Chapter 13
*Several weeks later*
You stopped staring thoughtfully at your phone when you heard a knock on your bedroom door.
"Come in."
Rolling over, you watched as Clint popped his head in the room.
"Hey," he simply said.
"Hey back."
He crossed the room and sat down in the chair beside your bed.
"Wanna talk?" he asked.
"About what?" you said, trying to play dumb.
He gave you a look that plainly said, "Come on, you can't fool me."
"Butch has been calling for a few days now. I've been ignoring it. I finally answered today."
You looked to Clint for a response but he simply nodded for you to continue.
"He says everything is falling apart. That Os--Penguin," you said, changing your words to something less personal, "is a mess. He was hoping I'd go talk to him. Try to fix things before someone challenges him."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. I don't care what happens to Penguin. He tried to kill you, Clint. I can't forgive him."
"I don't entirely believe that," he said.
You gave him a questioning look.
"Look, I feel like I'm the only person who has the right to give you any unasked for advice, considering I'm the one he was gunning for. I know you're pissed, and you ought to be. What the guy did was beyond screwed up. But, I also think that's just who he is. You know he cares about you, and you used to care about him. Something about the way you left things has been bothering you. I can tell."
You bit your bottom lip as you recalled that last encounter.
"I called him a sick little freak," you said quietly. "People had always called him that. I knew how much it bothered him, and I did it on purpose just so I could hurt him."
The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you asked, "Are you saying you think I should forgive him?"
"I'm saying that I think you need to find a way to make peace with yourself. You want to hate him for the rest of your life? That's fine. You want to forgive him? That's fine, too. You're my partner. I'll stand by you no matter what. Just get rid of the guilt, cause it isn't yours to carry."
Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around Clint's neck.
"Thank you," you spoke into his ear.
"Anytime."
When you parted, he gave you a smile and a pat on the knee before getting up and leaving you alone once more. You moved to reach for your phone, then changed your mind and headed to the equipment room instead. It took you awhile to find all the items you were searching for. After you'd gotten everything, you hoisted the box up and carried it back to your room. Most of it you put inside an old bookbag, except for one thing which you packed up in a small cardboard box. If you mailed it today, then it would most likely arrive on the same day as you. You smiled to yourself at the thought. It would be the last thing he'd expect.
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The Iceburg Lounge was deserted when you arrived. Of course, it was only three in the afternoon. The only people in sight were a few employees who were preparing for the evening ahead. You took a seat at the bar, remembering the day not so long ago that you'd come here with Natasha.
"May I help you?" the bartender asked.
"Yeah, I'd like a crown royal on the rocks."
"Pretty strong drink for this time of day," he said as he started to fix it.
"Looking for my resolve in a bottle," you replied.
You had been thinking about today ever since Clint talked to you, but you still didn't know what you were going to say. You weren't even sure what you had hoped to accomplish by coming. As you finished your drink, you watched as Butch slipped out of a door and caught sight of you.
"Y/n, I'm so glad you came," he said once he was near.
"Don't be. I don't know why I'm here, except for the fact that Clint told me I needed to make peace with myself. For some reason, I felt like I had to come back here. It might not fix your problem though, so don't thank me."
"You're here. That counts for something."
"Is he in the office?"
"Yeah."
You glanced down at your empty glass. You thought you might have felt better with one more, but there was probably no point in putting it off any longer. With a deep breath, you walked over to Oswald's office door, pausing just outside of it. What were you doing here? If you had any sense, you'd turn around and go straight home. Well, too late for that now.
Pushing open the door, you found him barely propped up in the seat at his desk. He looked....well, he looked like shit.
"Oswald?"
He glanced up at the sound of your voice. His eyes were glassy and his expression was blank. You watched as he squinted at you, as if information was difficult to process at the moment. He was an absolutely pitiful, pathetic sight, and you couldn't resist the urge to rush over to him.
"Oh my God, Oswald, are you alright?" you asked when you reached him. There was an empty wine bottle and a glass on the desk in front of him. You pushed both out of the way so you could sit down and get a better look at him.
