#sliding scale between the boss the manager me & the assistant manager

[orcelito]

Ok but I'm lowkey nervous about the manager meeting Monday lol bc the boss is gonna be piiiiiissed. & yea I'm not scheduled tomorrow like the assistant manager who's not going to go to her shift so he can't be mad at Specifically me, but I also encouraged it lol and just. 😬

It's definitely going to be an unconventional meeting if it's held lol

[divine-regret-index-j]

roguelikes Index played in the last month and a half

The deathgames sale on Steam has coincided with me re/playing a decent pile of roguelike / hybrids over the past month and a half. While I'm not much in the mood for explicit reviews and recommendations over reflections, I've had a long time and sampling space to partake of and meditate over the procgen permadeath's dynamics and possibility spaces, as defines my first and my latest gamedev endeavours. As such, there's a given musing's approach borne out of the each of them here, from whatever mountaintop hermit's perspective I use.

(Games covered: Wizard of Legend, One Step From Eden, Crypt of the Necrodancer, Cogmind, Orbital Bullet, Night of the Full Moon, Devil Slayer Raksasi, Caves of Qud. Some mild screenshot spoilers...)

Wizard of Legend (2018) has its own orthogonal design swimming against the current. Many action roguelikes centralize on a few shifting weapon movesets or a few core verbs paired with a few strategic options. Said wizards here lean on over two hundred options of spell actions to fill six buttons with cooldowns, and brandish explicit armor outlining for ranged target selection and closed-quarters comboing down- quite a ways cleaner than many unmentioned and untuned leaning on short pokes and i-frame abuse. (Really, there's a lot more in vulnerable dashes than readily plumbed, c.f. Hollow Knight.) Given individual runs thus inherit a bit more distinction (if not flux) compared to many unfocused on breadth of direct player actions, and slide in nicely with a decent mixable and scaling enemy and boss sets well even with a visibly limited asset budget. Such mix-ups are more lacking on starting builds or the standard passive perk accumulation, beyond curses or the disappointing stretching out of metaprogression currency, but for some given number of wins there's a strong variant on the format to be had.

I've come around on One Step From Eden (2020). It is one of a slim few games brandishing a certain micro-grid card-churn action grown from Mega Man Battle Network's moss-coated skeleton, and pushes such with a certain ravenous yet curious nature. Many action roguelikes thrive in a rapid twitchy manner, reliant on dodges and low total permitted injuries. While Eden's pace is much faster than its origins and most games in the market, the discrete grids allow for shaped forewarnings that a lot of pattern recognition kick in and reshape instinct. It pairs curiously with one of the few explicit assist modes I've seen for a roguelike and the only one of them I've seen outright recommended for others, and a deckbuilding style where frequent choices start to boil down to "is this worth extra vulnerability of defense or stopping to aim" plus hybridizing up some duo of signposted supported keywords. (Unfortunately, a bunch of the most interesting build-arounds and synergies pop up a little ways into metaprogression, or half way up the ascension system, or only nine months after the initial release- the last of which made me take a long while between initial acquisition's play and current Hell Pass 14 completion.) It took a long while for me to get back into it, and while difficulty is a nightmarish discourse it's unavoidable that this game is set to backbreaking levels. Still, there's little like it around, and such fusions set in such ruthlessness feel like a breath of fresh air after a hundred-year storm.

The rhythm roguelike Crypt of the Necrodancer (2015) barely needs any introduction, with its unique notion of actions mapped to beats then forged around strictly-patterned encounters presenting pressing questions how to handle bundles of half a dozen different discrete behaviours at once. There's a certain clarity of focus borne out of said behaviours being predictable but timed in a game with short and fast runs- there's more enemy varieties in the pre-dlc final zone than many games unmentioned here (and some mentioned here still) manage throughout their whole lengths. Plus, at a time where much of procgen level design has dissolved into canned room gauntlets without variety of terrain or spatial bleedthrough the digging system set in simple caves catacombs make for more memorable layouts than even the old titans' regularly manage. I do have duly note, however, that after pushing available content to my furthest capacities, the characters I play are restricted down to those who die the least easily (Melody's easy armor access, Nocturna's parrying access)- while there's many meaningful options for quite a few equipment slots, the damage numbers also just let you die in one or two specific hits for most of a 10 to 20 minute run. Probably better than face-tanking being the norm, but painful nonetheless.

Cogmind (2017+)is... noticeably, the only game I haven't beaten on this list, and one of two classical format games on this list. Without community interacting or lurking it's quite hard to learn the depths of either without a hybrid's other genre execution to help assess matters, in terms of warding off death or finding what actually distinguishes and qualifies the given game. Here, the simulationist options and modularity of provided strategies are dense in the extreme, to both its merit (over a dozen relevant things to risk at each terminal! shed your weighty armor and limbs for new ones as they rot or you flee!) and its detriment (death and generative life are both great teachers neglected in the hybrid sphere, but there's a lot of wiki reading to even learn of most unspoken options). The alert level and part fragility both contribute well to not fighting everything compared to most of these games, which also helps provide a sense of re-pacing, but when given fights can slaughter those bleeding out it's exhausting Some day I'll succeed in rhizome maneuvers, and learn to best walk through walls as a helicopter with a bazooka. (Also, the graphics are kind of always this small, as an unavoidable product of the game's own terminal use. The monochromatics approach mostly hurts on sufficient part piles and which decor machines explode, though some definitely just can't read the game at all- though, accessibility-wise, plenty can't read the faster games on this very list, anyway. No need is an island.)

Night of the Full Moon (2019) feels like something that fell out from a parallel timeline. The Dream Quest style of deckbuilder roguelike was highly muted in Slay the Spire's wake, though a few still march forward on it- centered on the core notion of enemies having their own deck and unseen hands pushing on severe build-countering gimmicks rather than direct action intent patterns. In abstract, this would allow more bluffing, more distinction, and more memorability for being blown out one way or another- in practice, without a stack, a board state, or explicit incoming threat to react to (and no, pre-emptive hand attack doesn't count), the opposing opacity feels 80% like that inaccurate reputation of card games boiling down to opposing instant games of solitaire grazing against one another. (Thanks, Master Duel.) It's sad, as there's a fair bit of undeserved dismissal in most of this particular genre intersection's other outputs, and there's a fair bit of build and map decision-making plus complicated sequencing available in much of what Full Moon is willing to do. It's also got quite the clean look and actual flavor direction many in this lack for, when the eight billion myriad talents required to make games exist need for shortcuts and genre flavour is one of the first for most to shortcut. (In particular, originator Dream Quest itself is quite scribbly.) The translation's awkwardness is almost impressively amusing on the regular for e.g. stilted translations clashing against surprisingly clean voice acting, or the absurd number of annoyingly-anchorless profile stories for countless encounters. Go beat up those townsfolk for no reason, Red.

