#now Beatrice's surname is an entirely different matter

[kaijuqgle]

I low-key think we might be overthinking the whole "Beatrice real first name" thing. I think she really is just Beatrice.

First indicator of this is Lilith. When we meet her mom in s2, she still calls her Lilith. Of course, that could potentially be hand-waved as her mother either respecting or preferring Lilith's religious name because of the expectation that she would be the next Halo Bearer.

The next in-show indicator would be Duretti. When Cardinals become Pope, they're supposed to pick a new name. For example, Cardinal Bergoglio became Pope Francis. Cardinal Maffeo Barberini became Pope Urban VIII. So, Cardinal Duretti should have been Pope <smth else>.

In irl history, yes, nuns adopting religious names began as far back as the sixth century. However, in 1962, Pope John XXIII called the Second Ecumenical Council of the Vatican (or simply, Vatican II) to, essentially, update the Church so it can better connect with people. It took a few years for this particular change to occur but after 1969, nuns were allowed to use their baptismal names. It's a matter of preference.

Also, the "Mary <name>" thing I saw some people float around for the OCS sisters in general, I just want to point out that that particular practice was usually done only by congregations that were named after the Virgin Mary which... the OCS is not.

But, don't let all this stop you from giving or implying that Beatrice has a different name in your fics! As mentioned, it's a matter of preference, so you can 100% still have Beatrice choose to renounce her old name and go by a new religious name instead. It being her choice rather than a requirement of the OCS would add some interesting layers. I especially like the ones that have Beatrice's name come from the patron saint of prisoners, St. Beatrice da Silva. It's a neat idea! But yeah, the circumstances behind the religious name thing would change some things up a bit like context, etc.

[iv-kplpt]

don’t fake it to feel it [auction au]

this one deserves a lengthy introduction; my apologies in advance.

a few days ago, i was re-reading @yaoi-hell​‘s liveblog of okane ga nai - it’s funny, poignant and makes a good job at pointing out everywhing wrong with that awful comic. okane ga nai is a yaoi manga that glorifies and romanticizes rape, abuse and slavery; it’s absolutely disgusting. it starts with character A literally buying character B on an auction; and the rest is history.

but it got me thinking: can this - very base - story, of one person buying another human being, be salvaged into something less abhorrent? i decided it might be possible - as long as the story doesn’t glorify abuse and rape. and then @alan-of-all-trades​ told my idea sounds good - and so it began.

in this au, charlie is tricked and used by someone she trusted and ends up being sold on an underground auction in gotham. the person who placed the highest bid turns out to be the best possible outcome; and thus charlie ends up tangled up in penguin’s crusade for revenge.

this story touches upon the topics of human trafficking, slavery, abuse and rape. it’s absolutely nothing graphic, and no rape actually happens, but proceed at your own caution. it does have a happy end, and the only sex scene is fully consensual.

to make it perfectly clear: i detest stories that glorify abuse and slavery - which is why i wrote a story that depict those actions as wrong and repulsive.

some additional stuff: those fanfics are my way of escapism, so some suspension of disbelief re: human emotions is advised. this is fiction; it works slightly differently than real world. things can be simpler, and issues can be worked through much faster. you know. escapism via an ideal world.

also, a dude who tried to rape charlie gets castrated in this one. that’s my stance on rapists.

so, now that this is off the table...

rated m ~29k words

Okay… This looks bad.

That was the only thing Oswald could think as he was sitting in a brightly lit room, where Carmine Falcone held his auction. Up until that point, Oswald didn’t quite understand why only the elite few were invited; but then Gotham’s shadiest mafioso brought out the crown jewel of that night’s auction and suddenly Penguin understood. Suddenly he understood - and it nearly cost him his cover.

Oswald returned to Gotham few months earlier, even though he kept it a secret; officially he still remained in Essex, living a miserable life of someone robbed of everything. But then, miraculously, a journalist from Gotham came across a lead related to what happened to his family; and that’s how Penguin ended up back in his hometown, infiltrating the ranks of local criminal underworld. It wasn’t too hard - everyone serious about their criminal lifestyle knew about the Penguin. As long as Falcone didn’t know his true identity, everything was fine and dandy; Oswald’s morals were questionable at best and absolutely abhorrent at worst, so it’s not like he had any problem doing things that’d guarantee him the trust of hardened criminals from Gotham.

But even a guy like Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, like the Penguin - a petty thief, a bank robber, a con artist, a gambler, and an arms dealer - has to have some sort of a moral code. A place to draw a firm line, a thing one might look at and say okay no. In Oswald’s case, the list wasn’t too impressive - he definitely wasn’t above murder, but he was sure he’d never, for instance, partake in slavery. Being a criminal Oswald wasn’t too fond of following the law - but slavery was one of very few things he could agree on with the lawmakers. Owning other people was too much, even for him; he was all for personal freedom.

Which is why he wasn’t exactly pleased when it turned out auction’s main attraction is a human being. A young woman, drugged out of her mind, bound and gagged; she was short, slim, pale and a virgin, as the gracious host announced, as Oswald was fighting off the urge to either throw up or start a nasty fight. He was barely listening, his eyes fixed on the young woman; she was naked, to make sure every potential buyer will get a chance to take a good look at her. Her legs were shaking, and she was barely able to stand; and Oswald knew everyone else is looking at her.

She was pretty, and looked delicate; looking around the room, at other masked guests Oswald started to slowly imagine what might happen to the young woman. Certainly nothing good; he could very clearly see a lot of pain, a lot of suffering and a lot of fear.

He was barely listening, too focused on containing his own emotions - but he still heard quite a few things. A virgin. Not yet broken. Such a pretty little thing. Such pretty little pink-

He bought her, impulsively. His main goal was to have his revenge on people responsible for the fate of his family; but that didn’t mean he was entirely heartless. He still had some shreds of common decency left - nothing big enough to make him lead an honest life, but definitely enough to not let a young woman fall into hands of someone who will do the unspeakable to her. He fought valiantly, and his main rival wore plain bandages instead of a mask; his eyes were cold and calculating and the way he looked at her and her red hair and pale skin made Oswald’s skin crawl. She cost him a lot; but in that moment he didn’t really mind. All that mattered was the fact he won - and she’d owe him something. Oh, he knew one day he’d ask for the favor to be returned, either financially or in less tangible way; he had a long list of people who owed him big favors like that.

The girl cost him nearly everything he made as an arms dealer; thankfully that wasn’t the only illegal thing he was busy with. He still had plenty of funds acquired in other shady ways; but it was sort of amazing, the fact a human life can cost as much as years of smuggling and stealing and dealing. Put things in a perspective.

It was a shitload of money. Falcone claimed she’s worth every penny; and Oswald didn’t disagree, his mind preoccupied with maybe getting her to answer some questions, such as how the hell did you end up on that auction.

From up close, he could see her freckles, long lashes and traces of tears on rosy cheeks. Her eyes were hazy and she looked at him as if she didn’t see him; she put up no resistance as Falcone’s men took her away to prepare her to be delivered to him, her belongings stored safely in his pocket. He got her documents, as a security measure; her name was apparently Charlotte, she was few years younger than him and was from New York. Her surname - Schiller-Aberdeen - sounded vaguely familiar; he decided to take a closer look at her profile once they were in his hideout, located on the outskirts of Gotham docks, in a warehouse he anonymously purchased. It was a secure location; a good place to take someone drugged up to and wait for them to sober up.

He even got a printed out table with her exact measurements; that’s how he realized she was meant to be sold as a sex slave. A pretty doll to be abused as her owner pleases; that was… Not a pleasant thought. He wasn’t born yesterday, he was well aware this sort of things happen on a daily basis all across the world - but that was the first time he actually saw it with his own two eyes. Maybe he was getting soft; maybe it was just his pragmatism. He tried telling himself she might turn out to be useful, because maybe finding out more about Falcone’s slavery business would lead him to unraveling the true nature of the tragedy that befell his family - but it could wait for a few hours.

For now, he had a drugged up girl to take care of - and a phone call to make.

“Vale. I need your help.”

“It’s three in the morning. Three in the morning!”

“I know, my watch’s working fine. I need you to run a background check on someone. Don’t call Bullock, I need it to stay just between us for now. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” she yawned, and he could hear the clicking of her keyboard. “Talk to me. Who am I looking for?”

“Tell me something about Schiller-Aberdeens.”

“Uh… Sure.”

She fell silent for a moment.

“They’re from New York.” she said finally. “Rich. She’s a surgeon, he’s a… Politician? Yeah, a politician. Married for years. One child, a girl.”

“Charlotte?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Beatrice Elizabeth. Wait, how-”

“Not important.” he interrupted her, his suspicions confirmed. “Keep it between us. Alright?”

“Oswald, wa-”

But he already hung up. He knew all he needed; the girl he bought - came from an influential family. Someone would eventually start looking for her; people like her don’t just go missing without anyone noticing. And that was clearly not a ransom-related case; Falcone never intended to give her back to her family. Did he even have any reason to kidnap her? Or maybe he simply didn’t know?

Plenty of questions, no answers in sight; he couldn’t risk interrogating the mafioso directly, lest it would ruin all the progress Oswald had made in gaining his trust - and he needed his trust if he wanted to know what really happened to his family.

His best hope of figuring this particular mess out seemed to be the girl herself; so he went to his hideout and made some preparations; sure, he was an asshole, but he couldn’t be worse than Carmine fucking Falcone. That girl needed a place where she could sober up.

When they delivered her to him, she was in even worse state than hours earlier; she was shaking and sobbing through the gag and the blindfold and once again Oswald was very close to dropping his cover of Falcone’s ally and shooting his men.

“Alright.” he muttered, bringing her in. “Right. Nothing to see here, just a normal Saturday morning…”

He took off her blindfold and gag and sighed at the sight of her face; her eyes were hazy and red. She was still high - but also panicked, almost like a cornered animal. There was no way he’d get anything out of her, not in this state.

He sat her down, for now leaving her wrists tied up behind her back, and kneeled in front of her. He kept his mask on; and when he looked her in the eye - her pupils were unnaturally wide - he saw its reflection.

“Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”

Slowly and shakily she nodded.

“Good. I’m going to untie your wrists now, so be good and don’t try anything. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

Again, she nodded; slowly and carefully he untied her wrists. Her face was right next to his, and her breath smelled of mint mixed with tobacco - meaning she was high on Cheshire, an experimental new drug cooked up by some maniac in his spare time. It was very potent, and surprisingly not addictive - but it did seriously fuck with perception. The best way of dealing with it was to just wait for it to wear off.

Oswald could wait, he was patient. Years of resentment taught him that.

He gave her some water and a sleeping pill; nothing fancy, just some diphenhydramine, since it was one of few substances that didn’t come in bad reaction with whatever was in Cheshire.

He then helped her up and lead her to a room that served him as a makeshift bedroom of sorts; nothing fancy, but still better than sleeping on the ground.

“There you go.” he muttered, helping her lay down. “Sleep. We’ll talk once you wake up.”

She fell asleep fairly quickly; she must’ve been exhausted. She slept peacefully, only sometimes muttering something; but he wasn’t listening, same way he wasn’t looking, even when everyone’s eyes were on her.

*** She woke up abruptly, feeling dizzy and disoriented. She was in a dimly lit room, the bed was hard and creaky and she had no idea how did she get there.

She tried to focus, to remember something, anything; but everything was blurry. She could remember bright lights and hands and voices, distorted and distant; but nothing was clear.

It took her a while to realize she’s not alone; someone was nearby, walking around.

“Hello?” she said hesitantly, looking around. “Uh… Where am I?”

“You’re awake! That’s good.” someone replied; a man, she decided. His voice was slightly distorted. “I’ll be right with you. We have a lot to talk about.”

She instinctively curled up in fear when he entered the room. It was the mask; she was staring at the Penguin himself, a mysterious menace that’s been plaguing the city for months.

“Relax.” he said, seeing her reaction. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re in a bad state anyway, there’s no reason to add to this pile of misery. Do you know who am I?”

“You’re… You’re the Penguin.”

“That is correct, yes. Do you remember anything from yesterday?”

“No.” she answered truthfully; everything was a blur.

Suddenly the realization hit her; she was god knows where, and the Penguin was standing few feet away from her, and she couldn’t for the love of god remember anything from the past… Few days, actually.

Things weren’t looking good, and she could feel panic building up in her body.

“I don’t remember anything.” she said desperately. “Please. I don’t know anything, you have to believe me!”

“Oh, but I do believe you.” he said calmly. “Cheshire - the drug you were high on - often causes a short term memory loss. Your memories will come back eventually, especially with right… Incentives, such as being asked the right questions.”

She didn’t understand anything, and she could feel tears streaming down her cheeks; somehow she knew she cried very recently. Her skin remembered something her brain did not.

He - tensely, awkwardly - reached out to her, and she jumped back in panic; but it turned out he was simply handing her some tissues.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” he repeated. “Though you might want to take a deep breath before I tell you how you ended up here… Charlie.”

“How do you know my name?” she muttered; he reached to his pocket and pulled out her wallet, ID, passport and driver’s license.

“There’s no good way of putting it, so I’m going to cut straight to the chase: yesterday I bought you on an auction. An illegal one, as no civilized country allows human trafficking… And for a very good reason.”

“What?” she asked faintly, even though she heard him perfectly. She was surprisingly calm; maybe it was a misleading calm, that’d lead to a storm.

“Yeah.” he said. “Like I said - there’s no good way of putting it.”

“Please, mister Penguin.” she said faintly. “Be reasonable. My family… They’re rich. They’ll pay you, as much as you want-”

“No, you don’t understand.” he interrupted her. “I bought you in order to help you. Trust me, you wouldn’t like what’d happen to you if anyone else placed the highest bid. You costed me a pretty sum, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, I’m sure your parents will be overjoyed to have you back, so overjoyed they might share some of this joy with me. But as for now, what I want from you… Are answers. Money can wait, I’m a crafty man with lots of savings.”

She looked at him, feeling very confused; he sighed and placed her documents in front of her.

“Just to be clear: I didn’t buy you to own you. That’s not how the world works. I bought your freedom, so now you owe me. Not in financial terms - I just need a favor. I don’t deal in kidnappings and ransom. That’s just crude. And I have style.” he said, fixing his tie; and she smiled nervously.

For a brief moment, she considered attacking him and making a run for it; but that was a dumb idea. She only knew some very basic self defense, and was very weakened - and he was a hardened criminal. For now all she could do was to play along - and wait for an opportunity to… Do something, anything.

“So, does it mean… I can go?”

“Absolutely not. The man I bought you from - has eyes all around the town. I can’t just let you out. See, I’m trying… To accomplish something. His trust is vital for the success of my little operation - and I can’t ruin it like that. I can, however, keep you off the streets and eventually take you home, back to your family.” he said, crossing his arms. “How does it sound?”

It sounded… Too good to be true, actually. She sniffed quietly, thinking about her family; they hadn’t exactly been in touch for quite some time now. She told them to not look for her - and they listened. They gave her space - and look at how great it worked out for her.

“Where’s the catch?” she asked finally and he snickered.

“So you are listening. There’s no catch. I simply need some answers from you, that’s all. Such as - how did you end up in this situation? Who else was involved? Anything will help, really. Can I let you in on a little secret, Charlie?”

“A-alright.”

“I want to take Falcone down.” he said calmly. “Him and his buddies, whoever they might be. And you… Might know something. You might not remember it - but it might come back. Which is why I insist you stay here, at least for the time being. You’re not my prisoner, you’re not my slave, and I assure you - I’m a perfect gentleman, especially when it comes to damsels in distress.”

“Alright.” she said slowly, trying to collect her thoughts. “How long does it usually take for the memories… To come back?”

“Up to a week. Cheshire’s… A weird little drug. But it will all come back.” he assured her. “Though I should warn you… Those won’t be pleasant memories. Especially… The auction.”

Bright lights, burning eyes, distorted voices, everything’s blurry, she can feel everything on her skin-

She hissed quietly, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh my god.” she muttered quietly. “I was naked, wasn’t I? So everyone could see…”

“Falcone will pay.” Penguin assured her firmly. “And so will everyone else who was bidding on you. There are some things even I find abhorrent.”

He sounded genuine; she couldn’t say she feels at ease around him - because of course she didn’t, he was a wanted criminal, a menace - but she also definitely didn’t feel as if she’s about to die any minute. That was a good start.

There still was one question she needed to ask, one she was almost afraid of.

“When I was… Indisposed…” she said slowly, nervously plucking on the fabric of a blanket. “Did you do something to me?”

“Are you asking me if I raped you?”

She winced, hearing it put in such direct words; she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on her hands; her breath was shaky.

“No.” he said finally. “If you want I can arrange you a meeting with a… Medical professional, who will confirm it.”

“But why?” she asked quietly, finally looking up.

“Because I need whatever might be hidden in your memories.” he stated calmly. “I need you to feel relatively at ease. Your situation’s shit as it is. I’m just trying to not make it any worse. I’m being pragmatic, that’s all.”

She fell silent again, thinking about his proposition. He seemed very eager to prove nothing took place; and she briefly examined herself, thinking intensively. Nothing was hurting, and her clothes were just creased and a bit musty, with no odd stains or weird stench; she felt almost fine, as fine as one can feel after being heavily drugged.