"Y/n," he said quietly. You couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question.
"Yeah, I'm here," you said as you patted his face lightly.
"Y/n!" he said louder this time, standing up quickly and then falling into a heap on the floor.
"Are you okay?" you asked as you knelt down beside him. "Here, let me help you up."
"No!"
You pulled back in surprise.
"No," he repeated, calmer this time. "I have to tell you something before I lose my nerve. I'm sorry, y/n, for everything. I am just a sick little freak like you said. I never thought about how my actions would make you feel. I only selfishly thought about myself. That's what I always do. I haven't been a good friend to you....or to anyone....that's why I'm alone."
"You're not alone. I'm here."
"You're one of the few people in my entire life that I've had the luxury of trusting completely. I look to you for support, for guidance, for understanding....because you are the only person who sees me as more than just the depraved sociopath that I am. You don't know how much that means to me....how much you mean to me. I am truly sorry that I couldn't be as good to you as you've always been to me."
Apart from the slurring, you thought it was a well articulated apology, especially considering his highly inebriated state. You couldn't help but wonder how much of the last few weeks had been spent thinking about it that it could roll off the tongue so easily.
"Come on, Oswald," you said, taking his arm to help him up off the floor. He didn't fight you this time. Instead, he assisted you as much as he could until you were able to get him back in the chair.
"Stay there," you said, then you went to find Butch. You asked him if he could bring some food and water into the office so you could try to sober Oswald up.
You had managed to get him from nearly black out drunk to just regular drunk when he asked, "Why did you come back? After what I did? I ruined what trust you had in me."
"It was something Clint said," you admitted. "He said that this is just who you are, and he's right. I knew that when I became friends with you. I accepted the risks then, so it wouldn't be right to complain about them now."
"I don't deserve you," he said quietly.
"Yeah, I know. I'm a saint and no one deserves me. I'm too pure for this world."
He smiled at your joke. You wondered how much of this he'd regret once he'd sobered up.
"Y/n," he began hesitantly, "I've never actually told you that I....I've never said....I-"
He was interrupted by the office door swinging open roughly. Three men walked in and slammed it shut behind them. You were sure they were from one of the gangs that paid tribute to the Penguin in exchange for permission to operate.
"Hey, Penguin!" the man in front said. "We dropped by for a little surprise business meeting. There was nobody outside to greet us, so we came on in. We're here cause we're tired of giving you a rotten twenty percent of our profits. We were thinking ten percent is more than fair. Either that, or we can just try to kick you off that throne of yours. Everybody knows you're slipping anyway."
"Penguin doesn't accept less than twenty," you said.
"Who is this bitch?"
Planting your feet firmly and squaring your shoulders, you gave them your best intimidation face. You'd fought aliens, robots, HYDRA agents....a couple of street punks who tried to use bravado as a weapon were nothing.
"I'm Penguin's right hand," you said. Drawing your large knife from its hidden place in your boot, you added, "And unless your male bimbos back there want to be cleaning your intestines off our floor in about two minutes, you better remember your manners."
You looked to Penguin to find him beaming at you with a pleased smirk on his face.
"The lady is right," Oswald said, his usual demeanor returning in full force. "I don't accept less than twenty. But for this display of insolence, I'm bumping it up to thirty for at least the next six months. If you don't like that, you can just try to kick me off my throne like you said. But, I promise you it won't be easy. I'll have so much of your gang's blood spilled that I'll be able to go swimming in it."
Once they'd left, you smiled at Oswald and said, "There he is. That's my Penguin."
"You handled that beautifully," he complimented.
"It was nothing. Hey, you got anything else around here to eat?"
After you finished having dinner with Oswald, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket.
"What is it?" he asked as you read the text.
"I'm going to have to leave. We've got a mission first thing in the morning....and I've still got another errand to do," you added quietly.
"I wish you didn't have to run off," he admitted.
"Yeah, but duty calls."
"You'll be careful?"
"I'll try."
You walked around to where he was sitting and gave him a hug around his neck. He hesitated for a moment before returning it.