Orbital Bullet (2022) has a certain fresh style and strength while also speaking rather openly to some obvious core issues on the standard fitting of builds and the hyper-proliferation of metaprogression climbs. The nested-rings run-and-gun play is quite unique for 2.5d arrangements and shifts the parsing flow of enemy input and player output, and the ambushes for every room with such addresses a core issue many other 2d gunplay games possess of safe strats devolving into maintaining max distance with glacial increments forward. (Looking at you, 20XX.) This is tempered twice over, alas. I tend to despise a certain degree of metaprogression locking away core gameplay system- if random new sights are supposed to cover for death, then fully parsing systems is the same whether innate or gradually unlocked. Here, that includes fundamentals for pacing and run distinction between perk upgrading, healing access, challenge rooms, and combo streak rewards. This wouldn't be completely damning if not for per-run strength gain also struggling- randomized skill tree offerings mostly concentrate on a quickly singular damage goal over the mild perks of others. It's easier to say than it is to design "just make player plans adapt mid-run", and swapping guns covers for a bunch of this, but it overall feels... weak on the overall roguelike front, where a briefer arcade spirit could have replaced extended cross-run grind for the better. Still solid on such shorter lengths, nonetheless.

Devil Slayer Raksasi (2021) is centered on small amounts of action stamina, and thus counts closest as, gasp, a (top-down camera) soulslike. In such a welltrod and visible other half it unavoidably falters in still interesting fashions- for most followers in that fashion struggle hardest with what manages to be most cherished. Many roguelikes jarringly lack focus on encounter breadth for so many given runs, and despite hundreds of such foes drawn up they each lack for distinguishing factors beyond different frames and counts for swings. (While many players evidently dive in rather than out and around like as substantially eases dks1 and 2, any such kiting caution flattens most assaults- not an unreasonable lesson to learn for any stamina-centric game, but one more than established already.) Fromsoft is also more than glad to abuse poor lighting, thin paths, blind corners, rafter snipers, pressure plates, and all other sorts of viciousness lost to the clean floors and comfort food of hack & slash spectacle fighters, which this also lacks for. What it does manage to succeed at is baked into the title- with twelve+ zones and twenty+ bosses, there are in fact a fair number of unique devils to slay who do in fact have poise and art and gimmicks afforded to the each of them, and I have to wonder how well this also would have felt without the permadeath churn exposing the endless need of broad possibility space beyond exchanging swings.

I'm still deeply mixed on Caves of Qud (????), and it feels quite the shame and disconnect for the second-most recognizable game on this list still holding up a torch for the classical roguelike format. Even at the end of all of these musings I could probably write up an essay's worth alone for this on how it's a massive mismatch for a former dcss dev like myself- a maximalist sprawling open world akin to Elder Scrolls or ADOM that hyper-concentrates difficulty and interest into select spaces and otherwise frequently gets one literally mechanically lost in a dull wilderness or metaphorically lost in various fixed grinds. Back there we never agreed with the notion that systems-abusing grind like pudding farming is its own punishment, and that players have to be saved from themselves- contrariwise, many runs feel crushed down and slowed by the fixed offerings and strategies of mechanical wings, hologram / force bracelets, monetary exploits, and the start-independent option of crafting to reroll offerings for endlessly. It especially doesn't help that emergency options beyond recoilers feel slim, and many things are more than glad to stone you dead quick. The actual interest targets have plenty of solid strength that'd carry things if not stuck in such a morass- the sheer hostility of unique terrain and fight gimmicks afforded to plot dungeons is quite strong in its own It also still has an unmatched style of prose, tangible acronym representatives, and a rarefied flavour of locale, all in a genre that struggles to. Probably this, alongside the deckbuilders I've sought out, is why I've spent the past two and a half years putting my money where my mouth is working on the writing and assets for my own roguelike of gay creatures in warped worlds.

If I went a ways further back, there'd be plenty more I could ramble and muse upon, with lingering generosity for the each of them. Nowhere Prophet's rich post-post-apoc desertpunk setting for one of the very few other polished creature-based deckbuilder rogues, Going Under's invigoratingly bitter anti-work ethic blended with brutal destructible weapons action, and Shiren 5 still holding up an unmatched style and gimmick depths for the format's old guard. There's also most likely plenty to speak of further ahead- properly beating some CRYPTARK and Invisible Inc. campaigns; getting into Voidigo and Chrono Ark like my partner heavily recommends; acquiring and assessing Arboria, Brutal Orchestra, Rhythm Fighter, and Malice & Greed. There's always so much to investigate in this combinatoric space, and such dynamics interplays demand a lot- but partial success is still interesting and supportive in and of itself, even if I could endlessly, vexingly, lovingly pick at the seams of each reality.

[starkeristheendgame]

Prompt tony giving peter a wedgie just to be a little shit and finds peter wearing iron man boxers

Whelp, I guess I’m back and writing :’) Thank you sm for this prompt! This is kind of an IM1/2 era prompt, where Peter is basically Pepper and is Tony’s long-suffering but doting assistant. No trigger warnings for this, unless you’ve had a series wedgie-related trauma in the past. 

“Mr. Stark, you can’t just-" 

"I’m sorry, what? What did you just say? I don’t understand the word that didn’t just come out of your mouth, because nobody tells me I can’t do anything. I’m Tony Stark, I can do whatever I want,” the self-mentioned genius spun on his heel as he backed into the room, arms spread and a lopsided, friendly smirk on his mouth as he tossed his apple from one hand to the other. 

He spun back around as he crunched into it, free hand flying in all sorts of gestures that pulled holograms from one corner of the room to the other. 

“Yes, congratulations, you know your own name,” Peter responded wryly, stepping inside after him and through each hologram that his boss tossed in his direction in a valiant attempt to keep him at bay. “But you absolutely can’t-" 

"Ah? What was that? That word? Began with a ‘c’, I’m pretty sure. Doesn’t apply to me. Like, ever. Unless its in the context of eating olives. In which case, I can’t. shan’t, and won’t.”

A slender hand stretched through a scaled-down hologram of the Tower and gripped the front of the genius’ shirt in a tight first, dragging him forwards until he was staring into a pair of stormy, dark eyes. 

“Anthony Edward Stark. You are not going to make a cast of your own penis and market it as the 'Iron Rod’,” his personal assistant growled, and it was truly the eighth wonder of the world that he said it was a completely straight face. 