Also her stomach was empty and she was starving, as she realized after hearing familiar gurgling.

“I believe you.” she said finally. “I guess… That’s the best solution, for now. Me being here, I mean. Will you really just… Let me go?”

“I’ve got no bad blood of any sorts with your family, and I don’t dabble in human trafficking. That’s low, even for me. I have standards. So as soon as your memory comes back… We’re done. It’ll all be a very weird, unpleasant memory… As long as you don’t decide to fuck me over, that is.” he added. “If it’s of any comfort… This is a weird situation for me as well. I can only imagine how it must feel from your perspective.”

“Is this your hideout?” she asked, looking around. “Where you make your plans and keep your secrets? And you’re going to just… Let me wander around as I please?”

“I’m going to keep an eye on you for the next few days. I can put my grand plans on hold, I’m a very patient man. So for now… You’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah.” she said with resignation. “I guess I am.”

*** That was easily the weirdest situation he had ever been in. Logically, everything made perfect sense - but emotionally? Nothing did. Finding the right words was a struggle, even for him, Gotham’s most eloquent and chatty criminal.

He… Bought a person. A human being. He never wanted to own another person; he liked having “friends” who owe him favors - but that was just a tad too much.

She seemed to be taking it rather well; maybe she was still numbed down from Cheshire. Maybe she was about to have a breakdown. But, for now - she seemed calm. Very tired, and slightly disoriented - but calm.

Her fear of what possibly might have happened was understandable; he didn’t even feel offended. In fact, he was a bit surprised it took her so long to ask this question. It was a very rational thing to wonder about, after waking up in stranger’s bed, with no recollection of getting there; but she seemed calm and resigned.

(He really meant what he told her, especially that part about giving her back to her family. This whole ordeal made him feel dirty, like he crossed paths with the unspeakable; he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around this mess. He felt like he’s stumbling in the dark - and he didn’t like that feeling. He liked the sense of having a clear path drawn out in front of him - and this was a clusterfuck, a gordian knot. For once he wasn’t feeling fearless and confident and dangerous; instead he was feeling clumsy and uncertain.)

She didn’t ask questions about the auction; maybe for the better. What you don’t know can’t hurt you; he learned that the hard way. His life was way simpler, before he found out about the probability of discovering the truth of his family’s demise; it was bleak and sort of miserable - but at least it was simple. He was living it for himself - but now he had a sense of purpose. Now he had to actively scheme, to pretend he’s Falcone’s ally. It was unpleasant, and often made him feel like he’s about to scream; so yeah. What you don’t know, can’t hurt you - and maybe it was better for her to not remember the prying eyes, the ties, the descriptions.

(It will come back to her, eventually; it will all come back. But all he cared about was to find out how did that happen.)

“Do you have any food?” she asked eventually as he stood there, lost in thoughts. “I’m… Not feeling great.”

“Yes, Cheshire does that to a person. Luckily for you… I’m always prepared. Come with me.”

It felt weird, having another person in his secluded hideout; usually it was just him and his inner circle, or just him. He was sure his secrets are safe; the most important eyes were safely stored away, and he wasn’t going to let her wander out of the building, lest she’d figure out the location. Sure, he wasn’t going to treat her like a prisoner - she was just an innocent bystander, even if a very expensive one - but his secrets were still a priority.

She looked tense, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. If the situation felt awkward and wrong for him - he couldn’t even begin to comprehend how it must have felt on her end.

(He had a feeling he’s not going to get over it anytime soon.)

It was odd, watching her devour fresh fruit; Cheshire was an interesting little drug, the price for not becoming addicted being exhaustion and dehydration. It was a weird feeling - someone sitting in his hideout, eating late breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world. But fine - he could bear acting normal for a few days, for the sake of her memories coming back to her.

“We have some time to pass.” he said eventually. “Tell me about yourself. Who knows, maybe you’ll remember something this way. For example… What brings you to Gotham?”

“I came here with my boyfriend.” she eventually replied. “He wanted to have a romantic weekend.”

“That’s… Not a place I’d pick. Gotham’s a hive of scum and villainy. It’s one of the most dangerous cities in the country.” he pointed out, thinking intensively; boyfriend, huh? “I’d pick Venice, or Paris.”

“He’s not rich.” she said quietly. “It’s… Complicated.”

“Oh, it sure is, considering your current situation. But not to worry, we’ll figure this out. Tell me about that boyfriend of yours. Is he nice? Handsome?”

“He’s�� Very sweet. And funny.” she said, evidently trying to avoid the topic.

“You’re talking just because you’re scared, right?”

“I’d say being scared is a normal reaction in a situation like this. Mister Penguin… You’re surely aware of your reputation.”

“Of a bloody bastard and a prick in general? Yes, I’m well aware.” he said with a shrug. “I worked hard for this reputation, though I can promise you - I won’t hurt you if you refuse to talk. I promised to get you home in one piece, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Because you want my parents to pay you back?”

“Well, you did cost me a pretty penny. Any decent guy would probably just set you free - but I’m not a decent guy. I’m a criminal, working on disposing Carmine Falcone. Naturally if your parents refuse to pay me back… I’ll just move on, because it’s not like I have a receipt. But it would be much appreciated, considering your father’s political career and all.”

“Please save your threats.” she said tiredly. “You will have your money back. Did you pay for me with blood money?”

“Arms dealing money.” he corrected her. “Though people I deal with are even worse than me. So yes. It was blood money of sorts.”

“Christ.” she muttered, hiding her face in her hands. “First I end up auctioned off by a gangster, then another one buys me, and now this… Is this really what my life had come to? Why couldn’t it be someone honest and good, like Bruce Wayne?”

“Honest and good people are not friends with Falcone. You should consider yourself lucky. I might be bad, but I’m still not as bad as other options.”

They both fell silent, and she looked at him; she had very pretty eyes, which he could clearly see now that they weren’t hazy anymore. Big and blue and sad; everything about her was pretty, in a soft, subtle way.

“I’m not blaming you for not jumping from joy.” he said eventually. “This is a very ugly situation, and I’m not happy about it either. This is not my ideal way of meeting new people. I just need you to understand… It could be much, much worse.”

“I can imagine.” she said quietly. “I’m a pretty little thing, I’ve heard it many times before. I’m just… Confused.”

“It’ll pass.” he assured her. “It’ll all be just an unpleasant memory - but what a story you’ll have to tell your friends over drinks! You have my permission to turn me into a dashing, selfless hero I’m by all means not even close to being.”

“Oh, you do not want me to do that. People might eat it up and poof! There goes your privacy. You’ll have to move hideouts, you’ll lose Falcone’s trust… No, I think I’ll paint you as an asshole instead.”

He couldn’t believe his ears: was that a joke? Yes, it was, judging from the spark in her eyes. It was faint, and glimmered briefly before disappearing - but it was there.

“Did I offend you?” she said after noticing his lack of reaction. “Should I apologize?”

“No, I’m just in shock after hearing you joke. But it’s good! It probably means you’re not on the verge of a mental breakdown anymore.”

She smiled, this time not nervously - and his heart fluttered. He was thankful for his mask; he was sure she’d see something in his eyes.

“Do you have running water here?” she asked eventually. “I think… A shower could help. I feel dirty. No offense, it’s just… The fact people were staring at me, and they saw… They saw…”

Her voice broke and she looked away, nervously rubbing her shoulders with her hands. He didn’t say anything; he understood.

(He remembered the way those other men looked at her and he felt dirty just thinking about it.)

“I do.” he said eventually. “Where were you and your boyfriend staying? Maybe your things are still there. You know. Clothes. I only got your documents.”

“Cecil’s.” she said quietly, and he winced slightly; that was not a good place. Her boyfriend probably really was poor - but she wasn’t. She came from a rich family - so why would she stay in such a shitty hotel?

“Give me his name. I’ll send someone to check it.”

“Can I see him?” she asked, straightening her back. “His name is Harry, Harry Spencer. Can I see him? Or at least send him a message? He needs to know I’m fine. He’s probably worried sick.”

“Alright, it can be arranged. Do you think he’ll play along?”

“Yes! He’s reasonable. Oh my god, thank you.” she said with relief; and there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you so much!”

“Like I said - I’m not a decent guy, but I’m also not a monster.” he said softly.

His best, safest bet was to call Vicki Vale - who wasn’t exactly happy.

“Can you explain what the fuck is going on?!” she hissed. “That was not the deal, you prick!”

“I know. I need a favor to ask.”

“I’m not your errand girl, do it yourself!”

“I would, if I could. But I can’t. I need someone I can trust. Are you listening?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Why me though? Why not Tennyson?”

“Because I need someone smart on this one. Someone with certain… Investigative skills.”

“Playing on my pride? Alright. Tell me.”

“I bought a girl on Falcone’s auction last night.” he said flatly. “For her own sake. She and her boyfriend were staying at a hotel downtown, and she needs her stuff. I need you to go get it.” he said, not taking his eyes off Charlie who was listening attentively. “Go to Cecil’s, ask for Harry Spencer, get his girlfriend’s stuff. If he asks - tell him she’s safe.”

“Tell him I love him and am thinking about uncle Roger.” Charlie added hastily. “He’ll know what it means.”

“You heard her.” Oswald said. “Got it?”

“What do you mean, you bought a girl?!”

Ah. So it wasn’t going to be easy.

“For her own sake.” he repeated. “Look… You know how I feel about this stuff. I’m going to fix it. She might be the lead I’ve been looking for. Someone delivered her to Falcone, and this someone… Might know who from the mayor’s office is protecting Falcone’s operation and who’s responsible for the cover-up. It’s worth a shot - and if I want to have this shot in a first place, I need this girl to remember. You know how memory is. It’s so fragile, so complicated…”

“Fine!” she interrupted him. “I’ll do it, just shut up already. Are you at the docks?”

“Yeah. Wear a mask once you get here. She doesn’t need to know. Better be safe than sorry.”

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll bring a mask.”

“It’s done.” Oswald said after hanging up. “My associate will take care of your stuff.”

“Thank you, mister Penguin.”

“You’re more of a guest, than a hostage. I’m just trying to make sure you remember that.”

“Even though I’m not allowed to leave?”

“It’s for your own good. Carmine Falcone… Practically runs this town. You can’t be seen wandering the streets, not for the next few days at least. After we figure out how did you end up in this mess… You’re free.” he assured her again. “I don’t want a slave. I don’t need a slave, especially not a sex slave.”

“Thinking quite highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! I’m a handsome devil, a snappy dresser, and a dangerous jerk. I don’t need to resort to something like this in order to get laid.”

“...sure.” she said cautiously. “What if I accidentally see your face? Will you kill me to keep your secret safe?”

“We’ll worry about it if it happens, but Charlie… I’m good at protecting my identity. In years no one had been able to figure out my real name - and many had tried. Trained detectives, agents, conspiracy theorists… I decide who knows and who doesn’t. And you won’t find out - mostly because I don’t allow accidents to happen.”

“You’re only human though. And to err is human.”

“Well, how do you know?” he asked, crossing his arms. “How do you know I’m human? I’m elusive, cunning, violent… Maybe I’m actually a demon?”

“If you were a demon, all this subterfuge wouldn’t be needed. So… You’re just a human. Not exactly average - but a human. Dangerous and resourceful and competent.”

“Touche.”

But things didn’t go quite as planned; Vicki Vale showed up - empty handed, masked and confused.

“I assume… Something didn’t go as planned.” he said as she showed up. “What happened?”

“Is that her?” she asked instead, pointing towards a very puzzled Charlie. “The girl, I mean. Is that her?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, so we’re doing it in front of her. Hi, I’m not going to give you my name, but you have my word - those fuckers will pay.” she said to Charlie, who looked up at Oswald.

“What is going on?” she asked faintly - so Vale took a deep breath and started talking.

“Harry Spencer checked out of the hotel few days ago, and he took everything with him. Nothing was left. No clothes, no documents, no address… Nothing. I used all my charms on the guy working the counter, and there was nothing. He just… Left.”

“What?” Charlie said faintly, as Oswald started to connect the dots; and the picture they were forming wasn’t pretty.

“Your boyfriend skipped town as soon as you went missing.” Vicki said, not even attempting to be subtle. “I might try to track him down, but I wouldn’t hope he’s worried if I were you.”

“He must be in trouble!” Charlie protested tearfully. “Was that dude sure it was him checking out?”

“Curly hair, glasses, Australian accent?”

“That’s Harry.” she said, her voice breaking. “But… No, that’s impossible. This has to be a mistake. Maybe he was in danger? Maybe he was being followed?”

Vicki glanced at him from behind her mask and in her eyes he knew she’s facing the same exact dilemma - to be gentle or to be brutally honest. For them, it was obvious what happened; Harry Spencer - if that even was his real name - most definitely wasn’t worried. He probably also didn’t deserve a boyfriend of the year trophy. What he deserved was a kick in the ass at best, and a bullet at worst.

The girl could still be a lead. Her alleged boyfriend could still be a lead. There was no point in breaking her like that; some things take time - and her memories would come back sooner or later, no matter how hard she’d try to repress them.

“We… Have our theory.” he said finally. “And my guess is… You’re not going to like it. So what we’re going to do… Is to wait. For your memories to come back. In the meantime… I have your credit card. My… Associate here… Can probably get you the stuff you need. I’d rather not use my money. You know. Shady business.”

“Sure.” she said; and she sounded resigned and broken and sad and he almost felt something. “Whatever.”

“She’s going to find out sooner or later.” Vicki told him quietly, just before leaving, with Charlie’s credit card and measurements he got from Falcone. “Why are you being so gentle with her?”

“She’s not like us. She’s not like them. She didn’t do anything. You know how it feels for your world to suddenly shatter. There’s no point in making her feel the same way, dragging her down.”

“You’re getting soft.” Vicki stated. “It’s concerning.”

“I’m not getting soft, her parents are rich. And I need my money back. Do you have any idea how many years it took me to make what I spend on her? How many deals, negotiations? All gone, in one night.”

“Because… You’re getting soft.” she repeated. “Come on. Why did you even do this in a first place?”

“Because I’m better than Falcone.” he said tiredly. “I’m better than those other people, and I sure as hell am better than the guy who almost won.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he was a noble knight, willing to save this dainty damsel in distress.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at her, and trust me, I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eye if I let him get her. There are things I’m willing to let slide… And then there’s this. My moral code might be nearly non-existent, but Vicki… I’m better than them.”

“Sure you are. Well, I’ll be going now. I have things to buy. Should I go fancy, or keep it simple?”

“Keep it simple. I… Don’t want her to go bankrupt.”

“Right. You want your money back, and that’s all you care about.”

“Precisely.”

“Uh-uh.”

*** She didn’t like what Penguin and his masked accomplice were insinuating - not one bit. It was impossible; Harry loved her! He wouldn’t do that to her!

But there was a massive, gaping hole in her memory; something had happened between checking in at the hotel and waking up in Penguin’s bed. Something she couldn’t remember - and Harry was gone with all her things.

For now, she decided to believe in the best possible scenario; that Harry simply had to get to safety. Act like everything was fine. Yes. That was definitely the case - even if Penguin and Vicki believed otherwise. Yes, the masked criminal’s tongue slipped one time, and he called the masked woman by her name; not like it told Charlie anything. She didn’t have her phone anymore - plus there probably was a lot of women named Vicki living in Gotham. He almost sounded nervous as they talked in hushed tones; almost as if there was something other than the money in play.

(Apparently she costed him years worth of… Whatever was that thing he was doing.)

“I heard it, you know.” she said as he came back. “What you talked about. This place… Has weird acoustics.”

Did she feel at ease around him? Not quite; but his presence wasn’t half as startling as it was right after she woke up. She only knew him from from the news, and never actually saw him do any of the horrific things he was known for; to her he was nothing but civil and polite - even if a little tense. It was kind of endearing, actually; even if technically he never answered her question if he kills her if she accidentally happens to see his face.

“I doubt you heard anything you didn’t already know.”

“Was I really that expensive?”

“Or maybe I just don’t make a lot of money. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

“Come on. Humor me. Was I expensive?”

“I’m not sure.” he said cautiously. “I’ve got… Nothing to compare the price with. I don’t know the usual prices of… Human beings.”

“So compare me to the stuff you know. Was I expensive?”

“Yes.” he said eventually. “The starting price was high by itself, and then it sort of… Went overboard. Look, do we have to do this? You don’t have to think too highly of my loose and questionable morals, but… You’re a person. Not a commodity.”

“Humor me.” she repeated. “I’ll remember anyway, you said it yourself. So tell me now. How expensive was I? Why was I so expensive?”

“You were the most expensive damn thing I ever bought.” he said finally. “Alright? I won’t give you a number, because there’s no reason for that. You were expensive. You were meant to be expensive. You were being sold as… A luxury. A very expensive toy. You said it yourself - you heard you’re a pretty little thing plenty of times. So do your math.”

His words washed over her like a cold shower - in a good way. Refreshing way, something that snapped her awake again. Also he sounded really, genuinely disgusted - so he was probably telling the truth about letting her go eventually.

