#from the case files of edward nigma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ilovetheriddler · 2 months ago

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Hi, I hope you’re having a lovely day! I was curious if maybe you’d be willing to write Arkham Eddie who is conflicted with his feelings about the reader? Perhaps the reader is a villain/anti-hero/hero, and they’re working together briefly, and maybe after an argument he finds himself aroused and… takes care of himself?

Oh! An Arkham Eddie Request! How delightful! I hope that you're having a wonderful day as well. This was quite exciting to write, so I hope you enjoy this!

Insatiable Need.

(Arkham Games) Edward Nigma x F!Reader.

Word Count: 1,023.

Contents: 🔞🔞🔞 NSFW 18+! Conflict, Arguing, Fantasizing, Masturbation.

Edward couldn't say that he was in any way pleased to have to work with some so-called hero. In fact, it infuriated him. Someone of his brilliance having to agree to assisting someone? It was appalling to think about. However.... you were at least different enough from that pesky bat to a point where it was at minimum better than working alongside him!

You seemingly enjoyed his riddles and actually would attempt to answer them to the best of your abilities. And it made him... feel something, he wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it was definitely something.

Of course, the two of you only needed to work together briefly on stopping someone else's big scheme. Eddie couldn't help how smug it made him feel to know that someone finally acknowledged how his genius was absolutely needed to stop this. It's not like batman would ever be willing to work with him, yet here you were, standing next to him as he worked away on the device you needed to shut down this new scheme. It was... a pleasant experience having someone actually be there nearby while he worked, much to his surprise.

He had a wide grin on his face as he handed you the finished device, expecting your praise and endless thankfulness to him. Instead, you criticized him for taking too long and putting lives at risk. The grin immediately fell from his face.

"Oh, excuse me! I can't rush my brilliance. It takes time!"

"Well, we don't have time. Lives are at stake here! Ever second counts....!"

"Is this the fucking thanks I get for so graciously offering to help you?! Unbelievable!"

You let out a surprised yelp as he grabbed ahold of your shirt and pulled you closer to him, the irritation evident on his face.

"I pour my time and effort into this for you! And I get your criticism instead of your admiration?! I'm I just a fucking means to an end to you?! Huh?! Is that-"

He was cut off by a sharp stinging sensation, and after a few seconds, he realized what had just happened. You slapped him.

"D-did, you just slap me...?"

"Listen, Eddie, I'm sorry, but you were getting a bit-"

"Take the damn device and get out of my lair...."

You stood there silently for a moment before doing as he suggested, leaving his lair with the device in hand. Meanwhile, Eddie sat slumped in his chair. He was furious, enraged, irritated, and worse of all extremely turned on, damn it!

He stood up and frustratedly made his way into his room, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't stand this. He couldn't stand that a filthy hero was making him feel such things! He glanced down, the evidence of his growing arousal already slightly noticeable against the front of his pants. He just couldn't ignore this, not when he was this worked up.

He quickly pulled up an audio file he had put together on his computer, one good thing about always recording every conversation he had with someone else in case he ever needed to use it against them, is that he had your voice recorded as well, more importantly saying his name. Not exactly in the breathless and needy tone he'd prefer to hear it said in, but it would still do just fine for assisting in his fantasies.

He quickly fumbled around, attempting to unbuckle his numerous belts, and once he had, he tugged both his pants along with his underwear down, His already semi erect cock springing free. He reached down and took hold of it, moving his thumb to smear some of the precum already leaking out of the tip around, pulling his foreskin back just slightly as he groaned wantonly. He spat in his hand after a bit, using that along with the precum to lubricate his cock somewhat.

He grasped his harding cock firmly, closing his first around it and slowly starting to pump it steadily. A moan slipped past his lips as his head fell back slightly. He progressively increased his pace as he continued, his mind filling with the filthy fantasies he had about you. About you lying on his bed, whining and begging for him to fuck you, admitting that you were wrong to not offer him the praise he so rightfully deserved, admitting that he was better than all those heros, that he was better than that Bat! That you loved him, needed him, couldn't handle not having him inside of you. That's what he wanted.

"I-I'm so much better t-than... A..ah! ...him... aren't i?! Mm... F-fuck! ...I make y-you... feel so good, don't i?! Ah..."

He tried to imagine that it was you that he was fucking as he thrust his cock into his hand, repeated gasps and groans escaping him. You'd be absolutely perfect for him. He'd make you feel like you were on cloud nine if you'd just give him the chance! He couldn't help but wonder what your skin would feel like against him, how the sound of skin slapping against skin would sound like music to his ears if it was only yours, how that sweet voice of yours would sound screaming his name over and over again all night long, how it would feel to fuck you senseless until he was satisfied.

His body tensed up, and a broken moan got caught in his throat as his hips jerked slightly, Spurts of his warm cum spilling into the already filthy floor. He stood perfectly still for a few seconds, catching his breath. Once it had stopped, he carefully tucked his now flaccid cock back into his underwear, pulling up that along with his pants back up.

He knew one thing for certain, sooner or later, he was going to have you in his bed. No matter what he had to do to get you there. Perhaps batman could be preoccupied with his other rogues for a while? Eddie liked the idea of devoting his schemes and plans for you to handle instead, at least until he got what he wanted, that is...

#dc comics #batman #the riddler #arkhamverse riddler #edward nigma x reader #the riddler x reader #x reader #fanfic #arkhamverse

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adhdnursegoat · 1 month ago

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Arkham City

cw: kidnapping

word count: 1.3k

The room is dark, the air thick with humidity and tension as your eyes flutter open. Cold, unforgiving concrete presses against your back, doing little to quell the heated sweat breaking on your skin. The faint sound of static crackles in your ears. You groan, attempting to sit up, only to be greeted by a splitting headache and a wave of disorientation.

Where am I?

It takes a moment for the fog in your mind to clear, but when it does, reality snaps into focus: you’ve been kidnapped. You remember finishing a case, sitting in your office and close to ending your night as a private eye. There was a prick in your neck and then... nothing.

Now you’re here - wherever "here" is.

There is faint snowy light spilling in from a monitor on the far wall. As you slowly rise to your feet, you notice something unsettling: the walls are lined with question marks, painted in garish neon green. Your stomach drops.

“Riddler.”

A low chuckle echoes from the speakers around the room, the sound so smug and self-satisfied that it makes your skin crawl. “Oh, very good, Investigator! Points for figuring that out so quickly,” Edward Nigma’s voice purrs, dripping with mockery. “You’re already off to a promising start. Although, a child would be able to deduce your situation just as easily.”

You shudder, glancing around for any possible exits or clues. “What do you want, Nigma?” you call out, keeping your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. He’s never bothered you before. Never forced you into his maddening games when you came knocking for help. You’re no stranger to his schemes, knowing everything about the man from his case files, but this feels different—more personal.

