Good Morning Gotham
P woke up to yelling.
It was the kind of loud, impassioned shouting that made his instincts go on high alert. But as his brain shook off the fog of sleep, he realized something was off about it.
This wasn’t the kind of yelling that came from people trying to hurt each other. This was… different.
“You can’t be serious, Harleen!” a sharp voice snapped from below. “I labeled it! It said Edward’s Breakfast right there on the container! What kind of absolute degenerate ignores a clearly labeled meal and assumes, ‘Ah, yes, surely this belongs to my enormous, drooling, feral—’”
“HEY!” Harley’s voice cut in, just as loud. “Bud ain’t feral! He’s just enthusiastic!”
P frowned. He must’ve misheard that.
“You let your monster eat my food!”
“Ohhh, I let him? Maybe you shouldn’t have left it out like some kinda buffet, huh?”
“It was in the fridge, Harley!”
P groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. His dreams had been strange again—flashes of motion, a sickening drop, a pull in his gut like he was supposed to be somewhere else—but the argument downstairs yanked him back to reality.
Wherever he was, it wasn’t a bad place. The bed was comfortable. The air was clean. And for all the shouting downstairs, the voices didn’t make his nerves scream danger.
Still, there was an intensity rolling through the floorboards like a low-grade storm.
A sudden, sharp bang-bang-bang! at his door made him jolt.
“Rise ‘n’ shine, kiddo!” Harley’s voice rang through the wood. “Time for breakfast! Hope ya like drama with your eggs, ‘cause you’re gettin’ plenty.”
Before he could even respond, the door creaked open, and Harley leaned in with a grin.
She was wearing red-and-black sleep shorts and an old Gotham U shirt, looking completely unbothered by whatever chaos she’d left downstairs.
“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s getcha fed.”
P hesitated, but his stomach growled, making the decision for him.
He followed.
The shared living space was bigger than he expected. A long, open-concept room with a mismatched collection of furniture—some old, some surprisingly nice—and a kitchen tucked against the far wall. The scent of coffee, something fried, and very faintly, the unmistakable smell of animals lingered in the air.
P had barely made it down the stairs when his brain stalled.
Sitting near the kitchen counter, looking very pleased with itself, was a hyena.
A real one.
Not a weirdly shaped dog. Not some mix breed.
A hyena.
P stared. His brain refused to make sense of it.
The sharp-dressed man currently fuming at Harley—probably Edward—threw his arms up. “Look at him! He’s smiling about it!”
The hyena, as if on cue, opened its mouth in a wide, toothy grin.
Harley ruffled its head. “Aww, don’t listen to him, Bud. He’s just cranky ‘cause he didn’t get his precious eggs benedict.”
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was not just eggs benedict. It was art. Culinary excellence! And your creature devoured it like some kind of—”
“I said he’s just enthusiastic.”
Edward exhaled through his teeth, looking like he was about to launch into another tirade. Instead, he spotted P.
His expression immediately shifted to something more scrutinizing.
P suddenly felt like he was being sized up for parts.
Before he could say anything, Harley nudged him forward. “P, meet Ed. He lives here, and he’s super fun at parties.”
Edward scoffed. “A baseless claim.” Then, with an almost lazy smirk, he turned to P. “Tell me, boy. The more of me you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”
P blinked. “What?”
Harley groaned. “Ed, no riddles before noon!”
Edward grumbled under his breath but relented. “Fine. Edward Nygma. A pleasure.”
P nodded, still thrown. “Uh… P.”
Edward hummed, taking a sip of his coffee. “Curious name.”
“Curious guy,” Harley shot back before steering P toward the kitchen. “Now c’mon, eat up. Don’t let Ed’s drama distract ya.”
P wasn’t sure anything could outmatch the drama in this room, but he took a seat and grabbed some toast anyway.
As he ate, he took stock of the other people moving through the space.
A man in a leather jacket sat against the counter, reading a newspaper, his fingers idly tapping against the table like he was waiting for something. His hair was slicked back, and there was an odd quietness to the way he held himself—like he was listening to everything, even if he wasn’t looking at it.
Near the front door, a woman in a long coat and sunglasses breezed past, checking a watch on her wrist before stepping outside. Her entire presence was like a shadow slipping through the room—there, but only just.
From another hallway, a large man with a heavy brow and thick arms walked through, muttering something about the broken washing machine before disappearing into another part of the building.
None of them spoke to P.
But they all glanced at him. Just once. Just long enough for him to feel it.
That same, quiet awareness. That restrained, controlled danger.
Not toward him.
But still very much there.
He swallowed his bite of toast a little slower.
Then, before he could process it further, another voice cut through the room.
“Harley.”
P turned toward the stairs.
A woman descended with slow, deliberate steps. Her long, very red hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her skin had a green undertone—not sickly, not unnatural, but rich and deep, like a leaf in full summer bloom. She was wrapped in something silky, light but elegant, like she had just woken up but still somehow managed to look like she belonged on a throne.
Her eyes—sharp and green—landed on P.
They lingered.
Measured.
Not hostile. Not unfriendly.
But assessing.
Harley, completely unfazed, grinned at her. “Mornin’, Red! Look who finally decided to join the land of the living.”
The woman—Red?—Maybe the partner Harley mentioned?—tilted her head slightly. Her gaze flicked toward Harley.
Harley smirked. “This is P. He’s stayin’ with us for a bit.”
Ivy studied him for a moment longer. Then, with a small nod, she said, “Welcome.”
And just like that, she moved past him toward the kitchen, her presence trailing behind her like the lingering scent of flowers and fresh earth. P exhaled slowly.
Harley nudged him with a knowing grin. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.”
P wasn’t sure about that. But as he watched Ivy brush past Edward with nothing more than a mildly annoyed look, he realized there were bigger things to question right now. Like the fact that, somehow, this was starting to feel normal.