(Or maybe it was just his way of fucking with her, a hopeful prelude to brutally breaking her; but for the sake of her own mental health, she decided to assume the former, instead of torturing herself with dark and violent ifs and maybes.)

Vicki eventually came back, with stuff she got her; some clothes, some cosmetics. Nothing fancy and expensive, but she didn’t mind; at least she finally was able to wash off the sticky feeling off her skin and wash her hair.

(She was tempted to ask Penguin to burn the clothes she wore until then; she wasn’t sure she’d be able to wear them ever again, without remembering this whole ordeal.)

And so began the wait for her memories to come back to her; few days spent in a secluded warehouse in a company of a wanted criminal, who allegedly saved her from spending the rest of her life as someone’s property. It’s been weird few days; definitely not something she ever considered to eventually happen when she agreed to Harry’s idea.

Weird few days, quiet few days; he was watching her every move, and didn’t as much as touch her. Only once she caught a glimpse of him without his mask on; the back of his head and his short, black hair.

“Did you see me?” he asked sharply, turning around after hastily putting the mask on. “Did you see my face?”

“No!” she replied quickly. “No, I didn’t!”

He believed her; but was way more careful since that moment. He’d always be up when she woke up and he’d still be up as she was falling asleep; he’d never take it off during the day and no one ever visited his hideout. It was just them; after some time, she got used to his presence. They talked a bit; but it was mostly her talking about herself, as there wasn’t much about him he could tell her without jeopardizing his plans or identity. He liked scotch, long walks, boxing and dogs; he could only tell her vague stuff like that.

And eventually… Her memories started to come back. He’d patiently ask her questions and make sure she was nourished; so eventually it all started to come back. The blurry parts began to get sharper, more distinct; and the black holes began to fill itself with shapes and colors. It came to her in reverse; at first she remembered things that happened last. She remembered the auction; bright lights and her hands tied behind her back and prying eyes on her naked skin and shivers and a gag in her mouth and a man in a penguin mask sitting at the back of the room, completely motionless, his hands balled up into fists to tightly his knuckles turned white. A man, describing her body like a piece of meat, declaring her virginity. Then a blindfold. Then Penguin, asking her if she can hear him.

Everything came back to her; up until the moment Harry Spencer gave her to Carmine Falcone in a desperate attempt of paying back his debt.

*** During the course of the next few days, Charlie remembered - and watching her was painful, as everything was coming back to her and she had to deal with it. She seemed to be taking it fairly well, all things considered; she only cried a few times, but at least wasn’t covering in fear anymore as he was handing her tissues.

(His fingertips once brushed the back of her hand; it was smooth and warm, and as he looked her in the eye and listened to her soft voice - he began to actively hate the person responsible for putting her in that position. She was soft and good and didn’t deserve it, not in the slightest; he was never too big on justice - but this was unforgivable.)

She didn’t ask many questions, and he didn’t tell her a lot about himself; but he found out quite a lot about her. She had a sweet tooth, disliked opera, had a complicated relationship with french cuisine, couldn’t stand caviar. She liked to wear heels and elegant clothes and makeup; she wasn’t too good at being romantic, but she liked being the target of someone’s romantic inclinations. She had a sharp sense of humor and blushed a lot; she was a pleasant person - and with growing desperation he realized he likes her. It’s been a while since he had a normal conversation with a regular civilian, not tied to crime in any way; and it felt good. Her voice felt good, her eyes felt good, her very presence felt good.

Eventually she remembered how she ended up on Falcone’s auction; and it was just as Oswald suspected, her boyfriend gave her to the gangster, that was why he brought her to Gotham in a first place - to pay off his debt.

Her voice was shaky as she was telling him that, and she was looking down at her hands; she told him about Harry giving her to Falcone instead of money and completely ignoring her terrified, desperate pleas. He didn’t as much as look at her as he left, leaving her alone, mortified, heartbroken.

She excused herself shortly after telling him that; and as he was sitting alone, thinking about how this was probably just a waste of time - her dirtbag boyfriend merely owed Falcone money, he couldn’t possibly know the details of Falcone’s operation - he distinctly heard her sobs coming from a tiny, makeshift bathroom at the back of a warehouse. They were muffled by running water; but he always had good hearing. She was crying her heart out, poor thing; desperate, agonizing sadness was rocking her body, turning her breath into a picture of the purest pain.

She wasn’t crying anymore when she left the bathroom; wet hair was sticking to her face, her eyes were red and her cheeks and lips were rosy. There was a lot of beauty to her pain; it was almost like a poem - except it was real.

“Penguin.” she said quietly, looking down at her feet. “Can I have a… Weird request?”

“Sure.”

“I…”

Her voice broke for a moment and she sniffed, for a moment glancing at him.

“I could really use a hug.” she said finally, her voice breaking again. “Please don’t say anything about asking a criminal for a hug. I don’t care. I just… I just… I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“I wasn’t going to.” he replied quietly, wrapping his arms around her; she burrowed her face in his chest and her body was shaking and she was sobbing again. “I… Know how it feels, falling apart. I can hold you together, for a while.”

She didn’t reply, instead tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt; he sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head. Her red hair smelled like herbal shampoo.

After some time she calmed down; her sobs had stopped and he let her go as she stepped away, her eyes so red and puffy it was a miracle she could see anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” he said. “This might not sound genuine, considering what I do for a living, but… I’m sorry. I really am.”

(He knew how it feels to fall apart, how it feels to feel so completely, utterly betrayed. He remembered this empty, bitter, cold feeling well.)

“He deserves to die.” she said, her voice raspy. “After using me like that… There’s no excuse for this. He deserves to die.”

“On that we can agree.”

“I don’t want to go home.” she said suddenly. “Not yet. I… I can’t. I can’t look my parents in the eye, I can’t tell them what happened, I can’t… I can’t tell them how much my stupid mistake nearly costed me.”

(Back when they were still a work in progress, Harry convinced Charlie it’d be better for her to cut her parents off - and she did, tempted by the visions of complete independence and freedom.)

“I want to stay.” she continued, looking him in the eye. “I want… I want to make sure he dies. I will pay you back, hell, I’ll add a bonus, if you only let me stay and-”

“Charlie.” he interrupted her. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“But this is what I want!”

“Impulsiveness only ever leads to trouble. Trust me, I learned it the hard way. What you need right now… Is to really, actually think about what you want.”

“But what if I make my mind?” she asked tearfully. “What if I really decide this is what I want? What then?”

“Then we’ll get down to business and talk this out. For now… Your head’s a mess. You’re angry and sad. Let it out. Let it all out.”

She looked at him and something in her cracked, something in her broke; and she dropped to her knees and started to scream, pulling at her hair and banging her fists against the floor and her scream, mixed with sobs, ringed in his ears as he knelt down next to her, to make sure she won’t hurt herself.

She was letting it all out; good. The chances of anyone hearing it were minimal; she could scream all she wanted.

***

To say it hurt would be an understatement; that was easily the worst thing she’ve ever felt, the worst kind of pain. Heartbreak is never pleasant, never fun; but this was not just a heartbreak. This was also a betrayal, a complete misuse of her trust, a violation of her most basic rights. She felt like she’s about to explode, like someone ripped her heart out; but she was also angry. Initially, that feeling scared her, that burning fury, that piercing hatred; her emotions were conflicting, overflowing, confusing.

Penguin’s warm, firm embrace made her tear up again; and so did his quiet apology, this uncertain reassurance. He held her tightly, just the way she needed to be held; he held her as she sobbed, hidden from the world, him being the only witness. He held her, keeping her from falling apart completely, and she was grateful; as ridiculous as it sounds - she felt safe like that, in his arms. She was safe and vulnerable, her emotions exposed - but it was alright. Nothing was going to happen.

Initially, he refused her request; he told her she’s not in the right place, not in the right state. He told her it’s her emotions speaking - so what? Her emotions were valid and right; Harry Spencer deserved to die. Her anger, her fury - it didn’t go away, even as she let it all out, even as she screamed and sobbed, until she could no longer breathe. Then it was just sobbing and gasping for air - but it didn’t go away, no matter how loud she screamed, no matter how long she sobbed.

Eventually she calmed down; she was kneeling down on the floor and her hands were bruised and bloodied and her throat was sore and her eyes burned.

“I need some water.” she muttered raspily; Penguin silently helped her up, sat her down on a nearby chair and handed her a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

“You should sleep on that.” he said, sounding very serious. “I’m not denying you your right for vengeance, that’d make me a hypocrite… But before you start walking down this path - you should think. Reconsider.”

She glanced at him; he sounded like someone speaking from experience. She remembered someone mentioning no one’s sure about Penguin’s goal; seemingly he was motivated by simple greed, but then there was the matter of his apparent resentment for Falcone. Maybe he was fueled by a thirst for vengeance. Maybe he really knew what is he talking about.

“Alright.” she said, looking away. “Just… Don’t take me home, not yet.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“The truth is…” he said finally. “It wouldn’t be safe for you to go back yet anyway. Spencer’s at large, your family’s influential and public, and who knows, maybe Falcone operates in New York as well. So I’d have to keep you around at least until Falcone would be off the board.”

“Heh.” she said, smiling faintly. “So you lied to me?”

“Darling, I’m a professional silver tongue. Yes, I lied to you… For your own sake.”

“Yes, I know.” she said, looking at her hands. “You wanted me to feel at ease, so my memories would come back. Whole lot of good that did.” she scoffed. “But I guess I’d have to face it sooner or later anyway.”

“At least you faced it. That’s a good start.”

“What else can I do? Denial’s pointless. The longer I deny what happened… The longer it’ll hurt.”

“That’s a smart attitude.”

“I’m a smart girl.” she said bitterly. “A very blind and naive one, but smart nonetheless.”

“Don’t beat yourself over it. He preyed on you. You’re… Not to blame for being a victim.”

She looked at him surprised; his voice was firm and confident, almost as if he said something he repeated to himself many times before.

“Thank you.” she said eventually. “As weird as it feels, hearing this from you of all people… I appreciate it.”

“That’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “I guess so. Also… I think I’ll sleep on this. Can I count on you if I don’t change my mind? You’ll get your money back, I swear.”

“Forget about the money, alright? If my plans succeed, I’ll be filthy rich and what you owe me will be just a drop in the ocean of my wealth. If they don’t… I’ll either end up dead or in jail.” he said with a shrug. “So forget it. I decided I’m going to act decent for once in my life. I won’t charge you back for your freedom, and yes, I will help you. Spencer’s mixed up with Falcone, and I’m taking his whole mafia down anyway. You can tag along, there’s always a place for one more dirty bastard. Just… Think about it first.”

“Alright. I will. You know… If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re actually kind of decent.”

“Ah, you’re breaking my heart. Me, decent? I hadn’t been decent in years.”

She smiled faintly, thinking about how this vile criminal probably saved her life - just because he could.

She spent the day just the way she promised - thinking about her options and about what she wanted. But no matter how she looked at it - all she wanted was vengeance, closure, justice. What Harry did - was unforgivable, and she knew she can’t count on the law on this one, she knew it’s all up to her.

When the morning came she was lying in bed, staring into darkness; Penguin was on the other side of the room. She could hear him; his mask was on the floor next to his bed and few times she was tempted to take a look at his face - but she resisted the temptation, instead focusing on her inner monologue. When she heard him yawn and get up, she quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep; she could hear his footsteps, slow and heavy, his body still waking up.

When she heard the sound of a water running from the tap she carefully opened one eye; he was standing with his back to her. All she could see were his dark hair and scars; he had a lot of them. She watched him wash his face; and almost caught a glimpse of his profile as he was turning around.

“I know you’re awake.” he said as she closed her eyes. “I know the way you breathe when you’re asleep.”

That was the first time she heard his voice as it was, not filtered through the mask; it was smooth and pleasant.

“I couldn’t sleep.” she muttered, not opening her eyes.

“I can imagine.” he said, his voice muffled again. “You can open your eyes now.”

So she did, and glanced at his scarred skin and lithe, pleasantly muscular body; he looked agile, like someone depending more on speed, than brute force.

“You were stabbed?”

“Yeah.” he said, brushing a scar between his ribs. “You don’t live the way I do without getting stabbed from time to time. Or without being shot.”

“Well, at least you’re alive.”

“Yeah, but every one of those? Hurt like a son of a bitch.”

She smiled faintly, and nodded.

It took them few hours, but eventually - they sat down and talked.

“I didn’t change my mind.” she said right off the bat. “I need this closure. I want him dead, Penguin. I want him dead, so he can never do this to another girl.”

“Alright, that’s fair, and very noble. Does it mean… You want in? To be a part of my operation?”

“As long as it gets me what I want - yes. I’m in. And I’ll not bail out. Schiller-Aberdeen’s honor.” she said firmly. “I have money. If I reach out to my parents… I can discreetly back you up. Maybe even get you some dirt. Dad’s a politician.”

“There’s no need for that, I have everything I need. Nonetheless… Welcome aboard.”

She couldn’t believe her ears - that’s it? That’s all it took?

She asked him this question, to which he laughed.

“I’m not running a secret organization! Anyone can tag along for a ride if they’re not going to bail out - and you seem determined and angry. Which is good. Angry… Gets shit done.”

“Wow.” she said, not quite believing her ears. “I thought convincing you would be a lot harder, I thought there’d be like some kind of test.”

“We’ve been stuck together for a few days now. I watched your every move. You follow directions, you’re smart, much stronger than you look… I don’t need to test you any more than Gotham already did. Now, as for loyalty… It will be tested, same way I test everyone’s loyalty.”

“Which is..?”

“I’m going to reveal myself to you.” he said calmly. “People I work with - people I actually work with - know what I look like. They know my name and my story. And so far… It didn’t turn into my downfall. So I’d say my gut instinct’s pretty good.”

“Alright.” she said cautiously, not taking her eyes off him. “Show yourself. I guess… It’s only fair, after you’ve seen me naked.”

He nodded and took his mask off and she sighed quietly at the sight of his face. He was right about being a handsome devil; he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea - but he definitely was her cup of tea, with his face that was handsome in that tired, rugged, rough way. His eyes were sharp and clear, his lips were narrow and his cheekbones were sharp; he was easy on the eyes, and the looks definitely matched both the voice and the personality.

“Ooh, your face speaks more than a thousand words.” he snickered. “Did I meet your expectations?”

“I have no idea what I expected.” she admitted. “But you look so… Normal. Like someone living a normal life.”

“Yes, it does come in handy when I just want to get a carton of milk. Why bother with armed robbery, when I can simply walk into a store?” he said with a shrug. “Having a secret identity definitely pays off. My name’s Oswald, by the way. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Of… Those Cobblepots.” he said, suddenly sounding pained.

“I don’t know any Cobblepots.” she admitted. “Care to elaborate?”

“We used to be the same as the Waynes - influential, rich, loved.” he said, his eyes turning darker. “Now it’s just me, everything we had… Gone. Dad hanged himself. Mum… Committed to Arkham, died shortly after. Everything we had was taken away - and I was left alone. And now all that remains… Is me and a park, last thing my father built.”

He fell silent and looked away.

“I told this story so, so many times.” he said eventually. “And it still hurts the same. But I know Carmine Falcone had something to do with what happened to my family. I know someone at the mayor’s office helped cover it up. I know someone laundered all the money. And I’m very, very close to getting to the bottom of it.”

“Oh my god.” she said; suddenly everything made sense, everything he said, everything he did. “This is… Fuck. This is terrible.”

“We both were fucked over.” he stated. “At least you know who are you looking for. Me? I still have to figure this one out. But I’m getting there. And if on my way to the truth I’ll manage to snap Spencer’s neck… Good.”

There was pure disgust in his voice; she realized he’s absolutely serious.

“But first I need to get my hands on Falcone’s list of accomplices.” he added. “He keeps track of all his debtors, even after they paid him back. One does not simply escape Falcone’s grasp. I know he has everything documented, as a security measure - the only problem is… Figuring out where is it. Once I figure that one out, it’s easy peasy lemon squeezy - we’ll get a hold of Spencer, we’ll know his accomplice at the mayor’s office, we’ll know everything. Every single thing… All because Falcone likes to be prepared to drag everyone down with him.”

“There is only one problem though.” she said cautiously; she figured it’s better to say it now, than to drag it out at a crucial moment.

“There are plenty of problems, but everything can be solved. What is it?”

“I’ve got… No experience with this sort of stuff. I know some basic self defense, and allegedly am good at acting.” she blurted out. “And that’s it.”

“Then it’s high time for you to get this experience.” he said carelessly. “There’s no deep philosophy to fighting. Sure, correct stances and sequences are handy, but all in all you probably know how knives work and how to fire a gun. I can teach you. I’m playing the waiting game anyway. Vicki can help out with more… Martial stuff. She’s lethal.”

“Really? That’s it? You’re just going to teach me?”

“Well, what were you expecting?”

“A rage fit.” she said honestly. “Hearing I’m useless.”

“You caught me in good mood. Everything’s going according to plan, you seem to be rather alright, all thing considered… I can take a little bad news. Are you a quick learner?”

“So I’ve heard. Also… I was a cheerleader. And was on high school gymnastics team.”

