobody respected him.  They tolerated him.  Don Falcone understood that manners could carry strength and respect, while Salvatore favored bluntness.  Bluntness that will one day get him killed.

Or get her and Jacob killed.
 
Margot’s throat tightened as the car pulled up to the Maroni estate.  “Jacob,” she jostled him.  “We’re home.” 

Jacob sat up and rubbed his eyes.  Dark circles laid beneath them among freckles, evidence of a tiresome day of play. A couple years ago, Margot would have carried Jacob into the house herself so he could sleep.  Now Jacob’s weight was more than Margot could carry on heels.  She didn’t trust any of the men to delicately carry the twelve-year-old up the stairs.  Many of the Maroni men had sons themselves, but for the same reason Sal did: as insurance.  As a guarantee the Maroni name would continue and each boy would grow into his own divine right. 

They didn’t have the same respect for the women.  The most respect a woman received in the Maroni family was if they were a grandmother and could cook well.  If there was something to boast and gloat about.  A part of Margot feared what Jacob may become: his father’s son.

Margot guided the sleepyhead up the stairs- who continued to rub his eyes and yawn. A small smile remained on her face for herself, Jacob, and the men who lurked in the shadows.