“What do I want?” he echoes, his tone playful yet laced with a strangely familiar warmth. “That’s a complicated question, my dear. But for now, let’s focus on what you need to do.” The room lights up, revealing an intricate maze of pathways lined with puzzles and traps. “I have a series of challenges prepared just for you. A game of wits and resilience, if you will. But the real question is why?”

You squint at the glowing screen where his face now appears, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. “The ‘why’ is because you get a thrill out of tormenting people,” you retort, irritation sparking.

He tsks, shaking his head with a mock pout. “Now, now, let’s not be so judgmental. It’s not torment I seek... It’s perfection.” His smile widens, but there’s something different in his gaze—a softness, a glimmer of something more than just the game. “You see, my dear, I’ve been searching for a partner. Someone who can challenge me, match my intellect, or attempt to,” he adds with a smirk before continuing, “and keep me on my toes. And you, well, you’ve caught my attention.”

Your heart skips a beat, confusion and a strange warmth mingling in your chest. "A partner?" The word hangs heavily in the air. "Is that what this is? Some sort of twisted test for companionship?"

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through the room. “Oh, you do catch on quickly. But this isn’t just a test. It’s a courtship, of sorts. I need to know if you’re truly capable of standing beside me, of surviving in my world.” His voice trails off, leaving the unspoken threat lingering.

"And if I refuse to play along?” You clench your fists, a surge of defiance rising within you. “If I fail your precious tests?"

Edward’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something almost like concern crossing his face before it hardens into resolve. "Then you’re of no use to me," he replies coldly. "… But I hope you won’t make me face that disappointment. There’s so much potential in you, my dear."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. Is this some grand manipulation, or is there sincerity buried in his twisted logic? Despite your fear, a strange curiosity blooms. Maybe it's foolish, but you want to see where this leads.

Taking a deep breath, you glance around the room, assessing your surroundings. If he wants to play games, then you’ll play. “Fine,” you say, forcing a smirk onto your face as you stare defiantly into the camera. “I’ll play your game. But don’t think I’m doing this for you. I’ll solve your puzzles, but when I do, I’ll decide how this ends.”

His laughter fills the room, a rich, delighted sound. "Ah, that’s the spirit I was hoping for! You see, that’s precisely why I chose you." There's a click, and the first section of the maze opens up before you. "Let’s see how well you handle what I’ve prepared, my darling."

With a deep breath, you step into the labyrinth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The walls are lined with monitors displaying taunting riddles and equations. He watches your every move, his eyes tracking your progress, gauging your reactions. It’s a dance of wits and nerve, with you refusing to falter.

Hours—or perhaps minutes, it's hard to tell—pass as you navigate the maze. Your body aches, but you push through, driven by something more than fear. Every time you solve a puzzle or evade a trap, you can almost feel his smug approval, a reminder that he's watching, waiting for you to prove yourself.

Finally, you find yourself standing before a grand, intricately designed door. This is it—the final challenge. Taking a deep breath, you push it open.

Inside, the room is dimly lit, the only source of light a single spotlight falling on a chair. And there he is—Edward Nigma, sitting with his finger steepled, his blue eyes gleaming as they lock onto yours. A grin pulls wide at his cheeks, clearly pleased, and he pushes himself to standing, approaching you with deliberate ease.

"Congratulations," he purrs, his voice softer now, almost tender. "You’ve surprisingly exceeded my expectations."

You glare at him, chest heaving. "So, what now?" you demand. "You expect me to just fall into your arms after this little…,” you gesture vaguely, looking for the words, “date of yours? Kneel at your feet? Prostrate myself in your divine presence?"

“Well, if you’re offering…” Edward tilts his head, eyes half-lidded, and a poorly contained smirk of amusement pulling at one side of his mouth.

You cock an eyebrow.

With a soft chuckle, he shakes his head, a genuine smile stretching from cheek to cheek. "Not kneel," he corrects, stepping closer, his gaze piercing. "I expect you to stand… By my side." His voice drops to a whisper. "But only if you want to."

Your heart pounds in your chest. There’s an intensity in his eyes, a vulnerability that catches you off guard. Could he be serious? Could this man, in all his complexity, truly want you as a life partner in more than just his games?

With a slow, deliberate movement, you step closer, both of you practically chest to chest, your gaze never wavering as you crane your neck to look at him. "If I join you, Nigma, it's on my terms," you say, voice steady. "No more traps, no tests—just you and me. Partners"

Edward’s eyes darken, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile as he reaches for your hand. "Partners," he echoes, his grip tender as he takes your fingers and brings your knuckles to his lips for a gentle caress. You can feel the warm pooling in your cheeks and lower belly. "Though I must warn you... life with me is never quite that simple,” he continues, dropping your hands to lace them together.

Your thumb strokes the side of his palm, anticipation and resolve tightening in your chest. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

#selfshiptober 2024 #reader insert #gn reader #riddler x reader #riddler #edward nigma #theriddler #arkham city #arkham city riddler #fanfic #fanfiction #riddler fanfiction #comics #gotham city storybook #ask the goat

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lfthinkerwrites · 1 year ago

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So last month I posted a poll regarding which snippet people wanted to see. I've decided now that the runner-up should be posted too. As a treat.

For the first time, Tim found himself face-to-face with Edward Nigma's daughter. The first thought he had when looking at her was that she was short. She couldn't be more than maybe half an inch taller than Damian, and he'd probably outgrow her by the end of the year. His second thought was that other than her height, gender, and a few differences in her facial features, she was almost a dead-ringer for her father, down to the glare she was shooting his way.

"Answer my question," she said, arms crossed over her chest. "What the fuck are you doing in my Dad's apartment?"

Tim blinked. Right, Steph had said she had a temper. She and Cass both had said that she was protective of her father. He needed to get her out of here so he could finish his search. "It's ok," he said, slowly raising his hands. The girl's facial expression didn't change. Tim found himself at a crossroads. What did the girl know? How much had Edward told her? "You know your Dad was working with Batman, right?"

"Yeah," she said. If anything, her glare intensified. "Did he send you here?"

Crap. "No," Tim said. He parsed through half a dozen lies and half-truths before he settled on the former. "Your Dad asked me to come here." The girl's glare was replaced with a look of surprise. Great. She believed him. He could work with this. "He asked me to come here and get evidence from his file cabinet in case anything ever happened." The girl said nothing, but brought a hand up to her chin, as if she was thinking this through. "Look," Tim said. "I know you want to help your Dad. I do too. The best way you can help him is to go home. Let the professionals handle this. Batgirl will call you as soon as anything changes."

The girl stood for a second longer, not moving, until the glare returned in full force. "You can think I'm just some stupid kid from the lower West Side, but don't fucking talk to me like I'm one."