“See? There’s nothing to worry about! We just have to put some knowledge into you. You will not be anywhere near my level of lethality, but you’ll be able to stand your ground. Sometimes the ability to badly fuck someone up… Is just enough.”

He seemed to be really, genuinely unbothered by what she told him; his eyes were sparkling and he was tapping at the surface of the table with his fingertips. Maybe things were really going well; he seemed to have everything figured out, at least to a certain degree.

For once, things weren’t looking so grim, even considering she just joined the ranks of a wanted criminal’s crusade for vengeance.

*** She was a good student, he had to give her that; once she accepted what happened - and it happened rather quickly, though he felt like actually dealing with it might take a while longer - her mind cleared. She desperately needed to learn how to fight, if she wanted to be of any use - and it seemed like that’s her goal.

The problem lied in himself. He got very used to her presence; at some point he began to actually appreciate it. Despite her - rather shitty - situation, Charlie was rather optimistic, which was most admirable. Her laughter - although rare - felt like peace of mind; and there was something in her voice, making him want to listen to it forever. There was something in her face, making him want to look at it forever; there was something in her, making him want to keep her forever. Not against her own will, of course; one morning - he always got up before her, to have the time to put his mask on - watching her sleep he realized he wants her to want to stay. It was an odd realization, something he didn’t feel very often; this weird sense of wanting someone to actually stick around. She was smart, and her rare jokes were funny, and she seemed to not be afraid of him anymore; he liked her, he liked her a lot - but considering her situation, he decided to keep this to himself, to not pursue her, lest she’d submit out of fear, rather than genuine affection.

At very least he could look at her all he wanted, his face safely hidden behind the mask; he’d follow her with his eyes and absorb every tiny detail into his memory. The way she sometimes tilted her head, the way she rubbed her eyes, the softness of her lips, shapes formed by freckles peppering her skin; suddenly everything about her was endearing - so he limited himself to staring, unsure of what to do. Normally he’d be straightforward; he never had any problem with asking people out. Maybe a dinner, maybe a movie, maybe a walk, maybe a memorable night; but he couldn’t do it. He told her multiple times she owes him; and he wasn’t above manipulation, of course he wasn’t, but he liked a certain degree of honesty and genuity in his life. Some things simply should be genuine - such as sympathy.

This weird thing he was feeling, this attachment, this endearment only became a slight problem once she declared her wish; to take part in whatever he had planned, in the process tracking down Harry Spencer. They were on the same team now, there was no point in keeping his identity a secret; that’s just not how things worked. In order to make sure everyone’s on the same page, Oswald exposed himself to everyone he worked with; and in return, he also knew everyone’s dirty secrets. But since he wasn’t hiding his identity as Oswald Cobblepot from her anymore - the mask was off the table; meaning he had to learn to control his prying eyes, and fast.

But she was a good student; she had potential, agility and lots and lots of pent up anger. Aiming turned out to not be her forte - but point blank was always an option. She seemed to have some sort of problem with her fight or flight instincts - but he highly doubted there would ever be a situation where fate of his operation depended on pulling the trigger. He could simply instruct his more seasoned men to keep an eye on her in case of anything going wrong and to make sure she doesn’t chicken out in the middle of a confrontation. She was decent with knives and thinking on her feet; and Vicki claimed she’s alright at hand to hand combat.

“She’s nothing spectacular, but she’s definitely above average. She’s nimble, that’s good.”

“That’s all I need. I don’t need experts, I just need people who in case of emergency know how to knock someone out or stab them. As long as she’s not clumsy… I’m pleased.”

“Well, she’s definitely not clumsy. She somehow managed to land a perfect roundhouse kick… In heels.”

“...Vicki, how are you alive?”

“I’m also a feminine woman, Oswald. I know all the tricks. So let me give you some advice: don’t piss her off when she’s wearing heels. You might actually not survive it. Batman’s one thing, but this? This might actually be lethal.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Never underestimate a pissed off woman in heels.”

The fact Charlie - delicate and soft, with fluffy hair and pink lips - might actually be pretty deadly… Made him feel a certain way. She was short and petite and pretty - and yet apparently she’d be able to kick someone in the face wearing heels, truly a feat to not be underestimated. Suddenly, in his eyes her sweet smile turned into something different; a lure. That didn’t make her any less appealing; in fact - the result was quite the opposite. He was naturally attracted to danger; and Charlie seemed to be more of a veratrum, rather than a violet, even if she had yet to realize it. She had a lot of hidden potential - which meant he was facing a difficult choice. He could let her be; or he could drag her down, helping her realize her potential in the process.

That was not an easy decision to make; basic human decency was fighting with his internalized egoism, pride was fighting with his yearning for the sense of belonging.

Decisions, decisions; all of them wrong.

*** He was a surprisingly good teacher; he visibly enjoyed teaching people how to properly stab someone or quickly reload a gun. He wasn’t exactly patient, and he didn’t know shit about teaching martial arts - which was a bit surprising, considering his boxing endeavors - but she didn’t mind. Vicki Vale was a good teacher, well versed in anatomical differences between sexes and fluent in using them to her advantage; and as weird as it was - learning how to kick ass under the watchful eye of a wanted criminal and his journalist accomplice - she enjoyed it.

There was a shift in the dynamic between her and Penguin; it happened once he revealed his name and face to her, once she looked him in the eye and saw his playful smile and a scar running across the bridge of his nose. She felt as if they reached an understanding; she felt as if she can trust him. She was locked with him for days, and he saw her at her most vulnerable - and all he did was embracing her tightly when she was about to fall apart, her whole body shattering along with her heart. She saw glimpses of his arsenal of weapons and experienced his skills firsthand, as he explained the best ways to stab and cut and shoot; she knew he didn’t use it for good - but for some reason, she didn’t mind. Maybe she simply wasn’t as good of a person as she thought she is; but she couldn’t force herself to be appalled. He did save her, after all; maybe he wasn’t as bad as the press made him sound. Or maybe he was, and she was an isolated case; but he understood what it feels when everything falls apart, when your world turns upside down. He understood, and didn’t try to sweet-talk her out of her thirst for vengeance; instead he simply nodded and handed her the tools she needed. She appreciated that.

And the way he looked at her when he thought she can’t see it was weird - weird, but also nice. He looked at her softly, warmly, calmly; if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looks at her lovingly. She often caught glimpses of this gaze, wandering across her, analyzing her - but she didn’t mind. She didn’t feel like a piece of meat in his eyes, like an object; when she talked he listened, when she asked questions - he answered. She didn’t feel dehumanized - so it was all fine by her.

But she soon received a harsh reminder of reality of her situation.

“Remember how I told you your loyalty will be tested?” he asked her one day. “See, funny thing…”

“What is it?”

“Falcone and his messed up buddies want to see if I’m having fun with my… Purchase.” he said, wincing visibly. “You mentioned being a decent actress.”

“Yes.” she said calmly, cold shiver running down her spine. “Tell me the details.”

“Well, there’s not much to talk about.” he said with a resigned shrug. “We’re going to show up, hang out with those twats for a little bit, make everyone believe I am, in fact, one of them, and then we’ll leave and I’ll probably get sad drunk to forget. You’re welcome to join me, by the way. It won’t be easy, it won’t be fun, but it sure as hell will be effective.”

“Alright.” she said carefully. “I guess it’s a good thing Vale kicked my ass recently, I’m covered in bruises.”

“Yes, that’s definitely a good thing, I’d rather… Not do it myself. I’ve got no qualms with fighting a lady who wants to fight and can stand her ground, but you’re not in this category. No offense.”

“None taken.” she replied automatically. “On that we agree - you’d rather not beat me, and I’d rather not be your punching bag. I’m afraid I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Precisely. So.” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get this over with as fast as possible. Let’s talk out the details.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously I’m going to have to mistreat you and you’re going to have to act appropriately.” he blurted out. “And as you might have noticed… I do have something akin to a moral code. We have to be convincing - but only to them. To put it simply - we need to agree on how far can I go in this spectacle. What’s off the table, what’s fine if it happens once or twice and so on.”

“Alright, that makes sense.” she said slowly. “Wait, didn’t you kill some people?”

“I did, but the end justifies the means. There is nothing to be accomplished through actual abuse.” he said nonchalantly. “All it will accomplish… Is bitter resentment. It would also make absolutely no sense for me to actually, genuinely hurt you. I bought your freedom - and for what? To do exactly the thing I wanted to spare you from? I only hurt people who wrong me or stand in my way, and you did neither. You’re a delight to have around.”

“My god, you do love listening to the sound of your own voice.” she muttered in response and he smiled; even though she - logically - knew she’s relatively safe around him - she still felt relieved after hearing him explicitly say he has no intentions of hurting her more than necessary. “Alright. I think… Anything that will leave a permanent mark is off the table, as effective as it might be. You know, it’d be easier if you just told me what usually happens in situations like this, then I’d have a point of reference.”

“All sorts of abuse.” he said shortly. “But especially sexual. Public humiliation, mockery, impossible tasks… Everything disgusting you can think of, really.”

“Alright.” she muttered again, taking a deep breath and analyzing her own limits as she knew them. “Nothing sexual. You can… Imply stuff, and I think I can take some groping, but don’t make me actually… Do anything. And don’t do anything to me that would get you kicked out of a public place. You can call me names, I’ll just tune it out, I did it during most lectures and still passed with flying colors. And at this point I think I can take being slapped once or twice, same with being pushed around. And I can drop down to my knees and beg for mercy, it actually once saved my ass in college. I can force some tears out.”

“There’s a lot of I think on your list.” he pointed out. “I need stuff you’re sure of.”

“Yeah.” she said with resignation. “I never was in situation like this before… Maybe a little practice?”

“We do have a few days to prepare.” he said hesitantly. “Christ. I can hear my parents yelling at me from the afterlife.”

“I told you I want in, didn’t I? At least this will be all pretend. I could end up with someone who’d do it for real.” she pointed out, feeling a tight knot in her stomach; her confidence was mostly fake. She was nervous - very nervous.

And it seems like this nervousness helped; it made her stutter and shed a few tears and it made her legs tremble as he was testing out the things she listed. She put her acting skills to use as well; and as a result, she looked and sounded absolutely broken and miserable.

“You look sadder than a kicked puppy.” Oswald stated, stepping away from her. “I’m glad I’ll be wearing my mask. How’s your cheek?”

“Alright.” she muttered, rubbing some cold water into her slapped cheek. “What’s next?”

“The begging part. In which you get hysterical.”

“Oh. Right.”

Breathe in, breathe out. She recalled how she felt after her memories came back, and how she felt during the auction, and after waking up; she imagined ending up with someone way, way worse, someone who’d do it for real.

She also thought about all sorts of other sad things - Sarah Palmer finding out about Laura’s death. Chloe Price seeing Rachel’s rotting corpse. The death of Inanna. She thought and remembered and imagined; and it took her seconds to put up a very convincing show, dropping to her knees and tearfully begging Oswald to not hurt her.

“That was bloody brilliant.” he said, sounding absolutely delighted. “Why are you not a Hollywood actress?”

“Hollywood’s filled to the brim with sexual predators.” she said, wiping her tears away. “I get enough unwanted attention as it is, can you imagine what my life would look like if I was famous? I’d need therapy to cope.”

He didn’t say anything; she sighed.

“That was a joke.” she added.

“A remarkably dark one, even for my standards.” he said, nodding slowly. “I can’t laugh at something so true. Anyway, I think we’re good. Just try looking more fearful next time. More… Docile. Broken.”

“This can be done, just let me spend a night not sleeping and overthinking. Trust me, I will look absolutely miserable.”

Just to be absolutely sure, they performed their little spectacle in front of Vicki Vale, who seemed satisfied with the result; even though Charlie was a lot less satisfied with what she had suggested in terms of a visual aspect of this whole mess.

“I don’t know.” she said hesitantly, looking at a picture of a dress Vicki had in mind for her. “Don’t you think this is kind of over the top?”

“Everything Penguin does is over the top, it’s only fitting he’d accentuate his property’s function at every occasion.” Vale insisted, defending her idea - a pale blue Yiqing Yin, flowy dress decorated with intricate knots and webs of rough rope, visually very similar to shibari. “Oswald, you tell her.”

“As much as I hate to admit it… She’s right.” he said reluctantly and Charlie groaned. “It’s very over the top and ostentatious. Makes a statement… And very conveniently exposes your very effective bruises.”

“Fine!” Charlie capitulated. “I’ll wear it, just as long as it works. I hope no one questions your penchant for theatrics.”

Finally the judgement day had come; or rather night, since the secret meeting in the Skyline Club was to be held after dawn. Charlie had a sleepless night; she spent it thinking about Harry, remembering. Actually she cried a few times, muffling her sobs with a pillow in order to not wake Oswald up; her eyes were red and the dark circles underneath were very prominent and she somehow looked even paler than usual.

“Perfectly miserable.” Oswald said with satisfaction. “How are you feeling?”

“Dead inside.” she said honestly. “I really, genuinely am going to murder Harry for getting me into this mess.”

“He deserves that. Come on, get dressed. There still are two things we need to talk about.”

The dress was pretty, yes - but she’d rather wear it in completely different circumstances. The color matched her well, and she actually liked the rope adornments - but she definitely did not like the situation in general.

She left the bathroom with a sour face and Oswald looked her up and down quickly, his eyes briefly pausing at the exposed patches of her skin.

“Almost perfect.” he stated. “Now, before I shock you with the last element… Let’s establish something.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I know we tested everything, but you’re still in this mess completely involuntarily. I’d rather limit the necessary abuse to the minimum. Say I’ll be good if you need me to tone it down. It won’t make you break the character, and it’s something that’d… Definitely be heard in a situation like this.”

“Alright.” she said, feeling slightly amused. “I can do that. What should I call you? Sir? Master?”

“Let’s go with master.” he said with hesitation. “It’s… Very over the top. Bloody hell, I suddenly feel like I don’t know myself.” he suddenly admitted. “This is a scenario I never even considered. I have no idea if I’m in character.”

“Well, if it’s of any consolation… It’s the same on my side. What’s the second thing?”

“This.” he said, lifting an object up; after short inspection she figured out it’s a collar of sorts, with two short chains attached, linking it to a pair of cuffs.

“I have some questions.” she said after a long pause. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because I only thought about it today.” he admitted. “Over the top. Theatrical. Ostentatious. You know. Like everything I do.”

“Right.” she said slowly. “And… Why do you have this on hand?”

“Do you really want to have this conversation with me?”

“Sort of.” she said with a shrug. “It’s better than thinking about what I’m about to go through. Come on, Oswald. Dirty little secret?”

“Are you really going to kinkshame me?”

“Nope, not really. Sexuality’s a rich tapestry, I just feel odd finding out about this particular preference of yours in this weird scenario we’re in.” she said, putting her shoes on; another of Vicki’s over the top ideas, a pair of high heeled sandals with ankle straps made of rough rope and decorated with fake roses. “Have it been used before?”

“It’s clean.” he said shortly. “Come here, so I can put it on you.”

And so he did - and the sensation of him putting a collar and handcuffs on her felt… Weird, the weirdest part being the fact it didn’t feel wrong. Sure, the situation they were in was the exact opposite of erotic - but when she closed her eyes and focused on the bare sensation, taken out of its context… It definitely made her feel something.

“Not too tight?” he asked, stepping back and putting his mask on.

“No, it’s perfect.”

The contraption kept her wrists suspended just under her breasts; it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position, but it could be worse.

“I feel stupid.” she stated as they were driving through the streets of Gotham in one of his stolen cars; this one was registered under one of his men’s name and had tinted windows, hiding their highly suspicious appearance from the prying eyes.

“You don’t look stupid.” he said. “Pale blue is definitely your color.”

“Thanks.” she sighed. “I’ll remember it.”

“Cheer up. Or maybe don’t, you’re supposed to be gloomy.” he corrected himself, reaching into his pocket with one hand; he pulled out a small ampoule with some tiny, white pills inside. “I promise, whatever you’re about to go through… Will not be for nothing.”

“What’s that?”

“A safety measure.” he replied nonchalantly. “A modified version of Cheshire, the drug you were high on. It’s highly potent, tasteless and dissolves in alcohol almost instantly. Takes away free will for a short period of time. If everything goes right… I’ll get Falcone talking and we’ll be on right path to sending you home.”

“Yeah.” she sighed, for some reason not feeling very enthusiastic about the perspective of leaving Gotham behind.

That was a bizarre night. She called upon her sadness and anxiety again; and Oswald’s behavior drastically changed. He gripped her waist tightly, and almost made her fall down a few times; he spoke about her as if she wasn’t present, as if she couldn’t hear him.

His remarks were…

If it wasn’t for the situation she was in - she could imagine herself being kind of into some of the things he was saying, if it were just the two of them and if his tone was different. But his words weren’t meant to make her feel good; they were meant to humiliate her, dehumanize her, expose her to strangers. The way he talked about her body made her shudder; but thankfully he wasn’t too graphic and limited himself to vague descriptions of things everyone could see, like small tits or soft skin or pretty pink lips.

“After all, she belongs to me, doesn’t she?” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m the one who paid the price for the right to details… And I’m not willing to share.”