“Ah, but you didn’t say I couldn’t make one and market it at all,” Tony countered, and he could feel the threat of bodily harm radiating from the younger man. In fact if he looked close enough into his eyes, he could see a tiny reflection of himself getting beaten to death with his own suit. 

He wriggled free of the vice-like grip Peter had on his shirt and darted out of reach, stretching for a hologram of his aforementioned body part. Peter emerged from the hologram behind him, mouth open and ready to argue before he snapped it shut and slapped his hand over his eyes, spinning away with a sound of disgust. 

“This violates so many workplace laws,” the younger man muttered, and Tony gave a low hum. Was he agreeing? Probably. Tony hadn’t read a Stark Industries contract since Pepper had finalised them all for official use. Frankly, he wouldn’t have even read them then, but she’d physically sat down next to him to make sure he read every. Single. Word. 

It had been tedious and boring and to top it off, she’d even confiscated his glasses on the off-chance he’d fitted them with software again to play Angry Birds. (He had.)

“Do you think the body should be red and the tip be gold? Or the other way around?” Tony asked thoughtfully, and made an affronted noise when the hologram splintered out of existence before him. He’d been intending to work on that, thank you. But then gentle fingertips were brushing his jaw, turning his head with careful tenderness until he was blinking back into those whiskey eyes. Peter had such long, lovely lashes. Tony wanted to count every single one. 

“Tony. When was the last time you ate?” Peter asked, voice impossibly soft, and Tony made another quiet sound, shrugging lightly as he looked away, off into the distance. That was a nice wall. The perfect wall. Had that wall always been there? 

“That depends. What day is it?” he answered, nose scrunching, and he could feel Peter’s gentle exhale across his cheek. 

“Friday,” Peter responded flatly, and those featherlight fingers were sliding from his jaw, down to his arm where the smaller man took hold and began to steer him straight back towards the door he’d only just walked through. 

“Which means I’m making you a sandwich and then you’re going to bed.”

“How does not eating equate to being banished to bed like a toddler?” Tony argued, but he went willingly anyway, because he was a sucker for a pretty face and a pout. Honestly, hiring Peter Parker was the worst thing he could have ever done to himself. 

He’d essentially hired the one person that could actually make him do anything. Besides Pepper, of course, but then she’d gone and gotten pregnant and now she worked in Public Relations, a much calmer department that meant she could largely work from home and keep an eye on her little… Spawn. 

“When you’re a grown ass man that needs to be treated like one,” Peter fired back, nudging him into the elevator. Tony opened his mouth, but the younger man rounded on him. “And don’t even think about trying to weasel out of it through JARVIS. He’ll just agree with me,” Peter warned. 

“In this instance, Sir, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Parker,” his treacherous, disloyal AI remarked from around them, and Tony closed his mouth slowly with a scowl. That’s what you got for giving an AI the gift of free will, he supposed. It bit you on the ass and agreed with your spitfire of a personal assistant/colleague. 

“This sandwich better have salami in it,” he muttered darkly. Peter simply cast him a sideways, softly amused glance, and pushed him out of the elevator when they arrived at the penthouse. It had apparently been cleaned since Tony was last here, and it was also apparently overcast today, which meant either the New York weather had turned in the last ten minutes, or it truly had been a considerable amount of time since he’d last looked out of the windows. 

Guiltily, he noted it was more likely to be the latter. Someone (Peter) had tidied away all of the tools and random bits of tech scattered around, and someone (Peter) had cleared up from his last round of coffees and his poor attempt at making himself a snack some days (?) prior. 

He let himself be prodded into a chair at the kitchen island, and crossed his ankles as he swung his lungs, leaning on the bar and doing his best to look cute as Peter rounded it and made for the fridge. Looking cute helped kids and animals get out of trouble, why not attractive billionaires with supersuits? 

He watched curiously as Peter pulled a variety of items from the fridge, and the sauce rack at its side. Burger sauce, mustard, sliced roast beef, pepperoni slices, mixed salad lettuce, American cheese and a crusty, round loaf of Italian bread. Tony’s brows raised. That was… Quite the combination. 

“I could make a plug and call it the Arse Reactor,” he suggested after a short while had passed, and Peter pressed down so hard on the knife it almost bit into the cutting board. The petite man cast him a glare over his shoulder and Tony raised his hands in surrender, biting back a shit-eating grin as he watched the flex of Peter’s arms and shoulders. When did Peter ever find the time to work out? 

“Eat,” Peter’s gentle voice interrupted his distracted thoughts, and Tony blinked down in surprise at the plate that was pushed gently between his propped elbows. He could have sworn it was only two seconds ago Peter was cutting up the ingredients… But, he had to admit, the sandwich looked mouthwatering. 

He picked it up dutifully and took a bite as Peter turned away, reaching for the fridge once more. An explosion of flavour hit his tongue and he moaned, chewing his mouthful like it was an act of worship. Across the island, Peter cracked a small, almost shy smile, and poured a cracked the tab on a can of soda. 

“I’m marrying this sandwich” Tony announced when Peter came close enough to slide him the drink, and the other man rolled his eyes, but looked suitably bashful. That one initial taste had suddenly altered Tony to just how hungry he actually was, and he shamelessly scarfed the beast of a meal down, aware of the fact that Peter watched him the entire time, leaning against the kitchen island with this impossible soft expression on his face. When Tony had licked his lips clean of crumbs, Peter took the plate, heading over to the sink where he began to run the hot water. 

“I have a dish washer for that,” Tony remarked, and he couldn’t see it, but he knew the man had rolled his eyes. Peter did it whenever Tony said anything that pertained to his 'rich, white man privilege.’ It didn’t earn a verbal response, though, and Tony managed another nine seconds before the silence had him twitching and squirming in place, sniffing as he adjusted his seating position and arm placement. 

“I bet you’d buy one, if I did. Or even better, I could just send you an Iron Rod fresh from the factory,” Tony remarked, and his mouth was still open enough at the end of the sentence to catch the soap sud that Peter flicked at him. 

“I am not going to own a cast of my boss’ dick, you pervert,” Peter huffed in response, and Tony sucked air between his teeth in the universal signal of ouch. 

“Why not? Its just a casting. I highly doubt there’s anything about that written in any contract-” knowing Pepper, there absolutely would be, “-and who knows? It could be the best ride of your life,” he tossed out, intently watching the way that Peter’s spine curved as he focused on the task at hand. His assistant squeaked a laugh and shook his head. 

“Oh, I doubt it. You’re probably unremarkably average,” Peter shot back, and oh. Game on, Parker. Tony moved silently from the chair, padding one step at a time like a predator on the prowl. 

