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stillthewordgirl · 6 years ago

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LOT/CC fic: All Stories, in the End

Mick knows that stories can't really fix things. They can't bring people back, and they can't mend broken hearts. Or can they? (Captain Canary and platonic Coldwave)

So, today is my three-year ficaversary for Legends! This fandom has been so wonderful to me and brought me so many new friends-and got me back into writing fiction, which has had excellent repercussions in many ways-even professionally. In honor of the anniversary, here's a little tribute to stories and their power. Hope you enjoy it!

So many thanks, as usual, to LarielRomeniel for the beta and to Pir8grl for being a great sounding board!

Can also be read be here at AO3 and here at FF.net. Please be aware that it’s divided into two parts on those websites, but both are posted.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It's a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it's true, but then so's everything.”

― Charles de Lint

Once, Rick had resented the pirate queen who’d drawn his partner, his friend, his blood brother, into this mad quest.

To be honest, she hadn’t been a pirate queen at the time. And she hadn’t been trying to lure him, either. She’d been a pretty face and an untold story when she’d joined the rest of the old captain’s motley crew of hand-picked losers. But Rick had seen the light of curiosity in Sean’s eyes when he looked at her, and he should have known then.

This wasn’t going to go the way he thought it was going to go.

Mick sighed and put down the papers he’d taken from their locked box in his room on the Waverider. There was a reason he’d put this story away unfinished. More than one reason, really.

But today, Haircut had actually brought up Snart while they were all sitting in the galley, telling his new squeeze Spooky Girl about the lost Legends—one of the lost Legends—and it’d stirred up all sorts of memories.

Not for just Mick, either. He’d been looking at Blondie when Haircut had dropped the name “Snart,” and he’d seen the stillness in her that was more telling than even a flinch. It was what Blondie did when she was holding back a flinch, really. Mick had seen the lines of pain around her eyes, and he saw her look away quickly, rising to her feet when it became apparent the oblivious Ray wasn’t going to leave off his story.

He’d thought about stopping her as she swiftly left the room, then thought about following her. But Sara had been a bit—touchy? probably wasn’t very healthy to be calling a former assassin ‘touchy,’ even in his own thoughts—since she’d split with Bureau Chick, and maybe she needed the space. Mick let her go.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it. And when he’d returned to his room, he’d pulled out this story, rereading it with the usual feeling of somewhat awkward regret.

Sean Lance had a reputation some might call cold. Icy, even. He’d built that reputation very carefully over his lifetime. Being cold and careful kept you safe. He was even cold with Rick Mor, his partner in crime and the closest thing he had to a best friend. Rick had led the same sort of life he had. He was pretty sure the other man understood.

But. Lara.

The blond badass hadn’t been anything he’d planned on. Certainly, he hadn’t planned on falling for her. That was stupid. That kind of shit didn’t happen in real life.

But ….she’d worked her way under his skin somehow. Made him want to be a better person—and wasn’t that a riot?

Mick sighed again. It’s not like he’d known for a fact that Snart had that kind of…feelings…about Blondie. But he’d put the pieces together, from both before and after Snart had…after the Oculus, and goddamned if it didn’t all fit. Snart deciding to go all hero-like (which probably had a good bit to do with Allen, too), choosing the team over Mick (who was willing to admit, now, that his actions on the Acheron had been pretty damned stupid) and then…and then…

And Blondie’s reaction, afterward. It wasn’t like Mick really wanted to…oh, sit shiva, for Len and everything that entailed. But especially after Savage was toast (literally, a thought which still gave him some satisfaction), he might have liked to sit down with a drink and a friend…someone else who’d known Snart…and remembered, just a little.

But Sara had avoided the topic like the fuckin’ plague, and she’d also gone from someone who seemed kinda uncertain about hooking up with anyone to flinging herself at any woman who seemed the least bit interested. Never guys, although Mick knew she liked guys too, and that was maybe a little telling in its own right.

Just because Mick never liked to talk about feelings didn’t mean he didn’t understand them in his own way. In others, anyway.

Lara Sahfer knew she was the deadliest person on this ship. That went without question. Far deadlier than the priestess and her boytoy. Deadlier than the alchemist and his apprentice. Deadlier than the eager crusader or their hapless captain.

And deadlier than the clever thief and his partner.

The partner was dangerous, but she knew the type. He was content to let his friend be the brains of their team. But the intriguing Sean Lance…

She didn’t know what to make of him.

Though she did know he kept watching her ass given the merest opportunity.

If Mick was being honest with himself (and he tried to be, these days), he’d started putting this thing down on paper first because he could see Blondie struggling and couldn’t figure out how to manage the words to talk to her about Snart—even if she’d let him.

And in stories, you could give someone—more than one someone—the happy ending they didn’t get in real life. Maybe someday, Sara would even be ready to read it.

Then all sorts of shit had happened, and Mick had stopped writing again. He’d been stuck at the bottom of the ocean for years, even if it didn’t seem like so long. And then Ghost Snart—who hadn’t been real, but who had seemed real at the time—had showed up and snarked off about even the hint of the feelings Mick was starting to acknowledge.

And then, that asshole in the Legion (well, more of an asshole than real Snart—he was still convinced that Legion Snart hadn’t been real Snart) had showed up. And Mick decided, painfully, that he wasn’t ready to write about even fictionalized Len for a while.

He locked the pages away, taking the lockbox with him when Rip had taken the Waverider back—and bringing it back with him when they’d stolen the ship in return. He added a few more bits and pieces here and there—especially, with a certain grumpy annoyance, when he sensed Sara’s interest in Bureau Chick, who really couldn’t be more different from Len. (It’d felt like a betrayal in a way, though he’d never tell her that. Snart was gone.)

And then there was Leo. Leo, who merrily flirted with Sara (and just about everyone else). Leo, who everyone seemed to like. Personable Leo, the hugger, who was the only Snart the newbies had ever met. And it seemed like everyone but him forgot about real Snart just a little bit more.

He quietly tucked the pages away and hadn’t taken them out since. Until today.

The voyage had lots of ups and downs. Rick knew that; hell, he’d caused a lot of them. He’d committed mutiny against the captain himself when the man had thrown his own lack of status on the ship and elsewhere back in his face. And he’d paid for that, paid more than a lot of those fools would ever know.

But the thing he regretted most was that it’d cost him Sean’s friendship.

Oh, he’d been angry first. Enraged, even. That bastard had hauled him out of the pirate haven where they could have been kings, just because the captain and Lara were in trouble. And then he’d chosen the crew instead of Rick in the mutiny. Because of Lara, Rick thought. And then Sean had marooned him on that desert island and left him behind.

It’d taken time and distance to see things clearly again.

By then, it was too late.

Snart had definitely had a thing for Sara—Mick had known the man long enough and well enough to have seen him show interest in men, women, and folks who mighta been either or both, though Len had always been real quiet about any lovers he took. Still, he knew the signs.

But that hadn’t gone how Mick thought, either. He'd figured the two of them would have a fling. Get it outta their systems. Snart didn’t have a heart any more than Mick did, and it wasn’t like he and Sara were gonna fall for each other or something. That was story shit.

Mick looked down at the pages in front of him and sighed yet again.

Instead, Snart had circled around Blondie like he was planning a heist, careful and curious, and Blondie had reacted much the same way. They’d started spending time together, playing cards, and while Mick had wondered what was going on there a few times, he hadn’t asked. Even when Snart had gone back to get Sara in Russia, even when he’d insisted on saving her and Rip in Star City, and, yeah, even when he’d iced Mick in the engine room.

A few days back, Mick had overheard Zari and Charlie talking about Sara and Bureau Chick, about how (they thought) Sara’s tendency to happily break rules and apologize later, if at all, had finally taken a toll on the two and led to the breakup, along with Sara’s resistance to becoming more…domesticated.

Snart wouldn’t have tried to change her. Snart had liked her just the way she was.

Sean couldn’t help being fascinated by the assassin the captain had recruited. OK, she was gorgeous, attractive in a way that seemed designed to appeal to his sense of danger, and he wouldn’t have minded having some sort of a fling with her. But flings were all he did, these days, and dipping a toe (so to speak) into those particularly dangerous waters while on this ship seemed like a bad idea.

But that didn’t keep him from watching. Or them from playing cards. Or talking. Or watching each other’s back. Or...

Oh, hell.

There were a lot of reasons Mick himself wasn’t fond of Bureau Chick. (He knew perfectly well what her name was, he just liked to pretend otherwise.) But her attempts at changing who Blondie was…well, Mick had had too many people trying to change him to what they wanted him to be over the years. People who generally didn’t get what’d made him who he was. He didn’t take kindly to it.

And he didn’t take kindly to it happening to his friends, either.

Oh, sure, he’d changed, by this point. But he’d chosen to change, himself. It was different.

Now that Bureau Chick was out of the picture…

Mick sighed, putting a hand down on the partially written story. Snart was still dead. Nothing would change that. Ever.

No matter how much he tried to fix things in a stupid story.

Lara had been through a lot in the past few years. She wasn’t looking for a lover, or even a fling. She hadn’t been down that particular road since before she’d died and come back, and she wasn’t ready for it now. Maybe she never would be.

But. Sean.

The thief didn’t seem to care that she’d killed for hire. Didn’t seem scared of her bloodlust or intimidated by her history. He just seemed intrigued. And, somehow, he had an uncanny sense of why she wanted to be...better. She got the feeling that he did, too.

She wasn’t scared of anything. But...

She thought maybe she should be scared of this. Not because it was bad.

Because it could be all too good.

Mick had just pulled out the pages of another story, his latest sci-fi epic, the one he’d asked New Girl to read sometime soon, when Gideon’s voice echoed through the ship.

“Captain Lance would like everyone on the bridge,” she announced, sounding just a little harried. That wasn’t good. “Immediately.”

Then the ship shook. That definitely wasn’t good. Mick cursed, dropping the pages on the desk and turning for the door.

He didn’t even consider that he’d left the other story out, too.

It was quite a bit later when Zari wandered into the room, smiling a bit as the door slid open to admit her, per Mick’s orders. She was glad he’d come to trust her that much. She didn’t think Mick trusted many, and it felt like a rare and rather precious accolade.

Even if it was mostly so she could play editor.

The unexplained temporal storm earlier still had the ship in disarray, but there wasn’t really anything she could do about that at the moment. Mick and Sara and Ray were going over temporal data that was nonsense to her and the others were dealing with some variety of seasickness. Time sickness. Whatever. It’d been caused by the ship’s motion through the storm, so close enough. Zari had tried, but poor Charlie, who’d had a really bad reaction to it, had refused any help at all, locking herself in her room and snarling through the door.

Zari hummed to herself as she looked over Mick’s desk and the old typewriter he still insisted on using. There were a few different piles of papers, but they’d been knocked around a bit by the turbulence. Looked like one had slid to the side, and another toward the front of the desk. Which one had Mick had in mind?

The one at the front caught her eye, so she picked it up, gathering the pages into a pile, turning to find a seat amidst the clutter of the room and settling in to read.

Once, Rick had resented the pirate queen...

The cult that’d started this whole damned thing had them again, even after all the crew’s plans and attempts to change things. They had Rick, minions strapping him down into a chair while one of the cult leaders—the one who’d broken him the first time—stared at him thoughtfully. Rick stared back, determined not to show any fear.

Maybe, he thought, even as the manacles closed around his wrists, Sean and Lara had gotten away. They’d been holed up again, like they did sometimes. Neither of them was stupid. They might have gotten away.

Gods, he hoped they’d gotten away.

Zari had completely lost track of time when Mick came through the door and stopped, acknowledging her presence with a grunt. She blinked, slowly coming back to reality as he ambled toward the desk and gave it a cursory look—before suddenly freezing and then spinning to stare at her. And the pages she was reading.

“You can’t read that,” Mick told her abruptly, something odd in his tone, even as Zari tightened her grip on the papers involuntarily. He sounded almost...upset. Embarrassed? Mick?

“It was right on your desk. I thought it was what you wanted me to read.” She studied him, then looked back down at the story, letting out a long breath. She liked Mick’s writing, but she’d really been caught up in this one.

“Mick, this is great,” she told him, lifting her eyes again and giving the pages a shake for emphasis. “You’ve got this...this incredible romance going on between these awesome, real, flawed characters, the thief and the assassin, and this amazing...platonic soulmates thing with the male protagonist and his friend at the same time.” She shook her head, impressed. “And you don’t see enough of that in fiction, especially in cases where the romantic relationship doesn’t eclipse the platonic one and they’re both good stories on their own. It’s great.”

Mick stared at her, expression still opaque. Zari stared back a moment, then rifled through the papers. Now that she was near the end, she didn’t think there was enough...yes, it just left off there, right in the middle of a scene.

“You need to finish it,” she insisted. “And there are a few places you just fade to black...and I want to see how it ends!”

But he turned away then, toward the desk, shoulders set.

“I can’t,” he said, tossing the words back over his shoulder at her. “He died.” A pause. “The end.”

Zari blinked again. “Who? Rick? Sean? You can’t...”

But her voice trailed off as she saw Mick leaning on his desk, hands gripping the wood and knuckles white, staring at his typewriter like it’d hurt him. But it hadn’t; she had, somehow, by sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong, even though she hadn’t meant to. So, after another minute, she got to her feet, quietly putting the pages down where she’d been sitting and taking a step toward the door.

Mick didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. And left.

The others had decided to destroy the cult, and possibly the island it claimed as its base as well. Sean couldn’t say he was surprised. He wasn’t fond at all of how much power the group claimed, far more than they’d originally suspected. And now that they knew the cult was supporting the warlord they’d vowed to stop, it was necessary if they ever wanted to complete that mission.

Still, he could see Lara watching him out of the corner of her eye as all the others chimed in, agreeing to this plan. Even Rick was in—though, of course, he had more reason than most to hate the cult.

“We set out on this mission to stop Vindictus and save the world. To become legends and change our fates,” the crusader, Edmund, said earnestly. “That mission hasn't changed.”

Sean made a scoffing noise. “This is madness,” he said, glancing around at all of them before letting his gaze light on Lara—and an almost-smile touch his mouth. “I like it.”

She smiled back at him.

Behind her, Rick rolled his eyes. But the other man was smiling too.

He died.

Zari frowned to herself as she strolled the corridors of the ship, pondering Mick’s reaction and his words. Given that no main character had died yet in that story, it was apparent that the tale must have been based on a true one. But...

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Lara, assassin turned (at some point) pirate queen. Sean, the thief. Rick, his friend and partner.

Oh.

It seemed to fit. She only knew the sketchiest bits of what the Legends had been up to when their original captain had first recruited them, but she should have figured this out sooner. The power of Mick’s tale had obfuscated the reality behind it. And she knew almost nothing about Leonard, Mick’s former partner, just that Mick missed him and that he’d died, doing something that had saved the world.

Had he and Sara really been a thing? Almost a thing? Zari nibbled her lip, thinking. She didn’t think she’d heard Sara so much as mention his name. Ever. Which...actually did point more toward some powerful feelings there rather than the opposite.

Zari thought for a few more minutes. Then she turned toward the bridge.

Lara knew that Rick had taken refuge in one of his hidey holes in a cargo bay, probably drinking his way through more of the captain’s rum. She’d figured Sean was with him.

Which was fine. Really. After the thief pulled a gun on her after the cult members had taken their friends, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to talk to him. Oh, she could have had that gun away from him in a heartbeat, and he’d backed down awfully quickly, given how stubborn she knew he was, but it was the principle of the thing.

She’d been furious. And heartbroken, though she wasn’t ready to tell anyone that and probably never would be. She’d thought they were friends, at least. Maybe...maybe skirting around something more?

But he wasn’t in the cargo bay with Rick, after all, as it turned out. He was here. At her cabin door. Now. Looking at her with eyes that had a veneer of his habitual attitude over even more uncertainty. It probably said something, too, that she recognized that.

Sean cleared his throat. “Hi,” he managed. “Can I come in?”

Lara leaned on the doorway and glared at him. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” A look from under lowered lashes. Damn him. “And apologize.”

“You could do that right here.”

“Mmm.” He glanced away. “Maybe I want to say more than that.”

She shouldn’t let him in. She should shut the door in his handsome face. She should...

Lara stepped back, letting him in.

Sara was sitting in the captain’s chair. Oh, there was no particular flying to be done right now, but she wasn’t in the mood to go back to her quarters. Her empty quarters, with no sign of Ava in them. More evidence that she’d fucked up for real this time.

Or not. Frankly, Sara kept waffling between anger and annoyance at the other woman’s conviction that Sara needed to change and grief over the loss of someone else she'd cared for. OK, loved. Sure, Ava was back in the Bureau offices, healthy and fine compared to some of the people Sara had lost, but Sara had lost her regardless.

Or maybe she’d never really had her to begin with. Had they both been operating under false pretenses? Ava, thinking Sara would settle and become a good little soldier, or wife, or both? Sara, thinking that Ava would stop wanting her to? Would stop wanting to make her over in a different image?

Sara wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, slumped in the chair with her jaw in her hand, eyes closed, thoughts and feelings circling in her head, when she heard the footstep. Closer than she’d usually let someone get, but she’d let her guard down, knowing that Gideon would warn her if it wasn’t a friend.

“What’s up, Z?” she asked, seeing Zari there, watching her with a rather enigmatic expression. “Everything OK?”

The other woman shrugged, moving closer and studying Sara as if seeing her in a new light. Sara was just about to ask again when Zari glanced away, nodded to herself, and looked back.

“Who was Leonard Snart?” she asked, point blank.

Sara was pretty sure she didn’t move, but for a moment, she almost felt like she’d reeled. “What?”

“Mick’s old partner.” Z tilted her head. “One of the original members of the Legends, right? But no one ever talks about him. Why is that?”

Get him out of here.

No.

Just do it.

Sara swallowed. “He died,” she said abruptly, knowing her voice sounded harsh. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Other people have too, died or left, and the team talks about them.”

“Why are you asking this now?” Sara’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “Mick...”

Zari seemed to consider. She looked a little like she regretted bringing this up, but she was too stubborn to back down now. Sara knew that well. “He wrote something about him. Snart. Well, you and Snart.”

“Me and...Snart.” She should say there was no “her and Snart.” She should.

“I wasn’t meant to read it, but I didn’t know that. And the story just...ended. And when I asked, Mick said he died.”

What on earth could Mick have written? How would he even have known...?

...what the future might hold for me...and you...and me and you.

Zari’s eyes are direct. “Did you love him?”

I might have.

“I don’t want to talk about this now.” Her broken edges and Leonard’s, they’d somehow fit together.

“Sara...”

“Don’t push it, Z.”

The bomb in the center of the island wasn’t working right. Someone needed to hold the button down for the connection to be made, for it to blow the whole thing to kingdom come.

The crusader had been going to do it. But he was the sort of guy the world needed, one able and willing to help people, to fix things that needed fixing. Not like Rick, with all his damages. It’d been an easy decision to knock the other man out and take his place. And the captain—pragmatic, despite all his fine talk—hadn’t hesitated to take Edmund and leave Rick there, hand on the bomb, considering his fate.

But then:

“Rick!”

After Zari left, Mick had stayed in his room for a while, stewing, discontented and angry at the memories. He didn’t blame her—he'd left the damned story out, after all, and she didn’t know enough about what had happened to connect the dots right away. But, still, it’d been a stupid thing to write down in the first place.

With most books, anyway, writing things didn’t make them come true.

After a while, he left the room, trying to pretend nothing had happened. He had dinner with Haircut in the galley. He worked out a bit in the training room. He watched an episode of “The X-Files" with Charlie, who’d laughed so hard at the show’s version of shapeshifters that she’d nearly gotten sick again.

Then he’d slowly sauntered back to his room, wondering if he should go find New Girl and apologize.

But there was someone else in his room.

Blondie was sitting in one of the chairs, knees pulled up to her chin, a posture that looked more vulnerable than nearly anything he’d seen from her in a long time. She looked up as he entered, and he was startled to see red-rimmed eyes—and a sheaf of papers in her hand.

Damnit. He’d left that locked up again. Honest, he had.

Mick looked back at Sara, who smiled a little at him.

“I did learn how to pick locks,” she murmured. “It wasn’t hard to find.”

“New Girl.”

“Sort of. She said you wrote something about...about Leonard. And me. I didn’t realize what it was. And I shouldn’t have gone into your things, but I. Well.” She looked down at the pages. “I wasn’t at my best. I’m sorry, Mick.”

Mick dragged in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. They’ve been through too much together to let this get to him, especially since it’s so unusual. “S’OK.” He took a seat himself, watching her.

Sara met his eyes, then glanced away. She looked at the pages again and the quiet drew out.

Then: “This is really how you saw...it? Us?”

Her and Snart, she meant. Mick hesitated.

“Saw what could have been,” he said finally. “Was I wrong?”

A long silence.

“No,” Sara admitted. “No. I think...I think we could have been something...something really good. If we’d had more time. Isn’t that how it goes?” Her fingers contracted, wrinkling the papers, but then she smoothed them out, handing them back to him. “And you knew Leonard longer than I did, better than I did. If this is what you saw...”

“Eh. In some ways, I knew him better. People change.”

“True.” Sara sighed, getting up from the chair. “I’m sorry, Mick,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have just come in here and rummaging around. That was beyond rude. I just...needed to see...”

She shook her head, as if trying to get a grip, then gave him an arch look. “No sex scenes though, I noticed.”

Mick could actually feel his face heat. “That woulda been way too weird.”

Sara laughed a bit evilly—and a bit sadly, which was an odd mix. But still, she just patted his arm again, sighed, and hurried out the door.

Mick watched her go. He looked down at the pages in his hands, then put them down on the desk and studied them for a long moment.

Then he fed a clean piece of paper into his typewriter, nodded to himself, and started to type.

Time to give those losers—all of them—a happy ending.

You could do that, in stories.

About three months later, Waverider time

“Heard you been writing again. Since I...well.”

The words were casually said, in the usual drawl, but Mick could hear a number of things in them. Regret, for having been gone. A pleased attention, because Snart had always accepted his writing in a way others hadn’t. Amusement, probably because New Girl had almost certainly been the one to tell him that. And guilt, he thought, for so many reasons.

Snart stood in the doorway to Mick's room and looked around, his expression still and not real informative. But he hadn’t commented on the clutter or anything else, focusing after a moment on the typewriter still sitting on the desk.

Mick nodded, watching his long-lost friend. “I’m doing the final edits on a manuscript that’s goin’ to a publisher,” he volunteered. “Got two other books out, too. Sold pretty well.”

The other man actually smiled.

The temporal storms that had started that day about three months ago had gotten worse and worse, while both the Legends and the Time Bureau had tried to figure out what was causing them and were kept busy trying to clean up their aftermath.

Finally, they’d figured out the storms had been touched off by the deepest part of the time stream trying to rid itself of an irritant, something that shouldn’t be there.

And that irritant had turned out to be Leonard Snart.

The real one. Now back on the Waverider, confirmed by Gideon, whole and healthy—albeit with an uncanny sense for temporal disturbances and a weird ability to reset time a few seconds here and there. They hadn’t quite fully sorted through the repercussions of that power yet.

Snart was...different, now. Apparently, he’d been at least somewhat aware of the passage of time while he was stuck in the...well, Haircut called it a time pearl, a barrier the time stream had formed between itself and the annoyance. It hadn’t felt like three years to him—more of an odd, lengthy waking dream—but it had given him lots of time, he said, to think.

His personality was a step closer to Leo now, in a way, though he was still extremely capable of pointed snark and sass, as Haircut had already found out. But he was also a little less cold, and a great deal more thoughtful in a way that didn’t seem to have much to do with heists. (As far as Mick knew, anyway. Could be both.)

Now, Snart was looking at the manuscript on the desk with a definite glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah?” His hand hovered over the neat stack of papers. “Can I…”

Mick hesitated. And Snart curled his fingers again and withdrew his hand in that smooth way he had, tucking it behind his back and acting like he’d never reached out to begin with.

Classic Snart.

Well, Mick was done with that old dynamic. He’d lost too much, and he’d been so lucky to get some of it back. Abruptly, he reached out too, scooping up the papers and extending them to Snart, who took them with a blink of surprise.

Mick waved a hand at them a bit awkwardly. “Uh,” he said, “that one wasn’t originally for publication. New Girl…Zari…talked me into finishing it and sending it out. And Blondie gave me…permission. Even wrote some bits.”

Snart had frowned, just a little. “Why would Sara have to…”

But he stopped, fingers tightening on the papers. And Mick sighed inwardly.

When they’d pulled Snart from the time stream…time pearl, whatever…there’d been more than one person who’d been intently watching the groggy, dazed crook when he first came face to face with Sara, who’d been staring at him like she was seeing a ghost.

But all they’d gotten was a breathed, barely audible “Sara” from Snart before the man had crumpled and Mick had carried him off to the medbay. Once he’d woken and gotten a clean bill of health, well, it seemed they were rarely in the same place at the same time. In fact, Mick was pretty sure they were avoiding each other.

Which made no sense at all. New Girl agreed.

Well, maybe this will get them to pull their heads out of their asses. Worth the embarrassment for the chance of that.

“You nearly died, you jackass,” Lara whispered to Sean, standing there on the boat with her hands wrapped in his coat, holding him close. Not as close as she’d like, but...even after everything, she knew he still had his lines that were tough to cross, still had his damages, his own rocky shores. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I couldn’t just let him die.” Sean didn’t seem to mind that she was holding him. In fact, his hands slipped up and around her shoulders, pulling her closer too. His blue eyes looked seriously down into hers, making it hard to breathe.

“Of course you couldn’t.” Lara took a deep breath. “But...”

But then Sean was kissing her, right out on the deck in the open, a kiss that was everything their desperate kiss while he was holding the bomb hadn’t been. A promise, not a farewell; an invitation and a dare. Lara tightened her hold on him and kissed him back, the rest of the world fading around them, focused for once on the here and the now...and just maybe, a little bit on the future.

And if there were a couple of wolf whistles from Rick and the others...well, they just ignored them.

Mick had tried to be unobtrusive about watching the door to Snart’s new room. Fortunately, since it was right down the hall from the galley, he could just lurk in there and listen, occasionally peek outside. He’d been nursing the same beer for a while when New Girl slipped in, too, eyes brightening as she saw him.

“Snart’s reading it?” she whispered. He’d passed on the message through Gideon.

“Yeah.” Mick shifted a bit uncomfortably.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let Sara add the sexier bits. But there was no way in hell he was doin’ it, not with this book, and his publisher expected a certain amount of that. Sara, at least, had seemed to get a kick out of it—just how much of a kick, he’d decided he really didn’t want to know.

He also didn’t think he wanted to know how much of it had really happened—though he suspected, at least, that the kiss at the Oculus/bomb had.

New Girl looked pleased. “This has to be the kick in the ass they both need,” she said.

“ ‘Less we were all wrong.”

“We weren’t. Sara said so. Right?”

“That was before Snart came back.” He thought about it a minute. “Easier to say that when it was just a ‘mighta been’ and not a ‘could really be.’”

New Girl got an odd, considering expression on her face. Mick wondered what—maybe who—she was thinking about. “Yeah,” she acknowledged after a minute. “That’s true. But...”

There was a sound. A door opening. Mick and New Girl—he really should start calling her Zari, he supposed, or Z—exchanged a look, waited a moment, and then peeked out the door.

Snart was headed down the corridor. Toward Sara’s quarters.

Z made a happy sort of humming noise, waiting until Snart turned the corner before stepping out of the galley. Mick followed her as they both slunk down the hall, pausing just before the corner. Close enough to Sara’s doorway.

They heard it slide open.

“Len.” Sara sounded a little surprised. Not unhappy. Thoughtful. Waiting.

“Sara.” Had he really said her name like that before? Ugh. Mick couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that tone. That was get-a-room territory all on its own.

Another pause. They heard Snart step inside, heard the door close...mostly. It was cracked, just enough to hear what was being said, as long as they snuck a bit closer and the occupant used normal voices. Mick heard Z whisper a “thank you” to Gideon—who, in her usual way, knew perfectly well what was going on around her ship.

“Mick apparently thinks we had some sort of great torrid romance going on,” they heard Snart say to Sara. There was amusement in his voice and Mick breathed out a sigh of relief. So, he wasn’t mad or too embarrassed.

There was amusement in Sara’s voice, too, as she responded. “You read it.”

“Yeah.” A pause. A long one. “He said you did too.” A shorter pause. “Said you even added...a few things.”

Sara’s laugh was low and rippling. Z elbowed Mick, who ignored her.

“Wishful thinking,” the captain said quietly. “I thought you were gone.”

“Hmmmm. I’m back now.” Pause. “Can’t change the earlier story. But maybe could...start a new one?”

Z clapped a hand over her mouth, her grin obvious. She darted a glance at Mick, eyes shining.

“What sort of story, though?” Sara’s tone was teasing...but not without a hint of real question. “Comedy? Adventure?” Pause. “Torrid romance?”

“Well. Kinda partial to the idea of that last, at the moment.” Snart’s own tone was low, a bit rough. “Not too late?”

Z stepped forward, listening intently.

And Gideon firmly slid the door shut the rest of the way.

“Hey!”

“What happens next, Ms. Tomaz, you certainly do not need to be privy to.” Gideon sounded just a little prissy.

“I most certainly do!”

But Mick grinned, reaching out to put a hand on her arm and pull her back toward the galley. He knew Snart, and he knew Sara. And he figured they’d be just fine.

“They gotta write their own story now,” he told her. “Let’s leave ‘em to it.”

“We’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”

— The Doctor

#CaptainCanary #legends of tomorrow #platonic coldwave #ficaversary

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hoodoo12 · 6 years ago

Text

The Old College Try

Barkeep has her sights on Tailor Rick. Spoiler alert: she’s got her work cut out for her. Extra thanks to @porkchop-ao3 for letting me play with her character! Due to some references made in my story, it is set after her great Charlie Foxtrot (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7). Mature.