The night went on and on; he claimed he never calls her by her name, instead calling her Cherry, to commemorate the night he popped her cherry and the way she cried and bucked her hips to get him off her. He had to do and say many disgusting things that night, and she had to take it all; when she accidentally tripped and bumped into another man, making him spill his drink - he actually had to slap her.

But she took it all; she had no other choice. It was all pretend, she kept telling herself; it will be over soon. It could be much worse. It could be for real. Back in the hideout, she’ll be able to take a shower and spend the night alone, without anyone’s intrusive touch; she could be in a situation where she’d had to actually endure all of this, where the slap would be much harder, and there would be someone’s hand up her dress.

“How are you holdin’ up?” he asked quietly when they were left alone for a second.

“Six out of ten.” she whispered back.

Eventually, the occasion arose for him to make his move on Falcone - and he left her alone among other guests, their eyes fixed on her. She decided most likely nothing’s going to happen to her; Penguin made it perfectly clear he’s very adamant in his not sharing stance, so she assumed no one will dare to try and lay their hands on his precious property.

She assumed wrong; it happened as she was quietly listening to two men wondering if Penguin’s going to cut her tongue off.

(“No way, he probably found a good use for it!”)

She remembered the man with his face bandaged from the auction; he nearly won, he nearly got her. He cornered her eventually and his eyes looked familiar, and so did his voice; he talked to her, but almost none of his words got through, she was so scared her mind was numb and felt like damp cotton wool.

(She distinctly heard the name Eleanor; it was her mother’s name, and it felt like a brief ray of hope and peace.)

She only reacted when his hands were on her and she couldn’t defend herself thanks to that damned collar Oswald put on her in another blasted display of his flair for the dramatic. All she could do was to scream; and she did just that.

“PENGUIN!” she yelled tearfully, trying to push the man away. “PENGUIN!”

She started to cry when she felt stranger’s lips on her neck; but the feeling went away and she opened her eyes and Oswald was there, pulling the bandaged man away from her.

“What did I fucking tell you about touching my stuff?” he hissed out, shaking the man. “Which part of it you didn’t understand?!”

He threw the man on the ground and turned to face her; she took a shaky step in his direction, but he pushed her against the wall, and held her there by her neck, lifting her chin with his hand and forcing her to look his mask in the eye.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me.” he said quietly, threateningly. “You interrupted a very important conversation, Cherry. You’re going to pay the price.”

She looked at him completely horrified, remembering about his plans and the tiny pills he showed her; he brushed her lips with his thumb, before turning around and facing Falcone.

“We’re leaving.” he said shortly. “Have a good night, Carmine.”

“Likewise, Penguin, likewise.” Falcone replied calmly, briefly glancing at the bandaging man. “Do you want me to take care of him?”

“Do what you want.” he replied impassively. “Your house, your rules. Cherry, come!”

He whistled at her like she was a dog and she hurried after him, not saying anything and not looking at him; she only said something when they were in the car.

“I’m sorry.” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

He turned his head in her direction; he pulled over in a dark alley, took his mask off and shot her a puzzled look.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Your talk with Falcone!” she said tearfully. “I interrupted it!”

“Yes, because you were about to get raped by a stranger.” he said, taking the collar and cuffs of her. “That’s a damn good reason to interrupt anything.”

“But you sounded angry!”

“Of course I sounded angry, I had a role to play! Maybe I played it too convincingly. You, on the other hand… Looked really terrified. Was that also an act?”

“No.” she admitted. “I was sure… I screwed everything up.”

“Well, you didn’t. Sure, he was about to tell me who helped him with dealing with my parents - but it’s going to be in the files anyway. And I got the most important information out of him first. So… All’s good on my side.” he said with a shrug. “I knew clock’s ticking, so that was the first question I asked after he took the bait. I know where he keeps his leverage against half of Gotham. Once I get my hands on that… I will know everything.”

“So… We’re good?” she asked shakily.

“I’d say yes, but… What about you?” he asked. “That was a rough night. Are you alright? At least remotely?”

“Yes. The slap wasn’t too hard… And you were very vague in your descriptions. Thanks for that.”

“That’s not what I meant.” he said very seriously, looking her in the eye. “You didn’t use the safe word we established, so I know that part was bearable. No, I mean the ending.”

“That’s not the first time something like this happened to me.” Charlie admitted. “Usually I have some pepper spray or keys or a taser on hand, and free hands to defend myself. Last time… Last time Harry saved me. That’s how we met.” she added quietly. “This time… I completely panicked.”

“I almost had a heart attack when I heard you scream.” he said quietly and she looked at him, puzzled.

“Why?” she asked and he blinked and chuckled nervously.

“Because I feared for the integrity of our operation, of course!” he said, giving her a forced smile. “Let’s not dwell on that. What’s important… Is that you’re okay.”

“I will be okay, once I take a shower and maybe drink a strawberry daiquiri.” she corrected him and he smiled.

“Alright, that can be arranged. You were terrific tonight. Now let’s erase those unpleasant memories with alcohol. All the shit I had to say… Left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“You know… Some of those lines weren’t so bad.” she said as they were driving through the dark streets. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to hear someone talk about the sounds I make in bed without shuddering again.”

“Here’s to hoping.” he muttered in response, sounding absent-minded.

*** He felt sick. It was very egoistic and self-centered, as he wasn’t the one who suffered that night, he wasn’t the one slapped, he didn’t have to listen to someone describing his body as if he’s not present; but he felt like shit, after spewing those disgusting, filthy lies, after boasting about rape that never took place. Oswald Cobblepot was many things, very few of them good; he had a lot of sins on his list, a lot of dirty deeds. Rape, however, had always been abhorrent to him, unacceptable, inexcusable. There was no point to it, no reason; there were much better ways of taking control away from someone, of putting them in their place. He felt dirty even thinking about it, about the pain and fear that came with it; but that’s what he had to say, that’s what he had to make people believe he did. Everyone ate it up, that story of him showing her she belongs to him by forcefully taking away what should be one of the best moments in her life. Everyone ate it up, everyone believed he’d be able to do it, to sink so low; he had something akin to a crisis. He was a terrible person, and if hell was real he was certain that’s where he’ll end up once his time is over - but was he truly that awful? Was he really seen as such a piece of shit everyone believed him to be a rapist without as much as questioning it for a single second?

That’s not what he wanted to be, who he wanted to become.

When he heard Charlie scream, his heart skipped a beat; he ran out of Falcone’s office expecting the worst, and when he saw that bandaged prick that nearly bought her - his blood boiled. Not because of any property bullshit, as he made people believe; but simply because he had some fucking morals. Charlie was pale and shaking and terrified, and he hated himself for continuing the show; he felt like he crossed the line - and she confirmed his fears, claiming she felt like he’s really pissed off at her. He wasn’t, of course he wasn’t; she played her part remarkably well, without as much as a single stutter, a simple change of tone. She was docile and quiet and tearful, just the way she should be, just the way she would be if someone else placed the highest bid.

But she was relatively alright, and he got the most important piece of information out of Falcone; that’s all that mattered. She was tougher than she looked - but she had to be. Every girl as pretty as Charlie had to be tough as nails in order to survive and not break under pressure; and in right eyes, every girl was beautiful.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to hear someone talk about the sounds I make in bed without shuddering again.”

He nodded absentmindedly, navigating the streets; a lot of things he said that night was actually based in reality. Her skin really was soft, and he looked at her face often enough to know how pink her lips are; and he still remembered the sight of her body, bathed in bright light of the room where the auction was held. He didn’t stare, but he remembered; he remembered everything and it sometimes came back to him. Unfortunately, he had great memory.

They both got drunk that night; he got drunk on whiskey, and she got drunk on strawberry daiquiris. They deserved that, after everything they had to say and do that night. They needed a reset; and there was no better way of doing so than alcohol.

She turned out to be a flirty drunk, and a very adorable one; she drunkenly told him he has beautiful hands and that she sometimes wonders if his tongue is always so nimble. She accentuated it with a very clumsy wink, and he laughed it off; but they say alcohol is the best truth serum. It helps realize some deeply repressed stuff; but he couldn’t just make a move on her, even after sobering up. He had standards; and after what happened that night he decided it might be best for his apparent infatuation to pass. He was a patient man.

He drunkenly apologized - once more - for the Cherry thing.

“I know you wouldn’t do it.” she replied. “You had plenty of chances, you dumdum - and you didn’t. No hard feelings, handsome.”

They both woke up in their own beds, fully clothed; and they both woke up with a hangover.

“Oh my gooood.” Charlie groaned. “Oswald, I’m dying.”

“Tell me about it.” he groaned in response, his eyes tightly shut. “Oh, Jesus. Why did we do it?”

“Because you wanted to get the bad taste out of your mouth. Ugh!”

She covered her mouth and hurried to the bathroom; and after returning she firmly refused to try his hangover remedy - egg yolk, beaten with sugar and Tabasco sauce. It was absolutely disgusting - but couldn’t possibly taste worse than what she had decided on. Nothing could possibly taste worse than prairie oyster.

Charlie looked fine; she was pale and her eyes were red, but other than that, she seemed to be over what nearly happened and over all that nasty stuff he said and did.

“I just kept telling myself it’s all pretend.” she said with a shrug. “It could be real, but it’s not. Kept me grounded. Kept me sane. You look like shit.” she added, and he remembered how she drunkenly called him handsome; but she didn’t seem to remember anything from that time.

“Well, you don’t look much better either.” he muttered in response, taking a sip of his bitter tea to hide his smile.

Later that day she informed him she realized something.

“Yeah? And what might that be?”

“It’s been weeks since I’ve been outside. I get it’s for my own protection, but… Think about it. Falcone and his friends saw me yesterday, and they saw the way I act and the way you - allegedly - treat me. You have a secret identity. I can have one too, it’s just… A matter of a right disguise.”

She raised a fair point, as he realized; and was looking at him expectantly.

“You’re right.” he eventually admitted. “It’s all in the behavior, and looks can be… Very deceiving. Besides, I can’t keep you wrapped in cotton wool forever, god knows how much longer this thing will take. Without sunshine… You’ll wither and die.”

“I’m not a plant!”

“I know, but the point still stands. I can’t keep you locked here forever, not after stating you’re not my slave over and over again. I think we should go for a walk today. I’ve got some errands to run anyway.”

“Do you think I could contact my parents?” she asked hesitantly; but he shook his head.

“No. Spencer might be watching them. We don’t want him to know you’re alright. You’ll contact them as soon as he’s off the board, but for now… It’s better to keep them in the dark.”

“Can’t I at least text my mom?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

She sighed, and went to take a shower; as she was drying her hair with a towel he asked her a burning question.

“Why are you suddenly insisting on contacting your parents?” he asked, crossing his arms. “It’s been a while, and you didn’t seem to bother. Why now?”

“No reason.” she said nervously; she was very obviously lying.

“Charlie, I know people. I’m an arms dealer, I can read people like open books. So maybe don’t lie to me. I don’t like being lied to.” he said impassively, staring her down; she sighed, crossed her arms and looked away.

“I think the man from yesterday knows my mother.” she finally admitted. “I… Don’t remember what he said, but… He said her name. Her name, of all possible names. And I don’t think it was a coincidence. Do I sound crazy?”

“No, not at all.” he replied calmly. “Gotham’s a weird place, so this might as well be true. Actually…”

He paused for a moment, thinking intensively; she looked at him with her eyes wide open.

“Actually…” he said slowly. “This does make sense. Your mother’s a surgeon, right?”

“H-how do you know?”

“Irrelevant. She’s a surgeon, Falcone surrounds himself with influential people… So we’re probably looking for a doctor, since they’re rich and well-respected… Mostly. Do you remember anything about him? Anything at all?”

“He…”

She paused for a moment and furrowed her brows, trying to remember.

“He has gray-blue eyes.” she said finally. “That’s all I could see. His eyes.”

“An influential medical professional with gray-blue eyes and some possible ties to your mother then. That’s doable.” he stated. “We can find him on our own… And then check with Falcone’s files once I get them, just to make sure.”

“Are you really willing to do it just for me?” she asked. “Why?”

“I’ve got a bone to pick with people who use their influential status to pull shit like this.” he said evasively. “Two birds, one stone.”

“You really aren’t as bad as people say you are.”

“You’re breaking my heart, I’m absolutely terrible.”

“Maybe… But you’re also helping me, just because you can. And I’m very self centered. This affects my image of you more than you think.” she said jokingly and shuffled past him to get dressed, leaving him with an odd, tense feeling in his chest.

She dressed up like a tomboy; a tank top, a pair of ripped jeans, a flannel shirt, biker boots and a sapphire beanie. It suited her perfectly, even though she looked at herself rather skeptically.

“This feels weird.” she stated. “I usually wear dresses or skirts.”

“If dresses and skirts are what you wore when you came to Gotham, then good.” he said, picking up his coat. “The less recognizable you look, the better. Vicki picked good clothes for you.”

“I feel so short!” she complained. “You’re too tall. I always wear heels to not feel like an overgrown halfling.”

“How’s the weather down there?”

“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.”

She cheered up after they left; she closed her eyes and spread her arms, exposing her face to sunshine.

“Ooooh my goood.” she breathed out. “I missed that, almost as much as I miss my lipstick.”

“Lipstick?”

“Yeah.” she said, opening her eyes. “Normally I don’t leave home without makeup. I… Kind of don’t like how my face normally looks. And I have this perfect, red lipstick.”

He couldn’t believe his ears - she had one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen. He was willing to bet she looks just as good with makeup; but her soft features were very pleasant to look at.

He paid a visit to one of his more trusted men; he tasked him with contacting Catwoman - an elusive burglar, said to be able to break into any place on Earth. He needed someone skilled and discreet; a subtle touch.

He also placed an order on some chemical substances Vale was running low on, and paid off another installment for his warehouse. He had a normal day, with Charlie at his side; and it felt good, it felt natural. They had pizza; even though it was mediocre at best - for him it tasted like the best damn meal on Earth, as it was accompanied by her voice. He always claimed it’s important to have a normal day from time to time; it kept him grounded and… Well, not exactly humble - but definitely realistic.

The - nearly perfect - day was only ruined by one thing: a man, following them from safe distance. Oswald recognized him as one of Falcone’s capos; and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

“Don’t be alarmed.” he said very quietly, wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist. “Act normal.”

“What’s going on?” she whispered back, not missing a step and resting her head against his shoulder.

“We’re being followed by one of Falcone’s men. He’s been watching us for a few blocks now.”

“What now?” she asked nervously, and he glanced at her.

“Well, there is one way that always throws spies off.” he said eventually. “Something that would never happen between Penguin and… Cherry.”

“If you’re going to kiss me, just do it.” she muttered, looking up to meet his eyes; her face was red, but her eyes were filled with… Excitement?

Before he got a chance to overthink anything he tilted his head and kissed her; what caught him off guard was the fact she kissed back.

*** Last thing she remembered from last night was daiquiris; and after she woke up even the slave spectacle seemed blurry. The alcohol did its job; she still remembered stranger’s lips on her neck, and Oswald’s harsh words, and the stinging after the slap; but it wasn’t as sharp as last night. It was bearable.

Actually, the day was going good; she finally left the dark warehouse, and it seemed like Oswald might actually figure out the identity of the man who cornered her. She wasn’t angry at Cobblepot for keeping her locked away all this time; he learned Falcone’s ways well. He was probably right; but her idea seemed to be working as well, disguising herself as another kind of person, hiding her mannerisms and style. She missed sunshine and fresh air; and it felt kind of right, walking down the street next to him, as he kept his hands in the pockets of his awful coat that somehow worked on him. He seemed relaxed and content, even despite the traces of last night’s alcoholic indulgence on his face; he kept his head high and his clothes smelled good and she realized she grew attached to him. She felt safe around him, even despite her last night’s panic; she felt safe around him, after he spared her from the fate straight out of a nightmare. She liked being around him; and she liked having his eyes on her. Even despite being a criminal - and a dangerous one - he was open about his intentions and plans with her; she didn’t feel like he’s hiding some deep, dark secret. He wore his sins proudly on his sleeve - she admired that.

The day was going fine - but then he kissed her to throw off a guy who’s been following them and she closed her eyes and just gave in, kissing back instinctively, and his lips on hers felt right and she tightly grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer-

“Get a room, you two!”

They stepped away from each other and her cheeks were flushed and he looked at her in that weird, special way that made her skin tingle.

“Well.” he said, fixing his shirt. “That was something.”

“Oh, definitely.” she agreed, her mind filled with warm haze. “Is he gone?”

“Who?”

“...the man who was following us.”

“Oh, he! Yeah, he is.” Oswald said, glancing over his shoulder. “Your lips are… Very soft.”

“Thanks.” she said nervously. “You… You’re a good kisser.”

“So I’ve heard.” he said with a self-satisfied smirk and she gasped quietly, as she suddenly remembered what did she tell him last night, when she was drunk and shameless. Alcohol did bring out something hidden in her; something she didn’t want to name. The sudden kiss helped her realize that fact - she was actually, genuinely into him, and his scars and smirks and cunning eyes and slender fingers.