“We both know I’m not,” he hummed, keeping his voice level and quiet so it wouldn’t give away the fact that he was moving closer. Peter hesitated for a moment in his scrubbing, and deflated slightly. Tony was right, and they both knew it. Peter had seen him naked far too many times to have any other conception. 

“Okay, you’re not. But I’m still not buying one.”

“I think you want to. And you’re afraid I know you want to,” Tony purred into Peter’s ear, shameless teasing and victory in his voice at the way the boy locked up like he’d just stepped on a landmine. 

“What makes you say that?” Peter asked after a moment, voice faux-light and cheery as he scrubbed at a non-existent mark on the plate. 

“Because you’ve been scrubbing the same plate for the past five minutes, and all I ate was a sandwich,” Tony pointed out, reaching over to take the sponge away from Peter. Peter made a sound vaguely like he was dying, and turned the water off, shoving the plate almost violently into the drying rack. 

“Its called good hygiene, maybe if you did the dishes now and then you’d know it,” Peter responded smartly, turning to face him as he spoke. His assistant raised his arm, pointing past him and towards the steps that led to Tony’s room. 

“Bed. Now,” he instructed, and it was purely because Tony was feeling generous (honestly) that he complied, turning on his heel to stroll off towards his room. 

“I wouldn’t think any less of you, y'know. I’d be quite flattered,” he remarked casually, and jolted when a magazine hit him on the back of the head. “That’s assault. Pretty sure you’re in violation of the workplace law” he teased, and relished in the soft, despaired groan that sounded from behind him as he bounded up the steps like a puppy. 

Once inside his luxurious room, he tugged his shirt over his head and threw it onto his sheets, disappearing into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He ought to shower, but he figured he could do that when he woke up. 

“Don’t forget eye drops,” Peter’s voice rang out from his room when he’d rinsed his toothbrush and his mouth, and Tony paused mid-way to the door, stepping backwards to peer into the massive mirror wall. He prodded at one of his eyes thoughtfully, blinking. Huh. They did look a little dry, and feel a little raw. 

So purely of his own accord, he dripped a few drops in each one and waved off the light in the bathroom, peering cautiously around the corner to find Peter stood opposite his walk-in closet, carefully reorganising all the clothes Tony had skewed around. 

He was eccentric, not gross, thank you very much. Just because he was awake for 82 hours at a time, didn’t mean he didn’t change his clothes and brush his teeth. 

“Now that I-”

“If this has anything to do with your dildo, I swear to God,” Peter threatened, pointing at him with a clothes clip before sliding the powder blue shirt into it carefully. Tony couldn’t even remember buying that shirt, let alone removing it from its place. His hands went to his belt to unbuckle it as he padded closer. 

“Now that I think about it, I can understand why you don’t want one,” he offered gently, voice sincere and soft. Peter paused dubiously, fingers stilling over the soft sweater he was hanging, and then relaxed, slotting it back onto the bar where it dangled with the rest of its garment family. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter noted quietly. 

“Its because there’s so much up your ass already, there wouldn’t be any room,” Tony tacked on casually, fingers curling expertly around the band of gold he could see peeking out from atop the boy’s tight jeans, where his shirt had ridden up as he stretched. 

There was enough time for him to note how soft his skin was where he brushed it, for Peter’s breath to hitch on the beginning of a protest, and then Tony’s arm flexed as he yanked the band upwards, driving the material of Peter’s boxers right up between his asscheeks. It actually lifted the boy up onto his toes, hands flying out to brace himself on the wall and - 

“Huh,” Tony voiced aloud, over the whimper-whelp that leapt from Peter’s throat. 

Peter Parker was wearing a pair of very eye-catching, rather bold Iron Man boxers. The waistband was gold, edged with red, and Tony could see the tips of what he presumed were gauntleted handprints on each round, plump cheek. 

“Anthony fucking Edwar-!” Peter seethed, and Tony twisted the material in his grip, hitching it even further against the younger man. It had to be right against his sensitive little hole by now, uncomfortable and rubbing. 

“I didn’t realise I was already up your ass, darling,” Tony grinned, brow lifting as he stepped closer, closer, until Peter was pressed against the wall, held there by Tony’s grip and the teasing proximity of his body. He could feel the way Peter started to tremble, and he might have felt bad if he wasn’t pretty clued on to the fact that Peter wasn’t actually offended. Well. Not as offended as he was trying to make out. 

“Though of course, that statement isn’t quite as accurate as I think we’d both like it to be,” he noted, gaze falling down, down to where his own brand stretched around a fat, plump set of asscheeks. He praised himself for how long he’d gone without doing anything; even Pepper had taken one look at Peter during his interview and immediately demanded Tony keep his hands to himself. 

“You’re an asshole and a fiend,” Peter grumbled, though Tony knew him well enough to know there was a smile on his mouth as he spoke, head turning against the wall slightly to make it more comfortable. He hadn’t moved from his position, even though he could quite well have pushed Tony’s hand aside and moved away. Yet he stayed pinned, like a good little trapped prey. 

“I could be worse,” Tony drawled, letting go of Peter’s underwear so that it snapped back against his hips with a satisfying sound that had the smaller man’s hips jolting forwards against the wall with a hiss. Tony didn’t back away, though. 

He pressed in closer, slotting their bodies together gently. And oh, what a perfect fit it was. Peter’s smaller frame, blanketed and pressed against by his own, his hips perfect for gripping where Tony’s large hands came to rest on them. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Tony murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle at the slope of Peter’s shoulder. He did nothing more, just lazily nuzzled at the muscle there, the delicate curve of his neck, breathing in the boy’s scent and relishing in the chance to finally, finally touch. Peter breathed out heavily, lowering himself back onto the flat of his feet and leaning just slightly back into Tony’s careful hold. 

“If you don’t tell me stop, I’m going to strip you of everything except for the those boxers, and I’m gonna push them aside to eat you out through them,” he added, quiet, promising. 

Peter twitched underneath him, a choked off sound cracking on his tongue as he reached back, digging his fingers into Tony’s hip to drag him forwards, coaxing him into rolling his hips, dragging his cock along the groove of Peter’s ass, where his underwear was still hiked up between those tempting globes of muscle. 

“If you stop, I'll resign,” Peter demanded, reaching for Tony’s hair so he could drag him down and kiss that stupid, smug smirk off his face. 

[flickityfics]

Ch.8 Sokka’s Day With Zuko

Suki that was a lot of scary information to take in but also thanks. It's really tough and terrifying being in a new body, I'll be sure to take care of myself. I'll be going to the library today to see what information I can find. So far being a girl is complicated but I did manage to get a job. My daily life now has been a bit easier to go through but still strange obviously. Sometime I hope to see you in Ba Sing Se maybe even have a weird girl's day out huh? I would like to tell you more about things face to face whenever we get the chance.