⁂

It was a hopping busy night. You ran back and forth between patrons, supplying fresh drinks, clearing empty glasses, making small talk and filling server’s orders nonstop. Something major must have happened on the Citadel, because there were more Ricks patronizing the place than normal, and more of them than not were focused on getting plastered. But when that uppity Rick who’d burst into the Bar months ago, the one who’d wrecked your chances with Ice Cream Rick, you vowed to yourself to spend some time with him.

He was as well-put together as the time you’d seen him before: a smartly fitted teal suit, an equally fitted shirt with the faintest hint of a baroque pattern woven into it, an expertly knotted tie, and--here you leaned over the bar to look--the same leather wingtips polished to a high shine. You also didn’t miss how well his trousers fit. They had to be tailored, to support and emphasize the bulge at his crotch.

The color of his suit didn’t do much for you, but the way his blue eyes seemed to dismiss most of his surroundings did, and you grinned to yourself at the challenge he was going to be. It’d be an extra sweet victory to get him into your bed.

He moved smoothly through the crowd, twisting so he didn’t touch any of the other patrons. He steadfastly ignored them too, whether they cursed him when there was an accidental bump or called to him in recognition. It was obvious his goal was a seat along the table built into the side wall, where he’d be able to look over the crowd, but someone else slid into it before he could get there.

Knowing you were going to regret saying this, you called, “Rick!” just over the buzz of the bar.

The noise level dropped immediately as so many of them swiveled their heads to you. Pointedly you ignored them but kept your gaze directly on your target. He grimaced. Not exactly the response you were hoping for, but you smiled at him anyway and tapped the bar in front of a lone stool.

With a resigned sigh that you could almost hear, he made his way over.

Normal sounds of the bar--the crack of pool balls, bragging, laughter--started up again as he sat down.

“Hey,” you said in greeting, setting a napkin in front of him. “Nice to see you again, Rick.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, looking over the crowd instead of at you.

Even though he grumbled, he sounded sophisticated. You hadn’t forgotten he was one of the only Ricks you’d met with a British accent.

It was on the tip of your tongue to point out that “Rick” got his attention a moment ago, but you let it slide. “Okay. What do you prefer? Richard? Mr. Sanchez? Daddy?”

That got his attention even faster. He spun around with a startled expression that melted into a snarl of distaste when he saw you grinning at him.

“Did I get one of them right?”

He ground out, “I’m called Tailor,” in a definitive tone.

You shrugged. “Whatever you’d like. I would have expected Mr. Sanchez. Or maybe Sir Richard Sanchez, habadasher to the Queen--”

You cut yourself off with a chuckle.

“Your mirth is misplaced, since you obviously have no clue that word has different meanings in England versus the Colonies,” he interrupted coldly. “I do more than simply sell clothing. I design and create high fashion for men and women. Therefore, Tailor. Not that I expected you to be familiar with even that word . . .”

He finished by making a show of looking you over, taking in your standard work outfit: a tank top and jeans. He couldn’t see your feet, thank god; he’d probably have a heart attack if he saw you wearing clunky server’s shoes! With the least amount of self-consciousness you could manage, you slipped your thumb under your bra strap--it had slipped!--to situate it properly on your shoulder and under the strap of your tank again.

He waited expectantly for your reply.

You narrowed your eyes and decided you couldn’t wait to fuck him. You’d win when you both were yanking each other clothes off. You decided maybe you’d keep one of his jacket’s buttons as a souvenir.

Laughing out loud, you said, “Tailor, I like you. Let me buy you a drink! What’ll it be?”

Tailor didn’t return your laughter. He simply told you he wanted a whisky on the rocks. You made it a double in a more expensive brand, and let your fingers linger on his as he accepted it from you.

He didn’t jerk back or scowl again, so you figured that was a chink in his armor.

Leaving him be for the moment, you decided round one was yours.

⁂

There were plenty more Ricks to flirt with; just because you had your eyes on someone specific tonight didn’t mean you wanted to close the door on others who may be back later. Most seemed more interested in drinking steadily, but some flirted back. Any other night you’d have taken one (or two, or three) home, but your sights were set on Tailor.

You kept him plied with drink and tried to carry on a conversation with him when you had a free moment. His answers were curt at first, but looser after a few glasses. You got out of him that the correct name for the color of his suit was Caribbean Blue, not teal; that he had designed gowns for the Queen and several other Royals as well; that his assistant was a nice woman but much too smitten with someone he called Mr. Whippy; that he usually didn’t come to places like this but he’d been in the neighborhood and--

Tailor, who’d not once given you full attention even as he tipsily spilled some of his guts, broke off his own sentence. Glancing in the direction he was looking, you saw a few members of the Council of Ricks enter the Bar: Riq IV, Maximums Rickimus, and Zeta Alpha Rick. The door almost closed again when Rick Prime came through as well. They were easily recognizable, even in new outfits you’d never seen before.

Tailor threw back the remainder of his drink and asked for another without turning to you.

He wasn’t the only Rick who’d stopped and stared at the Council members as they came in. For the second time tonight, the Bar fell oddly quiet.

“Where’s the rest of the Council, assholes?” someone shouted. “Too afraid to show their faces after that farce?”

“Suck my dick!” Riq IV spit back indiscriminately to all the patrons. Then, reverting more to the politician he was, his gaze seemed to meet every single person’s--including yours--in the place, like he was talking to everyone personally. “Our ruling stands. If you don’t like it, fucking run for Council yourself. For everyone else who’s not a complete fucking idiot, a round of drinks on me.”

A cheer went up. Whatever went down on the Citadel, free alcohol could smooth things over. You called a couple of servers over to help pull taps for the crowd, while you poured another double for Tailor and set up a vodka martini for Riq IV, who accepted it from you with a nod before heading to the table the other Council members had taken over.

You carried the new drink to Tailor, who was staring hard at the Council.

“Some Ricks seem a little anti-Council tonight,” you said conversationally.

“They better not get sloppy in those suits,” he groused, not taking his eyes from them, and not in the least replying to your statement.

Your gaze drifted to them again. You had to admit their new outfits were less obnoxious than the previous ones; they still declared “official” and “high-standing” but with subtlety, without the over-the-top gild and frippery that you were accustomed seeing on them. Or in the case of Riq, on your bedroom floor.

“What are they thinking, wearing those here? They could have worn burlap sacks and everyone would still know who they are! That fabric is hand woven and bloody expensive! If they fucking spill beer on it, who’s going to be the one getting the call to have it cleaned properly? Goddamn me, that’s who!”

It dawned on you that Tailor was muttering angrily to himself.

“So those are your designs?” you asked.

He shot you a look that advertised he couldn’t believe how stupid you were. “Of course they are! I’ve been after them to allow me to redesign those horrors they’d been wearing--they finally let me, and now they’re parading them around in a shit hole like this?!”

You took a second, then said, “I like them. They’re not so ugly. And it looks like the fabric is more substantial. Those other ones were pretty thin.”

“Yes they fucking were--” Tailor replied automatically, then cut himself off to appraise you with a keen eye. “How do you know the weight of the fabric from their old monstrosities?”

“Oh, you know. Just a guess,” you answered mildly, waving your hand. You knew you had a reputation among Ricks, but you weren’t sure if this particular Rick would be more disgusted than eager about it.

“You know them?” he asked sharply.

You nodded. “I’ve met a couple.”

“You’ve met a couple, and were able to feel how thin their robes were,” he said, as a statement of fact.

You shrugged and smiled, but didn’t elaborate.

Calculations were going on in Tailor’s head. You could tell. You had no idea what they may be, but you were called away again before he could say anything more. You hoped whatever it was burned him up, and he’d be more excited when you returned.

⁂

Typically with a Rick that you had your sights on, you’d flirt, you’d play up your cleavage. You’d joke and flatter; Ricks tended to eat that up. Occasionally, you’d be more up-front, but with your reputation and Ricks’ standard willingness to get down and dirty that wasn’t common. This Rick, however--

Tailor was either obtuse or a eunuch. Those were the only two explanations you could come up with for him repeatedly brushing you off. You dismissed the idea he may be gay; you supposed it could be possible but you’d never met a Rick that didn’t swing at least a little bit both ways.

So you turned on the charm. You were flattering, you were witty, you continued to ply him with doubles and made sure to lean far enough over the wooden bar to display your boobs whenever possible. He remained steadfastly annoyed with you.

The rest of the patrons seemed to loosen up regarding the Council being there--free booze helped--but Tailor continued to stare them down with laser-like intensity. The Council themselves seemed to be having a grand time laughing and swaggering. Several times Riq IV caught your eye; he raised his eyebrows and smirked at Tailor too. He also elbowed the Council members near him and made it obvious he was talking about the Rick at the bar. Each time that happened you noticed Tailor scowled and took a bigger mouthful of alcohol.

You decided to try and use whatever hatred Tailor was feeling towards them to your advantage, and once more struck up a conversation with him when work slowed down a little.

“So those new Council outfits. Tell me about them.”

He replied with only an eyeroll, to demonstrate how little he thought of your attempt to engage him.

Undeterred, you continued, “Did you have to take individual measurements, or could you just work from one of them?”

That ridiculous ice-breaker of a question made him pause and gulp for some reason. You thought maybe he didn’t hear you, or you didn’t phrase it correctly.

“I don’t know much about sewing,” you continued. “I thought that for tailored clothing all these measurements had to be taken, to get all the seams or whatever right. With Ricks, though, most of them are pretty much the same body type, so maybe it’s different? You could even just take measurements of yourself and work from it, right?”

Tailor closed his eyes for longer than a blink and his lips moved a little. You swear he was counting to ten. When he finally turned back to you, you could tell he was trying to keep his cool.

“Working from a mannequin or my own personal measurements doesn’t take into account variations of individuals. Yes, we’re all Ricks, but we’re not all the same. I’m sure you’ve been able to note the differences between the multitudes?”

It was meant to be a stinging shut down, and truthfully, it did hurt a bit. But eyes on the prize! It wasn’t enough to make you wilt.

“I have,” you admitted, leaning in close. “So you’ve had your hands on at least the Ricks that make up the Council members. Wanna go back to my place and compare notes?”

In the middle of a dismissive sip of whisky, Tailor choked. You laughed while passing him a handful of napkins, plus a glass of water; you always liked to be able to catch Ricks off their guard. You rubbed his shoulder soothingly as he caught his breath.

The slight commotion he caused made a few other patrons, including the Council, look your way.

“You okay?”

Even though his eyes were watering, Tailor managed to pull himself together and radiate distain. He slapped your hand away, not caring he was in front of an audience.

“I-I-I’m fine,” he stuttered in a croak.

There was an aura around him now, something dark and angry and it dawned on you there was a line you weren’t aware of but crossed. You get the sense he wanted to storm away, make a scene, but with people still looking over he cleared his throat and slipped off the barstool with a grace you knew he had to fight for due to how much he drank. Once standing, he pulled at his jacket to straighten it, and tossed a handful of folded bills on the bar.

“Good day,” he told you, barely moving his lips, in a tone that inferred the opposite.

He grabbed his tumbler and stalked away.

“Huh,” you said out loud, mostly to yourself.

Apparently it was loud enough for some co-workers behind you to hear; they were twittering, and more than one of them lay a hand in mock sympathy on your shoulder. Bruce, the bouncer with a mouth as full of teeth and wide as a shark’s--you couldn’t pronounce his real name in whatever his native language was; you just nicknamed him Bruce after the mechanical shark in the movie Jaws--even came over to whisper how disappointed he was you didn’t take Tailor home. He had money riding on you that you’d succeed.

You knocked him in the shoulder. Even a light punch made your knuckles ache.

Oh well. They can’t all be winners, you consoled yourself. Licking your wounds, you continued to flirt with the increasingly drunk Ricks still seated at the Bar, but none of them were going to be good companions for the rest of the evening.

As the night wore down, the Bar started leaking patrons. Maximums Rickimus--whom you had a hard time talking to after how your evening ended with him the last time you took him and Riq home--left. Other Council members peeled off their original group to speak to other people. You caught sight of Tailor sidling up to and chatting with a Council member you only knew by name. Rick Prime. You watched him straighten the other Rick’s jacket across the shoulders and swipe his hands down the other man’s back to smooth the fabric. You didn’t miss him giving a subtle squeeze to Rick Prime’s ass, and it all became clear to you why you couldn’t close the deal with Tailor.

Growling obscenities to and at yourself, mindless that there was still a bit of time till last call, you set yourself up a gimlet and drank half of it in one go.

“Not just downing a s-shot?”

“This is classier,” you snapped at Riq, who’d made his way to the bar. “And it’s bigger than a shot, so I get two swallows out of it.”

You proved yourself right by finishing it off with one more drink.

“Much classier,” he remarked drily. “Get me-set me up another vodka martini, so you don’t have to drink alone.”

Grumbling, but quietly, you complied. You didn’t give Riq his glass until your next gimlet was prepared. When you finally passed his over, he lifted it in a silent cheers to you, and took a sip. You took another large mouthful of gin and lime, staring daggers at Tailor and Rick Prime, who seemed to be sharing a private joke at the moment. Tailor hadn’t taken his hand from Rick Prime’s lower back.

Riq’s eyes slid over to the object of your attention, and he grinned.

“Ah,” he said in what sounded like sudden understanding.

With that one syllable it suddenly struck you that Riq had watched you all evening trying your damnedest to get with Tailor! You dragged your gaze away from Tailor back to him, and you exclaimed,

“You knew all along! You knew I was wasting my time!”

Riq’s grin widened, and he agreed easily, “Yes.”

“Goddamn it!’ you pouted, but it was more towards yourself than him. He heard that.

In faux sympathy, he put his gloved hand over yours. “I’m sorry you struck out with Tailor. I would have been happy to tell you he only hooks up with other Ricks, and that he’s been itching to get Rick Prime in bed . . . but what fun would that have been?”

“Oh, you’re a prick.”

“I’ll drink to-to that. Let me buy you another, and I’ll fill you in on all the shit that hit the fan today on the Citadel.”

Whatever victory it was that put him in a chatty, generous mood, it was fine by you. Anything to take away the anger at yourself for not realizing you were barking way up the wrong tree with the British Rick known as Tailor.

fin.

#fan fic #Rick/reader #Tailor Rick #Council of Ricks #the bar at the end of the universe series

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hazbinhoteltheories · 7 years ago

Note

What are your ships? Mine are... Husk and Angel Dust( favorite one) Baxter and Niffty/ Cheri Sir pentious and Angel Dust Vaggie and Charlie (duh) Alastor and Mimzy (duh) I have info in why i ship and every one of them [i already explained Baxter and Cheri] but im too lazy to do it all in 1 ask so ill just read your opinion on the couples

Baxter and Cherri.

I know I already talked about this one but that was at least fifty posts ago so I’ll briefly sum up what I said then. This one was one that I never thought of until you brought it up. But when I did, I started sensing Roger and Jessica Rabbit odd couple vibes. People are always surprised when they learn they are together and everyone wonders how the hell they got together and why they’re together, but they’re either oblivious to it or they don’t give a shit. They don’t need to explain their love for each other. They know their reasons and they’re reminded of them every time they look at each other.

Vaggie and Charlie.

Possibly the most popular ship in this fandom, every single fan of Hazbin Hotel seems to have gone down with it. I’m one of those people. They are such a believable couple that I honestly thought they were a couple at first. Vaggie and Charlie are that pair of friends that everyone knows has feelings for each other except them and can’t wait for the day they finally tell each other how they feel. Unless they get impatient and tell them for them. They’re sweet, they’re adorable, they’re precious, they’re too pure for this world. I just love them.

Baxter and Nifty

This is the couple that I think that is the most likely to happen in the actual show (besides Vaggie and Charlie of course) and might take the longest to develop. Maybe even longer than Vaggie and Charlie. It would take forever for this relationship to get going because both are sure the other could only ever see them as a friend. But all that time is only going to make the relationship stronger when it does happen. This would also be one of those couples where both people clearly provide something the other needs. For Nifty, Baxter would provide guidance and wisdom while Nifty would provide adventure and fun. Baxter comes off as someone who is really anxious to me and I think it would be good for him if he could meet someone who could take that anxiety away. Someone he can just be at ease and enjoy life with. Nifty has been in at least one abusive relationship in the past and what she could do with is a gentleman who would support her and treat her with the love and respect she deserves. These two would be the classic polar opposites that are inseparable kind of couple. But their oddness, chemistry and their ability to make it work and make it look easy would make them unforgettable.

Alastor and Mimzy

I heard somewhere that love is friendship set on fire. That is exactly what I think of when I think of Alastor and Mimzy as a couple. Two lovers that are also the best of friends and feel sheer joy just from being in each other’s company. I can see the relationship being a bit onesided, to begin with. With Mimzy developing feelings for Alastor first while Alastor wishes to keep things platonic. Not wanting to be mean about it, I can see Alastor trying his best to show that he likes and cares about her but when anything romantic comes up he pretends to be oblivious to, in his mind, stop things from getting awkward and to spare Mimzy’s feelings. But in reality, ends up doing the opposite of those things. But the potential for him to develop feelings of his own is still there and if he does, it’s going to be one hell of a ride. I can kind of imagine Alastor and Mimzy being like The Joker and Harley Quinn if The Joker was actually a decent person who loved Harley and all the abuse, fucked up shit and most of the angst was removed. What would be left is a crazy, zany, silly, happy couple.

Angel Dust and Sir Pentious

Whenever I think of these two as a couple, I think of every anime with a tsundere in it ever. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Pent is the tsundere. Angel drives him nuts at first. He finds everything about him off-putting, like how wild and crazy he his and just overall how different they are. But he might come to realise their not quite as different as he first thought. He has a wild and crazy side too, he just doesn’t realise it. And he might come to find that there’s something about Angel’s personality that he can’t help but really like and that could be what causes him to develop feelings for him. Angel dust would always be attracted to Pent but what would intrigue him is how easy he is to see through. He knows that affection is there, Pent just isn’t very good at showing it. So when he does get Pent to show affection for him, it feels like a rewarding experience. Angel’s drug habit might be a big problem though. I can see Sir Pentious wanting a reliable partner and Angels about as reliable as Rick Sanchez. Refusing to tolerate it might be good for Angel Dust though. You usually can’t convince someone to change. If they need to change they usually have to come to that realization on their own. But Pent’s tough love and strong sense of discipline might give Angel the push he needs to kick his habits for good.

Angel Dust and Husk: Of all the couple this fandom ships, I think this is the couple most likely to be already established by the time of the pilot. They also have a potential to be the most realistic couple in my opinion. A lot of shows depicts romance and love as a whirlwind hurricane of emotion. They show how what they did for each other through this and that and give a clear reason as to why they love each other as much as they do. And while I think the Hazbin would do that with a lot of its couples, I can see the show mostly just showing Husk and Angel Dust living with each other. They banter they bicker, they talk about everything under the sun. They do mundane, everyday things together just because they can and fall into a routine that’s simple but happy. I also think that their relationship could be the first time either of them thinks about settling down with someone. Settling down is not something either thought they could do but they make each other want to try. They make each other think that settling down might not be so bad.

My ships are Vaggie/Charlie, Baxter/Alastor, Baxter/Nifty Alastor/Mimzy and Husk/Angel Dust.

#hazbin hotel #charlie #vaggie #alastor #mimzy #baxter #nifty #angel dust #husk #sir pentious #cherri #literally all the ships #i'm back

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tcswritings · 6 years ago

Text

At first sight.

Have some Charlie and James. Have some twins. Have some Charlie and James again. Have some Orla. Have some more Charlie and James. In short: Have the not so exciting conversations and events that lead up to that first kiss between Orla and James

I had an Anon asking about my peeps’ first kisses a while ago already and I just happened to find this Orla/James draft I started a while ago and decided to get back to it again. I love me some James and Orla even though they’re highly dysfunctional at this point. Or, maybe, just because of that ‘cause ‘not really functioning’ doesn’t keep them from having the feels for each other.

Orla and James met in rather, well, tense times, in March 2017. They were both dealing with some things in their lives that put a damper on both of their moods. So, it’s safe to say that neither her or him expected any of the events that were about to happen.

WARNING: The following rather messy/sketchy/incoherent rambling/writing has James and O’Connells in it. Read as: there will be bad language and probably inappropriate stuff and phrasings at times. Whatever you might wanna call it - read at own risk!

About three months prior to meeting his future girlfriend for the first time, James learned that his ex-fling, Sophie, was expecting his child and he didn’t take the news well. It’s not like Sophie put any pressure on him. In fact, letting James off the hook was the first thing she did, knowing that he never wanted anything to do with kids. James still didn’t feel good about the whole matter. He was nervous, he was mopey, he was irritated, he just felt bad all the time.

That’s when Charlie decided to invite James to come along to Ireland with her. She and Kieran had pretty much just started their romance (around Christmas 2016, to be specific) and she was just about to go to Galway for the first time as his girlfriend. So she suggested to James to come along. Charlie knew that Kieran’s younger siblings would be around as well. He had mentioned it a while ago and she was excited to finally meet them.

“I don’t wanna go to Ireland.” James moaned. “Why would I want to go to a place that has even more freaks like your-”

“Shuuush.” Charlie cut him off. “I mean, you don’t have to go? I’m not forcing you but just think about it for a sec, will ya?”

“I don’t know, Chuck. Maybe. Ireland is boring, though, I’ve been there.”

“It’s not boring just ‘cause you didn’t like it, dunno, 20 years ago?”

James just went on without picking up on Charlie’s remark. “Besides, you guys are gonna be busy fuckin’ your brains out anyway. Don’t need me for that.” James made a face and looked at his friend. “I hope?”

Charlie closed her eyes. “I’m just going to ignore that.” she murmured, and a few moments later she went on. “Look, you can stay here and mope and be a pain to anyone around you. If that’s what you want, fine. Do it. If I have to answer just one of your whiny calls while I’m busy doing what you just said, though, I’m going to be seriously mad.”

“Oh, here’s a pro tip. Turn the phone off.”

“James!”

“What? It always worked for me?”

“You know what I mean!” Charlie pleaded. “Just think about it! You need a change, you need to get your mind off that thing every once in a while. Going things over and over in your head won’t get you anywhere! I know what I’m talkin’ about, I’m the queen of overthinking!”

“What do you mean by ‘whiny calls’ anyway?”

“Three days ago you called and whined to me ‘cause you didn’t get any fries with your burger. I can only imagine what happens when you get whiny about your situation again and I’m not around.”

“Fair enough.” James took a breath. “Okay, I’ll think about it!” he relented eventually and slumped back in his chair.

“Promise?”

“YES, for fuck’s sake.”

Charlie looked at James for a little while, amused and smiling.

James noticed and he groaned. “What now?!”

“Yoooou… just pretend to think about it, ‘cause we both already know you’re going, right?”

“If I say yes, will you shut up and stop staring at me like that?”

“Mhm!” Charlie nodded enthusiastically.

“Great. Yes. Everything you just said. Happy?”

“Attaboy.” Charlie laughed and now rose from her chair and grabbed her coat and handbag. “I’ll send you a screenshot of my ticket later - make sure you’ll get a seat next to mine.”

“I’m bookin’ last minute, Chuck.“ James sighed. “I’ll get what I get.”

“Just buy the airline then, it’s not like you couldn’t?”

“Don’t push it.” James murmured and he reached for his laptop. Crossing his legs and making himself comfortable in his armchair, he waited for the computer to boot.

“Alright, fine. I’ll be at the O’Learys around nine and you better have a ticket then.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, are you bossing your Irishman around like that?”

“Not yet.” Charlie smiled. “You’re more fun to boss around anyway.” She leaned down and kissed the side of James’ head.

He smiled. “Get out.”

Charlie couldn’t help but feel really statisfied with herself while leaving James’ apartment. She was certain that this trip would help him get his mind off everything and maybe even help him figure some things out. It usually worked for her. If not - well, they would still have a great time.

______________

A few weeks later, the two of them got on a plane from Boston to Dublin, pretty much at the same time the O’Connell twins were on their way to Dublin as well, going by Orla’s old car. They had just gotten back on the road after they had to take a little pit stop in Athlone because Declan kept complaining about a noise he thought the car was making and he refused to drive another mile unless someone took a look at it.

“Relax, Dipso, the guys said everything is fine!”

“But it’s still makin’ that noise!” Declan insisted. “Just get this mess of a car to Mick already! These guys probably didn’t even really look at it.”

“Oh come on, how can you even pretend to hear a noise with that shit comin’ out of the radio anyway?”

“Shit?!” Declan exclaimed, outraged. “That’s not shit?! It’s some o’ the finest thrash from Germany, mind you.”

“Yeah. Trash really puts it really well.” Orla murmured and now bent down to her bag on the floor, frantically looking for a snack.

Declan, not really keen on explaining the difference between ‘trash’ and ‘thrash’ to his sister again, especially not in a moment she obviously didn’t care about getting a lesson in Heavy Metal History, rolled his eyes and sighed, as he turned the volume down. “Oh hell, you’re in a mood?!”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Orla now moaned, although she sounded apologetic. She got back up and opened a bag of chips. “I just-” she paused and sighed, “I still don’t know what to do about Rick.”

“You promised you would try and not overthink it.” Declan groaned. “That’s why we’re sittin’ in this car, right?”

“I know, it’s just so hard to not think about it. Why can’t this shit be easy just once?”

Declan gave a dry laugh. “You askin’ me that.” he muttered and reached over to grab a handful of chips out of the bag that was sitting in his sister’s lap.

“Oh come on, you don’t have any reason to complain - whoa, careful, I don’t want no crumbs in my car! - you’re totally in the honeymoon phase with Samantha after all.”

“Shtill ain’t easy, though?” Declan spoke with his mouth full. “Shorry ‘bout the crumbsh.” he added.

“Everything’s easy in that phase. Being with Rick was so easy back then. We had the best times, I swear.” Orla recalled and smiled to herself at the thought of it.

“Uh. Can we not talk about your honeymoon phase with Rick, please?”

“Oh man, I wasn’t goin’ to go into detail.”

“Good. Chips.” Declan demanded.

Orla held the bag out to her brother. “It’s just that… I don’t know? I wish fate could give me some sort of a sign, y’know? Just a wee little clue, to point me into the right direction. Oh!” A thought crossed Orla’s mind and her face lightened up a bit. “I could really use that electronic crystal ball now. Remember? The one Ma bought me when I was a kid!”

“Aw yeah, that one had all the answers.” Declan laughed at the memory of the toy and a few of the situations the two of them had with it.

“It knew everything! My entire life depended on it! I made much better life choices when I still had it, believe me. I need it, I’m entirely fuckin’ helpless on my own!”

Still chuckling, Declan’s voice was now a little softer than before. “Just try and relax. ‘kay? You’ll figure it out eventually. Please, promise me that you will at least try to have a good time.”

Orla gave her brother a little smile and nodded.

Declan smiled back at his sister. “If all else fails, we’ll try and find you a new chrystal ball in Dublin.”

______________

“Sorry you’re stuck with only me again.” James said as he and Charlie walked their way to the pub they were supposed to meet Kieran’s siblings at.

“Ah, it’s fine. Kieran already said a few days ago that he might not make it before ten and I’m glad he at least managed to pick us up from the airport! Besides,” Charlie smiled at her best friend, “I like you. I think we’ve never been on vacation together, it was about time!”

“Yeah, I just kind of hate that I have to share you.” James admitted and he looked around a bit while he was walking, hands in his pockets. Ever since he got out of the plane, he felt a little uncomfortable. He was used to large cityscapes and the streets of Dublin appeared comparably small to him. “Holy shit, everything’s so crammed. No wonder the people here look pissed as hell.”

“No, they look pissed ‘cause you got your ‘I’m better than you!’ face on.” Charlie sighed.

“Nah, that’s my ‘What the fuck was I thinking to come here?’ face.” he corrected her. “Saving the other one for later.”

“Okay, right, that’s it. Go home, I just got sick of you.”

“You keep sayin’ that, Chuck, and it never turns out to be true.”

“Don’t push your luck, one day it might?” Charlie smiled at him.

“Yeah, sure.” James smiled back. “Alright, what’s that little shithole we’re heading at called anyway?”

“The Beehive.”

“What the fuck, man!” James cackled. “Who on earth calls their bar ‘The Beehive’? Come on. They’re asking to be made fun of!”

“Yeah, you can tell that to the owner in a second!” Charlie pointed to a little blue bar at the corner. “There it is.”

James looked into the direction his friend was pointing at. When his eyes found found the pub, he grimaced. “It’s not even black and yellow!” he called out in mock bewilderment, gesturing at the building.

“That’s probably because beehives aren’t black and yellow?”

“Really? As far as I know you don’t get hammered in beehives either and yet here we are, standing in front of a fuckin’ pub called “The Beehive”.”

Charlie looked up at James and blinked. “Why are you like this?”

“Sorry, it’s the walls. They’re closing in.”

“Oh my god. One more word and you wait outside!”

“Come on, I ain’t no fuckin’ dog?” Seeing his friend’s expression and remembering her words a little earlier, ‘Don’t push your luck!’, James decided to behave, though. “Okay, sorry. Let’s get inside. I’ll be nice, I promise.”

“As if. Just promise you’ll try and not piss the two off within the first five minutes, okay?”

“I promise.” James bit his lip. “Sorry for bein’ a cunt.” he added.

Charlie knew James was being genuine now so she decided to let it go. She wasn’t mad at him anyway, just a little irritated. Meeting family members of boyfriends always made her nervous, and this time was no exception. “It’s fine. Just go.”

The two went inside and made their way through the pub, which was much bigger than it looked from the outside. ‘This place is truly crammed’, Charlie thought to herself. People were chatting, glasses were clinking as they were passing table after table and at some point, Charlie could hear a woman’s hoarse cackling and something inside her told her they were heading into the right direction. She peeked around the next corner and spotted two people with very familiar looking raven hair sitting at one of the tables.