(Some things he said during their act didn’t sound half bad and his fingers around her throat didn’t feel like danger and the sensation of him putting a collar and cuffs on her made her feel a warm tingling deep down her stomach.)

She looked away, smiling nervously; suddenly his eyes made her feel vulnerable, like there was nothing she could hide from him.

(She didn’t want to hide anything from him.)

That day, her biological, natural needs came back to her; she was feeling tense and uneasy and it only passed when she was showering - for the second time that day, as he pointed out - and her hand crept between her thighs and the other one covered her mouth to muffle the sounds. She was a virgin, yes; but she wasn’t born yesterday. She knew her body fairly well - and she knew she’s not exactly a quiet type. She didn’t want him to hear; at least not yet.

The next few days passed in relative peace - until he heard back from Catwoman, the burglar he hired to steal Falcone’s documents for him. She set a date of her heist; she didn’t charge upfront - mostly because she liked to sometimes fuck her clients over and disappear with the object she was meant to steal, if she deemed it more valuable than what the client was going to pay her. Oswald, however, was feeling confident.

“It’s an encrypted hard drive documenting Falcone’s crimes.” he said with a shrug. “She doesn’t operate on information black market, plus… We’ve worked together before. She knows better than to cross me. She’ll deliver.”

“I hope so.”

“However… We too have a role to play.”

“Fill me in then.”

“Do you know who Batman is?”

“Of course!” she scoffed; everyone knew Batman, Gotham’s mysterious - and fairly brutal - masked vigilante. He and Penguin were on a warpath; but so far the Bat seemed to be unable to track Penguin down in order to dismantle his operation. “Everyone knows who Batman is.”

“Good. We need to make sure Batsy won’t go after Catwoman as she works. We need to create a distraction, in another part of town. It has to be big, flashy, dangerous… Over the top.” he said with a spark in his eyes. “Unfortunately it means we’ll have to avoid getting captured, but… We will manage.”

“That’s exciting.” she said, trying to mask her uneasiness and nervousness with optimism; training was one thing, actually going out was something else. “Am I included?”

“But of course you are! I didn’t spend hours teaching you how to cut people just to let it go to waste. You’re on the guest list… To Harvey Dent’s fundraiser.” he said with a cordial smile and a theatrical bow; she blinked.

“Who’s Harvey Dent?” she asked hesitantly and Oswald laughed.

“Right, for a moment I forgot you’re not local. Harvey’s a candidate for the title of Gotham’s mayor. Lesser of the two devils, if you ask me - at least that’s the way he appears. He’s popular, determined, charming… And is the most perfect hostage for Batman to rescue. That is, of course, if we assume the Bat is not a supporter of Hill.” he added. “Because if he is… Then we’re fucked. But it’s our best option - the fundraiser happens on the night of the heist, Wayne Manor is located far, far away from the mayor’s office… As far as I’m aware, Batsy has yet to master the art of bilocation - and GCPD is useless.”

“That sounds reasonable.” she decided against her better judgement; no, it did not sound reasonable at all. It was a plan of taking a public figure hostage in an attempt of creating a distraction for a well-known cat burglar to work in peace; if anything, that plan was the exact opposite of reasonable. “I’m in.”

“Of course you are! I can’t imagine this happening without you, after all, you’re the reason I actually got the information out of Falcone. If it wasn’t for you… He’d never trust me enough to have a one on one with me.”

She laughed nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear; his words filled her with more vanity, than she’d like to admit. She liked to consider herself important, irreplaceable - and he only further confirmed it. Even in her current situation, even with her actual freedom stripped away from her… She was of importance.

“Who else is going to be there?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her own ego. “I’m guessing Bruce Wayne. Who else?”

“Vale’s going to slip in to monitor the situation, I’m guessing members of Wayne’s board… The Kane family, since they’re related to the Waynes… My mother used to say I’m probably going to marry one of the Kane girls one day.” he said suddenly. “There were two girls, a pair of twins. Heard one of them died, alongside her mother… Seems like tragedies course like blood through the veins of Gotham’s most noble families.”

“Christ.” Charlie said, absolutely unable to say anything else. “Were you close? With the girls, I mean.”

“Not really.” he said with a shrug. “We barely knew each other, but they were the cousins of my best friend. Nobody expected my life to take the course it did.”

“Wait. You were friends with Bruce Wayne?!”

“Best friends.” he corrected her bitterly. “I haven’t seen him in years, our paths didn’t cross again since I was shipped off to England… But we did grow up together. Partners in crime, they called us. Thick as thieves. But it’s all in the past.” he added, waving his hand. “It’s all water over the dam. I doubt he’d ever recognize me these days, I… Changed.”

“Maybe pick something not taking place at the Wayne Manor.” she suggested softly as he looked away; but Oswald shook his head.

“No, no, it’s alright. I’m not going there as Oswald, I’m going there as Penguin. I don’t even have to look at him. Dent’s the one I’m after. Plus… I showed up in Gotham quite a while ago. Bruce’s face is everywhere, and I’m pretty sure I passed him on the street once or twice. I can manage. Managing is what I do.”

Night of the bait and switch had come sooner than Charlie thought; but she couldn’t back out, not now. Everything was set; Oswald’s men were ready, and they were dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

“We have no idea who will be there, so just to be sure - we need to keep the act going.” Oswald told her, struggling with his tie, which was very uncommon for him; she walked up to him, gently pushed his hands away and fixed it for him, avoiding looking at his face.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, stepping away; he rubbed the back of his head.

“A few things.” he said finally. “Didn’t Vicki get you a flared dress?”

“She did, and I firmly refuse to wear it. I don’t like the cut.”

“Which is precisely why you should wear it. Remember - disguise. We don’t know someone to recognize you.”

“Just admit you want to see my legs, no need to come up with a whole ideology.” she muttered, disappearing in the bathroom.

“What next?” she asked, after leaving; she was nervously smoothing the skirt down. It felt weird; she was used to the pencil cut, safely embracing her legs, or more flowy stuff. This thing felt like… Nothing.

He was holding a collar. Of course.

“The fact you keep this stuff on hand is a bit weird, you know.” she stated as he was putting it on her neck. “Do you bring people here? To your hideout?”

“I also keep blindfolds.” he muttered, regulating it so it wouldn’t be too tight, and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t question it, alright?”

“This is going to be my new icebreaker story.” she stated. “Hey, what’s up? My name’s Charlie, I visited Penguin’s hideout. He keeps BDSM gear there. And what do you do in your spare time?”

He laughed and she smiled, touching the collar with her fingertips; it wasn’t exactly her thing, but it also didn’t feel bad. It was ridiculously over the top - but it could be worse. It could be a shock collar, rather than a piece of leather.

“Just for the record… I’m not going to tell my parents about that.” she said when the leash got involved; Oswald’s face told her he’s feeling at least partially as awkward as she. “I’m going to completely omit this part.”

“Yeah, you might want to do it.” he muttered, adjusting the length. “Usually I at least take someone out for dinner before collars and leashes get involved.”

“Is that your version of the first base? What’s the second one? Fisting?” she asked jokingly, hoping to kill the awkwardness with crude humor; he looked up at her and he seemed very serious.

Thankfully - after a long, tense moment he laughed again.

“Heavens, no.” he said finally. “No, what I meant is-”

“I know what you meant. Relax, I’m just joking. You’re so tense you’re about to snap.”

“This is the night I’ve been waiting for! Of course I’m tense. And chatty. And inappropriate.”

“You can be chatty and inappropriate, as long as it helps you unwind. I don’t mind.”

And she meant it - she liked the sound of his voice and it was intriguing, those tantalizing glimpses into his preferences. They suited him, she decided; they suited his smile and the dark spark in his eyes.

“Put it on.” he said, handing her a mask; similar to his, but resembling a seal instead of a penguin. “We all wear masks. Showing you off to people from the auction is one thing, but god knows who’ll be there.”

“So you’re going to terrorize a fancy party while dragging around a masked girl on a leash? That… Will for sure do wonders to your reputation.”

“The worse my reputation is, the better for me.” he said shortly. “The more afraid people are of the Penguin and what he might do to them… The better. Fear’s a powerful tool, when used right.”

“Sure.” she muttered, putting the mask on and blindly adjusting the straps. “Your men. Do they… Know about me?”

“Well, they’re about to find out.”

And they did - and they reacted exactly the way one should react when seeing their boss with a masked girl on a leash.

“With all due respect, boss…” one of his men said slowly; he was wearing a mongoose mask. “But what the actual, genuine fuck?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” Oswald asked, as Charlie nervously waved at the man.

“Short.”

“Too bad, there’s no short version. So: her boyfriend gave her up to Falcone, because he owed him money. I bought her from him, because you know me and my soft, gentle heart. That bought me Falcone’s relative trust… But unfortunately, now we have to keep the charade going. Is it uncomfortable? You’ve got no bloody idea.”

“But it could be worse.” Charlie added. “This could be for real. But it’s not, so… I’ll live. Call me Cherry, by the way. It’s not my real name. It’s… Complicated.”

“Of course it is.” the mongoose muttered. “Nothing is ever simple with him.”

She shrugged apologetically.

All in all, Oswald’s men seemed to take this revelation rather well; almost as if that wasn’t the weirdest thing their boss had ever pulled. Or maybe it was, and they simply decided to not question anything and simply follow directions. They seemed nice - as nice as a group of robbers and thugs can be.

“Is that true?” one of them asked her. “What the boss said. Is that true?”

“Questioning my honesty, Schulz?”

“There’s no honor among thieves.”

“It’s true, actually.” she said. “Word for word. Not exactly how I planned to spend my summer, but I guess… At least I’ll have some colorful memories.”

“Oh, this is fucking fantastic.” Schulz said, and Oswald scoffed.

“Language, Schulz.”

“My bad. This is fucking incredible. Who are you? What kind of girl gets kidnapped, sold on an auction, tangled up with the shadiest criminal in Gotham and just goes eh, I guess it could be worse?”

“I’m from New York.”

“...well that makes sense.”

They arrived, they crashed the party, they took the guests hostage in order to lure Batman in; but he never showed up.

Instead, however, they came across Carmine Falcone himself. What was he doing there was a mystery; but Oswald took his presence rather well, all while completely ignoring Bruce Wayne - the host. His men kept an eye on him and Dent; and Penguin had a role to play. Suddenly Charlie was almost glad she agreed to continue the charade.

“Carmine Falcone!” Penguin said joyfully, tugging her leash. “What brings you here? Business… Or pleasure?”

“When you’re in the business as long as I am, they become one and the same.” Falcone replied impassively, briefly glancing at masked Charlie, who stood few steps behind Oswald. “That’s… Unexpected.”

“Oh, this pretty little thing?” Oswald said mockingly, violently tugging the leash; Charlie hastily stepped forward, tripping and nearly falling down. “She’s a fun little doll. Say hi to my friend, Cherry.”

“Hi.” she said quietly, glancing at Falcone hatefully from behind her mask.

“She’s very well behaved.” Oswald said, unhooking the leash from the collar. “Well, I won’t be taking more of your time, friend. Cherry! Be a good lass, see my friend out.”

“Yes.” she said quietly and stepped forward; but he put his hand on her shoulder and gripped tightly.

“Yes..?” he said quietly, threateningly; she rolled her eyes, glad no one can see it.

“Yes, master.” she said finally and he let her go.

(That was an Oscar-worthy performance on both sides.)

“He broke you very quickly.” Falcone pointed out in a casual tone, as they were walking down the corridor. “How did he do it?”

“He has a way with people.” she said impassively. “This is the exit. I… Should go back to him.”

She turned around to walk away, but Falcone grabbed her wrist.

“Not so fast, girlie.” he hissed. “Get the girl!” he instructed his men. “Tommy’s paying me a pretty penny for this one. Won’t hurt to get paid twice for the same sale.”

The mask she was wearing turned out to be a blessing of sorts; while it was on they couldn’t gag her - and before they got it off she managed to let out a piercing scream. She howled like a banshee and elbowed the nearest man in the nuts, all while trying to get away.

“PENGUIN!” she screamed, just as she did when the bandaged stranger cornered her. “PENGUIN!”

“Oh my god, again?!” Penguin asked after running out from behind the corner. “What is it this time?!”

One of Falcone’s men was holding her, as the mafioso himself was struggling with her mask; she wailed and struggled and stomped her heeled feet down, very likely effectively crippling the man holding her.

Without saying another word, Penguin punched Falcone; in the meantime Charlie managed to get away.

“Oh, Carmine.” Penguin said menacingly, looking at the older man. “And here I thought we were friends… But then you had to try and steal from me, didn’t you?”

He tightly wrapped his arm around Charlie’s waist; and even though it was supposed to be an act of possessiveness, of complete control - it felt reassuring. It felt safe. What Falcone saw, and what she felt were two completely different relationships; maybe it was all an act - but the best lie contains at least a grain of truth.

“Leave.” he said quietly. “And don’t cross me ever again.”

After Falcone and his - bleeding, groaning - men left he turned his head and loosened his grip.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” she said, shaking slightly; one of her heels was covered in blood. “I… Need a moment.”

“Understandable.” he said with a nod. “We’ll talk later. Can you keep the act up?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Splendid! Then let’s go back. We have to lure our furry friend somehow. Maybe it’s time to set something on fire?”

He went easy on her that night; and Batman never showed up, either to the party, or to the robbery. Eventually he got a text from Catwoman - the deed was done, she got her hands on what he wanted, and was now going to lay low for a few days before making the exchange. Everything went smoothly, with no interruptions, and no surprise visits.

“Well then.” Oswald said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “It seems like it’s time to wrap this up!”

Before leaving he stole a bottle of wine from the nearby table, claiming he’s going to need it to wash out the bad taste left - yet again - by things he had to say.

“That was one hell of a night.” he said after they were back in his hideout, safe and away from Falcone and Batman. “And this time you nearly got kidnapped. You attract trouble.”

“I noticed.” she mutered. “They follow me everywhere I go.”

“Hey, it’s alright. That’s my life motto - don’t worry. BE worry.”

She smiled faintly; she could definitely see him living in accordance to those words.

“Did I ruin your relationship with Falcone?”

“No, he ruined it.” he corrected her. “What happened back there?”

“I think… He wanted to sell me again, to someone offering him a lot of money.” she said hesitantly. “Enough money to convince him to cross you.”

“Hm.” he muttered. “Well that’s reassuring. You should probably hire a bodyguard at some point.”

“I’ve got you.” she replied automatically; but she was right. Every time she was in trouble - Oswald was there, ready to sweep in and save her sorry, pampered ass. “Also… I’ve heard a name. I think his tongue slipped, or maybe he was overconfident… But I heard a name.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Tommy.”

“Oh my.” he said after a long pause. “There are coincidences… And there’s this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling disoriented; he cleared his throat.

“I - very politely - asked my friends to look into your… Bandaged courtier. I have a friend on the force, Vale exceeds in investigative journalism… They had to be sneaky, but they managed. They found one person that somehow matched every possible criteria - filthy rich, amorally influential, loose ties to your mother, it was all there. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence his name is… Thomas.”

“Oh my god.” she said after a long pause. “That’s… Wow. All that effort, just for… Me?”

“Well, I did grow quite fond of you.” he admitted and she smiled. “But it’s also for my own sake. This man, doctor Elliot… He crossed the Penguin. Not once - but twice. I have a reputation to maintain. And now I also have the perfect excuse to take care of Falcone! Once again, your troubles… Are actually a blessing for me. You are worth every penny.”

That was a weird compliment, but she took it anyway; she knew what he meant, and was actually kind of glad that the problems following her seemed to be working in his favor. After all, she was dependant on him; it was in her best interest for his operation to end in success.

“Anyway.” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve got the drive. Now I just need to pay her up and hand it to my friend who’ll decode it, and… That’s it. Falcone goes down, along with his entire empire, I’ll finally know what happened to my family… God, that feels weird.”

“And I’ll go home.” she said; for some reason the perspective of returning to New York didn’t fill her with enthusiasm. “But you will keep your word, right? I still want to kill Harry.”

“Love, your assistance was absolutely priceless, I will help you find and kill whoever you want.” he assured her. “Harry? Check. Elliot? Check. Kevin Spacey? Double check. Ted Cruz? Check, check, check! I always wanted to meet the Zodiac Killer.”

She laughed at his bloodthirsty eagerness; and under his eyes she felt ridiculously safe and content.

***

What was happening to him? That weird, warm, fluttery feeling in his chest, that urge to look at her forever, that calm he felt when her laughter ringed in the air - what was it?

Oh, he was well aware; he simply refused to call it by its name. That was not a time or place for frivolous whims like this; that was not a situation. But she kissed him back, and later that day he heard her; he had great hearing, and he heard the sounds she was trying to muffle. He sat in complete silence, transfixed; he felt blind and confused, like an emotionally constipated teenager. That was one hell of a confusing situation; and somewhere deep inside him he started to hope this weird thing isn’t one sided. He didn’t want it to be one sided; he wanted her to want to stick around. Her company felt nice, and she was for some reason on board with all his bad ideas and plans; and she looked at him softly and trustfully, like very few people did, like he was making her life better. The way she looked at him almost made him feel bad about the fact everything was going great; the sooner he’d get his hands on Falcone’s archives, the sooner she’d be off to New York, out of his life. He couldn’t imagine her ever coming back; in this city she was kidnapped, sold, nearly raped. He did his best to not make her life any harder than it already was; but it was still a long series of unfortunate events.

