𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐈𝐆𝐒 ☞ 𝐁. 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

fifteen.

Rubbing her face, avoiding her bruises, she sighed. "I also don't think Bruce likes me very much." She chuckled humorlessly. Running a hand through her hair, she pushed it out of her face. "I can't tell if he just doesn't know how to tell me, though."

A hot tear slipped down her face, a complete loneliness washing over her. She felt like a whiny brat, complaining about her woes while she could stand up and walk out. She wasn't bedbound like Alfred was. Plenty of people lost their parents, there had been a whole orphanage made out of the Waynes' old mansion. Her free hand reached up to rub her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped that on you." She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. "How've you been feeling? They been treating you well?"

Alfred sent her a small smile. "You know me, unkillable."

With a quick exhale, Siobhan nodded. "Thank God. What would this world do without Alfred Pennyworth?" Even a chuckle hurt her throat, sent her wincing and rubbing the sore area.

He couldn't stop his eyes from running over the bruised skin of her neck. She'd managed to survive two separate attacks. Clearly someone up above was looking out for her. Thomas Wayne had always believed in fate, that everyone was destined for something great as long as they put in work towards it. Alfred would often chuckle, tell his friend that his philosophy contradicted itself. The man would just laugh and pat Alfred on the back, telling him that fate and free will went hand in hand.

"Can I see an identification, sir?" The police officer could be heard speaking outside.

Both Alfred and Siobhan looked out the window, seeing a disheveled Bruce standing in front of the officer. His jaw clenched as he fished out his wallet, pulling out his ID to show the man. Siobhan turned back around in her seat, her eyes staring down at her hand still holding Alfred's. Her free hand reached up, gently running along the tender skin. Part of her wanted to leave, just lock herself in her hospital room until the nurse came in and told her to get out. But that wasn't an option now. The man she wanted to hide from was right outside the door, his eyes already locked on her form.

The door opened and Bruce stepped in. He grabbed one of the chairs, pulling it up next to Siobhan's. His eyes linger on the two, silent and unsure of what to say. Looking to Siobhan, he watched her move her long hair over her shoulder, obscuring her face from him. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. Part of him wanted to ask her if she had known about her father and this work to cover up his own father's sins. "You lied to me." Bruce spoke, his eyes falling on Alfred. "My whole life. I spoke to Carmine Falcone." Siobhan's attention snapped up to him, pulling her hand from Alfred's. "He told me what he did... for my father. About Salvatore Maroni." His jaw clenched slightly at the name mixing with his father's. It had almost felt unnatural. "All these years I've spent fighting for him... believing that he was a good man."

"He was a good man." Alfred spoke, scooting up in his bed. His eyes practically pleaded with Bruce to believe him. To not listen to the lies of a man like Carmine Falcone. "You listen to me. Your father was a good man. He made a mistake."

"A 'mistake?'" Bruce scoffed. "He had a man killed. Why?" He shook his head, leaning forward in his chair. "To protect his family image? His political aspirations?"

"It wasn't to protect the family image and he didn't have anyone killed." Alfred sighed after a fleeting moment of silence. "He was protecting your mother. He didn't care about his image or the campaign, any of that. He cared about her... and you... and in a moment of weakness, he turned to Falcone." Siobhan felt her gaze pulled down to the floor. She could feel her buried jealousy slowly rising again. Her hands reached up to gently rub her face, careful of her bruised nose and cheek. "But he never thought Falcone would kill that man. Your father should have known that Falcone would do anything to finally have something on him that he could use. That's who Falcone is. He did it to Mr. Dumont and he did it to your father."