                                                                                                                  -Sokka

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Sorry to hear Appa hasn't popped up yet but I'm sure you guys will find him in no time! Aang I know my sister can be a party pooper but it's up to you and Toph to help her not be such a killjoy while I'm not there. Also Katara I'll have you know I'm working hard and pulling my own weight, have more faith in your brother, you brat. My days are full of work, studying blueprints and really there hasn't been much else, I haven't gotten into any messes which has been great. Oh Toph take care of those two will ya? We all know you're the strongest of us all but don't let that get to your head.

                                          ��                                                                     -Sokka

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A  sluggish Sokka came into the Jasmine Dragon dragging himself to the bar stool in front of the kitchens. He sat putting his head down on folded arms while tracking Zuko's every move. Zuko inwardly rolled his eyes seeing Miyuki flopping down in the chair and looking mopey, it's nothing new anymore since she's done this every few weeks now. It's funny and ridiculous in his opinion but he does like listening to her stories and complaints .

"You do know this is the fifth job you've quit?" Zuko mentioned uncaring already use to this routine and habit of hers.

"Okay but look, the damn customer was sexually harassing me and my boss was a jerk not doing anything about it and actually blaming me for being to friendly even though that's the whole part of being a waitress, like excuse me?! Then my boss has the audacity to give me a warning when I slapped the pervert for yelling at me. I couldn't even defend myself so I quit right then and there for good reason!" Sokka really couldn't pinpoint why he felt so comfortable with talking to Zuko about everything that came to his mind, it felt great talking and hanging out with another guy even if he wasn't quite in his own body, it was as if he was seeing Zuko as another great friend to have but he couldn't possibly betray the gaang like that. It was too much to think about when he's seeing different sides of this complex version of Zuko.

"Sorry you had to go through all that, how about we go do some training to get your mind off it?"  Zuko suggested.

Sokka was grateful for Zuko's distractions and willingness to help out a girl, he never takes it easy on him on in their training sessions, always attentive when he gets injuries and never afraid to correct things patiently.

"Yes, perfect! Let's do some ninja style walking on walls that you do." Sokka couldn't help but burst in excitement, one thing he'll say about the fire bender is he's got awesome skills.

The scarred teen scoffed at her, "you mean my scaling abilities to climb buildings with efficiency and speed?" he really couldn't help the incredulous looks he gave her at times.

"Yes that, it's really cool and I want more of that." He put on his big puppy-eyed face that he could to the other boy.

Zuko rolled his eyes but agreed nonetheless, " We can start from the roof and go from there, you're getting better, you're great at scanning structures and knowing which are steady while knowing which footholds and handholds are safe but you still need to work on your grips, speed and getting to know the layout of your surroundings."

With everything planned out the two head to change and to the roof.

"So we'll take an easy straight path to get balanced then we'll quickly change course having to be forced to adapt to different buildings, shifting weight immediately while doing our best without getting hurt along the way."

Sokka bounced and shook himself to get the nerves out, mentally preparing for the challenge. He looked to see Zuko looking determined and ready when he turned to him they nodded to each other and took off.  Jumping a straight path was easy enough for Sokka but he had to anticipate and look ahead to find when he'll have to change course drastically. Zuko tended to leave him behind in speed and taking a different path which left him picking things up on his own but he figured it was a way of Zuko teaching him and seeing how he can do without assistance.  Looking forward he saw the next building was to far a distance to jump so he had to quickly scan so he didn't fall. His eyes caught the side of the building with a canopy then checked the distance to his left seeing the other building having a window ledge up ahead that he can catch if he times it all right. Breathing in a lungful of air did he make the leap sliding down then up in the air and trying to force his weight and angling his body to catch the window in view, he was so grateful for the gloves Zuko handed him earlier, no doubt his hands would have been shredded if he didn't have them on. Taking another breath he swung his leg to the roof and strained his muscles to pull himself up safely.

"That was really good." Zuko nodded his head in approval.

"It totally was, man that felt crazy but exciting." It was scary and great that he could pull that off, it wasn't awesome like Zuko's running on walls and being all fast but he was getting there and he knew he was improving well. " I think I'm okay with that today, I don't want to be sore or get any injuries right now."

"We can end it right here. It's still early out what do you want to do next?"

"How bout we shower, change then head to the poetry session?" Sokka asked.

"Sounds fine, we haven't gone there for a bit between working and training lately." Zuko agreed easily.

"Great, I'll head to the inn while you and uncle get ready and meet me at my place, also tell the old man he needs to get out once in awhile to."

"Ah yes, he'll love that. we'll see you shortly then." Zuko stopped nagging Miyuki teasing his uncle since it seemed his uncle liked it so he just ignored them now.

The three showed up to the poetry session while a young girl of nine was on stage.

'Winter is a great bed

It makes me feel so soft

Winter is cats that make me warm

They make me feel happy inside

Winter is hot cocoa

in bed under covers.

Winter is for your family

They make you feel safe and happy

But most importantly

Winter is holidays.'

The crowd clapped while sharing chuckles.

"That girl was adorable" Iroh commented.

"Haha, I liked how holidays was more important then family in her list." Sokka couldn't stop laughing, enjoying his time.

"Alright whose next up on stage?"

"He is!" Sokka yelled and dragged Zuko to the front and on stage, "good luck." he waved cheerily going back to his seat.

Zuko stood stuck for a bit before puffing out hot air through his nose and speaking.

'Blue is my mask

It's my spirit to fight

My mask helps me hide

It keeps me from wrath

But won't let me forget

When the mask comes off

I must do my rightful duties

Never free

When can I live for me'

The claps startled Sokka and he looked around him, no one even knew the extent of that poem. This confirmed that Zuko was indeed stuck and conflicted but wasn't a lost cause, he needed to put more trust in him. He looked to uncle Iroh and saw the old man in tears, 'he really does care for his nephew, there family must be so complicated,' he thought. He walked up to Zuko grabbing for him and squeezing his arm in comfort.

"That was a good poem, didn't know you had so much stored in ya since you never talk." He tried for a happy lilt, it seemed as if Zuko wasn't really ready for all that to be said.

"I'll leave you young folk alone, I think a nice lady is trying to catch my attention. Nephew take her home safely." Iroh held Zuko's arm tight looking at his nephew with all the sadness and hopefulness in the world before leaving.

Zuko gave a smile down at Miyuki, "Let's get you home."