(But she kissed him back and her lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be.)

He was almost sad when he realized it’s the day of the heist; it wouldn’t be possible so quickly if it wasn’t for her showing up, if it wasn’t for her agreeing to pretend and staying in character till the very end. She somehow made it possible; and now he was on the edge of success.

So he kept his head up, and was his usual self; he had a feeling not everything might go according to plan, so he insisted on keeping the act going, on her once again taking the role of someone who went through the unspeakable, the role of Cherry - a girl who never existed. She agreed, and seemed unbothered by the curious things he kept around the hideout; in fact as he was putting the collar on - he could swear he saw a weird spark of interest in her eyes. Was she into it? She certainly wasn’t repulsed - but there simply was no good way of asking her that, and he didn’t like being on the awkward end of the conversation.

Just like he predicted - things didn’t go according to plan. Carmine Falcone was there, for some reason, conversing with Bruce Wayne; his childhood friend changed a lot since they played cops and robbers in the gardens. He was emanating the aura of calm confidence; but that didn’t prevent him from being held at a gunpoint.

Oswald decided to play it cool with Falcone, to deceive him just a little longer; and in order to do that - he made a decision that was both a mistake and a brilliant move. He sent Charlie - masked and obedient - to see him out; and she didn’t seem to mind, even though he definitely did mind speaking to her like she was a dog.

And then he heard her high pitched scream; Falcone tried to take her away, but she didn’t let him, she put up a fight, and he was so, so infatuated with the way she pierced man’s foot with a heel of her shoe.

She was in shock; but she was also alive, in one piece and still by his side and that’s all that mattered to him. The Bat never showed up, but Catwoman finished her job  - and through sheer arrogance, through being blinded with self-confidence Falcone accidentally gave him a name of the bandaged man.

Everything was going great - and yet he felt quite the opposite. He was about to get what he so badly wanted; and yet he felt like he’s about to lose. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to be quite giddy; and he wasn’t surprised. This whole ordeal probably felt like a nightmare to her; but it was about to end.

She was, however, insisting on getting her hands on the person who got her in this mess in the first place - and he wholeheartedly agreed and approved. After all, that’s what he was doing; getting his hands on people who destroyed his life. She helped him, much more than she knew she did; it was only fair he repaid the favor.

(She didn’t owe him, not anymore; he wouldn’t take a single penny back from her or her family.)

He gave the encrypted drive to Riddler; his real name was Edward Nygma, he worked for Wayne Enterprises IT department and his jovial, warm smile hid some truly messed up tendencies - he was also moonlighting as Oswald’s go-to IT guy, in cases of things he was unqualified or not well enough equipped to deal with. They had plenty of dirt on each other; plenty enough to keep each other in check. He instructed Eddie to notify him as soon as he finds anything about Spencer’s whereabouts.

But in the meantime - he had a visit to pay to one Thomas Elliot, Gotham’s most esteemed surgeon who was Eleanor Moran’s student in med school and a man truly unhealthily obsessed with Charlie. First he tried to rape her as Oswald was getting information out of drugged Falcone; then he paid Falcone a tremendous amount of money to get the capo to bring Charlie to him. Penguin had a bone to pick with Elliot; officially it was just about the doctor daring to touch Penguin’s plaything.

And Charlie - naturally - was on board.

“Yes.” she said instantly after he made the suggestion. “God, yes. He is disgusting and I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened to me if he won that auction.”

“He was your mother’s student in med school. I can imagine… Something along the lines of a doctor and the nurse.”

“God!” she said, shuddering with disgust. “I’m going to ask mom if she can retroactively fail all his tests.”

“Or you could castrate him. That’s an option too.”

“I’m not sure if I’m up to the task.” she admitted. “I am bloodthirsty, but… That guy with a hole in his foot was the first person I hurt on purpose. I’m a softie. Hungry for blood, but still… A softie.”

“Then I can do the honors, and you will be handing me the tools. Come on, Charlie. It’ll be fun.”

“Normally that’s something I hear when my friends want to go clubbing.” she said, laughing. “Alright, I’m sold. Let’s castrate the bastard.”

“And so Hades dragged Kore into the underworld.” he said under his breath, wondering if he really dragged her down and if yes - if blood will serve the function of pomegranate seeds.

They paid Thomas Elliot a very bloody visit in character; they cornered him in his own house, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Penguin taught him a lesson, one the good doctor won’t be able to forget anytime soon; all while the girl he so desperately wanted to have watched, transfixed, morbidly fascinated.

“Look at me, Elliot.” Charlie whispered, taking Oswald’s bloodied hand and smearing Elliot’s blood on her cheek. “This is as close as you will ever get to having me.”

She then laughed and kissed the beak of Oswald’s mask and he stood there, with blood on his hands and a burning, yearning feeling in his chest.

“That was dark.” he said later, and Charlie shrugged.

“I nearly threw up.” she admitted. “Because I suddenly remembered where did this blood come from, but considering I already started doing it… It was too late to back up.”

“Very dramatic. Theatrical. Very…”

“Over the top.” she finished with a faint smile. “What if Falcone retaliates?”

“He won’t.”

The next day, Eddie let him know he found Falcone’s file on Harry Spencer; it was barely secured at all.

“The good news is… He’s still in Gotham. The bad news… You should hurry. His train leaves in a few hours.”

“I’m ready.” Charlie said, already dressed up; she was pale and there was not even the faintest trace of smile to be seen anywhere on her face or in her eyes. Suddenly Oswald realized - she really did love Harry Spencer, that man who did this to her. She loved him - which was why she looked so pained, so pale.

Heartbroken. She looked heartbroken. He remembered how she looked when she found out, and she broke down and started to scream; he understood the feeling, he knew it well, even though he replaced it with anger, with resentment.

“What’s your weapon of choice?”

“This.” she said, picking up a baseball bat, wrapped in barbed wire. “I want him to suffer.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked her as they were driving; this time none of them was in character, there was no point to it - since Spencer was going to die anyway. Dead men tell no tales.

“Empty.” she said and he sighed; at least she was being honest. “Hey, Oswald…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” she said, turning her head and looking him in the eye; her eyes were red. “You’re awful, but you’re the best thing Gotham could possibly throw my way. I… Can’t say I’m glad I came here, but I definitely am glad I got to meet you.”

She fell silent again, and he said nothing; he was at loss.

“Hey.” he said eventually. “It’s nothing.”

She shot him a faint smile as he parked; Spencer holed himself up in the worst, cheapest part of Gotham. Better for them; in this part of town, everyone minded their own business and no one paid any attention to screams.

They reached his flat just as he was about to leave; he opened the door to see them standing outside.

“Hey, honey!” Charlie said with a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Did you miss me?”

Oswald didn’t as much as lay a finger on Harry Spencer; Charlie was responsible for everything. He simply stood there, leaning against the door, his arms crossed on his chest; and watched and listened, impassively, calmly. Violence didn’t phase him anymore; and Spencer deserved every hit, every stab.

The one thing he didn’t deserve were Charlie’s tears, which eventually began to stream down her face as Spencer’s voice grew quieter and quieter.

“He won’t be more dead.” Oswald said eventually, looking at the bloody mess. “I do happen to know an amateur necromancer though.”

“No.” she said, sniffing and slowly getting up. “That won’t be needed.”

She was covered in blood, and other fun substances; she also looked absolutely miserable, her eyes filled with despair.

“He’s dead.” she said, her voice breaking. “And he deserved it. So… Why don’t I feel better?”

“Death’s never pretty.” he said softly. “Maybe you got him too soon. Maybe you will feel better.”

(Looking at her he wondered if this is what’s going to become of him in a few days.)

“I want a daiquiri.” she said quietly. “Will you make me one?”

“As much as you want.”

(Anything, just to make you stay a little longer.)

*** Her revenge was bloody and deadly and brutal, just the way it should be; and yet her heart was breaking, and yet there were tears in her eyes, and yet she felt an overwhelming, numbing sadness. When she looked into Harry’s eyes, when she heard his shaky voice, his poorly sugarcoated lies - she knew she never truly mattered to him. She was simply a way of paying back his debt; all that was between them came from her, and her only.

She thought this revelation would make it easier, less painful; but it didn’t. If anything - it made anything worse, the knowledge of being manipulated for so long, of not mattering, of being an impersonal, faceless pawn.

Because she loved him - she really did. And he did more than just breaking her heart, than just using her; he nearly destroyed her, without as much as thinking about it twice. He was ready to drag her down in order to get out; he was ready to build a shelter out of her bones and skin without as much as the faintest sting of remorse.

He had to die; and he did, in Gotham City, as Oswald Cobblepot stood behind them and silently watched, making sure no one interrupts her revenge. And after all was said and done, after there was no more life left in Harry’s bones and what was left of his corpse - he took her home. That’s how his hideout in the docks started to feel; like home. The one place in Gotham where she was safe - and so what it belonged to a notorious criminal? He never hurt her. He gave her the revenge she craved.

(He didn’t use her without her knowledge and he thanked her for her help. In many ways, Oswald was Harry’s direct opposite; but she began to suspect one thing is identical in both of their cases.)

She took a long, hot shower, quietly looking at pink foam under her; Oswald burned her bloodied clothes, just like she asked. Then they sat in silence; there wasn’t much left to say, and all she needed was someone’s presence - and his presence was comforting.

She woke him up, in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face; he silently moved aside, making some space for her on his - already narrow - mattress. His hands didn’t wander, and he didn’t say a word, and for a moment she forgot who he is and what he does; all that mattered was the fact he was there to help, again and again and again.

She woke up in a much better mood; perhaps she simply had no more tears to shed. Perhaps she reached her limit; perhaps she somehow found balance. But this numbing, overwhelming despair was gone; her heart was still hurting - but at least she could breathe again.

“I think it’s high time to start thinking about getting you home.” Oswald told her. “Eddie’s nearly done with Falcone’s files, Spencer’s dead… I think it’s safe to assume you’re safe now.”

“Yeah.” she muttered, glancing at him and his sharp profile and hands that held her tightly, keeping her from falling apart. “I guess so.”

“Why the grim face? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I have a headache.” she lied, looking away. “You know… I’m going to miss you.” she suddenly blurted out in a sudden fit of desperation. “My time in Gotham was hell, but you made it bearable. I’ll never forget it. I… I’ll see what my family can do for you. We have money, connections… I know you said I don’t owe you anything anymore, but I feel like I do.”

“Only bearable?” he asked quietly; and when she looked at him… There was something in his eyes, in his face, some painful yearning, some aching longing, some weird, unspeakable tenderness. There was something she couldn’t quite name; but she realized she know what it is. She felt it when he held her together as she was falling apart and when she kissed him back and when his arm was wrapped around her waist and she felt safe.

“Oh my god.” she said breathlessly. “I think I love you.”

*** He couldn’t believe his ears; she said it, she said it first, and her eyes were no longer empty and sad and her face lit up. She was a wreck the previous night, a sobbing wreck; and he held her tightly, thinking about how even after death Harry Spencer continues to break her heart.

His crusade was nearly over, and it was high time for her to go home, to return to her life; a storm was coming and he wanted to keep her away, both for her own sake - and for his own satisfaction. There was nothing more he could do for her; there was no point in keeping her around just to look at her, just to suffer. He developed feelings for her, but he knew this is not meant to be; but then she came to this realization and he sat there, completely dumbfounded.

“What?” he asked raspily, just to make sure his brain’s not playing tricks on him.

“I think I love you.” she repeated shakily. “Or at least… Really, really like you.”

He couldn’t wrap his mind around this concept; there was nothing more he could do for her, nothing more she needed - there was nothing to gain by lying.

Which meant… She’s genuine.

“Charlie…”

There were so many things he wanted to tell her; but she interrupted him.

“Can I kiss you? I… I want to check.”

“Yes.” he said breathlessly.

Slowly, carefully, tenderly she took his face in her hands and kissed him lightly. Once, twice-

Third time’s a charm, they say. The third kiss was deeper; and as he wrapped his arms around her, he remembered the muffled moans he heard from the bathroom.

“Don’t stop.” she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt.

So he didn’t; she moaned quietly when his lips moved to her neck and his hand slipped under her shirt. His fingers crept between her thighs and she gasped and giggled as he picked her up and sat her down on the table, his lips still on her neck.

“Don’t stop.” she panted out as he was undressing her. “Don’t…”

But he stopped.

He stopped when he remembered - she’s a virgin.

“No.” he muttered, stepping away, still feeling the softness of her skin on his lips. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” she asked. “W-why? You don’t like me? Is it because I have small breasts?”

“Look around you!” he said, pointing to their surroundings. “This is not how it should be. Charlie, I’m not a traditionalist, but your first time… Should be good. Actually, genuinely good. Not a quickie with a criminal in a rusty warehouse.”

“But I want to have it with you!” she said tearfully. “When Harry brought me to Gotham… I thought this is it, the reason. But then… Then I met you, and all this shit happened, and I realized…”

“Charlie.” he interrupted her. “I know. You’re beautiful and my type and I most definitely have feelings for you, I just… Have some standards, you know? If you want me to be your first - you don’t have to tell me twice, I could write poems about your body, hymns about your eyes! I just… Want to finally be able to treat you properly.” he breathed out. “I still have some loose threads to take care of. And once everything’s said and done… Then I will be all yours.”

“Promise?” she asked, very seriously.

“I promise. You really shouldn’t be around once I proceed, it’ll be a hurricane. Besides…”

He shot her a smirk.

“The wait makes everything much more pleasant.”

She laughed, as he was buttoning his shirt.

“I want you to take me out for a date.” she announced. “Horny teenager style. A movie and then wasting time at a diner.”

“It’s a deal. In a few days you will go home, and once you come back… Gotham will be very different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Perfect different.”

Just when he said that - his computer dinged, informing him of a new email. It was from Nygma; he was finished with the drive. Attached were all the decoded files, sorted by years; excitedly Oswald opened the archive from the year his life went to hell in a handbasket.

It took him a while to process what he was looking at; but when he did - he suddenly understood what Charlie felt, and he understood it to the letter, to the sharp sting of betrayal.

Thomas Wayne. Uncle Thomas. He was behind what happened to his mother, he laundered the money.

Mayor Hill. He pushed his father to suicide, he covered everything up.

This time it was Oswald who was falling apart and it was Charlie who was holding him together, as sorrow and fury raged inside him. He thought he was over it, he thought he was ready to keep a cool head, he thought he was ready to avenge his family with dignity they deserved, with dignity that was stripped away from them; but he was wrong.

But it didn’t matter; all that mattered were her gentle hands, keeping him from falling apart.

*** Just as she blurted out her confession, she realized it’s true; she fell for Oswald Cobblepot and his thirst for vengeance and blood and all the things he did for her, even though he didn’t have to, just because he could. There still was some good left in him, some decency; just enough to make her feel safe, just enough to make her piece herself back together.

And as she kissed him, gently brushing his cheeks with her fingertips - she figured she might at least get an orgasm out of this hellish trip. Harry Spencer was dead and her heart was broken, but it didn’t hurt anymore; so she was almost offended when Oswald suddenly stopped and stepped away.

He did raise a fair point though, so she - more or less hesitantly - agreed to his suggestion, blushing slightly after hearing what he has to say about her body and eyes. It seemed like everything’s going in the right direction; but then he got an email from Edward Nygma.

Never before Charlie had seen him so horrified, so heartbroken; for a brief moment she saw herself in his eyes, in his face, she saw her own heartbreak, her own realization. She held his head on her lap and he held her hand and all she could do was to hold him, just for a moment, just to keep him together.

He was rash, and hasty; and she couldn’t let him, not after he made her sleep on her decision. She remained adamant - but Bruce Wayne wasn’t to blame for what his father did, same way Harry’s sisters weren’t to blame for what their brother did. She would never look them in the eye or bear to hear their voices without shuddering - but they weren’t to blame.

“Thomas Wayne is dead, Oswald.” she repeated desperately, her fingers in his hair. “Please, listen to me. Do whatever you want to Falcone, do whatever you want to Hill - but it’s not his fault. He was just a kid…”

“I was just a kid!” he interrupted her, his voice breaking.

“But it’s not his fault, he didn’t control his father’s actions! I’m not telling you to love him, not after he grew up surrounded by fortune you lost - but don’t kill him! That will make you the same as Falcone, as Hill, as Thomas Wayne!”

They went on like this for a few hours; she forced him to sleep on his plans. He made her promise the next day she’ll go back to New York.

“Fine.” she sighed quietly. “At least give me your phone number. I will be worrying about you a lot.”

“I’m a big guy. I will manage.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m going to be worried.”

Finally, the moment had came; she kissed him one last time and he kissed her one last time and the train engine started, and before she knew it - she was back in New York, worried sick, heartbroken, in love. It felt like a dream, it felt like she’s about to suddenly wake up and realize she’s actually someone’s severely mistreated property - but no, it was not a dream, she really was home, and alive, and free, free, free.