Charlie was still trying to think of what she would say when the young man at the table looked up from the little house of cards in front of him. Apparently he had just figured out who she was ‘cause he smiled widely now and Charlie felt her stomach flutter a bit. ‘So the killer smile runs in the family.’ she thought to herself.

“You made it!” Declan exclaimed cheerfully and now the young woman, Orla, turned around on her seat as well and looked just as happy as her brother and Charlie couldn’t help but grin back and then the two launched themselves at her, greeting her like they had known her for years already.

In a way, that was true after all.

“Of course we made it! Wouldn’t have missed this for the world!” Charlie laughed.

“We? Who’s ‘we’?” Orla asked, looking confused.

“Well-” Charlie frowned and looked behind her and when she saw the vacant space that she assumed James to be standing in, she let out an exasperated sigh and let her shoulders drop. “Gimme a second, you two, okay?”

It turned out that looking for James wasn’t necessary, though, Charlie could hear the familiar deep voice the moment she was about to head back to the front part of the pub.

“Why thanks, mate, I’ll sure think of it next time!” James called over his shoulder, and the people he was shouting at roared with laughter. “Yeeaaaah, fuck you, too.” he mumbled, never losing his grin, before he turned around and looked at his friend again. “Sorry Chuck, apparently I got ‘stranger’ plastered upon my forehead, these bozos held me-”

Startled at the sight of the two tall strangers next to Charlie, James needed a second to recollect himself.

“-held me back. For a second.” he finished, his eyes now entirely caught by the young woman with the long dark mane who was looking right back at him, her smiling blue eyes wide and curious, and her red-tinted lips slightly parted in what seemed to be pleasant surprise.

“They-”

It didn’t happen often but right at this moment, James was lost for words. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“-they, uhm. I don’t even know what- what they wanted.” He blinked and suddenly realised that he was apparently blatantly staring at the her. ‘Oh shit.’ “Sorry. Hi! I’m- I’m James.” he eventually introduced himself.

“Hi!” the woman now let out a hearty laugh. “I’m Orla.”

______________

Life sure is funny at times, Orla thought to herself.

When she had asked for a wee little clue earlier, to point her into the right direction regarding her decision whether to keep up her relationship with Rick or not, she had thought of a catchy newspaper headline, “ECONOMIC RECOVERY!”, or maybe even a manic street preacher, shouting out some ominous prophecies such as “The end is near!” but what she certainly didn’t have in mind was a six-foot-five, bespectacled Australian who had the most adorable laugh and probably the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a guy.

Kieran had mentioned James a few times before, dubbing him ‘the insufferably arrogant fucker with the funny accent’, and he had also mentioned that he would come along with Charlie this time. Judging by her brother’s descriptions and comments alone, though, Orla had already mentally prepared for dealing with a somewhat geeky little know-it-all. She certainly did not expect the handsome guy who was now sitting across her, smiling at her every so often and holding her gaze for a little while each time their eyes met, before turning to Charlie and Declan again who seemed to get along just fine on their own so they probably didn’t notice what was going on in her mind right now.

It was not like Orla hadn’t found other guys attractive before, even when her relationship was still all new and exciting. Orla had always loved the sight of a good-looking fella but that was already it, any time it happened. She would move on once she and the other guy went past each other but this time was entirely different. The thought of her and James sneaking out through the back door was awfully tempting and she couldn’t help but think about how it would feel like if she just pinned him to the next wall and had her way with him. It made her stomach flutter like she hadn’t felt it in a few years. She couldn’t do it just like that but she desperately wanted to and everything kept falling into place this evening and she could see things so clear right now that it made her wonder how she hadn’t realised it any sooner than now.

The thought of ending something just because it was no longer “new” and “exciting” had always put her off so far and Orla could never understand people who were willing to give up something safe and sound, just like that, just to relive the kick of being freshly in love while being perfectly aware that this particular feeling would fade again sooner or later. She had once made the mistake of ending a still young relationship that could’ve had potential if they had just tried and talked things through every once in a while, and it shattered her heart into a million pieces and she had sworn to herself to never let someone she loves go that easily again.

Spending time with James, Charlie and her brother like that however made her realise that the relationship with Rick hasn’t only cooled off - it had been heading nowhere for a long while now. She realised that they wanted different things and that they were at different points in their lives. They had the age gap that was sexy and exciting when it started and Rick made her feel secure and she would never not be happy about the great times they had. She realised that she was no longer willing to give up being twenty-four, though, while Rick had long settled into his comfortable thirty-nine year old life and she couldn’t even argue. She couldn’t argue when he rather wanted to stay home after a long day of work and she often found herself staying home with him because if that was the way they could spend their limited time together, it would be the way.

Orla missed being young and silly though. She missed getting tipsy with her friends. She missed the nights in the club, she missed the dancefloors and she missed the guys looking at her like James looked at her now. And it might have been just that, sure, but there was something else about him that completely drew her in. He seemed fun and easy to be with (A/N: Lol.) and Orla realised that she was dying to go on another adventure, albeit with someone else. If James would be the one she didn’t know yet but she sure wouldn’t mind giving it a try.

She had made her decision. She would spend the time in Dublin trying her best to keep things friendly and platonic for now and she would go home after the next week and break things off because it was the only fair thing to do. And then she would see what comes next.

______________

When Declan and Orla had left to get back to their hostel, James and Charlie remained sitting at their table; they had about an hour before Kieran would come and pick Charlie up and James would head back to his hotel. The twins had insisted on taking James around the town over the next few days and he had agreed although he didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into at this point. He could barely take his eyes off Orla this evening and it didn’t feel anything like he usually felt around any lady he found attractive. She had made him nervous. She had made him think of what to say and he didn’t want to leave an all too bad impression and he wasn’t used to feeling that way about someone.

“I’ll have another apple juice, please!” Charlie told the waiter and then she turned back to her friend. “So.”

“So.”

“What the heck was that about?” Charlie asked, still astounded by what she had seen happening all evening long, right at this table.

“Was… what about?” James replied, trying to look as confused as possible but of course Charlie would pick up on the circumstance of him barely saying any of the things he usually said in these situations.

“James. Please.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” he tried again, feeling pretty ridicoulous for even making the attempt but he didn’t feel like having that kind of talk now.

“No? Not at all? Alright then, I’ll let go of it.”

“Thank you.”

“Man. I could’ve sworn…”

“Huh?”

“Nah, nevermind.”

James rolled his eyes. ��You could’ve sworn what?”

“Oh nothing!” Charlie held up both her hands, as to play down the issue, but James knew it was a trick. She had never been good at this kind of stuff.

He smiled to himself. Just in a few moments from now, Charlie would make another incredibly subtle (read as: clumsy) attempt to bring the subject back up and he started counting backwards in his mind.

Ten, nine, eight…

“What a great evening, wow!”

Seven, six…

“These two are so funny, don’t you think?”

Five, four, three…

“I mean, I expected it somehow but it’s really cool now that it turned out to be true!”

Two, one…

“And, oh man, Orla’s gorgeous, right?!”

There we go.

“Oh, really now, Chuck? That’s all? Be a little creative at least.” James scoffed.

“Oh come on, just get it over with and say it. I know you better than anyone. You’ve been staring at her the whole evening and she was staring right back at you. And it wasn’t your usual hook-up-kinda-stare ‘cause I sure do know that one-”

“My what?!” James interrupted, raising an eyebrow, but Charlie ignored him.

“What was going on there?!” she now demanded to know.

“There was nothing going on!”

“James!”

“Oh well, what do you want me to say then?” James now called and people already turned around on their seats, looking at the two of them and James would’ve loved to just call out a heartfelt ‘What are you lookin’ at?!’ right back at them but he decided against it.

He took a deep breath instead. “Chuck? What am I supposed to say? Huh?”

“That you fell for her right on the spot! You know what? You don’t even have to say it. It was plain obvious.”

“So?”

“‘So?’ ?? Kieran said she has a boyfriend.”

“Then why the fuck are we even having this conversation?”

“Kieran also said that things aren’t looking that well and she came here to think everything through.” Charlie shrugged. “And from what I’ve seen this evening, that relationship might no longer be a problem.”

James just let out a dry laugh this time.

“I’m serious!” Charlie tried again. “Look, I get it, okay? Relationships are not your thing. I know. You told me a million times and I know you got so used to your Poor Troubled Boy persona at this point-”

“What was that?” It was almost a whisper; James stared at Charlie in disbelief, not quite knowing whether he should just get up and leave or brush that remark off with a laugh.

Charlie knew she had just gone too far. “Oh crap, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, it’s fine! Not like I don’t get you?”

“James, I’m sorry-”

“You’re happy, so everyone else has got to be happy as well? No matter what? Is that what you want? Maybe I should just, I dunno, how do you happy people call it, jump into it? Forget about everything that’s going on? About why I fuckin’ came here in first place, the thing I’m desperately trying to get my mind off? I got news for you, Chuck, I didn’t get my mind off it and I got an entirely new thing on my mind instead now which is just great because you and I both know how good I am at dealing with shit!”

“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that comin’ out like it did.”

James let out a sigh. He knew Charlie didn’t mean any harm and he usually liked her occasional moments of sass but it was the wrong thing to say in the wrong moment. Still, he could tell she was feeling bad about it and he wasn’t mad at her. He was actually happy for her because she never had to look at these things from his perspective.

“I know you didn’t.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting to see you happy, though?”

“I was!” James insisted. “I mean, I was on a good way, until that thing happened.”

Charlie now rolled her eyes. “Oh god, I know I’m not really in the position to be cranky with you right now but could you please stop calling it ‘the thing’? You’re going to be a father, just say it.”

“No?” James retorted, feeling a small wave of panic come up again.

“Calling it ‘the thing’ is not going to stop it from happening, James.”

“You don’t know that?”

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at the tone James’ voice had taken now. She knew it wasn’t funny and seeing him struggle made her feel bad for him but sometimes he was nothing short of adorable. “I always loved how you can switch from ‘almost reasonable adult’ to ‘toddler’ within a second.”

She now reached for his hand over the table.

“It’s a gift from the gods.”

For a few moments, the two merely looked at each other.

“Are we good?” Charlie now asked.

“We’re always good.” James said, squeezing Charlie’s hand a little before letting it go again. “And you’re right. She’s awesome, she’s fun, she’s fuckin’ gorgeous. And she’s everything I could ever dream of if I wasn’t, y’know, me.”

“You have such a noble mind, Hoffman.” Charlie mocked. “So it won’t trouble you at all, spending time with her the next week, just like that?”

“Not at all.”

“Good to know.”

______________

It was the best and the worst week that each James and Orla ever had to spend. There was hoping on both sides that it was just a little instant crush happening that last night, caused by the sheer surprise of the moment but it turned out that they still felt drawn to each other the next day and that the feeling grew stronger with every other day passing.

It was somehow a good thing that Declan happened to be around as well. James found the guy really entertaining and he was a fun distraction, for sure. He wondered whether he knew about his inofficial role as a chaperon and if he had maybe even willingly taken it or if he just somehow went along with the situation. He was sure good at keeping Orla and him from getting too close, though. He kept interrupting in the right moments and ruining the mood by saying these entirely weird things sometimes.

It was for the better and that way the week ended up being a very fun week at least. The three occasionally met up with Charlie and Kieran in the pub for an hour or two and James couldn’t help but feel entirely comfortable around the O’Connell siblings and it was something he felt about Orla from the first moment on. She was someone to come home to. She was like a fire and not the scorching and destructive kind of fire but the really warm and alluring kind. On top of that, she was outspoken, smart and fun, and he liked that she wasn’t afraid of making a fool out of herself which made her just as entertaining as her twin brother and so it happened that James fell in love just like that, like he had never expected he would and it felt amazing and terrible at the same time and on their last evening together, when Declan had just left, the two of them sat alone in the pub, only having eyes for each other but still somehow maintaining an appropriate distance.

“How come you don’t go by any nickname anyway?” Orla inquired, pulling another cigarette out of the package.

James watched her closely and while he didn’t care for smoking at all, Orla had some class, for sure. She probably wasn’t even aware of it herself but there was something so elegant about her that James couldn’t help but admire.

“’Cause all the nicknames for ‘James’ are bullshit.” he eventually said.

“Aw, don’t say that? I know a Jim and he ain’t too bad?” Orla took a drag, then grimaced. “Granted, I wouldn’t wanna sleep with him but I guess he’s nice enough?”

“My point exactly! The Jims in this world never get laid. Anyone think of a Jim and they automatically have that suburb dad type in mind. No one ever looks at a Jim, let alone a Jimbo, and be like ‘Sure, I’d blow him.’”

“You… put a lot of thought into that, didn’t you?” Orla raised an eyebrow.

‘Great. Keep talking like that. She’ll think of you as the worst creep ever.’ James thought to himself. ‘On the other hand - that would kinda solve the problem here.’

“Nah, I’m just talkin’ shit to somebody I shouldn’t be talkin’ shit to.” James now smiled.

“I just based the likability of a person on whether I would sleep with them or not. Guess that’s just as shitty. I’m- I’m actually really not like that, believe me.” Orla laughed and she suddenly seemed a little nervous.

“We should probably drop the subject, anyway. Might give me ideas.”

Orla let out another nervous chuckle. “Oh. Really.”

‘Oh my god. I am officially the worst.’ “No! I mean. Yes? No, I mean. Fuck. It’s not just that. I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna come off creepy.”

“You didn’t!” Orla replied quickly. “I was… I dunno, I was already wondering whether I was just seeing things the entire last week or-”

“No. No, you weren’t.” James took a ragged breath now. He could feel his heart beating really fast. “Thing is, if it wasn’t for the entire situation, I’d ask you out in a heartbeat.”

“Really?” Orla now smiled. It was one of her warm smiles James liked so much. Almost a bit shy, which made it even more adorable.

“Of course. Seriously, what’s not to love?”

“Well, I think I do have to take care of something first, once I’m back home…?” Biting her lip, Orla looked down at her glass, then back up at James. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not just that, actually. Honestly, I wouldn’t even think twice if it was just that.”

“Oh wow, you seemed like a decent fella until now? Orla now joked.

“Trust me. I’m not.” James smiled right back at her.

“Ah, cue the ‘I’m not good enough for you!’ speech. Bring it on, I’m dying to hear it. Don’t make it too sappy, though. Keep it authentic, then I’ll enjoy.”

She had just done it again - James couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “I’m definitely not good enough but no. No speech. It’s just that I got shit on my mind as well. It’s some really weird shit and I just- I dunno, I just can’t. Not yet, not right now, maybe not ever.”

“Okay? But… if it wasn’t for that weird shit… you would…”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’d definitely want to.”

“Well then. Maybe we should loosen you up a little the next time we meet.” Orla teased. “You might want to swap that Soda for a beer or two.”

“Ah. Guess not.”

“You don’t drink? Like, never?”

“Used to. Never liked the aftertaste.”

“Oh well, whatever strikes your fancy, eh?” Orla smiled and James was relieved that she apparently didn’t get the true meaning of the statement.

Orla now looked up to the clock over the bar. “Okay, so it’s almost eleven… I think they’re about to close and I should probably get some sleep anyway. I’ll be the one driving home, so…”

James merely nodded and called the waiter to their table. He paid the bill for the two of them and they got up and left the bar. It was pretty cold outside and Orla buttoned up her coat.

“So, this is a temporary goodbye then?” she smiled up at James.

“Come on. Like you’re gonna walk the way back to the hostel alone. I don’t think so?”

“Declan did?”

“Declan is tall and scary.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Orla sounded amused.

“Look, I’d really feel better if you didn’t walk that way back all by yourself.”

“Oh, no no no, don’t think I don’t dig your little moment of chivalry? Gives me some more time with you after all!”

“That’s the spirit.”

The two walked the way back together and it wasn’t a long way but, as Orla had said, it gave them a bit more time. Only a bit but it was better than nothing at all.

“Here we are.” Orla now shrugged. “I guess I could’ve walked this way all by myself. No scary guys in bushes, waiting to launch themselves at me.”

“The creeps are still there, they just got better at hiding.” James replied, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“You’re adorable. Thinking the world is out to get you and all.”

“I hate to burst your bubble but the world is out to get you. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen.”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I have seen and heard either. It’s not like I don’t know what Kieran does for a living?” Orla replied. “I just don’t wanna live like that, y’know. Thinking about what could happen all the time. I could never leave my apartment again, let alone find some joy in life.”

“Alright, I know. I wasn’t tryin’ to be a smartass or somethin’.” James laughed. “I’m glad you left your apartment.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“My offer still holds, y’know. Come back soon, loosen up and give me a call.”

Half serious, half joking, Orla looked up at James and took a step forward. They were pretty close now, facing each other.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“So it’s really goodbye for now.” Orla bit her lip again.

“Guess it is. Just for the record and in case I haven’t told you yet… I had a great time.” James now smiled really sweetly at her and Orla’s heart skipped a beat.

“So did I.” she said softly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

For being you. For letting me be me. “Just… thank you. Okay? We’re having a moment here, don’t ruin it.”

“You’re talkin’ about having a moment and I’m not even getting a hug now?”

“Yeah, well… I might not just.. hug you.”

“Oh, I see.” Pressing her lips into a thin line, Orla nodded, apparently understanding the issue but in the next moment, she was lightly tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You know what? I think I can take that risk.”

“Oh thank god.” James smiled again and now leaned in for that kiss he couldn’t have put off for very much longer at this point anyway and Orla returned it and for a minute or maybe five, there were no things on their minds but the thing that was just happening right here between them and when they eventually parted, Orla gave James another smile before she turned around and walked inside and he remained standing there, making sure she would get inside safely, looking up at the few windows that were still lit, secretly hoping she would give him a last look and feeling silly for the thought alone but he didn’t quite care.

He knew he would go back to being his good old self in a bit and pick up his somewhat messed-up-again life very soon but for a moment, for a really short little moment, his world had shined in the brightest colours and he would take the moment with him because man, did it feel great.

***

#orla x james #orla #james #charlie

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sunnysynthsunshine · 7 years ago

Text

San-Soho (The Young Ones/Black Mirror)

note: even though there are meta-references to the actors playing these characters (Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson) the characters are still the same, even if they have similar appearances as their actors outside of the “san soho” realm.

Some dialogue I have added in myself, but the rest of the fanfic’s format was based on the original script of the Black Mirror episode San Junipero written by Charlie Brooker and directed by Owen Harris) they own the concept,and (The Young Ones was written by Ben Elton,Rik Mayall and Lise Mayer, Directed by Paul Jackson,Geoff Posner and Ed Bye, with the characters belonging to the actors who played them).

Britain's equivalent to San Junipero is San Soho

(when Rick Pratt wanders San Soho he meets a punk called Vyvyan as their lives change forever)

(this is also mainly told from Rick's perspective)

Chapter 1

The year was 1985

Walking along the sidewalk of neon sparkling Soho was the sarcastic but socially timid Rick Pratt,

A young man in his early 20s he was dressed quite plainly

He experienced 1985 before this was one of those many times

He decided to visit the local nightclub

He had a loose grey shirt, black badge covered blazer and red boots on, not usual nightclub attire but he wasn't really a party person so he focused on Pac-man which he was not good at

when suddenly he saw a beautiful orange-haired man in a trihawk dancing on the dance floor to The Clash.

Rick tried to ignore the punk but he noticed him

“Oi!”

He tried to run off but the punk kept gesturing to him moving his head in his direction when he wasn't moshing

“Wanna join”

“Pardon?” Rick said unable to sense the gesture due to the loud atmosphere

“Right” the punk mumbled before he ran over to Rick and dragged him to the dance floor to join him

“You're going to enjoy this” the punk shouted before Rick started to mosh

Swaying his body in an animated fashion like that of a vintage cartoon character

The crowd was crashing like a wave except covered in spike studs and band logos

Rick felt like a stammering Ian Curtis as he clambered making sure he didn't hit anyone

He ended up clambering with that punk from earlier.

Part of Rick wanted to enjoy this cool “rebellious” activity but the other felt like he was ruining the event simply by being there.

He felt uneasy he didn't want anyone thinking anything weird was going on.

Rick was unsure about the concept of moshing but tried to continue anyway.

Chapter 2

When the song was over he left the dance floor he felt a bit embarrassed he could feel his nerves acting up so he just sipped his lemonade and walked out the fire escape door.

The punk from before caught up with him “Why are you running away?” he asked

Rick made an awkward smile “Sorry I’m not into *moshing*”

The Punk answered back “No shit you were like the world’s most stiff giraffe back there”

Rick was going to walk off only for the punk to say “I was taking the piss...obviously”

“I’m Vyvyan, sorry for forcing you to mosh with me, I only get to do these on Saturday nights

Rick sat on a low wall

“It wasn't that Everyone was looking at us crash into each other”

Vyvyan tilted his head “Why would they care?”

Rick made a couple miming gestures with his hands

“You know? two blokes grinding into each other like cheese graters”

Vyvyan lit a cigarette and smoked it

“Okay: one, there’s not as many uptight tory folks here as there used to be, and two,

This is a punk part of town nobody’s judging here”

“You want one?” he offered as he leaned over holding his lighter to where Rick was sitting

Rick nodded as he also took a cigarette

Vyvyan spoke again “if they were staring it’s because they were intimidated by me sod em”

Rick chuckled “your such a stupid fascist you know that?”

Vyvyan smirked proudly “Thank you”

Rick looked at the sky “I’ve never moshed before”

Vyvyan stared at him surprised “Never, as in you’ve never gotten a gang of mates to just destroy the dance floor to Iron Maiden?”

Rick shook his head “Never I’d usually listen to punk rock music alone

Living in a right-wing house that was frowned upon, tattoos, androgyny the whole lot

Vyvyan was shocked “What are you a hermit? that’s one drab existence you’ve got there”

Rick shrugged

“They vote the pigs, the officers attack people like rabid dogs I want to be a revolutionary Anarchist poet but I can’t do much else they worship thatch like she’s God outside of literature I’m politically pathetic”

Rick looked down when Vyvyan sat next to him

“Yeah, Well. No one knows about half the shit I’ve done, like Riding a motorbike up someone's staircase”

“With your folks, they come from a different place on the political spectrum tories will always be nasty in my eyes”

“Yep I agree with you there, it doesn't help to have no mates, they simply don’t understand concepts like shyness, trust issues or anxiety

I get panic attacks sometimes around crowds and what they say is just deal with it.

“from past social experiences I’ve had to repress many things depressive episodes, nerves and flashbacks just because I don’t want to bother others or bring the mood down”

“I always feel weird when put into lively situations but that’s because I haven’t gotten the chance to fully express myself in that way”

Rick kicked his legs against a wall when Vyvyan looked at him

“What would you like to do that you’ve never done before?”

Rick smiled “Oh so many things I’d like to go to concerts, I’d like to perform for people, I’d like to, I’d’ like to

Vyvyan put his finger on Rick’s lips “Soho is the party hub of London might as well nick all the time we have left while we still can”

They went to fortune tellers, they went to thrift shops, they bought some “magazines” and they checked out the local comic strip club seeing the likes of French and Saunders, Alexi Sayle and Peter Richardson and Nigel Planer onstage telling jokes.

Rick and Vyvyan then ran off to a pub where they got completely sloshed usually Rick would be able to hold his lager but when “Come On Eileen” was playing on the radio Vyvyan had thrown him into his arms as they danced until after a few more minutes Rick was getting tired and Vyvyan was getting bored “Boring bastard” he mumbled angrily as he grabbed Rick’s sleepy face shoving his head into the cake that was in front of him.

Rick cheerfully said, “Hey Vyv this is like Laurel and Hardy or do you prefer Chaplin?”

This ramble of questions cascaded into Vyvyan yelling “Shut Up!” in Rick’s face

Rick was suddenly silent he was probably asleep but then Vyv remembered what he said about mental health before as he quietly carried Rick over his shoulder driving him back to his place in his yellow Ford Anglia.

At Vyvyan’s house, he let Rick relax on his sofa covered in his universal monster themed blanket

He was about to mumble “I’m sorry” when Rick suddenly awoke to scoff “You bloody fascist” pointing his finger at Vyvyan aggressively before he threw a tantrum “You got your hands over me How dare you! And to think you thought you’d get a snog from me”

Vyvyan was annoyed but not annoyed enough to get violent so he chased Rick around the room

There was a short intermission from the fight when Vyvyan accidentally turned on his record player making the Cliff Richard hit “Living Doll” play which made Rick pause going into a dream-like trance badly singing out of tune

it was not long until they were both yelling “Virgin” at each other while pillow fighting.

However, because of the fun “fight” as they were no longer angry they were laughing

When Rick’s pigtails were undone Rick then pulled at Vyvyan’s hair leaving orange hair dye stains on Rick’s shirt

What started off as a chase around the house, dancing and pillow fighting resulted in Vyvyan trying to playfully choke Rick only for him to aggressively hug Vyvyan in return

After the snog and shag was over

Rick innocently licked his lips “I’ve never done anything like that before”

Vyvyan smirked “All the more reason” as he unlocked the handcuffs from his bed

Rick hesitated “you're a lovely bloke. I can’t”

Vyvyan shrugged “Alright then”

Rick stumbled over his words “you see -I?”

Vyvyan nodded “I understand”

Rick looked at the time and scrambled to get his clothes on before he was about to dash outside “I have to go”

Vyvyan stared “in this crap weather?”

Rick shouted back “It’s been great to meet you”

Chapter 3

He shook Vyvyan’s hand before he left

Later in the early morning, Rick was looking around his wardrobe for different outfits

He tried a green suit but it didn't work, he tried a basic shirt with a tie and jeans that didn't work, he even tried a blue and red anorak but that didn't work so he just had to settle with his pair of yellow dungarees.

A few days later at the same club, they met at Vyvyan tried to talk to Rick but he was talking to someone was that Peter Richardson’s son he was with?

He wandered into the restrooms that Rick had went off to he surprisingly still had his pigtails in

They said nothing

Rick looked in the mirror his hands on his cheeks unhappy a fake smile projected on his face amongst the red lip balm smudged under his lips

“I don’t know how to do this”

Vyvyan was confused “do what?”

Rick whined “Just help me can’t you just”

He settled “It’s like talking to a bloody hologram”

Vyvyan looked down and then back at Rick’s upset face he smiled

“You want to get in my car?”

Vyvyan raced his Ford Anglia down the highway the street looking like it was a 1980s music video

Rick asked, “How long have you been here?”

Vyvyan answered, “In Soho?”

Rick nodded

Vyvyan thought for a while

“ a couple months but the main thing is I’m planning to enjoy myself before I finally pop my clogs...guess I’m a lurking wanker like you”

Rick chuckled “Yeah”

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Chapter 4

Vyv’s car suddenly ended up in the upcoming lane luckily they prevented danger as the car skidded to a halt

“SHIT!” Rick yelled

Vyvyan started erupting into laughter his gravelly nasally voice being more loud than the traffic

“Your face”

They then went back round to Vyvyan’s place to have another shag even though outside of the dream system version of Soho Rick and Vyvyan were virgins

They then chatted about their past loves Rick apparently once had a big crush on a Scottish makeup artist and they remembered about when they watched the comic strip days before that Vyvyan and Jennifer Saunders were making subtle body language to each other.

Rick then remembered not only were they in the simulated afterlife of Soho but they were fictional characters with vague memories of the meta actors who played them in real life

He looked at the clock and then remembered something dark,something secret something Vyvyan should never know.

“I’m just going to party and nothing is going to stop me not Tories and definitely not that facist God”

Rick then walked off in a huff

Vyvyan continued to enjoy life in Soho without Rick but that was hard

A few days later and Soho looks like it’s in the 2000s

Vyvyan walked into the night club while Feel Good Inc by the Gorillaz played in the background

Vyvyan could see Rick with his hair down in more “Emo” attire playing dance dance revolution only for him to stop when he noticed Vyvyan.

Vyvyan started hounding Rick with questions in the restroom

“Wait a minute I’ve been looking for you why did you piss off like that?”

Rick was irritated “Why are you here?”

Vyvyan shouted “Why did you hide from me?”

Rick ran off some people could notice when Vyvyan saw that Rick was on the roof of the nightclub

Vyvyan ran up to where Rick was “Please tell me your pain slider is turned down”

Rick moved his eyebrows “Maybe,Maybe not”

Before he walked away “I’m not going to jump”

Vyvyan sighed looking down and then back at Rick “Look I’m sorry alright,I’m a lurker too I-I

Rick felt solemn “I don’t know how long there is,I wasn't prepared for this I wanted to…”

Vyvyan shut him up with a kiss

They had another passionate night in Vyvyan’s place but then the unpleasant question was mentioned again

Rick exhaled “I have 3 months”

Vyvyan whined “Why? I’ll have nobody to play fight with at the pub every night nobody to have slapstick arguements with it’s not going to be the same”

Rick explained “my real life self, he was married he had kids,he had a happy life he entertained many but then he took a tumble on a quadbike and lost part of his spark eventually that caught up with him and he’s in the afterlife now I’m still around because I’m a fictional entity he created but like with imaginary friends I’m fading the more I’m forgotten I don’t want the same fate"

Vyvyan started to sob “Don’t leave me this way”

Rick smiled at him “I’m dying the people’s poet is dying nothing but that scares me”

Vyvyan whimpered “I want to visit you,let me say hi”

Rick again walked off the time changed from 11:59 to 12:00

Later a more grown up Vyvyan arrived at a hospital

he now had glasses and was balding looking like an old man he was taken to a private room where Rick was quietly resting he was a lot more older than before he looked like he was in his 40s or 50s.

he looked at Rick for a moment

“It’s time for you to pass over and me soon probably”

He shrugged,

Vyvyan then took out a ring and put it onto Rick’s frail finger

As he was given the device to transport him and Rick back to Soho

After a few days, he did the same

It was a sunny day in early March when in Soho Vyvyan parked his car near the seaside as he ran over to rick who was folding his hands happily,

“Miss me?”