Oh, crap. What was her name? Right, Ellen. "Listen Ellen-"

"No, you listen Red ass munch. Maybe you know more about The Riddler than I do, but I know my Dad. And I know there's no way in Hell he'd ever let Batman or anyone else in your group mess with his files. He wouldn't even let Dierdre and Nina touch anything in that cabinet. The only person he'd ever trust with his stuff is Doc Young and she's not here, you are." She stepped forward, her fists clenching at her sides. "So tell me what you're really doing here, and if you try to lie to me again, I'll take that stupid bo staff of yours and shove it so far up your ass it comes out your mouth!"

Tim took a deep breath through his nostrils and tried not to think about smacking her with the said bo staff. Sweet kid? Really, Steph?

#pi verse #flash forward #enigma #and so a rivalry for the ages was born #they are kind of hardwired to dislike each other

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lfthinker · 5 years ago

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1 - 15 (now perish)

(Ches, I love and hate you in equal measure)

1. Favorite fic you wrote this year

From the Case Files of Edward Nigma, because I feel like this is finally the year I started to get somewhere with it.

2. least favorite fic you wrote this year

If I have to pick one...Tales from Gotham Academy: Field Trip. I just haven’t been as inspired with it.

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

The scene where I revealed Jonathan Crane was still alive in From the Case Files.

4. total number of words you wrote this year

Too many.

5. most popular fic this year

A Riddle for a Bat

6. least popular fic this year

Uh...probably my whumptober prompts.

7. longest completed fic you wrote this year

A Riddle for a Bat, proof I can finish a fic.

8. shortest completed fic you wrote this year

Tales From Gotham Academy.

9. longest wip of the year

From the Case Files of Edward Nigma. 18k and counting. (kill me)

10. shortest wip of the year

Tales from Gotham Academy

11. fandom you enjoyed writing for the most this year

LOL. Batman by default.

12. favorite character to write about this year

Enigma. I feel like she’s really come into her own and I can’t wait to write out my further plans with her.

13. favorite writing song/artist/album of this year

Undisclosed Desires, by Muse. (I kind of see this as Edward/Penelope’s song)

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

Tales from Gotham Academy: Field Trip. I didn’t think I’d finish the first one honestly.

15. something you learned this year

I obviously have more free time than I thought.

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riddleculed · 6 years ago

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Roses are Red, Violets are Blue. I'm still a way better detective than you. xoxo Ralph

Rude Valentine’s

Edward didn’t skip a beat. “While you took all day thinking to come up with that, I solved your case for you,” he quipped, producing a file from beneath his jacket and held it out with gloved fingers. “You can take your new found time off from investigating to buy me a drink to apologize for that little slight of a comment.” File pressed forward flat against Ralph’s chest as Nigma perked a brow.

#*snort* whoops #infiniitefrequency

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thxrxddlxr · 2 years ago

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Classified File

C O N F I D E N T I A L Authorized only for those who are under the employment of Jeremiah Arkham, and the board. Patient’s files are to remain in the care of the designated psychiatrist and physician until reassignment or request from the Warden.

G E N E R A L I N F O R M A T I O N Name: Edward E. Nigma* ::: Alias: The Riddler* ::: Sex: Male ::: Date of Birth: August 16th :::

Age: 36 ::: Hair Color: Brown ::: Eye Color: Blue ::: Weight: 152lbs ::: Height: 6ft ::: *Additional Comments: Patient’s name was changed in his late teens to early twenties. His name was Edward E. Nashton Jr. We believe the name change was spurred from a separation of identity from his father whom he was named after and comedic reasons. Patient’s alias is The Riddler, however he goes by several other names: Enigma, Quizmaster, Prince of Puzzlers, Mockingbird, King of Conundrums, Enigmatic Egotist; other names could exist but are not on our records.

B O O K I N G I N V E N T O R Y General Appearance: presents themselves very neat, clean, and sophisticated. garments are generally that of high quality and material and are always custom, tailored to the rogue as to give a false status of an elite. ::: Hat: n/a; two in inventory in property room: (1) black bowler hat with green silk lining inside. (2) green fedora with no ornaments or special designs. ::: Coat: green suit jacket made from cashmere. tailored. no pockets on the exterior, two on the interior*. cuffs snug against the patient’s wrists. ::: Shirt: (1) green vest on similar design, color, and make of the jacket. four buttons of a vintage make. (1) white collared oxford cloth shirt, made of a high quality. cuffs are held together by cuff links1. ::: Slacks: (1) green suit slacks made from cashmere. tailored to fit the patient. two front pockets* , no back pockets. ::: Socks: (2) ankle high black dress socks, made from cervelt. ::: Shoes: (2) black Tom Ford dress shoes, size 10, new condition. ::: Accessories: (1) Colt model 1911A1 .45 Caliber hand gun, seven round, single stacked, magazine, able to hold an extra round in the chamber. Nickel plated with ivory handles and engraving. (2) 4 in. daggers, high carbon steel, handle is in a curved shape so as to hold the weapon firm in the hand with the blade protruding between the middle and pointer finger. (1) black silk tie with a (1) sterling silver question mark, pinned upon it. (1) purple silk pocket square. ::: Jewelry: (2) 1silver question mark cufflinks. (1) silver metal banded fossil watch with a green backing. (1) silver question mark ring adorned on his right middle finger. ::: *Additional Comments: Within the right interior pocket: (1) extra magazine for the recovered .45 hand gun. (1) hurriedly written note—unlegible. Within the left interior pocket: (1) brown leather wallet containing a drivers license, men’s warehouse credit card, various gift cards to restaurants across Gotham, a faded ticket stub, $137.25 in cash, a MasterCard credit card, various business cards, two photos of himself—one wearing his riddler attire, the other of him and another figure; however the photo has been ripped to just show him. Within the front right pocket: (1) cellular device: IPhone 13, color: midnight, clear case, privacy screen protector. (1) business card for The Broker. (1) unused tissue. Within the front left pocket: (1) key ring with one key to an Alfa Romeo, approximately four other keys on the ring with unknown purposes.