"I'll see you around," you said after you'd released him.
When you reached the door, you turned around and said, "May I ask for a favor?"
"I owe you a lifetime of favors for what I did. Ask away."
"Wash your hair," you said with a small laugh.
He let out an embarrassed chuckle as he ran his hand through his uncharacteristically unstyled hair.
"Bye, Oswald."
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"What do you think it is?" the orderly asked the guard as they inspected the now opened package. It was routine for employees to search any suspicious mail that came into Arkham.
"Beats me, but somebody really wants him to have it," he answered, flipping through the enclosed envelope that contained five hundred dollars.
"It doesn't look dangerous," the orderly said, the hint obvious in his voice.
"No, it doesn't," the guard replied, handing him half the money as he wrapped the box back up.
Edward was lying in his cell staring up at the ceiling tiles when the guard knocked loudly on his door.
"Nygma, you've got mail."
Edward turned to give him a confused look. A moment later, a box was shoved through the small opening in his door. He rolled quickly off the cot and picked up the box to inspect it. It had already been opened, of course. He didn't recognize the sender's name in the return address: Samantha Rogers. It was a common name. When he opened it, he found a letter and an item inside that he couldn't identify at first glance. As he read the note, a large grin broke out on his face.
I don't have any fancy riddles to tell you what secrets this box contains. Know only that it will help you hold the breath that I normally steal away. You'll know when to use it.
Late that evening, he noticed the smoke as it came through the tiny vent in his ceiling. He wasted no time in popping the item against his mouth. With his first breath, it expanded and molded to his face enough that it could hold itself in place. He stood propped against the door, and watched in amusement as everyone in sight dropped like flies. A few moments later, he saw a masked figure walking down the hall to his room. Even though the person's face was concealed, he had zero doubts about who it was.
"Poison gas?" he asked.
"Knockout gas. I'm not you," you said as you pulled your mask off.
"Very nice....especially this," he said, indicating his gas mask as he removed it.
"It's an invention of Tony's. I didn't want to have to drag you out of here."
You tossed a bag to him.
"I got your stuff. Now, let's go."
He followed you through the hallways of the Asylum and outside to your car.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"I have to head back tonight, but I'm taking you to Oswald's first."
From the expression on his face you could tell that he was going to protest.
"He and I have smoothed things out, that means you can, too."
The two of you rode in silence for most of the trip. When you parked outside Oswald's, he asked, "What does this mean? You breaking me out?"
You knew what he meant even if he didn't elaborate.
"I don't know, Edward. I'm not....I can't be the woman you want me to be."
You were surprised when he started laughing at you.
"What's so funny?"
"You think this is about me trying to corrupt you? I don't care if you spend your time robbing banks or fighting aliens. Don't get me wrong. The two of us teaming up would be a lot of fun. But, I'm not looking for a sidekick. I need my other half, and the other half of a villain is a hero."
He reached out and caressed your cheek tenderly with one of his long fingers.
With his voice softer and more serious than it was before, he said, "All I want is the woman who bothered to give nerdy Edward Nygma the time of day. The woman who dragged her injured body out of bed to check on me when I'd gone off the deep end. The woman who wouldn't let me shoot my best friend. The one that broke me out of Arkham. She's the unsolvable mystery....the Rubik's cube I can't complete...."
"The ultimate riddle," you offered.
"The one I love trying to figure out."
You couldn't come up with a response, so you simply reached over and took ahold of his hand. Part of you longed for the days when your relationship with Edward was simple. As you looked up into his brown eyes, you knew that it could never be that way again. Your coming back to Gotham had changed everything. Only time would show you just how much.
"I have to go," you said quietly.
"Yeah," he responded. "What's your mission?"
"We're going to Laos. We have intel that says Crossbones is after a biochemical that has the potential to be weaponized."
"Crossbones?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"That's what he calls himself since we crashed a building on him. You don't really have room to talk though. Do you, Riddler?"
You grinned at the annoyed look he shot you.
"Don't wait so long to come back next time," he said.
"I won't."