Vyvyan was lost for words “Of course I bloody missed you Happy Birthday” he shouted as he aggressively hugged Rick in an embrace as they ran along the seaside chasing each other like old times.

The End~

(dedicated to the late great pan global phenomenon,Lord of Misrule and Peoples Poet) Rik Mayall (1958-2014) (The Future is as bright as you make it, Love is the answer~!)

#black mirror #the young ones #rivyvyan #rick and vyvyan #rick pratt #vyvyan basterd #fanfic #fanfiction #san junipero #rik mayall #ade edmondson #1980s #rick x vyvyan #m/m

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ignis-et-equi · 7 years ago

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I think it’s time to write.

A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and his wife broke up. It was a devastating surprise to everyone involved. I haven’t really talked to anyone about it except for a very select handful of people for fear of being asked, “Do you think it might have had something to with your relationship with him?” They have both stated on multiple occasions that the break up had nothing to do with me. For the sake of their privacy, that’s the only detail that pertains to me, and thus the only one I’m going to share here.

In lieu of this, I have been giving as much emotional support as I can muster from 2,000 miles away. Now that things are starting to settle down a bit, all of the emotions that didn’t strong arm themselves out of me in the midst of the crisis are now presenting themselves. As a result, I broke down sobbing for about an hour over the smallest little thing and those emotions just started snowballing.

I absolutely adore my boyfriend, and I’m more than delighted that I’m allowed to be apart of the healing process. That being said, I haven’t been handling my emotions for a very long time, much before I met him. I shove them down, choke on the tears, and keep moving forward until I just can’t anymore. Then I have a sobbing panic attack, do some self destruction or some self care, and continue on until the next break down. It’s a vicious cycle.

I find that I am perpetually frustrated with my life and never where I want to be. Being a rennie was my ultimate goal since I was 18 and I fucked it up. I didn’t live in the present. I was constantly focused on the future, the past, anything other than what I was currently doing. I look back on the pictures I took and remember how I felt in those moments. Those feelings were not pleasant, even at Central Park, the mountains of Colorado, the forests of Texas and Georgia, snowfall in Central New York. I was so depressed the entire time I was on the road, I contemplated suicide on multiple occasions.

But I do remember the good things, like putting my feet in the creak at Helen Hunt Falls, standing under the falls at Niagara, painting in the sword shop alone listening to a podcast, eating the best Vietnamese pho and spring rolls in the south and in NYC, meeting my best friends for the first time, a compliment from a customer about how beautiful my eyes are, watching Rick and Morty while stoned with my joust family, watching my jouster boss beat Charlie Andrews in the 2017 Sherwood Forest joust tournament, picking fresh black berries and watching my friend’s face light up as she tried on for the first time.

Yeah, I had some good memories, and I could have had more if I’d just let myself be and enjoyed my life instead of continuously worry about what people were thinking of me.

With this most recent drama, I’ve rediscovered what I want my life to be. I want to see the world, meet people, learn from them, educate them, discover more ways to effectively communicate, no matter the boundaries. I want to develop myself into the kind of person that doesn’t need to give a shit what other people think because I know that I’m doing the best I can and things that make me happy, like making amazing memories and creating lively stories.

I started aimlessly back in December with my mental health, and that seems to have helped tremendously, but there’s still work to be done with that. (The problem is that I’m better, but my idea of better doesn’t necessarily mean that there can’t still be improvement to be made.) Then I got a job and maintained my streak of increasing my hourly wage with each job I’ve taken. I took another step by biting the bullet and getting myself on birth control, a goal I’ve been procrastinating on since I was 18, that was actually a lot easier to handle than I thought it would be.

After all of that, I was planning to make a trip to Ontario, but that appears to be a non-option now. Once I realized that my trip had become nearly impossible to pursue, I began to feel aimless again. Not having a goal makes my anxiety and depression so much worse. I begin to spiral into my intrusive thoughts telling me I’m useless, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll never be Satisfied. (Oh, Angelica, is this why I love you so much?)

To combat this, I’ve begun looking into jobs in other countries that can be obtained without a bachelor’s degree. Been looking into Teaching English as a Foreign Language jobs as well as USAjobs.gov for civilian, military-related international work. The prospect of living outside of the US in a new and unfamiliar place is exhilarating. Hell, even the long ass plane rides and the idea of packing makes me happy. This idea has me looking up how to make small investments (considering I’ll be sitting on $3k by the end of August) and into details of other countries in Europe and Asia mostly.

My one hang up is my mother. This is the 8th month of this round of cancer, which we were told in November would be terminal and that we should pursue palliative care. Every three weeks since she was diagnosed, aside from a few long stays in the hospital, she has gone in for chemo. Today was the first chemotherapy session where they decided not to do it because they believe the cancer has shrunk enough that immuno-therapy may be all it takes to keep her going. This is excellent news considering her death prediction. But when I first heard the news, I couldn’t get excited. And then it dawned on me. If she gets better and can maintain her health and well-being, then I am free to pursue my dreams of travel. Which is terrifying. Holy shit.

So I’m left with the unresolved emotions of the break up (sadness, anger, grief, overwhelming love and compassion), the joy my lovely boyfriend brings to me, the excitement of realizing my hopes and dreams again, the anxiety of pursuing those dreams, and the depression that seeps in whenever I fail at something or fear that I’m going to fail.

I really need a therapist equipped to advice a polyamory, bisexual, BDSM-loving, agnostic woman.

#mental health #mental illness #fuck cancer #poly #polyamory #polyamourous #polyamorous #polyamoury #words #6.11.2018

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interesting-blog-name · 5 years ago

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Denzel Curry MEGAREVIEW (ZUU/13LOOD IN + 13LOOD OUT MIXX/ UNLOCKED [w/ Kenny Beats])

Denzel Curry is a rapper I’ve known about since I started listening to the genre back in 2017, and one I’ve always enjoyed for the consistent energy he brought to every song he made. TABOO was one of the first records I listened to in its entirety (I wasn’t the type to go out of my way to listen to an album), and looking back at it, it was very ambitious, energetic, well-assembled, but did have its flaws and weaker moments. The production and Denzel’s voice were definitely highlights, but the lyrics and subject matter were sometimes lost in the midst of all the focused chaos of the album, even if more conceptual and deep tracks were to be found, such as the introductory title track, BLACK BALLOONS immediately after, one of my favorites, and THE BLACKEST BALLOON.

My younger ears were very fond of the grimy, bass-heavy music scene Denzel was closely related to as well, Florida rap’s punk-influenced, aggressive Soundcloud wave, which brought artists like XXXTENTACION, Lil Pump and the subject of this review to the spotlight. I was extremely drawn to the raw violence in the sound, and part of me still really enjoys it, a style very present in Denzel’s short but blunt and potent EP, 13. This familiarity and appreciation I had with his music were what brought me to listen to these three very short projects that I’d been holding back for quite a while.

ZUU

Starting up with Denzel’s ode to his land, ZUU is definitely a change of pace to TABOO; the Florida native mixes his unmatched essence, flows and deliveries, masterful production and the traditional song topics and sometimes structures and samples from his homeland, into a tight, creative and, above all, fun project. Anyone can represent where they’re from in a rap song, but few could do it as creatively and interestingly as Denzel.

The production in this album is definitely a highlight: mostly handled by Australian duo FnZ, famous for working with A$AP Rocky in many occasions, Finatik and Zac, alongside familiar names such as Ronny J, Charlie Heat and Tay Keith, add a fresh, dynamic beat for every song they produce in ZUU, while still possessing an unmistakable texture and style to their production. The album is most definitely focused in its intended sound, ranging from the boiling title track, BIRDZ, or P.A.T. (probably one of Denzel’s most aggressive tracks ever), to the blissful WISH, or the less bombastic, but insanely catchy gospel-like SPEEDBOAT.

The only problem I have with the beats is they sometimes seem to be mixed weirdly; the higher decibels feel like they are mixed too loud on CARLOMART and SHAKE 88, which leads to some ear-piercing moments. Nothing that can’t be tolerated though.

The lyrics, again, are not a highpoint in the project. With the production and delivery present, they’d barely even have space to be so amazing or cutting edge. While Denzel deals with loss, overcoming his broke days, and even pays a very nice homage to his family in RICKY, the punchlines are not exactly groundbreaking, and they’ll let out a chuckle from the listener at best, and at worst, form a track like SHAKE 88, dwelling into the complex subject matter of twerking. I understand the why for a track like this, but it’s not like it’s executed well, as the beat is easily the most forgettable in here, and Denzel’s lyrics are way too oversimplified. But when Denzel has to deliver catchy and banging hooks and witty one-liners, he mostly delivers, and that’s what matters.

Still, you can tell Denzel’s song topics come from the heart when rapping about his upbringing and the environment he grew up in, such as in the second verse of AUTOMATIC. The features he brings are all from his state, from the legendary Rick Ross to upcomers PlayThatBoiZay and Kiddo Marv, and the features are some of the strongest parts of the album, as Denzel has such a nice chemistry with all of them that adds a lot to the songs, from Ice Billion Berg’s banging chorus (although it does become a little annoying when his vocals are pitched up) to PlayThatBoiZay’s raging verse, to even Rick Ross’ surprisingly fitting rapping, adding a smooth veteran touch to the very young, wild and free BIRDZ.

A very nice surprise in this album was Denzel’s singing and his hooks, as both has blatantly improved over time. While he’s no stranger to delivering a few chorus melodies in tracks such as Sick & Tired off of Imperial, the vocals don’t come close to those in the title track and WISH, and the hooks in both of the mentioned tracks, BIRDZ and SPEEDBOAT are phenomenal.

ZUU is a nice, clean and raw portrait of Florida, and that is exactly what it aims to be. While the album does get weaker at its second half, with skits that take up just a little too much time on a very short project and weaker tracks when compared to the insanity that was the first half, it is still very enjoyable for what it is: an explosive tape filled with bangers.

FAVORITE TRACKS: ZUU, BIRDZ, RICKY, WISH, P.A.T.

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: SHAKE 88

7.9/10

“That was back in Carol City, yeah, when I was just a jit, with the all-black faded Dickie with the raider fit. That was it, we was lit, y’all wasn’t even shit yet. We was Three 6, Wu-Tang mixed with Dipset.”

13LOOD 1N + 13LOOD OUT MIXX

Between these three, this was actually the first tape I listened to, and it is definitely the most aggressive Denzel’s been in a while. The mix is made in such a way to merge every song together into one big collection, so there’s not much of an option to listen to tracks by themselves, unless you don’t mind the abrupt beginnings and endings in every track.

Overall, this is obviously much more of a simple compilation, meant to showcase previously unreleased material, than an actual tape, as CHARLIE SHEEN, for example, was recorded back in 2018. Thus, the project isn’t meant to be taken as seriously, and isn’t even on Spotify, but I’ll still review it.

The most glaring problem I have with 13LOOD 1N + 13LOOD OUT is the fact that every single track is lo-fi, and it isn’t pleasing to me. I don’t know why the people behind the project would make the decision to tone every aspect of the production down and have it sound like the music is coming from an old phone’s speaker, but if you ask me, it surely takes away more than it offers.

The problem with toning the sound down is that the tracks could have been SO much harder if only the volume and mixing was normal. CHARLIE SHEEN’s chorus is seriously insane, Ghostemane’s feature doesn’t disappoint, EVIL TWIN has a very nice dark vibe to it and ZillaKami unsurprisingly fits the track perfectly, and WELCOME TO THE FUTURE has some of Denzel’s nicest singing ever, with what seems to be two different-pitch vocals stacked on top of one another, creating this very eerie but mellow melody; however, all of these tracks suffer from being mixed too low, especially EVIL TWIN: the track sounds like an Instagram snippet.

The other tracks in the project aren’t as memorable due to the fact that, without spicy features, Denzel’s solo work aren’t much more than appetizers, snippets that happened to find their way into here. NO PEN NO PAD has a very nice, unique beat, but that’s about it for the three tracks where Denzel raps alone. GOGETA is a track that wouldn’t be out of place in Act 3 of TABOO, the AK feature is nice, but Denzel isn’t super crazy on this one.

To me, it serves as a nice darker, more compact project by Denzel, with strong production and deliveries all around, not much in lyrical content - although I’ll say he has more freedom than in ZUU for wilder, meaner punchlines, as this project doesn’t focus as much on hooks and repetitions -and the features tie up the mix in a very nice way, but after the last project, what we’re left with is not as purely explosive and exciting, even if not lacking in creativity and vision.

The project’s highlights are the first three proper tracks, and after that, the listener just glides through a few impressive, but very barebones tracks until coming to a close with a relatively hard track, but unfortunately, as complained before, the mixing is not on 13LOOD 1N + 13LOOD OUT’s side.

FAVORITE TRACKS: CHARLIE SHEEN, WELCOME TO THE FUTURE

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: PXSH6XD SHXT

6.66/10

“All you niggas green, I don’t make a scene. Boy you half a man, I should’ve called you Charlie Sheen.”

UNLOCKED (w/ Kenny Beats)

Kenny Beats has had a very successful run as a producer in rap for the past 2 or 3 years, rising to popularity working alongside artists like Rico Nasty, JPEGMAFIA, Vince Staples, and many other bubbling names. His style of production is glitchy, often aggressive, but also versatile and catchy, so a collab album with Denzel was bound to be something to look forward to.

UNLOCKED was released along with a 20-minute long music video that obviously isn’t the main focus of this review, but I’ll talk about it anyway. It portrays a very light-hearted, simple but colorful narrative of the duo voyaging into Kenny’s laptop to recover the leaked songs from the album, going through a different landscape for each track, with different art-styles and themes along the way. I will say the sequence for ‘Cosmic’.m4a is easily the most intense and is very well animated, but I also liked the clips for Track 01, Take_it_Back_v2, and Pyro (leak 2019). It’s a bunch of nice little visuals to accompany and give somewhat of a background and concept for the tape.

The tape and tracks themselves, in my opinion, are enjoyable, but nothing crazy. Kenny Beats’ production is solid throughout, but it is very fortunate this album is only 18 minutes, because it ends up sounding too one-dimensional when paired with Denzel’s verses. Don’t get me wrong, they are all great performances and I fully respect the decision to go purely with a more lyrical-focused, boom bap direction, but to me, it isn’t a style that can hold up for long without any experimentation or change in tone/beat.

Every track here has Denzel nonstop rapping throughout the whole tracks, without one melodic detour like became common in his last two studio albums; the hooks are still a strong central point in all songs except for Pyro, with the most notable ones in the tracks Lay_Up.m4a, DIET_ and So.Incredible.pkg. On the other songs, the chorus sounds just like the rest of the bars Denzel spits in his verses, except repeated like two times. On one hand it is a very focused and to-the-face project, while on the other, just a little bit of variety would have been more than welcome, especially since it’s a Denzel album, and I know he isn’t a stranger to it. The black sheep of the beats in the album is definitely its biggest song, DIET_, with its bongo, jungle percussion that is reflected in its music video. The headliner to this track, though, is Denzel’s DMX-inspired inflictions in the chorus, as he utilizes his recognizable raspy, growling voice, which isn’t used nearly enough in this album, him opting for a cleaner, more precise delivery.

The instrumentals in the project are very glitchy and creative with their use of sampling vocal clips, which bring a sense of cohesion and a boom bap, MF DOOM aura to the songs, but unlike many modern trap hits, they cannot carry the rapper, as unique and wild as they are; they need to work with the artist and unite to form a memorable, hard track. Luckily, Curry just so happens to be one of the best new-school rappers for the task that is bringing life to Kenny’s beats.

Truly, the main focus of UNLOCKED is Denzel’s bars and lyricism. The first few listens, I failed to grasp the fact that this was the main attraction to the album, and almost discarded the lyrics: “It isn’t anything conceptual, it doesn’t feel like Curry is trying to say anything of value in the songs, and the beats and infliction aren’t overly hard to compensate like in ZUU, so why bother?”, I thought, not in these exact words obviously. Listening again, watching Denzel and Kenny explain the creative process in Genius, and paying way more attention to the lyrics, I realized that I’m kinda dumb. Because yes, Curry might be rapping about the same things every rapper raps about: murder, money, threats, where he comes from, whatever, but it’s the way he says it that is captivating. Not every rapstar can mention Bubba Sparxxx, Rosa Parks and the second-best Indiana Jones movie in a chorus and make it sound as good as Denzel does, nor drop pop culture references quite like he does (“Turn your crib into a game of Fallout”). I failed to notice how colorful and lively Denzel’s bars were, as opposed to the sterile, empty threats and tired “Balling like [insert basketball player here]”, “Fast car, Nascar”, “Chase the money, don’t chase bitches” lines many other rappers employ in their rhymes, or even the lyrical miracle spiritual individual wack similes that conscious rappers try and fail to drop in their songs. And even when Denzel says something you can easily picture another rapper saying, the decisiveness and bravado with which he says so is intoxicating (“I don’t write rhymes nigga, I write checks”).

The aggressiveness is almost omnipresent, but when it isn’t, it is pretty noticeable. So.Incredible.pkg is the least interesting track by far, as the rhymes don’t stand out much, and the beat is definitely the deadest of the album. Meanwhile, tracks like the aforementioned DIET_, ‘Cosmic’.m4a and to some extent Take_it_Back_v2 are ruthless, with beat and lyricism teaming up to create the best this project has to offer.

The tempo of the tracks is fast and entertaining, the wordplay is mostly at Denzel’s best, and it seems Kenny can work with any artist’s specific style and improve it a ton, a little more subtly in Curry’s case. While it isn’t as flexible and full of surprises as some other Denzel projects, it makes up for it in how raw and centered it is. The album took a while to grow on me, but now that it has, I can see how unique in its influences it is. A very nice, bright creative effort by the duo.

FAVORITE TRACKS: DIET_, Lay_Up.m4a, Take_it_Back_v2, ‘Cosmic’.m4a

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: So.Incredible.pkg

7.35/10

“It’s the man of the hour. Super confident and the clothes yell it louder, and if it don’t compute then I gots to reroute ya. Dressed in all black like a motherfucking bouncer.”

#denzel curry #kenny beats #unlocked #zuu #blood in blood out #rap #hip-hop #florida rap

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iv-kplpt · 8 years ago

Text

smoke and mirrors [the agency au part one]

27k words (lmao) charlie is a rookie agent sent out by the agency to catch the elusive penguin. things don’t go as planned. part two will be basically a retelling of the canon events up to a certain point. rated m for vague sex stuff, as per usual.

The Agency wasn’t too fond of treating its agents gently - they were supposed to be ready for anything, at any time. Throwing people in at the deep end was a post-training norm - and Charlie wasn’t an exception. Her first solo assignment - without her training partner, agent Avesta - was supposed to be a big one.

So there she was, inside Amanda Waller’s office, under her bosses watchful gaze.

“Sit down, agent.” Waller said, pointing at a chair. “I reviewed your training results, and it seems you’re good to go. Capable, driven… You can handle this.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Charlie said nervously; Amanda was a bit intimidating. Okay, more than a bit. That woman ran the Agency for years; sitting in front of her felt a bit like dining with the president.

“We’ll be sending you to Gotham.” Waller said, sliding a folder across the desk. “Are you aware of Gotham’s problem with masked criminals?”

“Yes.” Charlie said, glancing at the folder; Waller nodded in its direction.

“Open it.” she said.

Inside was the Agency’s file on the Penguin - a mysterious, masked criminal whose real identity was a mystery to the general public. He was ruthless, elusive and seemingly had a bone to pick with Bruce Wayne.

“That’s your target, agent.” Waller said calmly, as Charlie was reading the file. “Flip to the last side. There’s a real kicker.”

Charlie did as she was told and raised her eyebrows in surprise; somehow the Agency managed to uncover Penguin’s real identity. His name was Oswald Cobblepot, and his story was one of loss and betrayal.

“There’s also a catch, agent.” Waller said as Charlie closed the file and slipped it into her bag to read it later. “I want you to guess it.”

“You want me to capture the Penguin.” Charlie said immediately and Waller nodded with approval. “Cobblepot can just deny everything, but Penguin… Penguin can be unmasked. And that can’t be denied, especially when caught in the right moment.”

“Very good.” Amanda said and Charlie sighed quietly with relief. “You’ll be supervised by Rick Flagg, and can count on assistance from our man in Penguin’s crew.”

“But if we have a mole… Why hadn’t he been arrested yet?”

“Because our mole never saw him red-handed. And that’s.... Where you come in. You will get close to him, you will earn his trust, and then, when he least expects it…”

Waller paused for a moment and leaned forward, still looking Charlie in the eye.

“...you’ll get him.” she finished quietly, straightening her back again.

“Anything else I should know about?”

“Flagg and McDonagh will give you all the details.” Waller said dismissively. “But all the basics are in the file. Don’t take it with you. No one can know you’re from the Agency.”

“Obviously.”

“Now, before I let you go… What’s your plan, agent?” Waller asked. “I’m not expecting a detailed, step-by-step plan, but surely you have at least the faintest idea of how you’re going to play this.”

“I do, actually.” Charlie said hesitantly; and Waller nodded and laced her fingers together, leaning in slightly.

“Let’s hear it.” she said.

“Young, rich socialite.” Charlie said after clearing her throat. “A spoiled and a bit naive only child, who developed an obsession with the Penguin.”

“Mmm.” Waller muttered pensively. “Passable. True crime fans are not unheard of, and being eccentric is… Acceptable if you’re rich. Yes, I think this might actually work. Well, agent.” Waller said, changing her tone to a more serious one. “We’ll transport you to Gotham two days after tomorrow. Pack up, read the file, work out the details of your backstory. You’re dismissed. And… Good luck.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Charlie said, getting up, gathering her bag and leaving.

Outside she bumped into Avesta, who was also waiting for her first big thing.

“What did you get?” Iman asked as soon as she saw Charlie close the door to Waller’s office behind her. “Come on, tell me!”

“I got the Penguin.” Charlie said and Avesta groaned with envy.

“Shit, that guy’s a challenge!” she said. “Robberies, arms dealing, illegal boxing matches… Waller must really believe in you!”

“Yeah, or maybe she wants me to screw up so she has a reason to kick me out.” Charlie said, smiling anxiously. “Anyway. There’s plenty of masked criminals in Gotham. Who knows, maybe we’ll get matching cases!”

“Normal people would settle on shirts or tattoos.” Avesta said with a smile and Charlie giggled. “Alright. I’m going in. Fingers crossed?”

“Fingers crossed.”

She waited for Avesta outside Waller’s office, absentmindedly flipping through Penguin’s file. He had an impressive track record, one that began in Essex; the Agency’s intel pointed at revenge as the main reason why he suddenly popped up in Gotham. It made sense, assuming he really was Oswald Cobblepot.

(She could believe it. Agency’s intel was accurate, thanks to state of the art tech and some of the sharpest brains on board.)

Penguin did look like one hell of a task; but she was sure she’ll manage, once she gets the details out from the Agency’s agents in Gotham. Waller mentioned Flagg and McDonagh; both of those names sounded vaguely familiar.

Sound of the door closing snapped her back to reality. She looked at Iman, who giddily shuffled in her direction.

“Well? What did you get?” Charlie asked, closing the file.

“The Joker!” Avesta said happily. “Meaning I’m also going to Gotham! We got our matching cases!”

“Hey, nice!” Charlie said with a relieved smile, furrowing her brows after a while. “Wait. Hold up. The Joker?”

She opened Penguin’s file again, as Iman looked at her, visibly puzzled.

“Our targets are at war.” she said finally, finding the right page in Penguin’s file; a description of rising tension between the clown and the furry. “It can be either great or absolutely terrible.”

“We can feed each other information.” Iman suggested. “Or we can tip the scales in favor of one of them.”

“Nice.” Charlie said, nodding. “That’s a good idea. But… Who do we want out first?”

“First let’s get to Gotham, settle down, make contact… Get to know them. Then we can decide who goes first.”

“Alright, sounds fair. Celebratory drinks?”

“Hell yes.”

*** Finally the day arrived; Charlie and Iman were transported to Gotham, where their new - albeit only temporary - lives were waiting; everything was set for both of them, for Charlie’s plan to pass as a bored socialite wanting to play with fire and for Iman’s plan to pass as a transfer psych student working on her phd.

“Penguin does everything for attention.” Charlie said on their way to Gotham, in Agency’s private car. “He’ll reach out.”

“And what if he won’t?”

“Then I’ll reach out to him.” Charlie said with a shrug. “I’m a bored, rich girl. I have resources and an obsession. I’ll seek him out. Pave my way into his trust.”

“Optimistic attitude. Dig that.” Iman said, looking and sounding nervous. “I genuinely hope I won’t get too close to the Joker, you know.”

“Why’s that? Besides him being a dangerous maniac, that is.”

“I’m Gotham born and raised, Charlie.” Avesta sighed. “And he seems to have a problem with this city and people living in it. If he senses this… I’m probably done. And dead. Mostly dead.”

“Then we’ll take care of your target first.” Charlie decided. “Let’s discreetly help Penguin bring him down. Then… Let’s take care of the bird mask guy. What’s up with it anyway? Of all animals - why penguin?”

“Nobody knows.” Avesta said with a sigh. “It’s a mystery. Even Nygma doesn’t know, and he’s our best profiler. He has no clue.”

“Damn.” Charlie muttered. “If Nygma doesn’t know… Then I’ll never find out.”

“Well, you can always ask. Maybe he’ll tell you.”

“Right.” Charlie sighed. “In any case… Don’t worry too much. We’ll get through it.”

Flagg waited for them in front of the Agency’s field office, hidden in a warehouse at the docks. He was a tall, visibly tired, blonde haired man with cordial smile painted on his face and the coldest eyes Charlie had ever seen.

“Ladies.” he greeted them, before promptly turning around and coming inside. “Come on, don’t just stand there. And close the door behind you. We have some debriefing to do.”

Charlie and Iman looked at each other and shrugged wordlessly, following Flagg; inside of the building was in a much better state than the outside. The walls were freshly painted and most importantly - it was warm and dry.

“How’s the situation?” Avesta asked; Flagg glanced at her, looking up from a computer screen.

“Skipping the introductions?” he asked politely, returning his attention to the screen. “It’s alright, there’s no need for them anyway. Agent Avesta, agent Schiller-Aberdeen. I’m special agent Rick Flagg. I’ll be supervising your operations and reporting to Waller on your behalf. I’m also the guy you call when you’re in need of supplies or support. Speaking of which…”

He walked up to Charlie and Iman and handed them two identical smartphones.

“Agency issued. Everything’s encrypted. They are safe to use. My number’s saved as uncle Ben.”

“Thanks.” Charlie said, taking the device and slipping it into her pocket. “Now. What’s the current situation?”

“You arrived at a perfect time, actually. Penguin’s been laying low for a week now and the Joker seems to be getting bolder. Luring Penguin out might be a bit tricky, but… We have a mole on the inside.”

He walked back to the computer and opened a photo of a young, tall woman in formal clothes; she looked very serious and had olive skin and black, curly hair.

“Meet Louise McDonagh.” Flagg said proudly. “Assistant district attorney and our spy among Penguin’s men. They’re friends. She knows his ways… And knows how to fake them.” he added grimly. “She’s involved with GCPD’s Penguin investigation. She’s been leading them astray for a while now, waiting for us to swoop in.”

“Great.” Charlie said, still staring at McDonagh’s photo. “I’ll reach out to her.”

“Already taken care of. You two will meet tonight at the bar in your hotel, The Peak. Officially you’re old friends. You went to school together. Our IT guys are fabricating your records as we speak. They’ll be absolutely spotless, and you’ll be a perfectly average student. You know. To not stand out too much.”

“Understandable.”

“Louise will put you on the right track. As for you…” he said, turning his attention to Avesta. “Joker is unpredictable, but he seems to have an affinity for psych students who focus on BPD or bipolar disorder. He’s also an egomaniac. Be vocal about your support for him and he should reach out. From there… You’ll have to improvise. He’s unpredictable, and we don’t have anyone on the inside.”

“Actually, sir…” Avesta said nervously. “I was thinking C… Agent Schiller-Aberdeen can help me out.”

“How so?” Flagg asked, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. Charlie cleared her throat.

“Our targets are at war.” she explained. “If Iman gets close enough to the Joker, I can help Penguin hit his weak spot.”

“That’s a sound strategy.” Flagg said after a while, nodding. “But in that case I’d recommend getting to the Joker first. That way you’ll have something to offer to the Penguin from the start.”

“Fine by me.” Charlie said with a nod, turning to Avesta. “You think you can handle it?”

“Just remember, agent Avesta… You’re not entirely on your own.” Flagg said. “At least not if it depends on me. You’re fresh meat, but you gotta have potential if you were assigned the Joker case in the first place. So you know. Take a deep breath and count to ten.”

“I can handle it.” Avesta said firmly. “I’ve been trained for this. What are you going to tell Penguin if he asks where did your information come from?”

“The truth.” Charlie said and Flagg raised his eyebrows again. “Well, not the entire truth. I’ll skip the Agency part. But the whole rest… Works.”

“Fine.” Flagg said. “Just remember, you’re playing a role. Act accordingly… And we’re golden.”

Once the debriefing was over, he led them to the back exit, where two cars were parked - a mild price range BMW and a black Porsche. Fitting vehicles for their roles - both equipped with the Agency tech inside.

“Well ladies, good luck.” Flagg said as they were getting into their respective cars. “Call me as soon as you make any progress. I’ll now go, let Waller know you’ve been debriefed. Once again… Good luck.”

Charlie and Iman nodded at each other one last time and left, each in different direction; Iman towards the campus, and Charlie towards the Peak, one of Gotham’s most expensive hotels.

Her stuff arrived on time, and was being taken care of by the hotel staff; no tech - she had to rely on what Flagg had in the hideout. She couldn’t risk having anything in her room, except for a normal looking laptop, which ran two operating systems - a normal Windows, for the sake of keeping the disguise up, and the Agency’s own system, with full access to the comm lines and the database. Switching between the two systems would only take a single keystroke; it was a nice toy. The Agency’s IT department knew what they’re doing.