(She learned she had become paranoid; she looked at strangers and wondered what dark secrets do they keep, what goals do they hide. It was an unwelcome realization; she was back home, but she felt alone and aware of the great darkness, hidden in everyone’s hearts.)

“Hey, mom.” Charlie said with a faint smile, after her mother opened the doors for her. “I’m… I’m home.”

A lot of tears were shed that afternoon; her parents were worried sick, after she suddenly cut them off, persuaded by Harry into doing so. They tried reaching out to her friends, but none of them knew anything; she disappeared without a trace. Naturally, they wanted to know what happened to her; so she told them, after taking a deep breath and drinking a lot of chamomile tea.

What did she tell them? Not the entire truth; but also not everything she said was a lie. She told them the truth about Harry Spencer and her naivete, about being sold, and about being bought by a mysterious Penguin; and that’s where her lies and half-truths started. In her story, she never learned Penguin’s identity, she never learned who’s behind the mask and the crimes; but he did treat her gently and did ask for her help in his investigation. She never fell in love with him, and he never fell in love with her; but he did get her in touch with Oswald Cobblepot, who helped her get out of Gotham. She never learned Penguin’s intentions - but she suspected he’s getting Oswald’s revenge for him, in order to create a powerful ally for himself. She got tangled up in some shady, messed up stuff; but she managed to get out and come back home, safe, alive, in one piece.

“It’s been a nightmare.” she told them quietly. “Hell. But I think… It could be so much worse, you know? I could… I could…”

Her voice cracked as she thought about about what could have happened; she didn’t tell her mother about Thomas Elliot, her student. There was no point in doing so; it was not her fault. Nothing happened between her and Tommy, thanks to Penguin; Eleanor didn’t need to know what became of her student.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she suddenly asked her father, pulling a crumpled up note from her pocket. “Mine’s… Gone, and I need to let Oswald know I made it home. He’s… He’s a great guy.” she said softly, as Crispin handed her his iPhone. “I think I might actually visit him soon, once I… Catch a breath and bounce back to my old self.”

“We’re just glad you’re home, honey.” Crispin said softly as she was typing her message. “And I understand you want to put it all behind, but…”

“Penguin’s taking care of it.” she interrupted him. “He’s… An odd one. He bought me just to set me free, you know? He claims human trafficking’s way below his standards. Now he has a bone to pick with this Falcone guy.”

(She was sure this story made it local news; quite a few people heard what happened at the fundraiser between Falcone, Penguin and a masked girl with red hair. She imagined journalists had a field day with that one, especially Vicki Vale.)

im home!! this is my dad’s phone btw, so be decent :p

And I’m glad to hear it. Give your parents my regards.

how r u?

Keep an eye out for the news. P.S: <3

<3 <3

And life… Went on. She got a new phone, to replace the one that was taken away from her; she was trying to get adjusted back to normal, everyday life - but it was surprisingly hard. Other people didn’t go through what she went through; they didn’t understand. There was a lot of darkness in the world, hidden in people’s hearts - and she saw it now, she saw it everywhere. And she missed that one person who understood, who also saw that darkness, and who wasn’t afraid of it; he was able to read people like open books. She could use him at her side; because suddenly the most prosaic tasks became difficult. Talking to strangers was a terrifying perspective; because she didn’t know what might be hidden under the surface, what sort of dark secrets. She felt lost, and afraid; the familiar streets suddenly felt hostile and dangerous, the bakery owner suddenly had a cold glimmer in his eyes, and the girl from the deli was hiding something venomous behind her smile.

The world became a darker, colder place for her; and she missed Oswald dearly, she missed his voice, and his eyes, and his presence, comforting like a sharp blade hidden under a pillow.

She followed the local news, wondering what did Oswald plan; eventually it turned out she can’t stay out of it anymore - somehow GCPD found out the identity of Penguin’s masked property, a slave he purchased from Falcone. The mafioso was struggling with the law, as a huge chunk of his archive made it to public; and that included the documentation of his brief dive into human trafficking.

She was very adamant in protecting Penguin’s identity, claiming he never revealed it to her, same with the location of his hideout, keeping her blindfolded every time they had to leave the building or go back. No, of course he didn’t hurt her; it was all a ruse, an act - and her OBGYN confirmed no signs of sexual trauma of any kind. So did the court-appointed psychiatrist; it was all just a very convincing act.

(The woman in charge of Falcone’s case - Louise McDonagh - looked at her attentively, as if there was something she wanted to tell her.)

Thomas Elliot remained silent, and Harold Spencer was nowhere to be found, vanishing in mysterious circumstances; and so was Penguin, who seemed to be laying low. The evidence against Falcone was damning; it guaranteed him 165 life sentences, with no parole. His empire went down, and she looked him in the eye and kept her head high, wondering if he remembers the drugged, crying girl.

And Oswald didn’t reach out to her; so she went back to New York, not daring to drop by his hideout in the docks, lest she was being watched by the police or the press. And life went on; mayor Hill committed suicide just before the election, allegedly due to stress. He hanged himself, just like Oswald’s father; with Falcone and Hill off the board, there was only one person left on Penguin’s list and she waited with bated breath, wondering what decision did Oswald make.

He texted her one afternoon.

Go to Channel 9 website, watch the stream. ;)

!!!!!!!

She did just that; Oswald Cobblepot officially resurfaced after years of being off the grid. He reached out to Bruce Wayne, who - moved by this reunion with his childhood partner in crime - made him into the second CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

(Bruce’s very sour face told her this might not be the entire truth.)

At some point, Oswald looked directly into the camera and winked; and she gasped and laughed, knowing damn well this was meant to be for her. She just knew it, she felt it in her bones.

He answered some questions, and he was charming and polite and charismatic; but eventually he cut the press conference short, stating he was a very important phone call to make. He left the stage, and she watched him fish his phone out of his pocket and turn it on as he left the frame; moments later her own phone rang.

“Allo!” he said cheerfully. “Surprise!”

She smiled at the sound of his voice; suddenly she felt at peace again.

“I miss you.” she said softly. “But also… What happened?”

“Ah, it’s a long and gripping story, one I’d rather tell you face to face and in private.” he said carelessly. “You did great during Falcone’s trial. Sorry for ghosting you, I was… Busy.”

“I can imagine.”

“So, how is it going? Adjusting to normal life?”

“I could ask you the same question.” she sighed. “And… No. I’m not adjusting. I mean I’m trying, but it’s… Hard.”

“I can imagine.” he said softly. “How is your schedule looking? I’ve got a nice flat set up, lots of free time on my hands… You could visit, I could take you out on that date I promised you…”

“Yes.” she replied almost instantly. “I mean, I’m sure I can squeeze in a trip to Gotham. When can I come?”

“Whenever you want.”

“And… For how long do you want me there?”

“For however long you’re willing to stay.” he said softly. “I grew so used to your presence it almost feels wrong when you’re not there.”

“So… See you this Friday?” she asked with bated breath; he snickered in response.

“See you this Friday, love.” he finally said.

Her parents were - understandably - skeptical about her sudden trip of indeterminate length; but she assured them, over and over again, that she’ll be in good hands and safe environment and that she’ll call them periodically to let them know she’s alright.

She felt giddy; she had some packing up to do.

***

The sound of her voice reminded him exactly just how badly he missed her; when she was briefly back for the sake of Falcone’s trial - he was tempted to pay her a visit, but refrained from doing so. It would be suspicious; and he had to lay low.

Things were going pretty decent for him; he got Falcone locked up for good in Blackgate, where plenty of family members of his victims resided. He was sure Carmine will end up with a shiv between his ribs sooner or later; it was just a matter of time. For Falcone, being sent to Blackgate was practically a death sentence by itself.

Hill proved to be a bit more tricky; but Oswald managed to find a way, leaving subtle hints here and there about his knowledge of Hill’s involvement in Falcone’s dealings. He kept implying he might release it as well, but without revealing his identity; eventually he made Hill face an ultimatum - either he’ll die and be buried with decent reputation, or he’ll live and see all his meticulously crafted lies crumble. Hill - rather wisely - chose the former; he hanged himself in his own office. Good riddance.

And as for Wayne… Charlie was right; Bruce wasn’t to blame for what his father did. Oswald hated his guts, and when he looked at him all he saw was Thomas and his betrayal; but Bruce could simply be too useful to die. So instead, Oswald simply blackmailed him; there was plenty of dirt on Thomas Wayne in Falcone’s archive, enough to bury his father’s good name forever, enough to bomb it so badly there would be nothing left to rebuild. Oswald decided to fuck with Bruce a little; he was a decent actor and he was sure that with a little patience and effort he might one day take control away from him. He just had to play his cards at the right moment.

Finally, the day of Charlie’s return to his life came. They talked everything out; on the station, her luggage would be picked up by someone working for him and delivered straight to his apartment in the city center - all while she would be transported to one of Gotham’s many cinemas, where lovesick Oswald will be waiting with open arms and movie tickets. He missed her terribly; and Vale was sick of hearing about it.

“I knew it’ll end up like this.” she complained. “God, you’re so predictable. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for you, but… Come on. How many days did you manage before falling hopelessly in love with the doe eyed violet? Two?”

“She’s not a doe eyed violet, she pierced man’s foot with her shoe. She watched me castrate a man. She… Pretty much turned her ex boyfriend into a portion of strawberry jam.”

“See? Told you. Don’t piss off a woman in heels.”

He almost didn’t recognize her; that was the first time he saw her up close in her natural state; with makeup, her hair neatly brushed, wearing elegant clothes. She looked gorgeous; her lips were red, her eyeliner beautifully drew attention to her eyes, and her blouse tastefully contrasted with her hair. He sort of mourned her freckles, hidden under foundation; but he realized they are for his eyes only now. He felt special.

“Oh my god, what are you wearing?!” she asked, walking up to him. “Really, Oswald?”

“What?” he asked defensively; he liked that coat. He liked his casual clothes; wearing suits every day felt a bit wrong, as he still felt like they should be reserved for Penguin. “I look fantastic and you know it.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right.” she sighed, theatrically rolling her eyes. “You look great. And… It’s good to see you.”

She looked at him lovingly, and he kept staring; her clothes fitted her perfectly - the elegant blouse, the pencil skirt, the ankle strap heels.

“You look beautiful.” he said finally and her face lit up; she kissed the scar on his nose, as he fished out a small box out of his pocket.

“It’s for you.” he added, handing it to her. “I thought… They might suit you.”

She loved the pair of benitoite earrings inside; they were the color of her eyes, and that’s why he bought them.

“So, what are we watching?”

“New Kingsman.”

“Oh! I loved the first one, it was fun! And the villain’s henchgirl was super cute.” she said cheerfully as he wrapped his arm around her waist, enjoying her warm presence.

She cried during the movie; his eyes were slightly wet as well, but he did his best to hold the tears in. Damn you, Matthew Vaughn. Damn you, Jane Goldman. But they also kissed in the back row, just like hormonal teenagers would; he kept stealing kisses from her and she kept giggling and stealing popcorn from him.

“Oh my god.” she said after the seance. “Does my every stay in Gotham really have to start in tears?”

“How is your makeup so impeccable?! You cried a river!”

“Good quality primer.” she said with a shrug. “I’m starving.”

“Of course you are. Come on. I know just a place…”

They wasted plenty of time at a nearby diner, sitting in a booth; they had plenty to talk about and she had a black hole in her stomach to fill with food.

(And he had plenty of fries to steal from her.)

“So.” she said eventually, sipping her vanilla milkshake. “How did you end up rich and influential?”

“The power of blackmail.” he responded with a wink. “I decided I’d rather take everything bit by bit from Bruce, rather than all at once. It’ll be much more satisfying this way.”

“Mmm.” she muttered. “Well, I suppose it is better than straight up killing him.”

“Of course it is.” he said with satisfaction. “Now I’m rich and in control, exactly the way I should be.”

“Mmm, yes.” she said with a smile. “This life suits you like a glove.”

After he paid the bill and they left, she glanced at him.

“I’m tired.” she stated, blinking innocently. “I think I want to see your new home.”

“It’s much more comfortable than the previous one.” he snickered. “For example, you can have your own guest bedroom…”

“No.” she interrupted him. “I don’t want my own, separate bed. I want to sleep with you.”

“Oh, but darling.” he purred, wrapping his arm around her waist. “We’re not going to sleep tonight.”

He had an appetite that couldn’t be sated with food; and judging from her look and the way she bit her lip - so did she.

They started kissing in the elevator, his hands on her back, her hands in his hair; he blindly unlocked the door to his apartment and pushed her inside, getting rid of his coat along the way. She gasped and took a step back.

“Wait!” she said hastily, hurrying towards her suitcase. “I need to get the makeup off, or it’ll mess up my skin.”

He groaned and watched her hurry to the bathroom with her wash bag in hand; she kicked off her shoes on her way there.

It took her a short while; and he waited patiently and sighed with relief as she left the bathroom, her face bare. He kissed her again, and this time his hands wandered, undressing her slowly; he kissed her neck and unbuttoned her blouse, groaning with approval at the sight of her lace, subtle strapless bra.

“I need to take something out of the bag.” she muttered, her eyes closed. “And then...I’m all yours.”

“Do it then.”

She took something out of her suitcase and hid it behind her back as he picked her up; her skin was wonderfully soft under his lips and he bit her neck gently, carefully dropping her onto bed.

“Mmm.” she muttered, her eyes still closed, as he was getting her out of her skirt. “Do it again.”

He complied and she sighed with satisfaction; but there was a burning question he had to ask.

“What are you hiding there?”

“Well.” she said, opening one eye. “I did some… Introspection. A trip across what happened, and how I felt when it happened… And I came to a conclusion there is one thing I really want to try out. And it’s your fault.”

She finally showed him the mystery object; a pair of leather cuffs, clearly custom made to fit her wrists perfectly. Expensive stuff.

“It’s your fault.” she repeated and he grinned.

“Someone’s naughty.” he said playfully, picking the cuffs up. “Alright, I can do that. And then you will be all at my mercy…”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, closing her eyes as he fulfilled her wish. “Keep talking.”

“Hmmm.” he said, taking his own shirt off. “Remember how you got drunk on daiquiris and told me you wonder if my tongue is always so nimble?”

“Did I really say that?” she asked, opening her eyes; he snickered, seeing how flustered she suddenly got. “I don’t remember it!”

“Oh, but I do.” he purred. “And you’re about to get your answer.”

He took off her bra and kissed her again, his hand sliding between her thighs, caressing her gently through the soft fabric. His other hand found her sensitive breasts; quiet moans began to escape her lips as he slowly played with them.

He bit her neck again and pinched one of her pink, stiff nipples lightly; she gasped and groaned, rubbing her thighs together.

“Patience.” he whispered, slowly sliding his hand into her panties; he took one of her nipples into his mouth, teasing the other one with his fingertips.

The sounds she was making were exquisite; filled with pleasure, almost desperate. With her eyes closed and head tilted back, she looked lost in bliss; and he was only just getting started.

Finally - after teasing both of her sensitive nipples with the tip of his tongue, and gently, very gently brushing her clit with his fingertips, making her buck her hips and cry out for more - his lips began to slowly go down, tracing her skin with light kisses and occasional bites. With her eyes half closed and hazy and her lips parted, Charlie looked absolutely beautiful; her face was flushed and she was looking at him lovingly, tenderly, impatiently.

“Tell me what do you want.” he whispered, slowly pulling her panties down and kissing the smooth skin underneath.

She didn’t say anything, instead groaning in quiet desperation; he took pity on her, smitten with the way she fluttered her lashes, unable to focus on anything.

He proved to her his tongue is, in fact, very nimble; he teased her gently, making her buck her hips and writhe and moan. Countless times he brought her to the edge - just to keep her there, as the tip of his silver tongue barely stroked her center. She was very sweet, and her moans sounded like the most intricate spell, making him want to feel her needy, desperate warmth around him.

And he told her that, as she called his name out for the first time, arching her back in pleasure as he finally allowed her to cross the line, the tipping point.

“Uncuff me.” she panted out, looking at him with her eyes half closed. “I want to touch you…”

He freed her hands and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he was getting rid of his pants. His lips found her neck again; but she pulled his hair and kissed him and he smiled. Now she knew just how sweet she felt on his tongue; now she knew the fraction of how he felt.

He was gentle with her, listening to her every moan and gasp; his hands were on her and his lips were on her and she scratched his back with her neatly kept fingernails and kissed his neck and jaw feverishly, tenderly; and soon - under each other’s touches and spells - they were both consumed by absolute bliss.

“Was that a good first time?” he whispered, as she was on her stomach; his hand was on her back and he felt her body tremble with muffled laughter.

“The best.” she finally replied. “I guess… Every cloud has a silver lining, after all. At least mine did.”

“Yeah.” he agreed, rolling onto his stomach and kissing her between her shoulderblades.

“Oswald?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, love.”

He turned off the lights and listened to her fall asleep next to him; safe, alive, content. He didn’t regret a single thing, a single choice; maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, after all.

That night he dreamt of pomegranate seeds, red like blood; and life went on and the great darkness of everyone’s hearts seemed a little less threatening, compared to their own.