"You know, you and your uncle have great understanding between each other." He remarked seeing the interaction between the two.

"Sometimes. I've gotten better but there are times when I think what I want is right and uncle tries to stop me but I'm just so stubborn, Well its just complicated anyways." He shrugged.

"We don't have to talk about it but you two seem to be handling things great right now." Sokka felt Zuko's reluctance to open up and didn't bother prying for once, it just doesn't seem right to. Before Sokka could say anything to lighten the mood, he noticed they were at the inn already and not wanting to see Zuko down and not his usually sarcastic grumpy self wasn't doing it for him, he just couldn't leave Zuko like this.

"Would you like to spend the night?" He asked.

[ducktracy]

142. porky’s moving day (1936)

disclaimer: this cartoon contains racist contents, stereotypes, imagery, and concepts. i do not at all endorse this content and i find it gross and wrong. while this isn’t as extreme as other depictions, it just as well needs to be noted and talked about. thank you for understanding and bearing with me.

release date: september 12th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: joe dougherty (porky), elvia allman (homeowner)

the day has come: here since the heart of the buddy days, jack king’s marks his final cartoon at warner bros with porky’s moving day. i’ve warmed up to him and appreciate his ambition, and i’ve heard nothing but great things about his donald duck cartoons at disney, though i can’t say i’m too heartbroken to see him go. better things are on the way from here on out! for his final entry: porky is in charge of a moving company, and has to empty out a house as fast as possible as the threat of the house toppling into the ocean looms.

open to porky’s moving van (appropriately labeled as such in big black letters on the exterior), nothing more than a little wooden shack. porky and his assistant are fast asleep on their cots inside. elsewhere, pandemic: a house brilliantly built threatens to topple over the edge of a cliff, waves repeatedly throwing the house into the air. a woman darts from window to window, crying for help. the woman is none other than a clarabelle cow facsimile (which would have worked maybe 3 years prior, but the disney influence has definitely begun to fade by this point... except for king.) as her house teeters along, she struggles to keep her furniture in place, pushing it back as various items threaten to run her over as the house leans back and forth.

fretfully does clarabelle (better than calling her “The Cow” over and over and over again) ring up the operator in the telephone, begging for “bunyan” (paul bunyan??). her call is interrupted by a drastic lean of the house, and she topples over the window, the cord snapping in the process. she hangs upside down out of the window, still calling into her broken mouthpiece for bunyan. i’m sure this is a reference going way over my head, but it’s obnoxious regardless.

back at porky’s moving van, the phone rings. porky’s assistant wakes up at the sound of the ring and instantly grows punchy, boxing with an invisible foe at the sound of the ring. porky approaches, mallet in hand, and conks the guy over the head. he immediately stops and drones “okay, booooooss.” a phrase that will be repeated 7 TIMES throughout this cartoon, same voice recording and all! a few times i had talked about a review on imdb titled “Ain’t head injuries funny!?” which i found absolutely hilarious—that was a review for this cartoon.

nevertheless, the phone rings on, and porky answers with a chipper “porky the mover!” clarabelle panics on the other end, derailing about how her furniture won’t stay in place and that her house is bound to tip over anytime. “oh for sakes and gosh! we’ll be right over!” porky then tells his assistant “c’mon dopey, we got a job!” wow, that’s not at all seriously offensive: a subtly black-faced caricature of a monkey named dopey whose only line is saying “okay, boss” over and over again. i’m shocked they didn’t give him a stereotypical accent—this was definitely deliberate and not at all accidental. way to keep it classy, king! guh, that’s nasty.

porky crawls outside of his van, where we see his pet ostrich lulu resting by a tree. he wakes her up and positions for her to get into place in front of the van. climbing onto the front, porky grabs the reins—his assistant arbitrarily “okay boss”ing him for no reason at all—and orders lulu to step on it. they race through town, lulu eventually running on air as a result of the high speeds. the animation is rather nice here, and the accompanying siren sounds are a nice touch.

lulu screeches to a halt at their destination, the van swinging a full rotation and right up close to the audience for impact. porky meets clarabelle, who barks some frantic orders to him. porky and clarabelle rush inside, the door slamming on dopey. he rings the doorbell, and the sound of the bell sends him into a fit once more. don williams animates this absolutely beautiful display of animation, that, surprisingly, is NOT from a redrawn colorized version of the cartoon with a grayscale filter over it. this is the real deal! it seems like even the animators weren’t into this one. not sure what happened here, but it’s pretty damn bad. sorry don. another conk on the head, another “okay boss.”

inside, porky unloads the furniture into some outside, unknown source. no image of the furniture piled outside. a piano threatens to flatten him into a piggy pancake after another jostle from the waves outside, and porky steadies himself on the leaning wall for support. “holy smoke, we’ll never get out of here!” porky drops a mattress outside the window, and somehow manages to push the piano out, which crashes into the earth and forms a gaping hole, any trace of the mattress or piano gone. the waves tilt the house in the opposite direction, and porky crashes into a toy tricycle, sending him down the other end of the house. he barrels into dopey, urging him to “snap out of it.” you’ll never guess what dopey says in response! and, of course, dopey dismantles an entire fireplace from the wall and drags it along.

meanwhile, porky turns his attention to other areas of the house, rolling up a portion of a carpet and rolling it with his feet like a log roller. there is some pretty interesting animation as he weaves between hallways, “sucking up” portions of the rug. it certainly has potential that goes unrealized, though. and, for some reason, lulu is in the house, strutting in the way of porky’s giant log of fabric. he runs her over, wrapping her up in an uncontrollable burrito as he barrels down a staircase and crashes into a wall. the impact sends lulu unraveling back UP the staircase (porky still on the floor), eventually rolling to a halt as she twirls around like a top on her beak.

dopey, on the other hand, carries an array of tables, all stacked neatly together like matryoshka dolls. the tables begin to fall, one after the other, forming a makeshift staircase that dopey scales as he heads towards the window. the table is too big to fit through the window, and he’s sent spinning around, flying back down his staircase and sliding across the floor. instead, he turns his attention towards a shelf full of plates, carelessly dumping them into a barrel. he lifts up the barrel, and sure enough it has no bottom to it: a pile of neatly stacked plates rest on the floor. even though the sound effects make it sound like the porcelain is being reduced to shards. what fun! it would have been so much funnier if he neatly carried away a pile of broken fragments instead of neatly stacked plates.

and, for some reason, lulu swallows an alarm clock. the clock goes off, ringing incessantly. uh oh, ringing! dopey immediately discards his plates, NOW reduced to fragments as he boxes against his invisible foe once more. a spare plate conks him on the head, and he (say it with me now) responds “okay, boss.”