She met Louise McDonagh few hours later, in early evening hours.

“Hey, Louise!” Charlie said, approaching the woman with a smile. “It’s been ages!”

“It’s been too long.” Louise agreed with a smile; but as they - briefly - hugged she squeezed Charlie tightly.

“Penguin’s men were following me.” Louise whispered and Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. “Act normal. We��ll talk the details out in your room.” she finished, letting the agent go.

So, for the first hour or so - they acted normal, talking about their completely false school memories and non-existent exes and classmates. Finally Louise suggested going upstairs and maybe ordering a pizza and watching a movie in their pajamas, just like the old times.

“Sure!” Charlie said with a smile, briefly glancing over Louise’s shoulder; she could see two men staring at them. One was nearly bald and had a mustache and mutton chops, while the other one… Well, for a brief moment Charlie was sure she’s looking at Skrillex in shades.

(But it couldn’t have been Skrillex. Or could it? Would Penguin have Skrillex working for him? Would Skrillex work for the Penguin?)

“Come on.” she said with a smile, leading Louise to the elevator; as soon as the doors closed and the elevator started to move Louise sighed with relief.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” she said apologetically. “But Penguin’s feeling… Paranoid. So he sent Tennyson and Schulz after me.”

“You know them?”

“Oh yeah, I know all of his men. Either personally… Or from their files.” Louise said with a shrug. “But I think we’re good now. You’re a good actress.”

“Agency training.” Charlie replied shortly. “Tell me about him.”

“I reviewed the file Agency gave you back at HQ, so I’ll skip stuff you already know about. He has a complicated relationship with broccoli, he likes dogs, is not an early bird… Also he’s a sap. A sentimental loser, who pays attention to dates and anniversaries.” Louise said, glancing at Charlie as the elevator dinged and the door opened. “Which might actually be useful.”

“Useful how?” Charlie asked, letting them both into her apartment and locking the door behind.

“The anniversary of his parents’s wedding is coming up… And coincidentally, so is the auction held by Carmine Falcone. Among the items… Esther’s engagement ring.” Louise said, sitting down on the couch. “I can talk Penguin out of showing up there, because this is precisely what Falcone is counting on. It’s a trap. And you’re going to waltz in, buy the ring… And leave the rest to me. You know. Your old friend who also knows about your obsession.” she finished with a smirk and Charlie groaned, feeling like this role she decided to play is going to bite her in the ass, sooner or later.

“Do we have a guarantee of winning?”

“My bet is the Agency’s willing to sink some money into getting Oswald off the streets. So yeah. Plus there won’t be many rivals anyway. People may not realize Oswald Cobblepot is the Penguin, but they’d still rather pretend the Cobblepots never existed. It’s an ugly story.”

“How do you know he’s the Penguin?”

“Oh, he told me.” Louise said nonchalantly. “He took his mask off and all. He’s not actually secretive about it, it’s people who are too dumb to figure it out. See, they don’t want to think something like that became of Oswald. They’d rather think… He grew up fine.” she said, shrugging. “But he didn’t. And now he’s robbing banks and beating people up wearing a penguin mask. Not quite a model of mental health, if you ask me.”

“Which is precisely why we need him off the grid. He’s dangerous.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” Louise sighed with remorse. “But we have a plan regarding him. How are things looking on the Joker case?”

“Avesta’s on her own. She’s going to serve as Penguin’s mole. We want to take care of the clown as fast as possible.”

“This might actually work in Penguin’s favor, you know. Taking care of the Agency business… Waller might treat him lightly. Find a use for him.”

“I’ll decide whether I vouch for or against it after I meet him.” Charlie said. “I need to get close to him.”

“And I’ll tell you how to proceed, as soon as you order that pizza.”

They spent a nice evening together, actually; Louise turned out to be a pleasant company. She also told Charlie a number of little things about Oswald Cobblepot; he favors yellow ties, is fidgety, his favorite breed of the dog is Shiba Inu, he likes to cook.

“Apart from being a ruthless criminal, he’s actually a decent guy.” Louise summed it up as they were watching Pride and Prejudice. “I sometimes wonder how would he turn out if none of this bullshit ever happened to him.”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know.” Charlie sighed. “But good. Help me humanize him. Stanislavski’s system and all that crap.”

“Oh, I’ll help you humanize the fuck out of him.” Louise assured him. “And trust me, he’s gonna eat you up. He’s a sucker for attention. Just talk about how much you dislike Bruce Wayne, Hamilton Hill and Carmine Falcone and you’re golden.”

“Noted. Anything else?”

“Nah.” Louise said with a shrug. “Just be yourself. Fake yourself, that is.” she corrected herself. “Describe me your persona, so I can tell you if it’s a good idea.”

“A fangirl.” Charlie replied hesitantly. “And very self-confident one, but still melts around him. A bit bossy. Wants to play with fire and claims to not be scared of getting burned. Disturbingly loyal.”

“Yup, this might actually work.” Louise said with a nod. “Just don’t be freaked out when he pulls out a knife in bed. Not saying anything will happen between the two of you, but, just in case…”

“You’re going to walk me through his preferences.” Charlie said tiredly, feeling like this is the moment she regrets her decision. “Alright. Do it.”

“Trust me, I didn’t enjoy having this conversation with him either.” Louise scoffed. “But it’s your cross to bear now. Alright, so our bird mask freak likes to make people beg. He has a whole ideology attached to it. He also likes tying them up, and some slightly rougher stuff. Basically he won’t get angry if you bite or scratch him, just be prepared for him to bite back. Also I think he’s into choking, but I’m not sure on which side he’d rather be. Also, knives. He’s like that.”

“What kind of conversation were you two having?!”

“He gets very chatty very quickly.” Louise said with a shrug, finishing the last slice of pizza. “Alright, I think it’s time for me to go. The auction’s in a week. I’ll give you the exact time and location tomorrow. You just be there with your fat wallet and we’re good.”

“Sure.” Charlie said, feeling almost overwhelmed. “Thanks for your assistance. Really.”

“It’s no biggie.” Louise said shortly, putting her coat on. “That’s part of the job.”

And just like that she left and Charlie was left alone with her thoughts, an abundance of information from Louise and a bad feeling about this.

She called Flagg; he picked up right away.

“Agent. Any progress?”

“I worked out the plan with Louise.” she said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She gave me… A lot of additional info to work with. I’ll probably meet him in about a week.”

“A week? That’s… Fast. I was expecting a month.”

“Yeah, well, I arrived at just a perfect time to buy into his graces. The bad news is… It puts time pressure on Iman.”

“Or it doesn’t. Just tell him you’re working on the Joker. That should be enough.” Flagg suggested. “I’ll send you some archival stuff you should know about for the sake of your little performance. Some photos, clips from the deep web… You know, stuff a psychofan would cherish.”

“Thanks, sir.” she said hesitantly, to which Flagg laughed and ended the call; she got the message shortly after that.

He attached plenty of files - photos, recordings, articles. Penguin had been a busy man, and definitely knew how to stand his ground; he was handy with a gun, very handy with a knife and his uppercut was flawless. He had an expensive taste, and seemingly a vendetta against the Wayne family. Flagg’s mail also included some purely-Cobblepot stuff, just to make her seem a bit more obsessive; and Charlie begrudgingly admitted he’s quite handsome.

(Good. It’d make potential intimacy bearable.)

Flagg called her in the morning to inform her Waller got his report and approves of the plan to use the Penguin against the Joker.

“She says it’s risky, but all in all… A smart move. Just don’t be hasty and play your role.”

“Do you think I should do my normal voice?”

“Yeah, because what if in the heat of the moment you drop the act? Don’t overdo it. Don’t come up with too many details. No one remembers their entire life in perfect detail.”

“Yes, sir.” she sighed. “Any word from Avesta?”

“Chill out agent, not everyone’s progressing as fast as you do.” Flagg said, amused. “It took us months to make contact with Black Mask. It’s a miracle an opportunity presented itself so quickly in your case.”

“A miracle or Waller’s careful planning. Anyway, I’m going to charm the pants off the Penguin. And in the meantime… I have some obsessing and over-analyzing to do. Hey, can you check one thing for me?”

“Sure.”

“Are we tracking his online activity?”

“Not exactly, no. But our profilers had been collecting appearances that seem to follow his pattern of speech. I’ll send you a copy, but I gotta warn you: it’s nothing interesting. He makes his deals face to face.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered, scrolling through the file. “Ha! Got it. He pops up from time to time on kink forums. Another object to the list… Check.”

“Hey, you’re right. Are you going to seduce him into folly, agent?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

*** One week had passed; and no word from Avesta. Waller granted Charlie auction funds, and the agent spent the week studying Penguin as obsessively as only a true fan would be able to do. She learned the way he tilted his head when he was about to clock someone, the way his friendliness often masked grave danger, the way he was absolutely relentless in fight. GCPD almost got him once; but he got out of the handcuffs by dislocating his joints. He then proceeded to beat the hell out of the unsuspecting newbie watching him and used him as a bargaining chip to break free.

Finally the night of the auction came. Louise called her earlier that afternoon to inform her if everything goes right she’s going to meet the Penguin the very same night.

“I think I talked him out of showing up at the auction, but he’s impatient. He wants that ring… Bad. He’ll stop at nothing to get it.”

“It’s a good thing I’m going to give it up willingly then. As a token of deep admiration, and so on. Should I wear nice underwear?”

“You might want to, yeah.”

That was it! The fateful evening when her mission would truly begin. Shortly before leaving, she called Flagg.

“Report back in twelve hours, or I’ll notify the Agency. I’ll do it earlier if I get a signal. Send me a text with at least two emojis if you get in trouble. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then go and get that Oscar for lying in the face of grave danger.”

The auction was held in Falcone’s auction house, an old, gothic building hidden in the middle of a dark park. The gangster had an odd collection of mementos belonging to Gotham’s forgotten families; Charlie knew those are actually trophies, taken from the - more or less figurative - corpses of his enemies.

Louise was waiting for her outside the door, smoking.

“Won’t anyone question the presence of ADA in a mafia establishment?” Charlie asked, approaching her; Louise scoffed.

“Officially, Falcone has no ties to the mafia. Also I can simply pretend you dragged me along. You know. A newcomer, looking for thrills.”

“Smart.” Charlie muttered, looking around; she could see the mayor, a lot of people she didn’t recognize, a nearly bald man from last week-

“Don’t look now, but I think we’re being watched.”

“Oh yeah, Schulz is here.” Louise said, not even glancing in his general direction. “Don’t mind him. He’s just looking anyway.”

An elegant, dark skinned woman with short hair briefly winked at Louise, who nodded back.

“Fish Mooney.” Louise said, after noticing Charlie’s puzzled look. “High ranked member of Falcone’s not-at-all-a mafia and Penguin’s friend on the inside. And the owner of Gotham’s best damn nightclub.”

“Nice. Think she could be useful?”

“Time will tell. Come on, let’s get inside, I think the fun’s about to begin…”

Louise was right - there weren’t many people eager to get their hands on Esther’s ring. In fact, except for Charlie only one person was bidding - a large, mostly bald man who looked like a Basset Hound.

“Salvatore Maroni.” Louise whispered to her between bids. “He’s an enigma no one had been able to crack.”

“I’ll worry about him later.” Charlie whispered back, and - after winning - did a little pantomime of joy and delight.

“Hell yeah!” she said, pumping her fist into the air. Louise sighed and rolled her eyes.

Maroni approached her as she was closely inspecting the ring; an elegant, skillfully crafted platinum creation with a piece of grandidierite.

“Congratulations.” he said gravely, looking at the ring rather than at her face.

“Thank you!” she said cheerfully, putting on her disguise. “You’ve been a formidable opponent, mister…”

“Maroni.” he said, briefly glancing at her. “And you are..?”

“Schiller-Aberdeen.” she said gracefully. “Of those Schiller-Aberdeens.”

“I see.” Maroni said, absolutely not impressed. “I’ll see you around, miss Schiller-Aberdeen. Enjoy your victory.”

He heavily walked away, swaying the bottom parts of his body like a duck; Louise appeared next to Charlie, walking Maroni go.

“He’s an odd one.” she said, putting her hand on agent’s shoulder. “Also come on. Let’s go. Turns out Schulz was here to set up a meeting… Which I did.”

“Great.” Charlie said calmly, slipping the box with the ring inside her purse. “Where?”

“The docks, because where else? Meet me by the field office. I’ll say hi to Flagg and take you to the furry.”

“Does he know I’m coming? Penguin, I mean.”

“Yup. I told him about my old friend, who grew up to be a fan. He also knows what you look like, Schulz sent him a photo. We’re all set.”

“Great.” Charlie said, feeling the first wave of nervousness wash over her. “I’ll see you there.”

She stayed behind for a little bit; when she got to the docks Louise was waiting outside Agency’s warehouse.

“Oh good, I was worried you got lost.” she said as soon as Charlie got out of the car. “I talked to Flagg. He set up some surveillance around here, so we’re all good.”

“Alright, I’m ready.” Charlie breathed out, trying to calm down; why was she so nervous? She faced Waller. She could handle a criminal mastermind who’s been evading the law for years.

Louise nodded and took Charlie to the meeting place; another, more secluded warehouse, closer to the water.

“Smile, Charlie.” Louise whispered, opening the door. “Remember, you’re about to meet your idol.”

“So I’m nervous!” she whispered back. “It’s natural.”

“Penguin!” Louise called out, closing the door behind them; all lights were turned off and as soon as the door closed, the room went completely dark. “It’s us. Show yourself.”

“In a moment!” Charlie heard a muffled, slightly raspy voice coming from a far corner of the room. “Don’t move. Where’s that bloody light switch?!”

Charlie heard a quiet thud as someone - probably Penguin - walked into something. The sound was followed by a quiet groan.

“Ah, clumsy, clumsy me… Oh! There it is.”

The lights turned on and Charlie blinked a few times, her eyes getting used to the bright light; and Penguin was standing right in front of her and Louise with his hands in his pockets, his face hidden behind his signature mask.

“Ladies.” he greeted them and Charlie stared at him, just the way a fan would do. “Had fun tonight?”

“No, it was boring.” Louise replied calmly. “Although my friend did get her hands on something you’re after.”

“So I heard.” Penguin said, slightly turning his head in Charlie’s direction. “Charlie, right?”

“Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen.” she said stepping forward, keeping her head high. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, mister Penguin. I’ve been following your endeavors for… Quite some time now.”

The Penguin chuckled, took her hand and lightly brushed it with the underside of his mask’s beak; a mockery of a kiss.

“Charmed.” he said politely. “Now, as to what you have…”

“It’s an engagement ring.” she said, reaching into her purse. “That once belonged to Esther Cobblepot. And… I know you are her son.”

It was risky, but it worked; Penguin only tilted his head.

“Well, looks like someone really did their homework on me.” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“I have lots of free time on my hands.” she said, opening the tiny box, where Esther’s ring was placed. “It’s yours.”

“And where’s the catch, hm?” Penguin asked, not moving. “What do you want in return?”

“It’s a token of appreciation.” Charlie said, trying to sound genuine.

“That’s very touching, beautiful stranger.” Penguin said and she smiled. “But nothing is free in this world. I know you want something. Come on. Ask away.”

“I want to see your face.” Charlie blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“Huh.” the Penguin said, sounding amused. “Yeah. That sounds fair, considering you managed to find out who I am.”

He took his mask off and Charlie stared in silence, at the scar running across the bridge of his nose, his scruffy jawline, narrow lips curled in a playful smile and dark circles under his eyes.

In real life he looked better than on a mugshot from his file or archival materials from Flagg.

“There.” he said, staring at her. “Not quite as impressive as my mask, I know.”

“On the contrary.” she said, not taking her eyes off him; she suddenly felt the urge to touch his stubbly chin, but fought it off; instead she handed him the ring, which he tenderly caressed and slid in his pocket.

“Thank you very much, Charlie.” he said, this time actually brushing the back of her hand with his lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He turned around and Louise nudged her in the ribs with her elbow. Charlie nodded.

“Wait!” she said, walking up to him. “This is not all I have to offer.”

“Oh?” he said, turning around to face her again; they were standing inches from each other. “Go on.”

“I’m rich.” she said, looking him in the eye. “Filthy rich. And my family has connections. I can get you anything money or handshakes can buy.”

“Mmmhmm.” he muttered absentmindedly. “Alright. Anything else?”

“I know you hate the Joker.” she breathed out. “I can get you his plans. Not in great detail and not all of them, but enough to tip the scales in your favor. I can help you take him out.”

“Now that’s interesting.” he said with a satisfied smirk, nodding. “Sounds promising.”

He looked at Louise.

“Can she be trusted?” he asked.

“She’d walk into fire for you.” Louise said impassively and Charlie smiled, looking at Penguin tenderly. “She can be trusted. Plus… You do need allies.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Penguin said, winking at Charlie. “Unexpected, but… Definitely a good one.”

“For both sides.” Charlie added, brushing her hair away from her face and Cobblepot snickered.

“Oh, yes.” he said quietly. “Yes indeed.”

“Come on.” Louise said, gently pulling her towards the exit. “Penguin, we’ll be in touch. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“You do that.” he said, not taking his eyes off Charlie, who - impulsively - blew him a kiss.

(He played along, pretending to catch it.)

“Well, that didn’t go terribly.” Charlie breathed out as soon as they were outside. “Or did it?”

“It went pretty damn well. He seems to like you. Or at least be into you.”

“Good.” Charlie said, thinking about the way he looked at her. “Or do you think he’s sensing a trap?”

“Nah, it’s genuine. Oswald’s a crap actor. He can’t keep a facade up for more than few minutes. That’s partially why he’s wearing that dumb mask.”

“Alright, I believe you. What now?”

“We’ll be in touch, I’ll let you know if he reaches out, or if he needs something… And maybe try to put some pressure on Avesta. You’re going to need something on the Joker soon. Oh, and one more thing. Be careful for the next few days, he’ll probably have his people follow you to make sure you’re legit. Act normal. Ignore them.”

“No, it’s probably a test.” Charlie muttered, checking the time on her phone. “I shouldn’t just ignore his men following me. I shouldn’t act like I’m dumb. Naive, yes - but I’m clever enough to find out his real identity.”

“God, I forgot the Agency tends to overcomplicate everything.” Louise sighed, waving her hand. “Fine, ask his men out for brunch if you want to, just be careful.”

Charlie got back to her hotel, let Flagg know how did the meeting go and that she’s in one piece - and then she contacted Avesta, who picked up after a long while.

“Finally!” Charlie said, sitting down on her bed. “I’ve been worried, Iman!”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy!” Iman said apologetically. “Getting used to the new life and so on. How are you doing?”

“Well, I’m back from my first meeting with the Penguin.” Charlie said and Iman gasped.

“Already?! That was fast!”

“Yeah, time’s on my side. But speaking of time… Did you find anything?”

“Except for the fact Joker apparently preys on social outcasts? Not really, no.” Avesta said with a sigh. “No sign of him for now, but then again… It’s been only a week. Patience is the key, and if that fails… There’s always good old copycat game. Surely that’ll get his attention.”

“Yeah, and will most likely lead to your death.” Charlie scoffed. “Save this as the last resort. I think I can manage for now. It’s not like I promised him blueprints of clown’s hideout.”

“...please tell me you didn’t actually promise him that.”

“...of course I didn’t. That’d be stupid, and I’m a very smart agent.”

*** The next few days were pretty uneventful. In her spare time, Louise was helping Charlie keep her cover up; which wasn’t particularly hard, because Charlie did come from a rich family. All Louise had to do was to introduce her to proper people - such as those Penguin had a vendetta against. Know your enemies, and such.

And frankly - in two of those cases… She understood. She knew his backstory; and she understood. But sins of the father are not sins of the child, and Bruce Wayne wasn’t to blame for what his father did; but the resentment, the anger - it was understandable. Not fully justified and definitely misplaced - but understandable.

And Bruce seemed to be blissfully unaware of what became of his childhood friend. Maybe for the better. There was no point in opening old wounds in hopes of finding something useful; Charlie already had nearly everything she needed. So all she did was smile and engage in a polite conversation and nod and giggle and hide her actual intelligence behind a shallow mask. It worked fine - no one took her seriously and no one cared about what’s under the surface, assuming there’s simply nothing there.

And during those few days - Penguin’s men were following her. Or rather: a man, the Skrillex-looking one, Tennyson. He’s been discreet, and keeping his distance - but he was there, following her on the street, from store to store. Because of this tail, she decided to not risk visiting the field office; there was simply too much at stake. Instead she decided to confront Tennyson, and convince him to back off.

It happened in a coffee shop one afternoon; he was sitting few tables away from her, pretending to be minding his own business - but she could feel his eyes on her, following her every movement. So eventually she picked up her coffee, walked up to his table, set it down and sat down, staring at him. Poor Tennyson looked as if he’s about to get a heart attack; but he didn’t make a scene. Instead he only cleared his throat.

“Hello, Tennyson.” Charlie said lightly, stirring her coffee. “You’ve been following me for a few days now. Found something interesting?”

“I’m not spying on you.” he muttered, looking down. “Boss says he trusts you, because… His friend does. And she knows people. So it’s not a matter of trust.”

“Well, then why are you following me?” she asked, resting her chin against the back of her hand. “I should mention… I’m not interested in you. I’m only interested in your boss.”

(It was a bit startling, how easily this came out of her mouth.)

“What? No!” Tennyson protested. “I’m not a creep, miss. I’m following you, because boss asked me to.”

“Really?” Charlie asked, raising her eyebrows. “Shocking. Why did he do it?”

“Because you’re new to Gotham and he doesn’t want a potentially valuable ally to get in an accident.” Tennyson muttered and Charlie gasped quietly, still in the role.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of him.” she said with a blush. “But I don’t need it! I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

(She was good with martial arts, very good with knives and improvised weaponry and decent with firearms.)

“But boss said-”

“Tell your boss…” she interrupted him. “That if he’s so concerned about my well-being… We can sit down and talk. Privately. I’m sure we’ll reach an… Agreement.”

“But-”

“No buts, Tennyson.” she interrupted him again. “Now I want you to disappear and tell that handsome devil exactly what I told you. Word for word.”

“Even that part where you called him a handsome devil and told me you’re only interested in him?”

“Especially those parts. Now scoot.”

“...aight.” he sighed, finished his tea and got up. “Sorry for the trouble, miss.”

He nodded in her direction and left, fishing out his phone on his way out, most likely to call the Penguin.

Few minutes later her phone rang; it was Louise.

“What the hell, Charlie?” she asked as soon as Charlie picked up. “What the hell?”

“I have no idea what are you referring to.”

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing the whole thirsting after the furry ploy?”

“Well, it’s too late to back out now.” Charlie sighed, thinking about Cobblepot’s handsome face. “Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Worst case scenario… He’ll fall in love with you.” Louise said firmly and Charlie, who was just taking a sip of her drink, briefly choked.

“Excuse me?!” she said after a muffled coughing fit. “Say that again?”

“He’s clingy. Has emotional issues. Don’t show him too much affection, or else he’ll fall in love with you.”

“But that’d be good, right?” Charlie asked, unsure of what to make of this situation. “With love comes trust. And that’s what I’m after. His trust. So I can get him.”

“He’s clingy.” Louise repeated. “He won’t leave you alone. And once he gets like that… It’s game over for us. Alternatively, you’ll shatter his heart into a million pieces and he’ll be of no use to the Agency. He’s like that.”

“Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall in love with me.” Charlie said with a sigh. “It should be easy. I’ll keep it… Weird. And physical. I’ll make it weird for him to fall in love with me. Does it make sense?”

“Not really, but you do you. Just don’t screw this up. Or else Waller will make a purse out of your skin.”

“...she wouldn’t do that. Would she?”

“...oh, honey.”

*** Penguin reached out to her one week later. As far as she was aware, no one was following her anymore, but she avoided the Agency’s hideout just in case; maybe his men got craftier, stealthier. And it’d be suspicious as hell for them to see her enter the warehouse; or even worse - someone would follow her inside.

No, she couldn’t afford that; so she stayed away, only contacting Flagg through daily phonecalls. On the plus side, it seemed like Iman is finally making some progress; not much - but progress nevertheless.

“I know he has people around the campus. I just need to make contact.”

“Do you have any idea who might it be?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few candidates. Did Penguin ask about Joker’s plans?”

“We haven’t spoke since we first met, actually. So you’re good. He did issue me a secret bodyguard though… Or so the dude says.”

“Oh my god, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope! All truth. The Penguin wanted me to be safe in Gotham, so he sent a man to look after me. Or he wanted to spy on me and Tennyson made it up in heat of the moment.”

“Wait, Tennyson? Archibald Tennyson?”

“Uh, maybe? He never gave me his first name. He looks perpetually disgusted and has the worst haircut.”

“Yeah, that’s Archibald! Charlie, Penguin sent his right hand man to tail you.”

“...huh.” she muttered, feeling uneasy; suddenly she heard a knock at the door. “Hold on, someone’s at the door. Coming!”

She left her phone on her coffee table and walked up to the door; but when she opened it there was no one outside, only a white rose with a note attached was on the floor.

“...oh my.” she muttered, picking the flower up and locking the door.

“Speak of the devil.” she said, picking the phone back up. “Someone just left me a rose and a note.”

“Oooh, classy!” Iman giggled. “What color? Rose, I mean.”

“Uhh… White.”

“Oooh, the color of a new beginning. And the note? What does it say? Is it handwritten? Perfumed?”

“Whoah, Iman!” Charlie said playfully, opening the note; it was both handwritten and perfumed. Cobblepot’s cursive handwriting matched the smell of cologne in a strange, wholesome way. “...yes and yes.”

“Damn, girl, of course you got the gentlemanly one!” Iman sighed as Charlie was reading the note. “Well? What does it say?”

“It seems like Penguin wants to meet… Tomorrow. He gave me a place and time… And wants me to dress up nicely.”

“Do you think he’s going to ask about the Joker?”

“If he does that… I’ll distract him.” Charlie decided. “I’ll keep his mind off the Joker and off anything and everything.”

“Really? You’re going to blow him just to buy me more time?” Iman asked with disbelief and Charlie laughed in response.

“That’s not the way I’d put, but yeah. I’m willing to do that if it helps the case. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Alright then! You blow your furry and I’ll pressure my weirdos. Nothing can go wrong!”

Later that evening, Charlie decided to try and prepare herself for the inevitable - physical intimacy with the Penguin. It was obvious it’s going to happen sooner or later; she saw the way he looked at her and the short note spoke volumes. Sure, the rose wasn’t red, but maybe he simply didn’t want to be too cliche.

It wasn’t a terrible thought, having sex with him; hell, if it wasn’t for him being a criminal and her target - she’d probably enjoy the thought. He was handsome, and the list of things he was into was oddly compatible with her own; he was also dangerous and charismatic, adding this pleasant thrill to the mix. But what was going to happen wouldn’t be genuine; he was her target and she couldn’t feel sympathy for him.

*** He felt alive.

The girl Louise brought to him - his fan, as his attorney friend claimed - stared at him lovingly with those pretty, blue eyes he could get lost in and handed him his mother’s engagement ring, in exchange only asking for a chance to see his face. She seemed and sounded so genuine; and he’d know if she was lying. He had a way with people - after years of being a criminal he learned to read them like open books. And she was genuine in her admiration, and the way she looked at his scar and her compliments and what felt like flirting. Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t tell; he was too busy staring at her and the way her red locks brushed her cheeks and the way her black satin choker accentuated her neck.

She was beautiful; and when she offered her support - he couldn’t been happier. Sure, his financial situation was actually pretty good with all the bank-robbing and petty thievery he had done over the years - but this girl, this beautiful, young woman… Said she can get him some of the Joker’s plans. And most importantly - there was not a hint of doubt, not a single false note in her voice.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Some time after Louise and her friend - Charlie, her name was Charlie - left his hideout he called his friend on the force, detective Bullock - not quite a dirty cop, but also not quite a good guy. Bullock was a loyal - if slightly unhappy - helper; and as a detective he had an unlimited access to civilian files.

“What’s up?” he asked after picking up; he was talking with his mouth full. “An emergency?”

“I need you to run a background check on someone.” he said, trying to sound casual. “A new associate.”

“...alright.” Bullock said carefully. “Who is that?”

In the background, Oswald could hear Bullock’s fellow detective ask who is he talking to.

“I thought I have a lead in the Miller case.” the detective lied smoothly. “But it’s nothing.”

“So can you do this for me? Her name’s Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen. She’s a friend of Louise.”

“Look, I gotta go.” Bullock said quietly. “I’ll contact you.”

And he did - few hours later.

“Alright, here’s what I’ve got.” he said without a greeting. “First of all… Nice. She’s a beaut.”

“Yes Bullock, I do realize. Allow me to remind you you’re taken… And if you break Fish’s heart - I’ll break you.”

“...I just said she’s pretty, you dumbass, not that I want to marry her. Anyway. No criminal records, the only child, spoiled rotten. Master’s degree in English literature. Registered Democrat - and thank god - single, her pop’s doing God knows what, her mother’s a surgeon. She stays at the Peak.”

“Single.” Oswald repeated and Bullock sighed.

“Well, she might be engaged, you know. But she sure as hell isn’t married. Or divorced. Or widowed. Or in separation. Or-”

“I get it!” Oswald interrupted him. “No criminal record? Are you sure?”

“I checked twice, just to be sure. Clear as day. She’s either a good girl… Or nothing ever went into her records. Know what I’m saying?”

“I’m going to ask her about it. Anything about her strikes you as… Odd?”

“Except for the fact she’s on your side? Not at all.” Bullock replied after a brief silence. “And, after some consideration… Even this isn’t so weird. Rich kids always end up mixed up in some shit. Just don’t be disappointed if she changes her mind and decides to leave.”

“Oh, but she won’t.” he said, feeling very confident. “She won’t. Thanks, Harv.”