P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N Hair: brown in color. wavy texture. middle hairline. various hairstyles: side part (main), quiff. Use of dyes evident after time served. Natural hair color is red ::: Forehead: average height. generally smooth skin ::: Eyes: blue in color. almond shape. mostly clear, rarely bloodshot unless sleep deprived, under stress, or highly irritated. natural eyelashes. eyebrows are thick with a low arch. ::: Nose: straight base and shape ::: Cheeks: filled out. low cheekbones ::: Ears: slight protrusion at the tips. average shape and size ::: Mouth: cupid bow. thin lips. corners turned up ::: Chin: square. dimples in both cheeks ::: Neck: slender. average. no notable characteristics ::: Complexion: fair skin. small scar across the left eyebrow. ::: Facial Hair: clean shaven. very manicured ::: Tattoos: n/a ::: *Injury History: scarring on his back from childhood abuse; abdominal scarring from deep lacerations poorly stitched, which are reportedly from a rough confrontation between the patient and a criminal named Hush; scar across his face from unknown cases; several cuts along the shoulders and chest reportedly from altercations between the patient and Poison Ivy; several bullet graze scars—two on the left bicep, one on the upper left side of the torso, one on the lower left side of the torso, one on the right shoulder, one on the inside of the left knee, and one above the his right hip; scar on the right side of the rib cage from surgery after a near-death fall which resulted in screws in his ribs. ::: Special Notes: allergies to penicillin; allergies to soy; poor tolerance for pain, therefore minor violence with disciplinary purposes is encouraged because it is highly effective.

P S Y C H I A T R I C E V A L U A T I O N Diagnosis History: has a compulsive need for attention; obsessive compulsive disorder that is manifested in a need to leave clues while committing crimes; submitting victims to life-or-death situations through complicated puzzles; short temper—anger issues; superiority complex belief system that justifies his actions; father complex from a lack of a stable relationship with his father. ::: Psychological Profile: Manipulator. Observant. ::: Mental Health State: Narcissist. Egocentric. ::: Morality: Neutral. grey. chaotic. ::: Negative Attributes: arrogant; mischievous; manipulative; narcissistic; short tempered ::: Positive Attributes: intelligent; honest*; patient; organized; self-confident ::: Virtues: diligence; patience ::: Sins: lust, pride, envy, wrath ::: Fears: disappointment; rejection; failure; control*; tight spaces; spiders; father. ::: Additional Comments: Patient’s honesty is stemmed from his childhood. A compulsive need to tell the truth in order to avoid any potential punishment or disappointment. The fear of control is stimulated by both losing it, since he never had it in his youth, and by having it, as seen in the various traps he sets—although setting them, its the people who have the control over their lives.

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hybridequalist · 7 years ago

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Another Day on the Job

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Edward Nigma

Words: 3400

Notes: This is based on a buddy cop AU @askarkham came up with about a month ago.

If you like what you read, let me know and feel free to reblog!

What was it about police stations and the sound of typing? The two were inseparable. On most mornings, Jonathan would have found it charming but after the late night he'd had, he was more inclined to find the constant sound infuriating.

Reaching his desk, the lanky brunette shrugged off his jacket and removed a few case files from his bag, stacking them next to his desktop computer. When he finished the short prep of his workspace, he turned around and--right on time--his partner walked up with a fresh mug of tea in his hand.

"G'morin' Jon," Jervis greeted him, the weariness in his tone letting the taller man know he hadn't been the only one burning the midnight oil. "Brought you your usual."

Jonathan took the offered drink and sipped at it. The faintly bitter taste of dandelion root hit his tongue, softened by just a touch of honey, and he sighed in contentment. The short blonde truly had a gift for making herbal blends for any and every situation. When he'd first come on the force, many of the officers had been skeptical but after a few short months they were all singing his praises. It was common knowledge now that if Jervis came up to you with a mug of tea in his hands, it was in your best interest to drink it before questioning it.

"Do you know if forensics has come up with anything relevant regarding the crime scene?" Jonathan asked, taking his seat and booting up the computer.

"They hadn't when I arrived, but that was almost twenty minutes ago," Jervis shrugged. "They might have messaged since. Edward was also taunting me again earlier, claiming to have another 'hint' as he calls it."

"That freelancer knows exactly where he can put that attitude, lest I be forced to do it for him," Jonathan growled, taking another gulp of tea as he logged on and opened the department email. Scrolling through the messages left there overnight, his scowl deepened when he couldn't find what he was looking for.

"Doesn’t anyone do their jobs?!" he spat irritably. "The scene is over twenty-four hours old and still nothing out of forensics! What are they doing to make it take so long?!"

"You're ranting, Jonathan," Jervis sighed, catching sight of the nervous glances the other nearby officers and detectives were giving his partner. "Did you forget to eat breakfast again? You become a complete bandersnatch when you're hungry."

Seemingly from nowhere, the blonde produced a small tupperware containing a bagel sandwich and gave it to his tall counterpart, who took it and all but ripped it open as he began to compose a message to the forensics team.

This was not a typical morning in the Criminal Investigation Division--not anymore--but it was not uncommon either: before Tetch's assignment, the foul attitude from his partner had been a daily pattern that ended in a lot of people getting shouted at and tensions running high. Jonathan Crane had a brilliant mind and undoubtedly the best profiler and investigator in the CID, but he wasn't much of a team player. Combined with how often he lost himself in his work--frequently to the point of forgetting to take care of himself--his work life was mostly solitary and no one wanted to stay partners with him for long. Jervis Tetch had been heaven-sent in that regard: his much more optimistic attitude and surprising grit made him perfectly suited to endure Crane's cynicism and he was a genius in his own right--despite his odd quirks involving hats, the works of Lewis Carroll and his teas. He had first been something of a curiosity to Jonathan and had been tolerated merely to learn more. However, the lanky investigator soon found himself quite attached to the newcomer, a phenomenon he was still at a loss to explain. They also worked well together despite the occasional clash of opinions which was much better than trading partners every few weeks when a problem arose.

The rest of the morning passed largely without incident, forensics finally sending in their findings near 11. Jonathan and Jervis went over the paper together and, much to their frustration, were unable to determine much as there was little substance in the evidence to start with.

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" the taller of the pair grumbled, fingers drumming on the desk as he reread the details for the fifth time. "Fingerprints all over the scene but 'no indication of any patterns'? 'The unidentified hair sample disintegrated when exposed to testing fluid'? 'Blood sample matched nothing in Gotham's database'?! You'd think we were hunting a ghost instead of some joker dressing as a clown!"

"Maybe he fell into a vat of chemicals or something?" Jervis suggested with a shrug. "Had his fingerprints burned off and his hair damaged?"

"I wouldn't put that beyond the realm of possibility, especially in this city," Jonathan admitted. "Still, the odds of that being the case are slim at best. More likely he was wearing gloves and lost that hair in one of the explosions he set off to account for the fragility."

"Bother," the englishman sighed. "So I assume we're to go over the case reports from the scene again?"

"It's our only lead on his patterns as of now," the brunette replied shortly. "Unless he attacks again or one of his thugs can be identified--

It was at this moment that both investigators' phones went off, the ringing startling them into silence. After a moment, Jervis went to answer his device as Jonathan rolled his eyes. There was only one person who would go to such dramatic lengths to get their shared attention. Still, he pulled out his own and answered the call.

"Still having trouble, boys?" The voice from the phone was rich and teasing. "Looks like I'll be winning my bet with miss Kyle after all. She truly thought you two would have a better lead by now."