porky runs along with a table on his back, eagerly barreling through the doorway. the table is too big to fit through, and he’s sent into a whirl, flying backwards. as he recollects himself, he attempts to free the lodged table from the doorway, but to no avail. dopey meanders along with some sort of string device, almost like a harp? i think it may be some bed springs. the frame gets stuck in the doorway, and he walks along, still holding onto the strings, which threaten to slingshot him any moment.

and, of course, they do. he’s sent rocketing into porky, who’s still carrying the table. he, in turn, is sent flying out the window, barely holding onto half of the table which is SOMEHOW connected to the house inside... by the legs??? it’s like another slingshot. not the most comprehensible cartoon for sure. to make matters worse, a steamboat is parked outside in the choppy waters, the steam scalding porky’s butt. he’s now sent flying back inside, and just in time: water starts to gush in through the window.

porky struggles to block it out, resorting to swimming upstream as the relentless waterfall keeps on coming. it’s just as well: the climax is quickly put to an end as the water sends all of the furniture streaming conveniently into the back of porky’s van. so, this whole time, they were unloading furniture from the opposite end of the house. way to make less work for yourself! lulu pops up from inside a barrel, alarm clock still lodged in her throat. it rings once more, dopey emerging from a laundry hamper swinging. porky rises from a set of dresser drawers, giving him a good ol’ knock on the head with the mallet. i’ll bet you $5 you don’t know what the last line of the cartoon is.

jack king was starting to grow on me, but after seeing this one, i’m back to my opinion of neutrality leaning on dislike. aside from the blatant racism of dopey’s entire existence, this isn’t a funny cartoon at all, and just feels menial and boring. this feels like something straight out of a 1932 bosko cartoon. i think, ultimately, that was what king’s biggest weakness was, especially in comparison to the others: being behind the times. his cartoons would have fit perfectly during the rampant disney attitude of the harman and ising cartoons, but when tex avery and friz freleng are littering their cartoons with witty humor and gags, king’s cartoons don’t stand a chance. his buddy cartoons were probably the best in comparison to ben hardaway’s (though friz had some pretty good entries), and his beans cartoons weren’t bad, but porky wasn’t his strong suit. shanghaied shipmates was probably his strongest effort, and probably the only cartoon of king’s that i’ll be returning to (watch me eat my words.) in terms of this cartoon, it’s a no: don’t waste your time, there’s really nothing to see here. in terms of jack king: it was a good run, maybe, but now we’re onto bigger and better things. this is where things start to get good.

link!

[professionallyprocrastinating]

The Murder Mystery

From this prompt, heartily encouraged by @aelphaba1​

Ramona really, really hated her family’s insistence on setting her up on blind dates. She found relationships so much easier when she was writing them, and could actually make sense of both party’s actions and motivations. Also,  with her characters, she didn’t have to deal with complaints that she made no sense and was a ‘creepy wierdo’.

This time, Ramona’s sister had bribed her with the promised loan of her kitchen next time Ramona needed to cook in bulk, and the assurance that this dating site found matches based on search history and common interests. That, at least, made her morbidly curious about the person she would be meeting. At worst, they could at least talk about interesting topics until Ramona’s dating obligations were fulfilled.

Ramona was a writer; specifically a crime and thriller writer. ‘Interesting’ was the nicest possible way to describe her search history. ‘Creepy’ and ‘potentially criminal’ were far more common terms. That the dating site had actually found someone to match her up with was kind of impressive.

Josh felt kind of guilty going on a blind date, with a person who might turn out to be genuinely nice. He hadn’t had much luck with blind dates in the past, since most of them found him off-putting or boring, and they never seemed to have anything in common.

He never killed them, since they never treated him badly enough to deserve it, but it got depressing after a while. He hoped that a dating site that matched people based on search history and common interests might turn up someone who would at least be able to carry on an interesting conversation.

Josh was a serial killer, targeting people who deserved it; Mafia Bosses, CEOs who exploited their workers and used questionable business practices, politicians who allowed themselves to be bought by vested interests... People the world was honestly better off without. He was doing a public service, really, albeit one that would probably get him arrested if anyone found out. Then again, sit-ins in a segregated bar used to be grounds for arrest and imprisonment, too, so clearly there was a sliding scale for illegality.

Well, perhaps the date would go well, and perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps he would even find out about the shitty ex- who treated them horribly enough to warrant being Josh’s next victim.

The dating site also set up a convenient meeting place for the date, in this case a quiet coffee house in the BoHo part of town. Ramona got there early, found the table booked in their name - apparently her date was a guy called Josh - and pulled out her notebook. She had fifteen minutes, possibly even more if her date shared the previous one’s tardiness, so she might as well get some writing done.

Besides, sometimes it scored her a free drink, if the owner believed in supporting independent artists.

Lost in her work, she jumped a little, pen skittering across the page, when a voice like hot chocolate came from beside her, “Sorry to interrupt, are you Ramona?”

She looked up, and then up some more. The man who interrupted her was tall, with lean but defined arm muscles, mostly revealed by the short-sleeved button-down he wore. His jeans weren’t so tight to be able to tell if his legs matched, but Ramona was willing to make an educated guess. Well, he would make a nice character description for her next male lead, even if he turned out to be an internet troll living in his mother’s basement. “Yes, hi. You’re Josh?”

His smile was as nice to look at as the rest of him. “Yes, hi. Sorry, I didn’t think I was running late.”

Ramona shook her head, “Oh, no, I was early. There turned out to be less traffic than I thought, so I had time to kill.”

Josh sat down across from her, and earned instant points by not trying to play footsie. “What are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Well, at least they could get the awkward out of the was early. “I’m a crime fiction writer. This will hopefully become the outline for my next book.”

There was a gleam of interest in his eye, which earned him even more points, upgrading Josh to ‘text and thank for a nice date’ status. “What’s it about.”

Josh wasn’t sure what falling in love was supposed to feel like, but he was pretty sure that it felt like this.

Ramona’s detailed descriptions of the detective who kept barely missing the killer, the race against time, the anticipation of the victims who knew that they were going to be next... he took back evey bad thing he had ever said about dating sites. This one had matched him up with the most perfect woman on the face of the planet. A first date was probably too soon to start planning a life together, wasn’t it? Maybe an exception could be made?

Ramona paused for breath, and he took the opportunity to contribute, so she would know that he was actually listening, rather than faking it. He didn’t want to mess this up. “What’s the villain’s motivation? Like, subconcious trauma, skewed morality but wants to make the world better, or just in it for the adreniline rush.”