Next he called his right hand man - Archie, the most competent and loyal of them all.

Also the most unhappy one.

“It’s past midnight, boss.” he heard Archie’s tired voice, muffled groan of his fiancee in the background.

“Doesn’t matter.” Oswald said dismissively. “What does matter, however, is the fact I have a task for you. A very important one. You listening?”

“Yeah.” Archie yawned.

“Good. I need you to tail someone for me - but rather than spy on them, I want you to make sure this blasted city doesn’t turn her into mince.”

“Soo… To put it in normal people language… You want me to be someone’s bodyguard.”

“...yeah. I guess you could call it that. I want you to tail Louise’s friend. You know. The one who showed up recently.” he said, trying to sound casual. “Got it?”

“Yup.” Archie yawned again. “I’ll start in a few hours. I need my sleep, boss. I’m human.”

“Sure you do. Oh, and don’t take Schulz with you. He doesn’t know shit about being subtle.”

“Says the man who wears a penguin mask.”

He spent the next few days working - heists to plan and one annoying clown to kill. Also, vengeance to be had. He was a busy man; and he threw himself into plans and schemes to not think about how soft Charlie’s skin was when he kissed her hand.

(And their eyes locked and he felt a shiver run down his spine.)

Archie called him a few days later; judging by the sounds, he was in the middle of a street.

“For your own good I hope everything’s fine.” Oswald said casually, walking away from a table covered in blueprints.

“Yes and no.” Archie said hesitantly. “She told me to fuck off.”

“Oh.” Oswald said, slightly taken aback. “So you were spotted. That’s bad, Archie. Really fucking bad.”

“That’s the bad news. I also have two portions of good news, if you’re interested.”

“Good news is all I care about these days. Well, that and a number of other things. Shoot.”

“She’s alive, she’s fine, she’s in one piece. That’s part A. Now, part B is… Much more personal and frankly, makes me feel like I’m in highschool again.”

“Cut to the chase, Archie.”

“She said she’s only interested in you. She also called you a handsome devil. Now, if I were you - which luckily isn’t how the things are - I’d… Do something about it.”

“Wait. Hold on.” he said, trying to collect his thoughts. “Did she really say that?”

“Word for word, boss. Word for word.”

“Oh, that’s incredible!” he said, feeling alive. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed off at you for letting her notice you and I’m probably going to yell at you once I see you, but this is some truly good news. What should I do?”

“Are you asking me for dating advice, boss?”

“Well, you’re engaged. I dare to say… You might be slightly better at this stuff than I am.”

“I say… Go for it.” Tennyson said carefully. “You could use a distraction. Shit, boss, do we really have to do this? I don’t want to be responsible for mess in your personal life as well.”

“And there goes your loyalty.” Oswald snickered, turning on the computer. “But I’ll take your advice.”

He got to work; he had some planning to do. A normal dinner at a normal restaurant was out of question for obvious reasons; but luckily the owner of Lafontaine’s owed him a favor, the favor being the fact he kept Vicki Vale from publishing all the dirt she gathered on him. He decided the owner of one of the most prestigious restaurants in Gotham, favored by socialites, politicians and local celebrities might be useful, so he kept everything Vale got on the guy; and he was right. Monsieur Moreau was useful, in all his cowardice that kept him from going straight to the police.

“I need an unlimited access to your VIP room and for the back door to be clear. No staff, no customers. Also I’ll need your best chef on duty.”

“Bien entendu, monsieur Manchot. Celebrating something?”

“The less you know the better for you.” Oswald said dismissively. “And remember, Moreau, don’t fail me. You know what happens to people who make the mistake of underestimating me.”

“Unfortunately I do.” Moreau said raspily. “I will not fail you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Next he called Fish Mooney.

“What can I do for you, boy?” she asked, yawning. “Need dirt on Falcone?”

“No, I’m good. Actually I call to ask if you still have those lace masks you told me about. I’m going to need one… In a week.”

“Well, that can be arranged. What are you planning, boy? A masquerade?”

“Something along these lines.” he said, checking another thing off the list. “I’ll send one of my men to pick it up. Oh, Fish, one more thing. Can you recommend me a florist?”

“Oh my god, Oswald.” Fish said with amusement. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mayhaps, dearest Fish. Mayhaps.”

“Oh, this is simply adorable. Are you going to give them a pretty pebble?”

“Oh, piss off, Fish.” he said, opening his drawer filled with stolen jewelry. “Hilarious. But anyway. The florist.”

“Well, Pamela Isley does sell flowers as a coverup for her money laundering business. Also drugs. But mostly flowers. And those are exquisite.”

“Who is she laundering money for?”

“Not Falcone, if that’s what you’re worried about. Now, unless you need something else-”

“No, I’m good, I’m good. Thanks, Fish.”

Lastly - he called Louise.

“What did I tell you about calling me when I’m at work?!” she hissed. “What do you want?”

“I’m going to ask your friend out.” he announced. “You know. Charlie.”

“...are you serious right now? You’ve met her exactly once.”

“Yes, and I want to get to know her… A little better. You know. To celebrate the beginning of a beautiful partnership. What wine does she like?”

“My god, you are a disaster.” she said, sounding almost impressed. “Also pink. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Well, you told me she can be trusted. Plus I know people. She has nothing to hide, she’s an open book… And in words of Archie - I could use a distraction. You know. Before I forget I’m human.”

“Not sure if one date’s enough to humanize you again, but alright.” Louise sighed. “Go for it. I’ll keep it a secret. Just… Don’t scare her away, alright? She’s… Alright, calling her a good person is bit of a stretch, considering she joined forces with you, but she’s still alright. Don’t be a dick to her.”

“Me? A dick? I would never!”

“...I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

*** “Twelve hours.” Flagg told her. “Are you sure this is a good plan, agent?”

“This is the only plan I have.” she said, smoothing out her dress and briefly glancing at the phone. “Not many things can go wrong.”

“Have you considered there’s a chance he realized you’re an agent? You might die tonight.”

“If he realized I’m an agent, I might die any other day as well. Plus there’s no way he knows. I’ve been ridiculously careful. I finished the training with top grades, after all.”

“Just be careful, agent. If this goes south I’ll take the fall. And I’d rather avoid that. Flagg out.”

Finally it was time for her to leave; one last time she looked at her reflection, checking if everything works. Nice pencil dress… Check. Flawless makeup… Check. Nice lingerie hidden under the black fabric… Check. She was ready to dazzle the hell out of Gotham’s most handsome villain.

(Why did she think that?)

She got there on time - and there was a dark alley behind Gotham’s best restaurant. She could see someone standing with their back against the wall; she could also see the outline of the familiar, penguin mask.

“Mister Penguin.” she said, approaching him slowly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You came!” he said; he sounded excited. “Well, obviously, it’d be shocking if you didn’t show up. No one stands the Penguin up… And lives.”

“Oh, but I’d never stand you up.” she said, looking at him as tenderly as she could. “So. What’s the occasion?”

“There’s no occasion, I simply wanted to talk. Spend some time with you. Get to know you.” he said with a shrug and a cold shiver ran down her spine. “The owner owes me a favor and we have the VIP section all to ourselves.”

“Oh!” she said, genuinely surprised. “That’s very kind of you, mister Penguin, I’m flattered.”

“Please.” he said softly, pulling something out of his pocket. “Call me Oswald. In private, that is. In front of others… Penguin. Just Penguin.”

“Alright… Oswald.” she said as gently as she could; she nodded in the direction of a thing he was holding. “What’s that?”

“A mask for you to wear. Just in case.”

He handed her the mask; an intricate mass of lace, just enough to cover and turn attention away from her features. She put it on, tying the ribbon and not taking her eyes off Penguin.

“Ah, now I won’t see your lovely face.” he said, offering her his arm; she took it with a nod and squeezed lightly, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

Back of the restaurant was almost completely empty; only one man was there, Baptiste Moreau himself, the owner of Lafontaine’s.

“Monsieur Manchot.” he said as soon as they walked in. “Everything is ready, just the way you wanted. Please, follow me.”

“You know, Baptiste…” Penguin said as they were following the nervous owner. “I’m going to be very, very disappointed if we reach the VIP room and it turns out to be a trap. And I’ll get you, Baptiste. Even from prison.”

His voice was calm and relaxed, as if he was making a casual conversation. Moreau looked at him over his shoulder.

“Monsieur Manchot, s’il vous plaît… Save your threats. I would not betray you.” he said, opening the door; the room was cozy, windows were hidden behind heavy, velvet curtains and there were candles on the table.

“Ooh, romantic.” she said, walking past Moreau who was holding the door open for them. “Ah. Merci.” she added with a flawless accent.

“Est-ce que vous êtes français?”

“Oh, non.” she said, shaking her head; Penguin - Oswald - snickered.

“The less you know about my companion the better for you, Baptiste. Besides… Your job here is done. Leave us. My man will take it from here.”

He sent Moreau away with a simple handwave; as soon as the door closed behind the owner he took his mask off and looked at Charlie with a weird spark in his eye.

“I’m afraid your mask has to stay on.” he said, pulling a chair out for her; she sat down, briefly glancing at his - slightly scarred, long-fingered - hands.

“Anything for you.” she said as he sat down at the opposite side of the table.

“Well, what I want… Is to talk.” he said calmly, looking at her attentively. “Get to know you.”

“Naturally.” she said breathlessly. “W-what do you want to know?”

“Everything you’re willing to share.” he said, still not taking his eyes off her. “How hungry are you?”

“I skipped lunch.” she said; she wasn’t lying.

“Then I will sacrifice myself for your sake and endure a six course meal, even though I hate fish. Do you like fish?” he asked, looking at her attentively and she knew this is a test.

“I do.” she said, deciding to not play the mindless card. “But if the smell repulses you-”

“It’s not the smell.” he interrupted her with a faint glimmer of relief in his eyes. “It’s the texture. Also, that was a test.” he added, confirming her suspicions. “You passed. You’re not a mindless drone, blinded by admiration. That’s good. I don’t surround myself with people like this, they’re useless.”

“Even as pawns?” she asked and he scoffed.

“I don’t deal in pawns. The key to success… Is personal touch. You know. Knowing everyone by the name, their favorite color, birthday…” he said, resting his chin atop the back of his hand. “It creates a bond. A sense of obligation.”

He had a point; but something was telling her that’s not the whole story.

(Something in his eyes.)

“That’s true.” she said, thinking of how impersonal the Agency sometimes felt. “And I will very gladly tell you about myself… As soon as I eat something. I’m starving.”

“Oh, right!” he remembered, picking up and handing her the menu. “First let’s take care of appetizers, or - as I call it - horse divorce.” he said, glancing at her; and she laughed and her laughter was genuine, not a part of her role.

“Oh, I need to make you laugh more.” he said. “A music to my ears.”

Against her own will, her cheeks turned red - but it was alright. It was in character.

Instead of a waiter, their food was served by one of Penguin’s men; for the sake of not revealing his identity to the kitchen staff, Sebastian also wore a mask, though it wasn’t as elegant as Charlie’s or as ostentatious as Oswald’s. He was quiet and nimble and watching him Charlie came to a conclusion he probably used to be a waiter.

And Oswald turned out to be a pleasant company; he was attentive, his jokes were funny and his gaze made her skin tingle. He only asked about her and her life, and none of them as much as mentioned the Joker or what her money could get him. He was charming, showered her in compliments - that actually sounded genuine, which was both nice to her character and a bit concerning to herself - and somehow knew exactly what kind of wine does she like.

If it wasn’t for him being a criminal mastermind and for her being a secret agent sent out to ruin his plans and capture him it’d actually feel like a wonderful first date; and under her skin Charlie felt just that, even though she was doing her best to fight it off. She kept telling herself her feelings can’t be genuine, her positive emotions must be fake, because it was all just a part of the job - but deep, deep inside she was beginning to feel first cracks in her shell. And what was underneath… Wasn’t too much different.

“Do you treat all new associates to a dinner?” she asked frivolously, trying to push those thoughts away. “Or am I special?”

“Something tells me you already know the answer.” he replied playfully. “Do you consider yourself special?”

“Yes.” she replied instantly. “There is only one me. Of course I’m special. Plus I’m attractive, smart and rich. That alone puts me on a cultural pedestal. Now, the question is…”

She paused for a moment and tilted her head.

“Am I special to you?” she finished. “Because you are to me, you know. I’ve spent months following breadcrumbs on the deep web to figure out who are you. I bribed people to get access to files and records.”

“”Do you consider yourself special to me, Charlie?” he asked, staring at her attentively; she didn’t look away, even though she wanted to.

“That was not a smart question to ask.” she said finally. “You barely know me. I’m the one who spent months studying you, not the other way round.”

“Maybe not months, but I did ask my friend to check few things for me.” he said calmly and her heart stopped; did he know? Was it a trap?

“What did you find out?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

“That I can’t for the life of me figure out why would someone like you be so interested in someone like me. Happy childhood, master’s degree, rich social life… And yet here you are, dining with a criminal.”

He smiled.

“I’m fishing for compliments right now.” he added with a wink and a wave of relief washed over her body. “Am I your forbidden fruit?”

(Yes, she realized. He was something she couldn’t have, not in this life. The thought of wanting to have him - it didn’t scare her. It was a calm realization. Perhaps she was overdoing her role a bit. Perhaps it would pass.)

“No.” she said instead. “But you are intriguing. Plus, everyone has some surprising interest. Something they deeply enjoy, despite the thing going against their image.”

“Well, would me being interested in you go against my image?”

“Maybe a bit.” she said and he raised his eyebrows. “The media does paint you as a heartless monster. But I… Know the truth.”

“Of course you do.” he said softly and she recalled Louise warning her against making him fall in love with her. “You spent quite some time studying me. Did I meet your expectations?”

“Yes.” she said, against her better judgement. “The spell isn’t broken.”

He smiled and opened his mouth to say something - but he never did, because they were interrupting by Sebastian, who suddenly barged into the room.

“This better be important!” Oswald said sharply, turning around to face him. “What is it?! Did Moreau call the cops?”

“No! It’s the Joker, he’s here!”

“Shit!” Oswald cussed, instantly getting up. “Get me Schulz. Now!”

Sebastian ran off and Penguin put his mask back on.

“We’ll have to finish some other day, love.” he said, fixing the last strap. “My man will get you to safety.”

“But I want to stay!” she protested, just the way a spoiled brat would. “I can help!”

Just as she predicted, he shook his head.

“No.” he said firmly. “I don’t want this clown to know about you. The less he knows, the better for both of us. Schulz!” he said as his man walked through the door. “That took you long enough. Get her out of here, and do it quickly.”

“Sure.” Schulz said shortly and put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder; but she shook it off and quickly walked up to Penguin.

“Be safe.” she whispered, planting a quick kiss on the exposed part of his jaw.

She then left with Schulz; together they slipped past Joker’s men and reached the relative safety of her hotel’s back courtyard.

“So, how did your date with the boss go?” Schulz asked as she took her mask off and stuffed it into her purse.

“How do you know it was a date?” she asked, and Schulz scoffed.

“Maybe because he told us it’s a date. I’m not sure what game you’re playing, but better don’t fuck with Penguin.”

“Or maybe I’m not playing games.” she said lightly. “Maybe I’m genuine.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Schulz slowly repeated after her, still staring her down. “Anyway. I should probably go back and help out. And you go bask in luxury.” he added mockingly. “How comes boss didn’t want you to stay? Maybe he doesn’t treat you seriously?”

“Oh, fuck off!” she finally snapped. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what’s your exact problem with me, but if I were you I’d think twice before speaking to me like that. Of course he’s serious. Who wouldn’t be?”

That was - more or less - the dumbest thing she have ever said, and before turning around and walking away Schulz smiled mockingly, leaving her with a burning feeling inside her chest.

What was going on with her? She couldn’t tell. Or: she could tell damn well, but didn’t want to admit it. She wasn’t born yesterday; she knew how a developing crush feels - and it felt just like this. To her, Penguin had been nothing but polite and charming - everything else she knew about him felt like a made-up story. That was the exact mindset the Agency tried to make her forget; but it felt like her training was for nothing. One evening spent with him, one dinner, a few candles and his smile, oh god his smile and his eyes, a few compliments - and she was doubting herself and her task. Her integrity was in danger, and god knows what would happen if it wasn’t for the Joker. What if he’d kiss her?

(She was almost sad she dug out her nicest undies for nothing - again. Well. Third time’s a charm.)

It was probably just her act getting to her, nothing more; but she couldn’t stop thinking about the advice Louise gave her; was he seriously developing feelings for her, or was it all just an elaborate act to make her feel special, to allow him to get whatever he wants from her without a hassle?

(Without a hassle. Hah. That whole dinner was a hassle.)

*** The night was going well - but then the fucking clown had to show up. How did he know Oswald’s going to be at Lafontaine’s was a mystery; but he showed up regardless - and ruined a perfectly nice… After short consideration, Oswald decided to call this thing by its name - date. It was a date.

Despite his - rather irrational, considering her behavior and the way she looked at him - fears she showed up; she was looking around uncertainly and for a short while he watched her from the shadows.

He actually felt nervous - in fact he was so nervous he accidentally implied he’d kill her if she didn’t show up. Those words were completely empty - he wouldn’t kill her. He’d probably drink himself to sleep and never try asking her out ever again, sure; but he wouldn’t kill her. He had a soft spot for her already - and it was getting worse by a minute, the more he listened to her and the more he looked at her. She laughed at his dumb, dumb joke and her laughter was genuine; her appreciation and affection were genuine and not based in fear and it left him dumbfounded. She wasn’t mindless in her sympathy; and he was about to gift her a lovely pair of benitoite earrings he stole one year earlier when they were interrupted by panicked Sebastian.

Oswald’s blood boiled in his veins, as he imagined all the things he’s going to do to that clown for interrupting a perfectly nice first date; he didn’t even get to kiss her, just like he wanted to - he wanted to hold her face in his hands and lightly brush her cheekbones with his thumbs and look into her blue, blue eyes-

He came to a conclusion he’s getting sappy and soft - all because a pretty girl was looking at him in that special, soft way. And the gentle brush of her lips on the exposed part of his jaw burned like fire; it was light and tender and felt almost like a promise and left him wanting more. The art of seduction in a nutshell; and as she was leaving with Schulz - one of his most trusted and effective men - she looked at him over her shoulder, same way she did when they first met and she blew him a kiss.

His mind was preoccupied with his developing crush when he got to the main part of the restaurant; but the clown was already gone, only leaving bleeding Sebastian behind.

“What do you mean he’s gone?!” he asked angrily. “What, did he pop out for five minutes?!”

“It looks like it.” Sebastian said, visibly embarrassed. “He fired a few bullets, told a few lame jokes… And left. Sorry, boss.”

“That motherfucker.” Oswald muttered, kneeling down next to wounded Sebastian. “Where did he hit you?”

“The arm.” young ex-waiter groaned. “I’ll live, but I definitely need patching up.”

“I’ll get Crane.” Oswald replied, reaching for his phone. “That maniac owes me one. He’ll patch you up.”

He paused for a moment and carefully picked up an object lying nearby; a joker card, stained with Sebastian’s blood. He turned it in his fingers and groaned; the other side contained a message, short and messily scribbled down.

Your turn. :)

“So he wants to play.” he muttered, staring at the card. “Alright. I’ll play. Schulz!”

Schulz - who barely got back - walked up to them quickly.

“Cops are on their way. We should go.”

“Help Sebastian get up and follow me.” Oswald said, already on his way to the back exit, calling Crane while walking. “Come on, you pretentious fuck, pick up.”

Moreau tried to stop him, but Oswald simply pushed him away. Crane finally picked up.

“What do you want, Penguin?”

“I’m on my way to your downtown clinic. You’re going to patch my man up.”

“What makes you think it’s going to happen?!”

“Jericho.” Oswald said softly, getting into the car and taking his mask off; the police didn’t know what he looks like. He could roam the streets freely.

“Fine.” Crane groaned, as Schulz and Sebastian got in as well; Sebastian was bleeding all over the backseat.

“Good boy.”

“Hey, boss.” Schulz said as Oswald put his phone away. “I’ve got a question.”

“Then ask.” Oswald said; they were driving past the Peak and Oswald glanced at the building.

“How do you know she’s not Joker’s mole?” Schulz asked and Oswald smiled coldly.

“I know people, Schulz.” he said calmly. “She’s not a mole. Now, as to what exactly is her role in all this… Is none of your business. Were you nice to her?”

“Perfectly nice.” Schulz said and Oswald knew he’s lying, that he probably acted like an asshole.

“One day your lies are going to be your undoing, Schulz.” he said. “If you made her cry I’m going to rip your head off.”

Schulz scoffed, but didn’t say anything; good. If he did, it wouldn’t end well for him.

After the whole ordeal with patching Sebastian up was done with Oswald found himself back in his hideout, in front of a giant map of Gotham. He stared at it, trying to figure out where exactly might be the clown hiding, like he did many times before; but to no avail. The Joker was elusive, and no one knew where to look for him; he had no allies for Oswald to interrogate, no weak spots to stab.

(Allies are important, but can be used as a weakness; Oswald learned that the hard way. That’s why he kept the identities of his associates a secret - for the most part. Now three of his men and two people outside of his pack knew about Charlie.)

His people didn’t know anything; he asked them multiple times. Nicely. And not so nicely. No one knew anything; but he was determined to get his answer. The Joker wanted to play - and Penguin was going to show him exactly what happens to people who mess with his plans, even as prosaic as a date.

He went outside, to get a breath of fresh air; at this time the docks were empty and the silence was only interrupted by ever present hum of the Gotham River. It was a chilly night, and the sky was cloudless and full of stars; the moon was in its first quarter.

Soon Oswald was joined by a man he was seeing in the docks from time to time - a harmless, middle-aged weirdo named Dick. He was probably homeless, holed up in one of many empty warehouses around; Oswald had to admit, it took some courage to use docks as a living spot. The place had bad reputation, and for a very good reason - it was the place where most of Gotham’s shady deals were taking place. Be in the wrong place at the wrong time - bang, you’re dead. But somehow, Dick managed to avoid this fate - and he was now standing silently next to Oswald, staring at the airport lights on the other side of the water.

“Nice night.” he said eventually and Oswald glanced at him. “Calm.”

“I’ve heard the Joker shot up a restaurant uptown.” Oswald said, his eyes focused on the lights again. “So that calm is fake.”

Dick spat on the ground.

“That clown.” he said, his voice filled with disgust. “I can’t wait for someone to put a bullet in his head.”

“Yeah.” Oswald said, his eyes still transfixed on the horizon. “Me too.”

“You sound tired.” Dick said, leaning against the rusty crash barrier in front of him and turning his head to look at Oswald. “Long day?”

“You could call it that.” Oswald sighed, taking the same position. “My date got interrupted.” he said without thinking; why was he suddenly opening to this weirdo?

“Then finish it another night.” Dick said, shrugging. “Things get interrupted all the time.”

“Yeah. I might do that. I think she’d like that.”

“Oh, so it’s a she? You got yourself a lady?”

“We’re… Working on it.” Oswald said carefully. “But I think we’re on the right track.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Dick said, taking a step back and stretching. “Give her my regards. Is she nice? Pretty?”

“Very.” he said, thinking of her laughter and eyes.

“That’s also good to hear.” Dick said, turning around and walking away, his back crooked, his hands in his pockets.

Oswald stayed there for a while, looking at the horizon, listening to the city and the river flowing through it.

*** Louise called her in the morning.

“I heard what happened at the restaurant. What was the Joker looking for?”

“No idea.” Charlie sighed. “I haven’t heard from Avesta in a while, and the clown decided to shoot up precisely the restaurant I was in… Don’t you think it’s suspicious?”

“The Agency doesn’t believe in coincidences. Do you think Avesta ratted you out?”

“No, she wouldn’t do that.” Charlie stated. “Maybe Joker has a mole? One of Penguin’s men told me everyone knows it’s a date.”

“Well, if the clown has a mole among Penguin’s men, then I’d be careful if I were you. Maybe he’ll come after you. To hurt his enemy.”

“Are you implying I became Oswald’s weak spot? After one date? An unfinished one?”

“Oswald, huh?” Louise asked after a brief pause. “Not Penguin?”

“...I’m in character.”

“No, you’re growing fond of him.” Louise stated firmly. “I can hear it. You like him, don’t you?”

“The key to lying is to at least partially believe in your own lie.” Charlie protested faintly. “It’s all an act, alright? He’s a criminal. A menace. And I’m going to bring him down.”

“But would you like him if he wasn’t a criminal?”

“It doesn’t matter! Ifs don’t matter. Only the reality does.”

“And the reality is you’re conflicted. You don’t want to like him - but you do. Did he make you laugh? Make you feel beautiful? Special?” Louise pursued relentlessly and Charlie groaned; right. She was an attorney for years now. She knew how to read people, the Agency taught her that - so reading a rookie agent, fresh out of training couldn’t be very hard. Maybe she heard doubt in her voice. Maybe she heard something in the way Charlie spoke Penguin’s name.

“Will you report me if I say yes?”

“No.” Louise replied. “Your feelings are your own business, as long as you don’t compromise the operation. The truth is… Every agent had been in this situation at least once. They got attached to their target. They saw their target in a different light, and not through their character’s eyes. They grew fond of the monsters they were chasing. It happens to the best of us. Everyone has to go through this heartbreak. It hardens us.”

“Does it mean I can vent to you?”

“Well, it’s better for you to vent than to internalize it. Internalized crushes tend to mutate into obsessions. Is your character obsessed with Penguin?”

“Obsessed? No, she’s not obsessed. Interested, infatuated, sympathetic… But not obsessed.”

“You just described your own feelings, didn’t you?” Louise asked softly. “Oh, Charlie.”

“Fine!” she groaned, rubbing her forehead. “I like him even though I shouldn’t, alright? He’s nice, he’s handsome, he’s so blatantly into me it’s kind of adorable… Taking him in will be super hard for me.”

“Or maybe you just want to bang him.” Louise suggested casually. “Have you considered that? That it’ll pass once you bone?”

“Ooh, that’s a good possibility. I’m going to hold onto it. It works for hormonal teenagers, why wouldn’t it work for a stressed out secret agent?”

“See? That’s the spirit. Oh, I gotta go. Work. Bye!”

Louise hung up before Charlie asked her how can she contact Penguin directly if she needs to. Not like she wanted to; for now she wanted to maybe stay away from him for a few days, collect herself, meditate, maybe go to a party or two. She tried to call Avesta, but her phone was off; again. It was getting worrisome - even Flagg hadn’t heard from her in a few days.

“She told me she has go off the grid for the sake of the chase for a few days, but you’re right, this is weird. Eh. Waller won’t be pleased.”

“This is getting complicated.” Charlie muttered, wondering what now. “Do you think Joker got her?”

“If that’s the case, we would know by now. He’s not exactly the subtle type. He’d send out a message… Just the way he did last night.”

“Yeah, but the question is if the message from last night was for us, or for Penguin. There’s no telling what’s going on in Joker’s head and what does he know.”

“Waller’s going to be pissed. Are you certain your cover isn’t blown?”

“Positive. Penguin doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

*** He paid her a surprise visit few days later, under the guise of needing her help with robbing a fundraiser; she seemed eager to help when the Joker showed up, so he assumed he can as well count on her assistance in this case - but the true reason behind his visit was way more prosaic. He simply wanted to see her; after all their date was cut short and he didn’t even get a chance to steal a kiss from her, like he originally planned.

(Oh, he had it all planned; a quick kiss, a wink, a courteous farewell - but all he got was a quick brush of her lips on his jawline and a burning feeling that didn’t go away.)

He dressed up nicely, to not arouse suspicion at the hotel she was staying at; he was well aware elegantly dressed men who seem to know what they’re trying to achieve have no problems with being let in into places they shouldn’t be. The oldest trick in the book - fake it till you make it.

He loved wandering through the streets of Gotham, well aware the passersby have no idea who he is; without his mask he was just a random, forgettable stranger, and not a menace looming over the city. It was refreshing.

On his way to the hotel, he stopped by one of Gotham’s many bakeries; his date got interrupted before they got to dessert.

(Yes, Oswald Cobblepot was buying sweets in a bakery on his way to visit a girl who was probably going to assist him with a heist. Life’s like that sometimes.)

He bought a bit of macarons, biscotti and meringues; and the money he paid with was stolen and the girl behind the counter was none the wiser.

“Going on a date, mister?” she asked, putting his sweets into a paper bag.

“Kind of.”

“Ah. Figures. The flower shop on the other side of the street is good, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, taking the change. “Getting paid for advertising it, Donna?”

“No, my brother’s working there.” she said with a smile and he laughed.

(He ended up buying a red rose there, just because he felt like it and because the color reminded him of her hair.)

As he was entering the hotel building, he faked a phone call. “Yeah, I’m here, I’ll be with you in a minute!” he said, nodding in the general direction of the receptionist, who paid no attention to him; after all he looked like he should be there. Bullock gave him her apartment number, so he didn’t have to ask any questions; few minutes later he was in front of her door. No sound was coming from behind it, and he suddenly realized this might not be a good idea; after all he didn’t even ask if she wants to see him. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she decided that after all he’s not from her.

He knocked hesitantly and she opened few moments later, wearing only a fluffy bathrobe and a pair of slippers.

“Oh my!” she said as he stared at her messy hair and flushed face. “Did we have a date?”

“We did, actually.” he said, admiring her freckles and wondering what was she doing before he showed up. “Few days ago.”

“...you know what I mean.”

“Of course I do. Can I come in?”

“Sure!” she said, letting him in and closing the door behind him. “I’m glad I didn’t have any plans for today. I’d hate to miss out on you.”

“Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?” he asked, looking at her rosy cheeks; her face turned even redder.

“I’m glad you’re in one piece.” she said, instead of answering his question. “Are you sure coming here was a good idea?”

“Relax, no one knows what I look like.” he said with a shrug. “Blessed anonymity. Also, this is for you.” he added, handing her the rose. “Red like your hair… And your face.” he added; her fingers were trembling slightly. “Are you… Alright?”