"If you're here to gloat, I will end this call and never respond to your messages again," Jonathan threatened with a growl. "Your only contact with us should be to pass along information."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end that made the brunette roll his eyes. Edward Nigma was one of the most infuriating people on the planet, but being an underworld informant was a hard career path in Gotham and he did an excellent job of it--things that meant he was likely to remain on Police payroll for as long as he remained uncompromised.

"Fine, fine. Take all the fun out of it why don't you?" the criminal grumbled. "I figured you two would be very interested to learn that one of the goons you've been trying to track down is currently relaxing in a club and bragging about his new job working for that clown. A fantastically easy catch after so much hard work. It's probably a setup...or maybe he really is that stupid. Hard to tell with Gotham's masses."

"Address and name," Jonathan ordered shortly.

"I'll get the radio," Jervis offered, darting off with surprising speed.

"Guy who you're looking for is Tommy Payaso. Used to be a nurse but quit for mysterious reasons," Edward was saying. "He's currently getting himself a drink at a club called the Luna. Nice place. Bit pricy considering their mediocre menu. I advise not charging in with guns blazing--he’s armed."

"If this is truly a lead, I will withdraw your arrest warrant," the slim investigator replied. "If not--"

"No need to sour the air with your threats, Jonny-boy," the freelancing informant drawled. "I know what you want to do with me already--it's the same thing every time. Change it up, why don't you?"

The call ended with a faint click and Jonathan bit back a violent curse. One of these days, Edward was going to push his luck a little too far and he would be more than happy to be the one delivering the consequences.

As it happened, Edward's tip had been a solid one--which had been good for everybody involved. The thug hadn't come in easy, but he was now securely cuffed in one of the interrogation rooms. Jonathan and Jervis both stood behind the one-way glass. The blonde was rifling through the man's file while his partner eyed the criminal appraisingly. "Matches Edward's description perfectly," Jervis commented. "Used to be a nurse before he suddenly resigned. No prior criminal record...but he has a history of mood swings and aggression in both the workplace and among his peers." "No doubt caused by family-related trauma," the taller man remarked. "Probably his father's doing; it often is." "So far, he's remained silent to all interrogation, but he hasn't asked for an attorney either. I doubt he'll open up to us unless we...push..." Jonathan glanced sideways at his partner. Jervis' brow was furrowed and he was staring off into space. He knew that look: the englishman was very expressive and this particular one was common when their work took an often necessary but unpleasant turn; he was trying to visualize some alternate way to go about the next phase of their investigation--one that might prevent anyone involved from suffering harm.

“See if he responds to you,” the brunette stated abruptly. “If the clown prepared him with misinformation in case of capture, I’d prefer to know sooner than later. As head investigator on this case, you’re a more valuable place to set up the red herring than the other officers.”

“But I’m still the junior partner,” Jervis protested. “I--”

“Mister Payaso doesn’t know that,” Jonathan interjected. “And as admirable as it is for you to try spare him a session with me, it is our only effective option left should he not give you anything at all.”

“There are other ways, Jonathan,” the shorter man mumbled. “You know that.”

“Better it remains on my conscience than weighing on yours,” the analyst replied, resting a hand on Jervis’ shoulder. “My mind is made up. If you finish early, I will be downstairs in the lab.”

Jonathan strode away, the door closing almost silently behind him. His partner sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and then rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can’t you see it’s you I’m trying to spare from this?” he asked the empty room. “I can’t stand watching what that concoction does to you…”

Tommy Payaso had known he was going to be interrogated from the very beginning when the cops had gotten their meaty hands on him. While he had no idea who had tipped them off he was working with Gotham’s newest criminal mastermind, he had been successful in remaining silent and frustrating the police’s efforts. Their latest tactic to send in the investigator heading the case had also been useless--Tommy was a lot of things, but he was not a snitch.

“There are protections we can offer you, potentially reduced or nulled prison sentences as well,” the short blonde was saying to the henchman. “You’ve never been to prison before, Mr. Payaso; I can assure you that if you are incarcerated in Gotham, it will be a dangerous and potentially fatal venture.”

“Look, investigator tea and crumpets or whatever,” Tommy grumbled, leaning back in his chair and “I’m not saying anything, so how about you scurry back off to your office and let the officers process my paperwork and I’ll get out of your hair. You have no evidence to say I did anything and I have nothing to confess.”

The door suddenly swung open, making both men in the interrogation room jolt at the sound of it. The first thing Tommy registered about the man who entered was his intimidating height followed almost immediately at how distant and cold those hazel eyes were.

“We will see if you truly have nothing to confess, Mr. Payaso,” the newcomer said in an eerily calm voice.

“Jonathan, I’m still working here,” the english investigator said, rising (which did little to improve his height compared to the brunette beanpole)

“I have been observing your efforts and made the call that you were not making sufficient progress,” the other investigator replied firmly. “It is crucial we get something useful from the suspect and your methods are not going to get results in a timely manner.”

“I still don’t think this is necessary,” the blonde grumbled.

“While I value your opinion, Tetch, I already told you my mind was made up on this matter. Now, if you would excuse yourself, I need to be alone with Mr. Payaso.”

Mr. Tetch still seemed unhappy with the arrangement, but he nevertheless obeyed the politely implied command. He strode to the still-open door, paused on the threshold.

“‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son’,” he said in a low voice. “‘The jaws that bite, the claws that catch. Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch’.”

And then the door closed, leaving Tommy with the new interrogator.

As “Jonathan” took a seat, the henchman looked the lanky man over. He didn’t seem to be in very good fighting shape due to his slim frame--more of an intellectual than someone who was active in the field. However, there was a strong aura of intimidation that surrounded him, making even the small motions of moving his chair forward seem threatening.

Settle down, Tommy, he told himself. It’s just a good cop versus bad cop scenario. Besides, I could knock him over even with my hands in these cuffs no problem. This guy isn’t so bad.

“Do you believe in God, Mr. Payaso?”

The question was so abrupt that it caught Tommy off guard. “What?”

“Do you believe in a God?” the investigator repeated.

“What does it matter if I do?” the suspect spat back.

“Well,” Jonathan said slowly, a small smirk forming on his face, “I was going to give you the opportunity to pray before we get started here. Because you see, Mr. Payaso, once I begin my interrogation, only two things will stop your torment: your confession or divine intervention.”

The smirk was still slowly growing, edging on gleeful now. Tommy decided he didn’t like that smile--it made a chill run down his spine.

“But as you have not answered, I will assume you prefer not to call upon His help,” the brunette continued. “Now, you may have noticed that your chair has armrests with cuffs. I am going to remove your current pair and instead secure you to your seat so you don’t flail about too much.”