“I just need a moment, that’s all. What’s in the bag?”

“We were interrupted before the dessert, so… I’m fixing that.” he said, shaking the bag slightly. “Baked goods. It’s not crème brûlée or red velvet or pavlova, but… It’ll do.”

“Damn right it will, I have a sweet tooth.” she said with a smile, reaching for the bag; he instinctively lifted it up, holding it above her head.

“Not so fast.” he said with a smile as she scoffed and stood on tiptoes, trying to reach. “Go put that rose in a water.”

“It’ll wither anyway.” she said, still trying to reach the bag. “I have a much better idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hm.”

She suddenly grabbed him by his jacket and pulled down; rose petals brushed his cheek as she kissed him, and there was some strange desperation in that kiss, some odd longing; but her lips were so soft and her breath tasted like raspberry toothpaste and he kissed back instantly.

But that was merely a distraction; she quickly yanked the bag out of his hand and ran away, laughing like crazy and he followed, fixing his tie.

“Want to play dirty? Fine, I’ll play dirty.” he said calmly, looking into the living room; but she wasn’t there.

“Is that a threat?” he heard from the bedroom; she was talking with her mouth full judging by the sound of it.

“Oh, it depends. Do you want it to be a threat?”

“Maybe so!”

She was sitting on the bed, staring at him with her head tilted, and his precious bag was nowhere to be seen and he laughed, leaning against the doorway.

“I have to say, your methods of seduction are one of a kind.” he said finally.

“Well, are they working?”

“I’ll give you an answer in exchange for a biscotti.”

“And I’ll give you a biscotti in exchange for a kiss. How’s that?”

“Well.” he said. “Looks like I’ve got no choice.”

He walked up to her bed, barely believing in what’s going on, but not questioning it - the lickety split pace of this odd relationship felt right, somehow.

She grabbed the fabric of his shirt again and pulled him in and kissed him and her lips and breath tasted like hazelnut macarons and coconut biscotti.

“I lied.” she whispered into his lips. “I can’t give you a cookie. I forgot where did I put them.”

“Then let’s try to refresh your memory.” he said equally quiet, untying his tie and then the belt of her robe; she smiled and kissed him again and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding her hands across his skin, gently caressing his scars.

Her body was soft and sensitive and he wanted the moment to last forever, as he was kissing her breasts; unfortunately her phone rang as he was sliding his hand between her thighs, listening to quiet gasps and moans escaping her lips.

“I have to take this.” she muttered, reaching for her phone; in response he only groaned and moved his lips onto her neck.

“What?” Charlie said slowly, trying to focus on her call. “What?”

He pinched her nipple lightly and she bucked her hips, trying to be quiet. He snickered quietly and dragged his teeth across her neck, causing her breath to become shaky.

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” she said, running the fingers of her free hand through his hair. “Be careful.”

She put her phone away and he raised his head and looked down at her.

“My friend…” she said slowly, writhing slightly. “Take this hand away, alright? I can’t focus.”

“Fine.” he sighed theatrically, taking his hand away. “I’ll be good now.”

“For some reason I doubt it, mister Penguin.” she said with a smile, stroking his face with her fingertips. “But I’ve got some good news for you.”

“Well, I’m all ears.”

“My… Friend found out what place is the Joker using as his hub.” she said and Oswald froze in place, his eyes transfixed on her face.

*** He showed up at either the best or the worst moment possible; she had a well-deserved day off from everything and everyone, just her, the luxuries of her apartment and mindlessly switching between shows on Netflix. She had to charge her mental batteries a bit; she had to come to terms with her emotions.

She felt sympathy for Oswald Cobblepot; it was out of place and kind of scary and definitely disturbing. She only saw two options she held tightly onto; either she really wanted to have sex with him - which was a plausible option and she was not at all ashamed of wanting to get into this wanted criminal’s bed - or the spell would be broken once she saw him the way she knew him from the files - violent, ruthless, dark. After all, he had blood on his hands; but there was something in his eyes, something irresistible, something drawing her in.

And it was this something she was thinking about during her day off; against her better judgement she let her thoughts wander in the direction of the unavoidable, in the direction of light caresses and kisses and desperate want.

It took her a moment to realize someone’s at the door; someone had truly impeccable timing, knocking as she was indulging herself, hoping to relieve some of this weird tension and longing she was feeling. For a moment she considered ignoring the intruder and carrying on; but her common sense took the better of her and she wrapped herself in her bathing robe and opened the door, the memory of her own touch still fresh on her skin.

Was she hallucinating? No, he was really there, just outside the door, looking impeccable and holding a rose and a paper bag from the nearby bakery. One more time she wished they were both in a better, happier timeline where she wouldn’t have to lie; the way he looked at her made her feel as if they were made for each other, as if all puzzle pieces fell into place.

She kissed him that day, under the guise of stealing sweets from him; but the truth is, she was just really in the mood and wanted to feel his hands on her. She wanted the inevitable to happen as fast as possible; to be able to put those horrific feelings behind, to get lost in his touch only to find herself again.

His lips on her skin felt right, and so did her fingers on his scarred, warm skin; she wanted to wrap her arms around him and pull him closer, closer, closer. She wanted the moment to never end, and for Oswald to replace his nimble fingers with his silver tongue; and she was about to say it when her phone rang. It was Avesta - she had to take this one, no matter how badly she wanted Cobblepot to pull her panties down with his teeth.

(He wasn’t making anything easy for her, and her body responded to his every touch; she kept the moans inside of her, her thoughts drifting away again and again and again.)

But what Avesta had to say brought her back to Earth quickly and effectively - her fellow agent managed to find one of Joker’s safe spots in Gotham, an East End club named - quite ironically - Carousel.

Duty called; so she told Oswald about the club, gently stroking his scruffy face, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingers. The feeling - sympathy, attraction, longing - didn’t go away, his kisses and gentle bites didn’t scare it away; she wanted that moment, that tiny vignette to last forever, just them and their warmth. She wanted the outside world to disappear, leaving only them and that weird, not entirely true thing between them.

But the outside world still existed and Oswald froze after hearing the news.

“Are you sure?” he asked finally.

“Dead sure.”

“Bloody hell.” he muttered, getting up. “I talked to the owner once. He swore on his mother’s grave he didn’t even see the Joker. I tried threats, I tried promises… That fucking liar. Wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out his mother isn’t even dead.”

“What now?” she asked, rolling onto her side and watching him put his shirt back on. “You’re leaving? What about me?” she asked mournfully and he laughed, reaching for his abandoned tie and stuffing it into his pocket.

“We’ll finish another time. Actually…”

He paused for a moment, looking at her; she anxiously brushed her hair away from her face.

“Come with me.” he said finally and she blinked a few times. “That’s right. Come on. Get dressed. We’re going to repay the clown in kind for interrupting our date.”

“Why the change of mind?” she said, not moving. “You didn’t want me to stay last time. Why do you want me to come?”

“Because I’m going to keep an eye on you.” he said, putting his jacket back on. “Also there’s a matter of you wanting to let out some steam. I would hate to see you explode.” he added with a grin and she laughed, getting off the bed.

“Alright, I’m game. I want some action.”

“Perfect.” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Get dressed, pick something nice.”

“All my clothes are nice.” she said, opening the closet. “Give me a minute.”

“Don’t bother with makeup.” he said as she disappeared in the bathroom. “Just brush your hair. We’ll be wearing masks anyway.”

“Masks?” she asked, putting on one of her favorite dresses; black, with a circle skirt, a Queen Ann neckline and a sewn-in bra. “Makes sense.”

She quickly brushed her hair and left the bathroom, walked up to Oswald and turned around.

“Zip it up.”

“I’d rather be doing this the other way ‘round, you know.” he said, zipping her dress up and she laughed. “Or was that too forward?”

“I’ve always dreamed of getting into a tempestuous affair with a criminal. Infatuation at first sight, surreptitious kisses, partners in crime, two souls feeling like they are one and the same… Living the dream.”

“Well put.” he said softly, as she was putting her shoes on; black, studded Louboutins. “Does it mean you’re really going to stick around?”

“I moved to Gotham specifically for a chance to meet you.” she said, picking the room key up from the nearby table. “And what I got… is surpassing my wildest hopes. Of course I’m going to stick around.”

(The last thing was almost painful to say.)

“That’s even better to hear. Come on. Time to cement this… Thing, whatever it might be.” he said and she nodded.

They took her car; Charlie was driving. Oswald called his right hand man and told him to get everyone to the hideout in the docks; he sounded serious.

“So what’s the plan?” Charlie asked as he turned his phone off.

“We’re going to gear up and then we’re going to wreck the Carousel.” Oswald said calmly. “The Joker wants to play, and I’m going to send him a message. Don’t fuck with Penguin.”

“And what if he retaliates?”

“Oh, but he will. We’ve been doing this for months - except this time I’m going to put an end to this. When the chance arises - and I know it will - I’m going to kill the Joker.”

“That sounds chilling.” she said with a smile. “Love it. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”

“Tell me about my mole among Joker’s men. “Oswald said suddenly. “Who are they? Why do they want to help me?”

“They don’t want to help you, they want to help me.” she corrected him; a cold shiver ran down her spine. “We’re good friends, we go way back… And they owe me one. So they decided to repay the favor by helping me get into your good graces. You know. Like friends do.”

Oswald laughed.

“Oh yes, this is a true meaning of friendship - repaying a debt by helping you steal the heart of Gotham’s menace.”

“So I stole your heart, huh?” she asked, her heart beating unsurprisingly fast; Louise’s words ringed in her ears. “Jackpot.”

“Remind me to thank Louise for introducing us. Gotham’s very own Cupid.”

Penguin’s men were waiting for them in the warehouse; Tennyson did manage to get every one of them, even Sebastian whose arm was healing well.

“What is she doing here?” Schulz asked as soon as they entered. “Does she think it’s a game?”

“She’s under my care, Schulz.” Oswald said calmly, pulling out blueprints of the Carousel building; thanks to Louise’s friends at mayor’s office he had copies of blueprints of most - if not all - buildings in Gotham. “Also her friend’s our informant. So lay off her and do your job.”

“I can take care of myself.” she added, as insolently as she only could. “I practiced self defense for years.”

“Ever played baseball?” Oswald asked, handing her a bat, wrapped in barbed wire.

“No, but I know how to swing a bat.”

“See?” Oswald said to Schulz. “Relax, Schulz, have some faith in my decisions. It’s just a surprise visit anyway, not a meticulously planned operation. Now, speaking of planning…”

The plan was as simple as it gets - they show up, they enter through the back door (secured with a chain, but it was nothing they couldn’t deal with), they kick the people out, they wreck the place, they leave. No bloodshed, if possible; just destruction.

“Alright. Take your masks and meet me in the back alley in thirty.”

“I don’t have a mask.” Charlie said hesitantly, to which Oswald nodded.

“I know, I remember. Try this on.” he said, handing her one; it was smaller than his and was obviously modeled after a seal’s head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his men take their masks; each resembled a different animal. There was an ox, a mongoose, an alligator; a wide array of animals - but only hers in any way matched his iconic penguin one.

“Let’s just adjust those…” he muttered, helping her with the straps. “Looks like it fits.”

“It does.” she said; her voice was muffled and slightly distorted. She took the mask off and looked it in the eye.

“They were being sold as a set.” Oswald said, shrugging slightly. “Ready?”

“I was born ready.”

***

It went almost flawlessly.

At that part of day - early afternoon - the club was almost empty; and the owner trembled in fear, begging Penguin for forgiveness and to not wreck his local; but in vain. Oswald was feeling vengeful and relentless that day; and at his sign the destruction had begun. Surprisingly, smashing furniture with a baseball bat turned out to be enjoyable; same case with flatscreens and music players and the bar.

“Enjoying yourself?” Oswald asked, as she was destroying a set of chairs and ripping posters to shreds at the balcony.

“Yeah!” she replied; the voice-altering device inside her mask hid her surprise. “What did the guy have to say?”

“Well, he claims the clown is no friend of his, but…”

He paused for a moment and shrugged.

“But he did lend his place to him, so I don’t believe a word he’s saying. Piggsy and Owl are now squeezing the truth out of him.”

“Torture?” she asked, trying to feel appalled or disgusted; but to no avail. She felt… Nothing. The fact Penguin was directly responsible for a man being tortured - didn’t make her feel anything.

(At least nothing negative; with a shiver she realized she’s kinda into it, the fact she’s involved with someone as cruel as him. He was terrible, and a monster - but his lips on her neck felt like a revelation, rather than a curse.)

“A friendly conversation.” he said carelessly. “You’re pretty handy with that bat, I’m almost afraid of you.”

“What can I say?” she said, smashing a glass table. “I like it rough.”

He laughed, walked up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“I’ll remember.” he promised her quietly.

And that’s when everything went to shit.

“Boss!”

Tennyson - wearing a mongoose mask - ran up to them.

“What?” Oswald asked impatiently.

“The Joker is here!”

“Shit!” Oswald cussed, pushing Charlie down. “Quick, get down before he sees you!”

She dropped onto her stomach, feeling… Not afraid - but alive. The adrenaline, the thrill, the Joker’s voice coming from downstairs - it was exciting.

“Get her out of here.” Oswald quietly said to Tennyson. “Her car’s parked nearby.”

“But what about you?!” Charlie protested; he only shook his head.

“I’ll manage.” he said, cocking his gun. “But your concern is touching. Now get your ass out of here, I still want to finish what we started earlier today.”

“Be safe.” she whispered and - slowly, carefully - got up and followed Tennyson.

They stayed out of sight and almost managed to sneak out; but then one of the Joker’s thugs noticed them.

It was a split second decision, and Charlie decided there is no other way; her barbed bat clashed against his head, killing him instantly. His brain tissue and blood splattered around and his corpse fell down with a hollow thud.

“Christ.” Tennyson muttered as she stood there, her hands shaking. “Remind me to add you to the list of people I don’t want to piss off. You’ll be number two, right after boss.”

“Thanks.” she said faintly, feeling like she’s about to throw up. “Come on. Let’s move, before more of them shows up.”

“Good idea.”

Behind she could hear gunshots, and her heart stopped.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“Who, boss? Of course he’ll be fine, he’s indestructible.”

“He better.” she muttered. “I only just met him. I don’t want this relationship to end through premature death.” “Relationship, huh?’ Tennyson said after a short pause. “So are you and boss-”

“That’s what I’m trying to accomplish, yeah.” she said against her better judgement; that was what she was supposed to avoid. Emotional attachment. She had no idea where this thing is going, but one thing was certain: it’s going to end badly “Alright, I think I’ll manage on my own. Thanks, Tennyson.”

“It’s Archie.”

He turned around to get back in the fight, but she stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell your boss to come to me.” she said quietly. “Tell him… I’ll be waiting.”

“Will do. Take care, Red.”

She hid the bloodied bat and her mask in a trunk of her car and drove back to the hotel. She considered calling Flagg to report her progress and to give him a list of names of Penguin’s men; but she didn’t. For a little longer she wanted to pretend this is all real, not an act. For a little while longer she wanted to pretend she’s a spoiled, rich kid playing with fire and spiraling down, and not an agent, trained specifically for this sort of thing.

Oswald came to her a few hours later, in evening hours; the doors to her apartment were unlocked and she was lying on the sofa, wondering if this truly is the direction her life should be taking. She could feel herself slipping; and the truth is, she never really cared about the Agency’s mission. It meant nothing to her.

Perhaps she simply put herself on the wrong side of the conflict. Perhaps she wasn’t slipping; perhaps she was simply coming to an unwelcome realization.

The sound of doors opening and closing brought her back to Earth and she sat up, looking in the direction of the entrance; Oswald was there, his hair a mess and his clothes stained with dried up blood - but he seemed unharmed.

And unhappy.

“Oh my god, you’re alright.” she said, and her relief was genuine. “I was so worried when I heard the gunshots-”

“They got Sebastian.” Oswald interrupted her. “He’s dead.”

She covered her mouth and looked at him in shock.

“I’m so, so sorry.” she said finally and he sighed. “But if it makes you feel any better… The Joker now has one thug less as well.”

“I know.” he said, walking up to the couch and slowly sitting down next to Charlie. “Tennyson told me. You killed him in one hit. I’m… Impressed.”

“i told you, I can take care of myself.” she said quietly. “Also I was scared and very, very tense.”

He laughed quietly and shook his head; impulsively she leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I am sorry about Sebastian.” she whispered; her lips were gently brushing his skin.

“It happens.” he said equally quietly. “At least he went out quickly. I’m more concerned about the fact that clown yet again… Knew where and when to find me.”

He looked at her and his eyes were dark; but after a moment he sighed and shook his head.

“I know you’re not the mole.” he said and her heart felt heavy. “I can’t explain it, I just… Know it. You’re not the mole.”

“Of course I’m not the mole.” she said softly, getting up from the couch; her shirt hung loosely on her, curving slightly on her small breasts. “Stay here. I’ll… Make you some tea. And then maybe take a shower.”

But he didn’t stay on couch; instead he followed her quietly, just as she hoped he would.

“I don’t want any damn tea.” he said finally, standing right behind her. “I want to finish what we started, you tease.”

“Well.” she said quietly, turning around to face him and dried up blood on his clothes and dark echoes of violence in his eyes and death in his smile. “What are you waiting for?”

He pushed her against the wall and she gasped in surprise; he held her hands and kissed her deeply, possessively, desperately. In his breath she could taste cigarette smoke and whiskey; but he wasn’t drunk, he was perfectly sober.

He broke the kiss and she opened her eyes; her cheeks were flushed and she could feel the warmth and tension building up in her body again.

“Kiss me again.” she whispered; but he only bit her bottom lip.

“What were you doing when I first showed up today?” he asked, and she scoffed.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m wondering how nice am I going to be. What is it gonna be, Charlie?” he said quietly.

“Don’t be nice.” she said breathlessly, her eyes fixed on his narrow lips. “I want it to hurt.”

(She felt like maybe a little bit of pain will bring her back.)

“Do you want me to hurt you?” he asked quietly; he moved one of his hands onto her neck and squeezed lightly.

“Yes.” she panted out.

(From him even a stab in the back would feel like a blessing, and she wanted those bruises and bitemarks as badly as a saint craves holy pain.)

“Alright.”

They did hurt each other that night, many times; with scratches and bruises and bitemarks and hair-pulling. His touch was merciless and relentless and his kisses burned her skin like fire and she wanted more, more, more. He bruised her neck and hips and thighs and she drew his blood with her fingernails; he marked her skin with his teeth and she pulled his hair. He made her scream and muffled the sounds with a kiss and laughter came out of his throat as she was dragging her sharp nails across his already scarred back.

“Was that sufficient?” he asked later, as they were lying in bed and her thoughts were hazy and blurry. “Or did you want me to hurt you more?”

“No.” she muttered in response, her body sore, but relaxed. “How’s your back?”

“I’ll live. Now, treat your bruises with respect.” he said jokingly. “Not every of my fans can say I choked them.”

“I’ll wear them with pride.” she promised him, closing her eyes for a moment. “Oswald…”

“Yes?”

“My heart belongs to you.” she said very quietly, her common sense practically begging her to stop. “Do you realize that?”

“Yes.” he replied. “And I want you to know… You’ve earned a spot in my heart as well. I think there is something going on between us, Charlie. Even though we barely met.”

They fell in love, hard and fast; and Charlie tried to feel bad about suddenly developing feelings for one of Gotham’s most notorious criminals - but to no avail. She felt scared about what the future will bring for the two of them and how the story will end - but she didn’t feel bad. The heart wants what it wants and love cannot be compelled; the inevitable consequences were horrifying to think about, but she decided to live in the moment.

(There was always a possibility of this whole thing being just a result of her getting too much into her role; maybe it’d pass once he left. Maybe it’d pass once she saw him spill blood. Maybe it’d pass if…)

***

He fell in love, plain and simple - he fell in love with a girl who brought him his mother’s ring and who burned his skin with a kiss and who smashed glass tables with a baseball bat and who killed a man with no hesitation and in one, swift swing. He fell in love with a girl who looked at him with pure adoration as his fingers were wrapped around her throat; he fell in love with a girl who showed up out of nowhere - but it didn’t matter. He checked her reports, and she had a life before Gotham; she was an actual person and everything she told him about herself was proven to be true. She came to Gotham to finally meet her idol; and he was so, so glad she did. They were a match made in Heaven, two sides of the same coin. His heart belonged to her and his skin yearned for her touch.

His men and associates mostly took it relatively well - Fish and Louise seemed to be happy for him. Bullock was skeptical, and so was Schulz. Tennyson refused to give out his opinion; maybe for the better.

“I don’t like it, boss.” Schulz said, shaking his head. “At all. What if she’s the mole?”

“Nonsense, Schulz.” Oswald replied calmly, sharpening his knife. “She’s not the mole. I’d know. No one can be that good at acting.”

“Ellen Page pretending to be attracted to Michael Cera?”

“Compare me to Michael Cera one more time and I’ll cut your throat, Schulz. And that’s a promise.”

Schulz did have a point though - there was a mole among his men. Someone told the Joker he’s going to be at Lafontaine’s. Someone told him about the Carousel. Or maybe the Carousel was a trap? Maybe the clown intentionally fed Charlie’s friend this information knowing it’s going to make his way to him?

He shared those doubts with Charlie.

“That’s impossible.” she said; they were in her apartment on the couch and he was lying with his head on her lap. “She didn’t find out directly from the Joker, she did it all by herself.”

“Hm.” he muttered. “Well, then who is the mole?”

“I wish I knew.” she sighed. “Maybe some new blood?”

“I have to think of a way to flush them out.” he said absentmindedly. “Have you heard from your friend recently?”

“Actually I’m waiting for a call. She texted me. Apparently she has something big. She’s going up through the ranks, you know? She’s incredible.” Charlie said with pure admiration in her voice.

Her mysterious friend turned out to be useful; she had plenty of leaks for Penguin, nothing big enough to draw suspicions, but also significant enough to allow Penguin to slowly, methodically undermine Joker’s plans and alliances. Eventually - and he was sure of that - he’d be able to plan a surprise attack on the clown and end him once and for good.

But for now, he had his love life to take care of; he was glad he decided to put off revealing his identity as Oswald Cobblepot, the long-lost last heir to the long gone Cobblepot fortune. Sure, Charlie figured it out all by herself - but she was the only one resourceful enough. Money can open many mouths; and he was sure it cost her a lot, following the gossamer thread of leads he had left behind.

Keeping his identity a secret opened up a lot of opportunities - normal opportunities, like walks in the park. It felt weird, walking hand in hand with someone who’d later the same day be his assistant in robbing a fancy party. It was a quick, easy job - Charlie was a guest, a charming personality, a dazzling star of every gathering. She spent an hour or so chatting people up, taking mental notes of who’s present and whose necks are decorated with priceless diamonds; she then discreetly signaled her lover who - accompanied by his men - barged in, took the nearest guest hostage and threatened to shoot them unless the other guests part ways with their jewelry and cash.

It worked; Charlie was a very convincing hostage, trembling as he was pressing her arms to her sides, while putting a loaded gun to the side of her head.

“This is exciting.” she whispered to him, quietly enough only he could hear her. “You’re wearing the gloves I bought you. That’s nice.”

(She bought him a pair of expensive gloves, made of the finest, Italian leather.)

He didn’t say anything, instead gently nudging her with his gun, hoping she’ll understand what he means; she squirmed slightly and he tightened his grip.

He dragged his gun across the skin on her back that evening, and smiled under his mask, seeing a shiver run down her spine; before she handed him his prize - her hands shaking ostentatiously - he grabbed her chin with his gloved fingers and lift it up, forcing her to look into the empty eye of his mask.

All the terrified guests were behind her back and no one except for him could see her face; and she looked at him same way she did when they first met, same way when his fingers were around her throat after she asked him to hurt her.

“That’s what I like to see.” he said, looking her in the eye. “Good.”

(He adored the way she looked at him.)

He hoped it would be like this forever.

*** Filling our reports and talking about her progress was getting harder with each passing day; with each day she felt more like a traitor to Oswald, than to the Agency. She made a mistake, all those months ago; she picked the wrong side and the time to pay the price was slowly coming. She learned everything that was to learn about Oswald; his habits, hideouts, plans. She gained his trust - and her supervisor was insisting it’s time to put an end to this.

“But what about the Joker?” Charlie protested during a sparring session. “We still have to use Penguin in that one!”

“And we will do it once he’s in our custody and working on our terms.” Flagg replied. “This is taking way too long.”

“Yeah, well, getting his trust wasn’t easy. He’s… Secretive.”

“Sure he is, agent. Sure he is.”

She was given an ultimatum - two months. She had two months to wrap her operation up and arrest the Penguin, or Agency armed task force would swoop in and do it for her, stealing her thunder. It was least of her concerns, not getting the recognition; she found herself in a situation without exit and that was the only thing she could think about when he was wrapping his arms around her.

“Is something bothering you, love?”

“No.” she said, turning her head away. “Make it hurt. Please.”

“Oh, but I don’t want it to hurt tonight.” he muttered, brushing her temple with his lips. “I wanted tonight to be romantic…”

His words brought tears to her eyes, for some reason; it’s not like their rough, bruising sex worked in terms of bringing her back and making her look at him differently - if anything, it brought quite the opposite result. He was a thief and had no remorse about selling weapons to drug lords and would order his men to torture someone without giving it a second thought - but he would also kiss her bruises and make her laugh with his terrible jokes. He was bad - and she didn’t mind.

For some time, she tried to comfort herself by thinking that maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe he’ll agree to work with the Agency. Maybe he’ll forgive her. Maybe they’ll be an odd couple - the agent and the prisoner she brought in, love through the cage bars, sad little story of a predator and its prey. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

There was a lot of maybes in her thoughts, a lot of what-ifs - and she never got any confirmation or answers for most of them.

The beginning of an end came with a bank robbery.

It wouldn’t be the first time Penguin requested her assistance in a heist - but it was the first time she was supposed to lead the operation in his name, while he was busy in the other part of town. He worked out a plan with her, and made his men swear on their lives they’ll follow her lead; officially Penguin wasn’t playing favorites. Unofficially everyone knew who his favorite is - and no one had enough courage to argue with his decision. Not Schulz, who was very close to making Penguin lose his patience. Not Tennyson, who saw what she can do when in desperate situation.

At first, everything went smooth; she entered the bank with her bat and a drawn gun, Penguin’s men behind her, a grim horde. She shot at the ceiling to draw attention.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” she said as bank workers and clients were being taken care of. “Unfortunately Penguin couldn’t make it, so today I’m in charge. You can call me Pinniped.”

That whole thing - the robbery, the thrill, the mask - felt right. Like she was born to do it.

“Now… You know the rules.” she said calmly, walking in front of a terrified row of clerks. “Play nice… Or else.”

She smashed the nearby wooden table to illustrate her point; pieces of wood flew in all directions.

“Do we understand each other?”

“Cops are en route, we should move quickly.” Tennyson advised her quietly and she nodded.

“Fine. Everyone take as much as you can and we’re gone.”

“You heard her!” he said louder, walking away. “Come on, we don’t have a whole day!”

They got rich that afternoon, and disappeared without a trace; they had it mastered. Her presence was only needed so the city knew who’s behind this - she had to carry on Penguin’s name. It was pure showmanship - but she enjoyed it, much more than she wanted to admit.

She realized something’s way off during the escape. They were escaping in twos, and she ended up with Schulz; but she was fine with it, because she was sure Schulz reconsidered and is at least going to stop being an asshole.

(Why was she so concerned with what this random criminal thinks of her? She had no idea. Sometimes she pushed the thoughts of her job so far away she forgot her current life was supposed to be a mere act.)

But something was wrong - and wherever Schulz was taking her definitely wasn’t one of Penguin’s hideouts.

“What the fuck, Schulz?” she asked sharply. “Where are we going?”

“There was a small change of plans, princess.” he said mockingly. “I’m not taking you to the Penguin.”

“He’s going to rip your head off.” she said, reaching for her gun; but Schulz only snickered.

“You’re out of bullets. I counted. Now stop being a brat and maybe you’ll live. Sure, you’ll have to watch the Joker take care of Penguin, but it’s still better than being dead, right?”

“No.” she said, feeling cold sweat run down her spine. “No. Oh my god, no. Don’t do it.”

“Too late. Everything’s already in motion.” Schulz said with a shrug.

The situation looked bad. She considered jumping out of the driving car; but there was no way she’d survive this. She could try to fight - but that would end up in a car crash. She had no weapons, no equipment; she was on her own - and scared. There was no way out - all she could hope for was Flagg taking initiative after she fails to report back. She also hoped for Oswald to magically show up and save the day - but he’s been searching for the Joker’s hideout for months with no success.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked quietly, wondering why is he allowing her to see where are they going; but she quickly realized why. She wasn’t going to leave anyway.

“Me? Nothing.” Schulz said with a shrug. “But the Joker wants to chat with you. And believe me - he can be very convincing.”

“Well, what does he want from me?”

“Penguin’s plans, of course. And if I were you… I’d give them all the answers he wants.”

When she wasn’t looking he stabbed her in the neck with a needle; she gasped in pain and after few minutes everything went black.

*** He fell in love and it broke his heart, shattered it to pieces and made him feel like he’s drowning, suffocating, dying. It made him feel like a kid all over again; betrayed, angry, bitter. Heartbreak tasted like ash, like blood, like gunpowder; heartbreak tasted like hazelnut macarons and coconut biscotti. Heartbreak was knowing that all the adoration in her eyes and kisses… Was fake.

It began with a bank robbery; he had a deal to strike in another part of town, so he decided to let Charlie run things for a while. It’s not like there was a lot to fuck up; she knew to not kill civilians, could be intimidating if she only wanted to, knew how to make an unforgettable entrance. The heist was in good hands; his reputation was in good hands.