The investigator rose to his full height, setting a briefcase Tommy hadn’t noticed before on the table between them. He came around and began to undo the handcuffs and Tommy immediately tried to get out of his reach. But somehow the scrawny man managed to catch hold of him and pin his wrists to the table.

“Now now,” Jonathan chided, still looking far too happy. “You can struggle as much as you like once I have you restrained. But there is no escaping this, understand?”

Looking into those hazel eyes--strangely emotionless despite his expression--Tommy got the strong sense that if he tried something like that again, this still-unknown horrible thing that was about to happen to him would get infinitely worse. He hadn’t gotten a feeling like that since he’d met the Boss and that realization made a cold sweat start to gather on his brow.

One Jonathan had finished cuffing the nervous suspect, he returned to the table and opened the briefcase.

“It doesn’t matter what your goal is or who you’re working for,” he mused, more to himself than to Tommy. “Sooner or later, someone always talks. And what convinces them to talk? Their fear. You assumed when I came in that this was going to be like one of those television dramas where I yell at you and throw things and make you afraid that I will beat the answers I’m seeking out of you. Quite frankly, that is truly a barbaric way to accomplish the goal of a confession. I won’t have to even touch you to get what I want from you; you’ll give it to me quite willingly.”

Tommy watched in silent apprehension as the lanky man withdrew what appeared to be a burlap sack from the case. Jonathan admired it for a moment and the handcuffed man realized it was a mask of some sort, roughly shaped like the head of a scarecrow.

“Do try to resist screaming,” he said, reaching into the case again and removing a cannister. “You can’t give me the information I want if you lose your voice, now can you?”

Jonathan did not see Jervis for the whole rest of the day. It had been several hours since Tommy Payaso had finally broken down and blubbered out everything he knew about his employer’s plans, allowing the brunette to come down from the rush he felt using the Toxin and learning his victim’s worst fears. When finally it was the end of his shift, Jonathan decided to see if he could catch his partner before he left for the night.

He managed to find him in the break room, sipping a cup of tea with a strong floral scent next to the window.

“Jervis,” he greeted him.

“Jonathan,” the blonde replied curtly.

A heavy silence fell between them, Jonathan awkwardly standing in the doorway with his briefcase and watching as Jervis drank his herbal blend and stare out into the night sky.

“You know I didn’t mean to undermine or offend you when I took over the interrogation,” the taller man eventually said.

“Just as you know that isn’t the reason why I’m cross with you,” Jervis shot back.

“Tetch, we’ve been over this; the Toxin is highly effective in interrogation scenarios for ensuring truthful confessions from the suspects.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s right, Jonathan!” the englishman burst, slamming down his cup and slopping hot liquid onto the table. “It’s cruel and it doesn’t just affect the victims either! Do you have any idea who you become when you use that gas of yours?!”

“I’m in control,” Jonathan insisted, tone sharp.

“Are you? Are you really? Because sometimes I start to wonder, Jon!”

The brunette waited until Jervis’ breathing had somewhat settled and he was no longer holding his teacup in a deathgrip before he crossed the room and sat opposite his partner. Still, he remained quiet to let the smaller man speak when he was ready.

“I don’t like how much you rely on it,” the blonde admitted. “It’s like...like it’s becoming your go-to method, no matter how certain we are on a suspect’s guilt.”

“I could always let you be the harsh one instead--the ‘bad cop’ as it were,” Jonathan suggested. “You can be incredibly fierce once you let all the propriety go.”

“And then perhaps everyone would stop saying I’m so ‘adorable’,” Jervis muttered, a faint grin crossing his face as the thought played out in his mind. He quickly hid the emotion with a gulp of his remaining tea before rising to grab some napkins and clean up his spill. Jonathan let a weary smile at that before his usual somber expression returned.

Both men knew this would not be the last time this topic would come up between them--it was nowhere near resolved--but now was not the time to discuss it: they were tired from their hard day’s work and their emotions were still too close to the surface to keep from fighting about it more. For tonight, they would put it aside.

“Would you like to walk out with me?” the taller man offered. “It’s about time to leave.”

“Wait a mo,” Jervis replied, taking his cup to the sink and rinsing it before he put it back into the cupboard. One it was safely in his place, he returned to his seat and picked up his bag. “There we are. After you.”

The walk was silent until they reached the front doors of the station. Standing at the bottom step, the two exchanged their goodbyes.

“Hopefully we’ll be able to move forward in our investigation tomorrow,” Jervis said.

“If the night shift doesn’t ruin everything,” Jonathan added. “Until then, Tetch.”

“Make sure you eat a proper meal when you get home; I don’t want there to be a bandersnatch at your desk in the morning.”

“Yes ‘mother’.”

#batman #Jonathan Crane #Jervis Tetch #edward nigma #hybridwrites #fanfic post #fanfiction #AU #buddy cop #long post

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vam9ire · 7 years ago

Text

Plans For A Semi-Permanent Partnership

Nygmobblepot Week 2017 Fics - Day 7 - Free Day ( Batman: Telltale )

Summary: Edward is admitted to Arkham Asylum, and Oswald wants to help him plan their escape.

Rating: G

Words: 3,400

A/N: So this is something I wanted to write as soon as episode one of The Enemy Within came out. It’s sort of short, and I kind of want to write more for this sort of AU at some point in the future.

“So, Mr. Nigma, how are you feeling today?” The doctor, who Edward remembered as Dr. Lowe, asked the question with a clearly practiced tone. She had been here again the day before, to ask the same question in almost exactly the same way, before she drugged him and he fell asleep, presumably for the whole day. As the seconds of silence grew between her question and his answer, her eyes pointedly moved up from her clipboard towards his face, waiting expectantly.

“Delightful.” Edward finally replied as he glared right at the doctor, his own tone nearly emotionless and his voice slightly mumbled by the swelling of his busted lip. It was a pretty obvious lie—his whole body ached, his head was killing him, and he felt as though he could fall apart completely at any moment. The constant hurting made it hard to really focus on anything the doctor said or did, but he supposed that it was to be expected after fighting with the Batman. He shifted slightly where he sat on the edge of his bed, pain crawling up his spine as he moved even slightly, and he winced before he continued, just as facetiously, “Never felt better.”

Truthfully, Edward felt absolutely awful, emotionally and physically. He’d managed to underestimate Batman, gotten himself nearly killed, and then landed himself right into Arkham Asylum, just within a couple of days after his return to Gotham. He’d heard plenty about how supposedly untouchable the Batman was, but that was all just from lowly thugs and muscle for hire; no one who wouldn’t exaggerate their encounters with the Bat. Even if Edward had anticipated just how physically strong Batman was, he hadn’t expected him to be on a near even playing field when it came down to wits. Edward would certainly have to pull out a few more advanced puzzles as soon as he escaped from Arkham.