He realized something went sideways when he met up with his crew in one of his hideouts. Everyone made it in one piece; everyone - except for Charlie and Schulz.

“Well this is fucking fantastic.” he said, trying to remain calm. “What happened? Did the cops catch up to them?”

“We’d hear about it if that was the case.”

“Then where are they?!” he snapped. “Alright. Alright. I’m going to call my friend on the force. Maybe he knows something. Anything.”

But Bullock haven’t heard about anything; no arrests had been made in regards to the heist. GCPD had no suspects regarding the identity of Penguin’s masked representative, there was nothing.

“Hold up.” Bullock said as Oswald was about to smash his phone against the wall. “Didn’t you put tracking devices in your getaway cars?”

The detective was right - Oswald did do it, months earlier - he then forgot about it, because he never had any need for those and had a lot of his head. The computer connected to the trackers was in his main hideout in the docks; it took him about an hour to get there.

“They’re… By the harbor?” he said, surprised. “And not moving. Also she’s not picking up her phone. Neither is he.”

“Maybe they have an affair.” one of his men - Graham - suggested, to which Oswald promptly punched him in the celiac plexus.

“I’m going there.” he decided calmly, putting his gloves on. “I’ve got a bad, bad feeling about this. Take your best toys, boys.”

His bad feelings were confirmed to be true; the place - an abandoned building - was surrounded by Joker’s men. Charlie and Schulz were nowhere to be seen - until he got to the room on the top floor. He could hear voices coming from behind the closed door; Joker’s joyful trill, Schulz’s grumbling… And Charlie’s breathy, terrified pleads. She was begging the clown to not kill him; but the clown was ignoring her, instead negotiating payment with Schulz.

He cocked his gun and cursed quietly; he only had one bullet left. He could wait for his men to catch up; but he felt like the moment he walks away the clown will slip through his fingers, like many times before.

“You fucking traitor!” Oswald screamed, bursting into the room; two men froze in place, taken by surprise.

He made a split-second decision; traitorous Schulz dropped onto the ground. There was no doubt he was the mole; and Oswald didn’t care about his excuses or explanations.

Charlie - drugged out of her mind - was tied up on the chair; and the clown raised his hands, giving Oswald a sardonic smile.

“My good friend!” he said, staring at him. “Look, pretty thing, your white knight is here!”

“I’m going to kill you.” Oswald said calmly, pointing his gun at the Joker. “For ruining my plans and for planting a mole among my men and for what you did to her.”

“Last one on your list of priorities!” the Joker giggled. “It’s a good thing she’s so high her brain’s basically in another dimension. But… You can’t kill me now.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re out of ammo.” the Joker said calmly, slowly lowering his hands and sitting more comfortably. “We still have a few more minutes. And it’s good! Because, my good friend… There’s something you should know about.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Oswald said instead. “It’s over, clown. Your men are down and I have you at my mercy. You’re dead. Face the facts.”

“Suit yourself.” the Joker said, slowly showing him a pocket dictaphone. “But this little bird did sing me a remarkably pretty song… And trust me, you’re going to love it.”

He reached out to touch Charlie’s face; and before Oswald could react - she headbutted him with all her might.

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, struggling desperately in her bonds. “Don’t touch me!”

“Boss!” Tennyson panted out, bursting into the room. “There you are!”

“Give me your gun, Archie.” Oswald said calmly, not taking his eyes off the Joker, who was groaning in pain. “I need one shot.”

“Penguin, wait!” the Joker pleased, as Oswald cocked Tennyson’s loaded gun and slowly walked up to him. “We can talk, just don’t-”

Least memorable last words in history. Joker’s head practically exploded as Oswald shot him in the face, once and for all putting an end to their war; he then turned around to face Charlie, who - in the meantime - was being untied from the chair by Archie.

“I was so worried.” he said quietly, helping her get up; her legs were shaking and it looked like she’s going to pass out. “What did he do to you?”

“He drugged me…” she muttered, showing him a big, ugly bruise on her neck. “Truth serum… Big dose. Schulz’s the mole.” she said suddenly, gripping the fabric of his jacket. “Oswald. Schulz’s the mole.”

“Schulz is dead, Charlie. I killed him.”

“I must have missed that…” she muttered; she was shaking badly. Suddenly her legs gave up and she almost fell down; he caught her and picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I knew you’d come for me.” she whispered as he carried her down the stairs. “I knew it.”

“Shhhhh.” he said, laying her down on the backseat of his car. “Don’t talk. I’ll take you to a safe place, and I’m going to get someone who’ll fix you up.”

The Waterfront - belonging to Falcone - wasn’t exactly a safe spot; but it was nearby, and he trusted FIsh Mooney enough to know she won’t rat him out to Gotham’s ugliest mafioso.

Through threats he convinced Crane - a professional doctor, a brilliant chemist and a complete nutjob - to come over and help.

Fish lent them her office, where she had a comfortable futon; she seemed concerned, as Oswald marched in, carrying nearly unconscious Charlie.

“Oh my, what happened?!” she asked, following them and watching as he carefully laid his drugged up lover down.

“The Joker.” Oswald replied shortly. “Scarecrow will be here soon. He knows what to do to make her… Better.”

“Then she’s in good hands.” Fish said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll get you something to drink.”

“I’m not leaving her.” he said quietly, looking at Charlie’s flushed cheeks and seemingly unseeing eyes. “That bastard… I’m glad he’s dead.”

“She’ll be fine, boy. She’ll be fine.”

Crane managed to bring Charlie back to Earth, somehow; she was still weak and scared - but at least she wasn’t high anymore.

“Now the only thing I can recommend is some sleep.” Crane said, putting on his coat. “Some sleep, some vitamins, some water… What she was injected with isn’t addictive, so that’s not gonna be a problem. She should be good to go in two days tops.”

“Thanks, you weirdo.” Oswald said, looking at Crane; outside of his Scarecrow persona the disgraced psychiatrist seemed almost normal, almost pleasant. “I’m… Sorry I threatened to cut you to pieces and feed them to you. Heat of the moment.”

“Ah, but I understand. Love makes fools of us all.”

“Yeah.” Oswald replied quietly, watching him leave. “Yeah.”

“Can you take me back to the hotel?” Charlie asked, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I think… I need to rest in my own bed.”

“Of course. Charlie…”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and hiding his face in her hair.

She asked him to not leave her alone, and he happily obliged; he was dangerously close to losing her, after all.

She fell asleep eventually; curled up in bed and muttering, but at least she was alive and in one piece. Watching her and the shadows of her lashes on her cheeks, he absentmindedly played with something in his pocket; eventually he pulled it out, not recognizing the oblong, metallic item.

It was Joker’s recording device, and in its memory - everything Charlie told to the clown; for a while he stared at the device in silent, before moving to another room and - against his better judgement - pressing play.

He listened to the recording over and over again that night, but it didn’t make it any less painful.

Charlie - his Charlie, the girl who brought him his mother’s ring, the girl who looked at him with loving adoration and whose kisses were sweeter than honey and more tempting than sin - was an agent, sent out by the Agency to capture him; he knew it’s true. She said it while drugged with a truth serum. Her feelings were all an elaborate lie, a way of getting into his good graces; her love wasn’t real and he felt as if someone ripped his heart out.

He waited till morning to confront her; and he listened to her confession over and over again, until he had every word memorized, every shaky note, every change of tone. It burned itself into his brain, into his soul, into his heart.

“I know the truth, you lying viper.” he said quietly as she left the bedroom, her hair a mess and her body soft and warm. “I know who sent you.”

She turned pale.

“Oswald…” she said faintly, reaching out to touch his face; but he pushed her hands away. “Oswald, please…”

“Shut up.” he said; suddenly he felt very calm, almost dead. “I’m leaving now. You can drop by my hideout in the docks today to pick up your stuff. After that… I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Oswald…”

“No.” he said, walking to the door. “Don’t talk to me.”

“But I love you!”

She sounded desperate and almost sincere and he laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Oh, Charlie. You must think I’m really fucking stupid.”

He left, not giving her a chance to say anything else; he punched the corridor wall, enough times and hard enough to make his knuckles bleed.

*** The thing she so badly didn’t want to think about happened; Oswald found out. He didn’t go through her phone, he wasn’t digging in her laptop; he didn’t have to. He simply listened to what the Joker recorded - plain truth, spilling out of her lips like poison. He didn’t want to listen to her explanation; there’s no way he’d believe her anyway. Her love confessions didn’t feel real to him anymore. Her love didn’t feel real anymore; even though it did to her. It was real, it was all real; and that was the source of her suffering.

The rest was a blur, only interrupted with few sharp, crystal clear memories.

She went to the docks the same way, to pick up few things she had left there; a bra. A hairbrush.

(Her heart.)

“So that’s it?” she asked quietly, looking at his back; he was packing up, ready to abandon this hideout. “We’re done?”

“Actually, Charlie…” he said and her heart skipped a beat. “We’re not done. Because apparently… What we had was never real. And you can’t destroy something that never existed in the first place. So, since there was never any we to speak of…”

He turned around to face her; his face was calm and his eyes were cold and dark and indifferent.

“My heart isn’t broken.” he said and his voice was a bit shaky. “You’re just a stranger. A spy I’m mercifully sparing, as an act of good will. Now go, before this changes… And I get really fucking unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry.” she said quietly, trying to not think about what’s going to happen once her superiors find out.

“Oh, and one more thing.” he said as she was by the door.

“Yes?”

“Here.” he said, throwing a small box in her direction; inside was a pair of beautiful, white gold and benitoite earrings. “A token of appreciation.” he said bitterly. “I’ve been meaning to give those to you for quite some time now.”

She left without a word, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Louise wasn’t overjoyed.

“I know.” she said, before Charlie said anything. “So do Flagg and Waller and Avesta. Almost everyone’s pissed at you.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I’m not.” she said with a shrug. “Waller sent a total rookie to deal with the Penguin, a man who probably rolled over thirty on charisma.”

“Louise, I love him.” Charlie said tearfully. “I really fucking do.”

“Oh, but I believe you.” Louise replied calmly. “He’s very likeable, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“Luckily for you, I have a way out of this mess.”

“...what?”

She couldn’t believe her ears; was it real? Did the superior agent really have a way to solve this ugly clusterfuck?

“Please tell me.” she said tearfully. “Please.”

“How good of a liar are you?”

“Good enough to trick myself into thinking it’ll pass over and over again.” Charlie said bitterly. “Come on. Hit me.”

After Louise laid out her idea, silence fell in the room for a moment.

“Why are you helping me?” Charlie asked finally. “Shouldn’t you be angry at me as well?”

“I’m leaving the Agency.” Louise replied with a shrug. “I’m tired of this double life bullshit. Plus… I’ve spent months working with Cobblepot. I think he corrupted me as well. He does that to people. Only ever brings out the worst in them.”

“Yeah.” she said, thinking about his kisses and the warmth of his body. “He does.”

Finally the judgement day came and Charlie had to face a very pissed off Amanda Waller.

“I’m taking Avesta after you, because I need some damn good news.” Waller said without any greeting. “Penguin got away. How so?”

“The Joker drugged me. Got a confession. Penguin heard it and… He disappeared.”

“Months of hard work gone!” Waller exploded. “And this is all you have to say?!”

“Well what do you want me to say?! I’m not going to apologize, this is not my fault! I was kidnapped and drugged!”

“You were trained to persevere in situations like this, agent.” Waller said, shaking her head. “This is most disappointing.”

Her disappointment didn’t hurt half as much as she thought it would.

“Then maybe I’m not the Agency material. Maybe I should leave. But…”

“But? Spit it out, for fuck’s sake.” Waller groaned.

“Here’s what I have to say: you sent a rookie agent, straight out of training, to deal with someone you claimed to be a high priority target. This is a mistake on your part, ma’am.” Charlie said calmly. “And I think you realize that. Am I right?”

“What’s your point, agent?”

“My point is… You fucked up. If Penguin really is a high priority target - someone’s going to ask questions. Someone’s going to wonder what happened. And eventually… Someone’s going to give an answer to those questions.” she continued, crossing her fingers under the table. “Someone’s going to say I was a rookie and I was sent out to get the Penguin, despite barely having finished my training. And then… There will be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me, agent?” Waller asked with amusement, leaning forwards slightly. “That’s adorable and pointless, because I can simply say Penguin never was a high priority target. Also I could lock you up for this insolence.”

“I wouldn’t do this if I were you.”

“Oh really? How so?”

“I have access to the Agency database. I printed out a lot of pages - mostly personnel files. Names, numbers, addresses… The good stuff, all in physical copies. They are in good hands - for now. Everything will go viral… If I fail to call a certain person by a certain hour.”

That was it: the tipping point, the deciding moment, the essence of Louise’s plan.

“That’s treason.” Waller said calmly. “You’ll go to jail.”

“Maybe, but the damage will already be done. So… Worth it.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t.” Charlie replied calmly. “Polygraphs are extremely unreliable, and as for chemicals… During the last few weeks I’ve been injected with a dose big enough anything more than that might be lethal.”

“Alright, let’s say I play along.” Waller said, folding her hands. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“I want to leave the Agency, no strings attached. This is not a mutually beneficial relationship.” Charlie said with a polite smile. “I also want Penguin to be off the Agency’s target list.”

“Oh, this is fascinating.”

“He’s just a common thief. He’s not big enough to be that important… Unless he is. Which brings us back to the beginning and my initial… Suggestion.”

Waller didn’t say anything, and her expression hadn’t changed; but Charlie felt the scales tipping in her favor.

“There’s no good way out of this situation.” she added eventually. “Except for agreeing to what I suggested… And keeping your word. And I’ll keep the files. You know. As a protection.”

“Your impertinence is remarkable, agent.” Waller said; and her calm sounded fake. “But you know what? Fine. Have your damn deal. I’ll gladly do anything to never have to look at Cobblepot’s mug ever again.”

“It’s a deal then.” Charlie said calmly. “And I’m going to keep my end of the bargain… As long as you keep yours.”

“Penguin will be off our list by midnight. Now get out before I change my mind and lock you up for treason.”

Charlie left Waller’s office feeling triumphant; naturally she knew that with Waller nothing is as simple as it seems. Maybe she was the one being played. Maybe she simply gave Waller what she wanted; but it didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact she was free - and with bold blackmail she won a chance to try again.

Over the phone, Louise confirmed her doubts.

“We’re being played.” she warned her. “And I just sent my resignation letter, so we’re on our own.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let me live in the moment.”

“Living in the moment caused you to be in situation where you had to blackmail Waller. But fine. When are you coming back to Gotham?”

“I should be there by tomorrow evening. Why?”

“Falcone’s doing another auction soon. Theodore Cobblepot’s monocle will be up for grabs. I’d say...It’s a good starting point.”

“But I’m over Oswald.” Charlie lied. “He hates me. We’re done.”

“You’re not over him and he’s not over you. Trust me on this one.” Louise said tiredly. “Get your ass back to Gotham as fast as possible, I want this mess to be over with. You’ll get him a family memento, we’ll track him down and then you two will talk shit out, like functional adults.”

“That almost sounds like a plan.”

“Not almost, Charlie. Not almost.”

*** She was back in Gotham, and it felt like she never left; it felt like she belonged there, in that cursed city, plagued by crime.

She even managed to rent the same hotel apartment she resided in; it was clinically clean again and the staff had changed the sheets and cleaned up all surfaces, but the air still felt heavy with memories of kisses and gasps. The dried-up flowers she kept in a vase were gone; but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact her skin still remembered the touch of his lips and her heart still remembered that weird thing in his eyes, that irresistible spark drawing her in. Her heart remembered; which is why she gave up on claiming she’s over him.

Also because Louise threatened to not help her if she says that again. That was a factor too.

Falcone’s second auction was being hosted in the same exact building as the first one: and she recognized many faces, from the evenings spent mingling with the social elite. Maroni was nowhere to be seen, and so was Bruce Wayne; some people approached her to ask how is she feeling after that one time Penguin took her hostage at a party.

(She still remembered the feeling of a gun sliding across her bare back and his gloved fingers on her chin.)

“It seems like the Penguin had disappeared after killing the Joker. Maybe he grew bored of Gotham.” one attendee theorized. “Maybe he’s waiting for another worthy opponent to show up.”

“Or maybe he’s planning something big.” Fish Mooney chimed in, slightly nodding in Charlie’s direction. “Gathering up resources, scheming… Or maybe he needed vacation.”

“Maybe.” Charlie said, nodding in the direction of the nearest restroom; Fish rolled her eyes, but followed her after a moment.

“What are you doing back in Gotham?” she asked as Charlie was fixing her lipstick.

“Making things right.” she muttered. “Also I’m looking for Oswald. Where is he, Fish?”

“I’m not telling you. I know you’re from the Agency. Your cover’s blown, agent.”

“My cover’s old news. But fine. I’ll find him on my own.” she said, sliding her lipstick back into her purse. “Can you at least tell me how is he?”

“Bad.” Fish replied after a moment. “He’s claiming he’s perfectly fine, but… He’s lying. He says he’s over it, because it never actually happened, but… I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Then I better find him soon.” Charlie said softly. “Oh! The auction’s starting. I better go, I seriously need that monocle.”

“I’ve got to ask… What was your cover story in case someone asked why are you buying Cobblepot family memorabilia?”

“I’m naturally drawn to family tragedies.” Charlie replied, with her hand on the doorknob. “Look up my family. Many parts of my cover… Weren’t actually made up.”

The auction went remarkably fast; no one else seemed to want the monocle she intended to use as a make-up icebreaker. She could see Falcone is looking at her weirdly attentively, as if he was trying to figure her out; but she didn’t mind. She had almost nothing to hide.

Finding Oswald was a bit trickier.

“He cut all ties with me.” Louise confessed as they were sitting in Charlie’s apartment. “I think he connected the dots and figured me out. I’m surprised he didn’t try to take revenge on me.”

“Maybe he decided it’s not worth it. Or maybe he hadn’t tried… Yet.”

“Shit.” Louise said with a shudder. “You’re probably right. Well, if that’s the case we better find him fast, I don’t want to one day wake up to my reputation completely tarnished. If he digs deep enough he’ll find tons of dirt on me.”

“He doesn’t have to dig. All he has to do is to admit to being friends with you - and you’re done.”

“...thanks, that really cheered me up. But luckily for us, detective Bullock owes me a favor. I’m going to call it in. I bet he knows where this jerk is hiding these days.”

Bullock - perpetually tired, perpetually snarky detective from one of better known precincts - was a bit… Hesitant about helping them.

“I don’t know, Louise.” he said, shaking his head. “This is kind of a big thing. And I owe you for what, an anonymous tip?”

“I saved your career, detective.” Louise hissed, slamming her hand down at Bullock’s desk. “Time to repay the favor.”

“Good afternoon, miss McDonagh!” precinct captain’s assistant cheerfully greeted Louise, briefly glancing at Charlie, who was awkwardly standing behind her. “Did detective Bullock mess up? Should I get the captain?”

“No, no, we’re good.” Louise replied, not taking her eyes off Bullock. “He just refuses to hand me an old file, that’s all.”

The young man nodded and went back to his desk; Bullock sighed and got up.

“Alright, come with me. We have to talk in private. You…”

He paused for a moment, staring at Charlie.

“You stay there.” he said eventually. “You’re a civilian now. Right?”

“I cut all ties with the Agency, if that’s what you’re getting at.” she replied calmly. “So yeah. I’m now a civilian. Will you help us?”

“Fine, but only because she is friends with the DA.” Bullock grumbled out; he and Louise disappeared in the evidence room and Charlie was left behind in the main room; it was a remarkably calm day and precinct detectives were mostly busy with paperwork. Nobody paid any attention to her; near the elevators she could spot a bunch of WANTED posters - on one of them she could see herself, wearing her mask.

“She’s a mystery, that one.” one of the detectives - a tall, blonde woman - said, standing next to her with hands in her pockets. “Showed up out of nowhere and disappeared without a trace. We think maybe it was a lover’s quarrel.”

“Are you implying you think Penguin killed his girlfriend?” Charlie asked, not taking her eyes off the poster. “That’s dark.”

“Well, Penguin’s a weird person. Who knows. Maybe one day we’ll fish her corpse out of the Gotham River.” detective said with a shrug, turned around and walked up to sergeant who had some questions for her.

“Detective Sawyer, I just want to make sure-” was the last thing Charlie heard before Bullock and Louise returned; Bullock looking grim and Louise smiling triumphantly.

“I squeezed the address out of him.” Louise said quietly, putting a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Penguin moved all of his hideouts, but I’ve got the main one.”

“Oh thank god.” Charlie said with relief, shooting mopey Bullock a grateful smile. “Then let’s go.”

“Not so fast!” Bullock stopped her. “You can’t just show up out of blue. Use one of his men. I think Tennyson might be willing to help.”

“Okay, this is getting way too complicated.” Louise interrupted him impatiently. “The more people know what’s up the bigger the chance he will realize something’s going on and then we will have to start all over again. Bullock, not a word to anyone. Charlie, get back to the hotel and wait for my sign. I still have one more ace up my sleeve.”

They parted ways outside the precinct; Charlie got into a cab. Before the car drove away in the direction of her hotel, she heard Louise speak French to her telephone.

“Monsieur Moreau! Comment vas-tu? C’est Louise McDonagh-”

*** He got a call from Moreau one afternoon; the restaurant owner sounded desperate and terrified and insisted the matter he wants to discuss is too important for a phone call.

“It better be good, Moreau.” Oswald said calmly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But fine. I’ll be there in an hour… And not a second earlier. So try to not die, hmm?”

He dressed up, snuck out of his hideout - which he moved to the same abandoned building where he once killed Schulz and the Joker - and drove to the restaurant, pondering on last details of his next big heist: he was planning to finally reveal himself to the world and get his revenge on the last remaining heir to the Wayne fortune, his childhood friend. Over the years of criminal activity he gathered enough contacts, resources and money to be able to put things in motion; now all he had to do was to actually start working towards getting back what was rightfully his.

He put his mask on and entered the restaurant through a back door, reminiscing on his first - interrupted - date with the girl who broke his heart; he did his best to push her out of his mind and move on with his life, but it was hard. Her lies broke his heart and her kisses burned his skin; he tried to hate her - but he couldn’t. He tried to imagine actually hurting her - but he couldn’t. All he could imagine was the way she looked at him as his fingers were around her throat.

‘This better not be a trap, Moreau.” he said as the distressed Frenchie was leading him to the back room. “You won’t like what might happen if you’re screwing me over.”

“Please, monsieur Manchot. We’ve been through this already.” Moreau said, opening the door. “I would never betray you.”

It took Oswald a moment to process what’s going on.

Charlie was there, wearing the same exact outfit she wore during their date, down to the mask he gave her to conceal her identity. She was sitting at the table, looking down at her hands; she turned her head and smiled at his sight and his heart stopped and he turned around and grabbed Moreau by his neck.

“You slimy bastard.” he hissed out as the man started to wheeze. “You fucking-”

“Penguin, this is enough.” Charlie interrupted him and the sound of her voice made his heart ache. “Let him go.”

“Fine.” he said coldly, letting the coughing man go. “But I’m leaving as well.”

“At least hear me out, dammit!” she said tearfully, crossing her arms. “Please. This is all I’m asking for. A chance to explain everything.”

“Alright, I’m listening.” he said, feeling as if he’s being manipulated. “You have two minutes. After that… We’re done for good.”

“Deal.” she said; her voice was trembling. “Just let me take care of this first…”

She turned her attention to Moreau.

“Monsieur Moreau, c’est tout. Merci beaucoup. À charge de revanche.”

“Je vous en prie.” Moreau said shakingly, nervously glancing at Oswald. “Bonne chance.”

He left hastily and they entered the room; Charlie quietly sat down and took her mask off. Oswald - for now - decided to keep his on.

“So, I’m all ears.” he said finally. “What does a viper have to say?”

“I really was sent out by the Agency.” she said, glancing at him anxiously. “And at first - at first - it really was an act. But then… It stopped being an act. And then I realized… I’ve been wrong all the time. I wasn’t meant to be an agent. It’s not the right path for me. The right path for me is either somewhere in the middle… Or on your side of the war.” she said softly. “So I came back. Because… I wanted to see you again.”

Her words sounded genuine, and he did his best to not believe her; she was wearing the earrings he gave her. The intense blue of the gems contrasted beautifully with her red hair.

“You were spying on me.” he said, shaking his head. “You should be dead.” he added without thinking; but she only sighed and closed her eyes.

“Then kill me.” she said calmly. “I know what happens to people who double-cross the Penguin. They either die or they lose everything.”

“I can’t kill you.” he said weakly. “I… Charlie, I loved you.”

(The past tense was a lie, as he realized looking at her face and hearing her voice.)

“I know.” she said softly, opening her eyes. “I know. Which is why… I left the Agency.”

“...what?”

“I left.” she repeated. “I… Might have blackmailed my ex-boss into getting you off the list. Everything and everyone I have is now in Gotham… And I intend to stay.” she added. “Whether you want it or not. I’m going to keep trying again and again, until I finally manage to build a good life for myself.”

“I don’t own Gotham.” he said, feeling a weird lump in his throat.

“No, but you said again and again you don’t want to see me.” she said sadly. “Which is… Fair enough, I suppose. I should be glad I’m not dead. I was kinda expecting a revenge, you know.” she added. “Some sort of retaliation. Someone wrecking my car, dead animals on my doorstep, wrecked reputation… That sort of thing. I unintentionally broke your heart.”

“Why did you want to talk?” he asked hesitantly, uncertainly. “I appreciate you getting me off the Agency’s hook, but… Why? Why would you do this?”

“Oh, but I told you already, when we were parting ways. Don’t you remember? I told you I love you - and I meant it. Hell, I think… I think I still do.” she added quietly, looking away. “It’s in the recording as well, I think. I remember… I remember I begged the Joker for your life. And I remember he asked me why am so adamant in staying by your side? And I said… It’s because I love you.”

He didn’t say anything; she looked up at him again.

“I meant everything I said, Oswald.” she said, her voice cracking. “I fell for you so hard and so fast I nearly shattered to pieces. I love you, but I understand if you tell me to fuck off forever. Even though… It feels weird, apologizing to a criminal.” she added with an uncertain smile. “You’re awful, but I love you. And I guess that’s what I wanted to say.”

“That’s… A lot to process.” he said after a long pause; her words echoed in his head and in his heart.

He started to consider his options; this could be a trap, Agency’s last desperate attempt at capturing him - but she cited what she said when she was drugged out of her mind. She also was - or used to be, if her words were true - a trained agent; a trained agent who - for some reason - allowed herself to be vulnerable around him.

She was also telling him something he so badly wanted to hear; something that was haunting him during night hours, when he only had his thoughts for company.

“I know.” she said, again looking away from him. “I just… Wanted to see you again. Explain some things. I didn’t want us to be… Such an ugly story.”

“Charlie…” he said, but she interrupted him, waving her hand.

“Don’t, Oswald. Just… Just don’t. Or I’ll start crying and it’ll be a mess.” she said, shaking her head. “I guess… I’ll be going now.”

She got up and picked up her purse and he watched her without a word; on her way to the door she remembered something, turned around and walked up to him.

“I got you something.” she said softly, opening her purse. “A parting gift of sorts.”

She handed him a small box; after opening it he saw his father’s monocle - and a bag from the bakery near her hotel. Judging from the smell it was filled with coconut biscotti and hazelnut macarons; inhaling the sweet aroma he remembered their first kiss, and the way her lips and breath tasted.

“Charlie, wait.” he said as she turned around again. “Don’t go. It’s my turn.”

“...alright.”

She sat down again, and he finally took his mask off; the corners of her lips curled in a gentle smile at the sight of his face and that thing he loved so much was in her eyes again, that spark of adoration and affection.

“I reacted the way I did, because.... I was happy with you.” he said, deciding to - for once in his life - actually be honest. “Love at first sight, and so on. And you know my backstory. You can probably imagine how it felt. I was sure… I was sure everything you said was a lie.” he said, his eyes focused on her face. “A lie, deception, a snake in the garden… It hurt me so fucking much because on my end - it was real. Hell. It still is.” he added impulsively and her face lit up.

“I loved you.” he said softly. “And I still do. I tried to stop, but… I couldn’t. I tried to hate you, I tried to want to destroy you, I tried to want your blood… But I couldn’t. Which is why the past few weeks had been hell.”

She started to cry, and it was a mess - but a beautiful one. He kissed her wet cheeks and she was laughing and simultaneously pushing him away and pulling him closer and she was warm and real and alive; and the way she looked at him made his heart flutter.

“I’m hungry.” she eventually said quietly. “I didn’t eat anything today, I was… Too nervous.”

“Well, we’re at a restaurant, aren’t we? Let’s fix that.”

“Will you… Walk me home later?” she asked hesitantly. “I’m staying at the Peak again.”

“Of course I will, love. Of course.”

***

He walked her to hotel and stayed the night; he kissed her tenderly, holding her face in his hands and gently brushing her cheekbones with his thumbs. He also made her cover her face with her hands as her cheeks turned red; he had the audacity to wink at her as he was pulling her undies down with his teeth, just like she wanted him to.

He peppered her skin with bitemarks and kisses and almost made her forget her own damn name and she kept pulling him closer; and she didn’t mind when the night ended. They had many more nights and days ahead of them, more stolen kisses, more lovestruck gazes, more, more, more. He shared his next big plan with her; a plan to get back what’s his - and she promised she’ll be more than happy to help, in any way possible.

But that could wait for another day, that didn’t matter for now. Nothing mattered to her that night - not the Agency, not Oswald’s criminal records, not her - now gone - friendship with Avesta, not the fact she had to turn her life around yet again. Nothing mattered - except for the fact she was in love and he loved her back and this love felt like the most beautiful, warmest thing in the world, even though he had blood on his hands and violence in his smile. He was awful and she loved every dark part of him.

Gotham wouldn’t know what hit it.

#telltale batman #ff #oc #eng #pinnguin

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