That was his plan, and he already had the bulk of it sorted out in his head, only within the few hours that he was coherently awake. As far as he could tell, from what the doctors were saying and from what he managed to vaguely piece together from his flaky memories spanning from his meeting with the Batman and now, he had been here for at least three days. There was a strong possibility of a fourth day that was spent entirely by him being too drugged to do anything but sleep, but in the whole scheme of things, even if that day happened, there was no use in counting it. Edward was hoping to not spend anymore than a few weeks here, total.

Arkham was certainly pulling out all of the stops in order to make sure the chances of his escape were as low as possible, seeing as every time they gave him another dose of painkillers it was just the right amount to render him immobile, and they’d done a fairly good job of making sure he didn’t have easy access to anything that could aid in his unspoken quest for freedom. Edward didn’t have to say anything about his plans for the orderlies to already assume that that was all he had been thinking about whenever he had the opportunity to do so. None of their precautions mattered, however, because Edward knew that the time would come and he would be more than capable to successfully escape the asylum, even if when the time came, he had access to nothing more than a ballpoint pen and a plastic spork.

So far, the only glaring concern with his plan, was the sensitivity of that time. From what he could surmise from the situation without explicitly asking about it, he wasn’t allowed to be questioned by The Agency, the GCPD, or by anyone else besides the Arkham doctors, until he had time to recover. Right after he had been incapacitated by Batman, it had been decided that he was to be held in Arkham so that they could perform evaluations on whether he was fit to stand trial for his crimes, and so that they could make sure he was healthy enough to. The doctors had informed Edward of his extensive injuries, ranging in severity from bruises to broken bones, so he figured he had plenty of time to really develop and initiate his escape plans, though he’d have to be careful to do it before he fully recovered, just in case the doctors decided he was ready to be questioned.

“Well, it’s good to see that you’re more able-bodied than yesterday,” Dr. Lowe smiled at him as she raised her pen up to point it towards the corner of the room, drawing his attention to the camera positioned there, before she continued, “We saw you walking around earlier, which is very good. From the beating you took, we thought it would still be another day or two before you were able to even stand on your own.”

“I see you’ve sorely underestimated me, then. That seems careless, doctor.” Edward replied, his words holding an edge of cockiness that was lessened slightly again by his busted lip. Regardless, it was clear that Dr. Lowe caught it to it’s full meaning as she made a hum of acknowledgement and her grin turned into more of a smirk, and she lowered her pen back down to her clipboard so that she could jot down a quick note on what Edward could only presume to be his file. Once that was taken care of, she promptly stood up from her chair and walked over to the door, where she stopped to face him again.

“I can assure you, Mr. Nigma, that the very last thing we are doing is underestimating you. Anyways, I hope you have a good rest.” Dr. Lowe didn’t wait for his reply to her unfriendly goodbye, knowing that he wasn’t going to give her one, before she opened the door to his room and walked out. Immediately, another orderly entered the room; a man who was equally as nameless as he was faceless to Edward.

The stiff way he was walking, and the hand that held something down behind his side, just out of Edward’s line of sight, made it evident that Dr. Lowe’s comment about rest held a malicious taunt. Before Edward could even react to anything, the man pushed him back onto the bed with one arm, sending a jolt of pain through his back and eliciting a groan from Edward. He cursed and tried, uselessly, to get out from under the man, before he felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck, making him jerk slightly on instinct, before the man released him a couple of seconds later. Edward didn’t bother to sit up again once he had heard the sound of the door to his room being pulled shut, followed closely by a click as they locked it behind themselves.

Edward knew not to expect any less from his current keepers, seeing as he was only days ago the biggest public threat to the city’s authorities, though he really wasn’t in the right condition to fight off the doctors at the moment, so all of their forcefulness was starting to get on his nerves. He snarled to himself, though it turned into a grimace as he shifted his position so that he was laying more comfortably atop the bed. It was less like a bed than it was just a cot on a loud, creaky metal frame and covered by a thin sheet, none of which was very comforting to his aching body. It was bittersweet, but he was slightly thankful for the painkillers. They knocked him out, but it wasn’t like he had much to do besides sitting and waiting for the opportunity to escape.

He turned his head to the side after a moment of staring up at the ceiling, having just spotted the barely visible browning outlines of water damage near the corners, to instead further familiarize himself with his room, though it seemed to be much more like a cell. It was a narrow rectangle, with barely enough room for the very limited furnishings within. The bed was pushed against one wall, taking up nearly half of the space in the room, and a lightweight metal chair sat in the opposite corner. Beside the bed, there was a very simple nightstand, made of the same light metal as the chair, though it was drilled into the wall so that the patients couldn’t move it. Edward had felt around the bolts a few hours ago, when he had first woken up coherently, and found that they were loose enough that he could possibly unscrew a couple without anyone noticing on the camera, though he doubted he’d need them as long as his first plan came to fruition.

After a few more brief seconds of contemplation and staring blankly up towards the corner of the room where the camera was, looking down right back at him, Edward realized that the painkillers were kicking in. He waited another moment before he flipped over onto his side, facing towards the wall. The action still hurt, but the pain felt duller than before, and his eyelids felt heavier with each pacing second, so he just let them close. Right now, all he had to focus on was recovering enough to escape, and not dying of boredom before then.

…

When Edward awoke next, it took him a few minutes to even consider whether he was actually awake or if he was just dreaming. Obviously, the effects of the painkillers hadn’t worn off yet, seeing as when he pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed, he didn’t feel any immediate pain. If anything, his body felt numb and heavy, like he was constantly being pulled back downwards. His vision was blurred slightly from sleep and the drugs, and he raised his hands up to wipe his eyes in an attempt to both clear his sight and his groggy mind.

Edward had been sleeping pretty hard, but with the dangerous life of a genius criminal, his body had learned to sleep lightly and wake up to the slightest of disturbances. He’d been woken up by the sound of the door to his room being unlocked and then subsequently opened. As his hands fell from his face, thumping against the firm mattress like lead, he squinted slightly under the harsh lights above him and tried to focus on the figure who entered his room, the door closing shut behind him.

“You’re not the doctor. What are you doing in here?” Edward’s voice was slow for a moment, just like how the rest of his body currently felt, and it carried slight apprehension as his eyes finally focused. The man in front of him was wearing the same ugly, grey Arkham Asylum uniform that he was, and as far as he could assume, that meant he probably shouldn’t be in his room.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Did you have a nice nap?” The man grabbed the back of the chair as he approached Edward, dragging it over to the bed with a loud and constant scraping sound that made Edward glare, before he stopped about a foot away and promptly sat down. The patient smiled in welcome, the expression fitting on his features appropriately, but his accent really drew Edward’s attention. “You don’t recognize me? I’m pretty big in the papers.”

The man’s statement made Edward stare harder for a moment, his eyes studying the other’s face as thoroughly as he could as he raked his brain for a name. The man had dark hair, shaved down the sides, though it seemed to be growing out more, and a slightly hooked nose with a thin scar running over the bridge, and… Edward’s brows knit slightly together as everything clicked and he muttered, “Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Oh, good! It’s really an honour that you know of me, Edward. That means we can skip the introductions and get on with the talk.” Oswald’s tone didn’t feel quite as sincere as his word choice would portray, but his smile remained in place and he sat back in the chair, his hands folded in his lap, as he waited patiently for Edward to talk again.

“Of course. You were involved with all of that Children of Arkham nonsense. Now, what is it exactly that you want from me?” Edward restated his first question, still staring skeptically at Oswald from where he sat on his bed. Oswald’s charades as the Penguin were entertaining enough to observe while lying low in and around Gotham, though there were clear flaws in his approach to the city’s established criminal scene. The Children admittedly got much farther in wrecking the city than most new villains, so that was nothing to bat an eye at. Even so, Edward wasn’t really sure why Cobblepot would be talking to him right now.

“What do I want from you? I’m not here to interrogate you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Oswald reassured him quickly, chuckling in amusement as he looked Edward up and down for a moment, as if trying to read him, before continuing to explain, while gesturing to himself and to Edward, “I’m here as a friend, Eddie. Dr. Lowe told me to check in on you, make sure you’re doing alright.”

“Don’t call me ‘Eddie’. And you mean Dr. Lowe wants you to make sure I’m not planning anything. I assumed she did.” Edward responded to Oswald’s claims quickly, almost snapping if it weren’t for his still-sore lip and how groggy he still felt. It was nowhere near as debilitating as it was a few minutes ago, though he felt himself swaying slightly and all he really wanted to do at the moment was lay back down.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Ed,” Oswald refuted good naturedly, while also making it a point to clearly use the different nickname, “I’m sort of a model patient here, and I simply want to help you out. Dr. Lowe might not be the most trusting of you, but I can assure you, she trusts me—and I want to be your friend.” Oswald was putting a little bit too much emphasis in his words, even for what he was attempting to put across, but Edward appreciated that he was at least smart enough to not flat out say what he was meaning to.

Edward was silent for a few long moments as he considered Oswald’s not-quite subtle statements. It was seemingly both a request that Edward include him in whatever escape plan he had going on, while also acting as an offer that the plan in question would probably be orchestrated a lot easier if Edward had Oswald’s help. It was certainly something to think about, and Edward was already running through different alternative routes for his escape, most of which would definitely be achievable with Oswald’s cooperation. Still, Edward wasn’t really looking for partners, especially after his previous associates had left him to deal with Batman on his own.

“Look, Ed, why don’t we both go down to the cafeteria? I’m sure you’re hungry, and I can show you around.” Oswald broke the mildly uncomfortable silence that had grown between them with the next suggestion, and Edward’s mind immediately tried to identify when the last time he remembered eating was. Unless someone fed him while he was asleep, or he was so drugged that he couldn’t actually remember being fed, the last time he coherently ate something was before being taken to Arkham.

“Fine.” Edward finally replied after another extended pause. He still remained unsure about the chances of things going poorly for both of them if they teamed up and escaped, but as a whole, Edward suspected that Oswald wanted to get out just as much as he did. From how outright the man was being with his offer, Edward felt somewhat confident that everything would go over just as smoothly, if not even more so, than it would if he were working alone. Besides, he was decidedly starving and was pretty enticed by the idea of getting something to eat.

“Great!” Oswald exclaimed jovially as he stood up from the chair, the action sliding it backwards a few inches. He stood in place with his hands casually on his hips as he waited for Edward, who shifted slowly on his bed until his legs hung over the edge of the frame. Thankfully, his pain was still considerably dulled, and it only stung a little bit as he moved around, though this also meant he continued to feel sort of out of it.

Edward waited a moment to fully collect himself, before he pushed himself up from the bed. He stood up pretty easily, though he wobbled noticeably on his feet, almost having to sit back down again, but he thankfully managed to stay standing. Oswald shot him a look, and his lips pulled into a slightly teasing grin as he spoke, tone softer, “You need some help there?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine.” Edward responded a little bit too quickly to sound sincere, and more as a phrase of defensive instinct. Oswald said nothing in reply, though he watched Edward with a raised brow and a mildly amused expression possessing his features, as Edward took a few more steps forwards until he was by the door of the room, where he had to hold one arm out against the wall to steady himself for a second.

Oswald pushed open the door and the two stepped out into the hallway, where a guard was stationed directly beside Edward’s room. The guard pulled the door closed as they emerged and he nodded curtly at Oswald and kept a carefully weary gaze locked onto both of them as they idled in front of him. Edward had vague recollections of being lead down this hallway days before, but there wasn’t much of interest, just a long corridor with patient rooms that were presumably identical to his own lining the walls.

Edward’s attention was pulled back from the rows of doors on either side of himself as he noticed Oswald begin to walk down one end of the hall and away from the guard, and he didn’t hesitate to begin following him. His legs were sore and he trailed slightly behind until Oswald took notice of this and subsequently slowed his own pace so that they were walking side by side again.

“This way’s to the rec room and the cafeteria, the other way heads towards the front entrance.” Oswald informed Edward with an even tone as they continued to walk, tilting his head to the side to make eye contact with the slightly taller man. Before Edward could reply to his information, Oswald continued sincerely, his voice hushed slightly, “I lived abroad for a while, but I grew up in Gotham. Still, I hadn’t really heard of you ‘till I was already invested with The Children. Pretty impressive stuff. If things don’t go to shit, would you be interested in considering a... semi-permanent partnership of sorts?”

Edward was mildly taken back by Oswald’s proposition, though he was also sort of flattered by how interested he apparently was in working with him. On any other day, and if it were anyone else, Edward probably wouldn’t have even thought twice about refusing the offer, seeing as not many others were even on the same level of competency that he was, but under the current circumstances, he wasn’t sure. Oswald seemed like a capable partner, from what he’d gathered from the coverage of the Children of Arkham incident, and Edward didn’t really have any allies once he got out, now that they’d betrayed him. A few seconds of extended consideration passed, before Edward’s lips twitched into a slight grin and he reached his hand out towards Oswald. “I think that can definitely be arranged, Oswald.”

Oswald smirked back and immediately returned the gesture, his hand grasping Edwards firmly, but not tight enough to hurt, and they shook hands before releasing each other and returning their attention forwards. Not a minute later, they turned a corner and Oswald pushed open a pair of double doors, leading Edward into the cafeteria. As they headed right towards the food line, Edward’s grin remained despite everything.

#edward nigma #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot #nygmobblepotweek #nygmobblepositivity #batman the telltale series #telltaleverse #dc #e writes

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