The way her face lit up took Josh’s breath away, and she gestured to her notebook. “I don’t mean to be rude, but do you mind if I write this down?”

She could ask him to sit in an abandoned car for hours, and he would probably agree at this point. “Oh, go ahead.”

Josh waited a few minutes, before he dared to interrupt. “Out of curiosity, how would you kill someone and make it look accidental?”

Ramona barely looked up, her distracted tone comparable to the most beautiful music he had ever heard. “Air shot between the toes. Makes it look like a heart attack.”

Josh swallowed hard, pushing down a surge of arousal. Oh, yes, he was in love.

Ramona was plesantly surprised by how well the date was going.

Josh hadn’t once mocked her, and seemed genuinely interested in everything she had to say. He hadn’t even complained or become offended when she pulled out her notebook to start scribbling, but casually pulled a book out of his backpack, sipping coffee while he waited for her to finish. Looking at the title, Ramona recognised the book as one with an author who actually did their research. “Hey, do you know how long it would take someone to die from a stab to the gut?”

Immediatly, she winced, hoping that she hadn’t just committed some weird and unintentional faux pas. He didn’t get up and run out of the cafe, which was something, but his eyes did darken slightly. Ramona didn’t think it was with anger, though, and he tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Two minutes to half an hour, it depends on a variety of factors.”

Was a first date too early to start thinking abut wedding rings? Ramona thought that the answer was probably ‘yes - way too fast’.

A pity, that; a gold and platinum ring, with an inlaid ruby or two, would look amazing on him.

Josh worked as a Butcher’s assistant, but he always made sure to shower and change before he came home.

They had both received some very askance looks from family members after moving in together after only a few months, but they didn’t care. Ramona didn’t freak out when ther was the occasional bloodstain to be washed out of his clothing, and he thought it was adorable when she bought her notebook to the table, writing between bites.

This one was new, Ramona having just finished filling up her old one. She looked up from her writing as Josh finished his coffee. “Babe, I’m not sure if this murder scene I’m writing is realistic enough. Can you look it over and tell me?”

Josh could do one better than that; he could actually test it out. “Mind if I take it to work with me and read it over? I’ll tell you when I get home tonight.”

Ramona smiled happily at him. “Sure. I should probably get my old notebook transcribed onto my computer, anyway.”

Josh kissed her on the cheek on his way out the door. “I might be a bit late coming home, one of the other staff wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I might need to cover. I’ll be home in time for dinner, promise.”

Ramona nodded and waved goodbye, already searching for her charger. She’d probably be spending the day at her favourite cafe, staffed with people who didn’t care how long she took up a table, so long as she kept buying drinks and gave the employees something do during the lull period. Josh had already decided that he would probably never need to visit any of them.

On the other hand, there was a customer who had taken to making one of the trainee’s life difficult; complaining about everything and threatening to call the immigration police  or local law enforcement. Josh seriously doubed that anyone would actually miss him.

He didn’t manage to completely wash away the smell of blood before he got home - he didn’t want to be late, not after promising Ramona that he would be on time for dinner. She didn’t seem to mind as he handed back her new notebook. “It works perfectly, babe, you’re doing an amazing job.”

Ramona beamed, putting the finishing touches on the pasta dish she was making. He knew for a fact that she threw it together in half an hour, but that wasn’t important.  “Oh, a co-worker read it over my shoulder and asked if you were re-writing Sweeny Todd or something. I think that’s the only near-horror thing he’s ever looked at, honestly.”

Ramona huffed. “Not hardly, Sweeny was an idiot, and Mrs Lovett’s pies shouldn’t have sold half so well. Adult meat is mostly muscle; cooking it in a pie would make it far too tough and gamey. They would have done better to go for foundling babies. Fatty meats are far more tender.”

Josh wrapped his arms around her. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

[iv-kplpt]

smoke and mirrors [the agency au part one]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open it.” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything else I should know about?”

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

“Obviously.”

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

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

“Let’s hear it.” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fingers crossed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, sounds fair. Celebratory drinks?”

“Hell yes.”

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

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

“And what if he won’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understandable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know them?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do we have a guarantee of winning?”

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

“How do you know he’s the Penguin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Noted. Anything else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She called Flagg; he picked up right away.

“Agent. Any progress?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

“Are we tracking his online activity?”

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

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

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

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

“You might want to, yeah.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

Louise was waiting for her outside the door, smoking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice. Think she could be useful?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a token of appreciation.” Charlie said, trying to sound genuine.

“That’s very touching, beautiful stranger.” Penguin said and she smiled. “But nothing is free in this world. I know you want something. Come on. Ask away.”

“I want to see your face.” Charlie blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“Huh.” the Penguin said, sounding amused. “Yeah. That sounds fair, considering you managed to find out who I am.”

He took his mask off and Charlie stared in silence, at the scar running across the bridge of his nose, his scruffy jawline, narrow lips curled in a playful smile and dark circles under his eyes.

In real life he looked better than on a mugshot from his file or archival materials from Flagg.

“There.” he said, staring at her. “Not quite as impressive as my mask, I know.”

“On the contrary.” she said, not taking her eyes off him; she suddenly felt the urge to touch his stubbly chin, but fought it off; instead she handed him the ring, which he tenderly caressed and slid in his pocket.

“Thank you very much, Charlie.” he said, this time actually brushing the back of her hand with his lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He turned around and Louise nudged her in the ribs with her elbow. Charlie nodded.

“Wait!” she said, walking up to him. “This is not all I have to offer.”

“Oh?” he said, turning around to face her again; they were standing inches from each other. “Go on.”

“I’m rich.” she said, looking him in the eye. “Filthy rich. And my family has connections. I can get you anything money or handshakes can buy.”

“Mmmhmm.” he muttered absentmindedly. “Alright. Anything else?”

“I know you hate the Joker.” she breathed out. “I can get you his plans. Not in great detail and not all of them, but enough to tip the scales in your favor. I can help you take him out.”

“Now that’s interesting.” he said with a satisfied smirk, nodding. “Sounds promising.”

He looked at Louise.

“Can she be trusted?” he asked.

“She’d walk into fire for you.” Louise said impassively and Charlie smiled, looking at Penguin tenderly. “She can be trusted. Plus… You do need allies.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Penguin said, winking at Charlie. “Unexpected, but… Definitely a good one.”

“For both sides.” Charlie added, brushing her hair away from her face and Cobblepot snickered.

“Oh, yes.” he said quietly. “Yes indeed.”

“Come on.” Louise said, gently pulling her towards the exit. “Penguin, we’ll be in touch. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“You do that.” he said, not taking his eyes off Charlie, who - impulsively - blew him a kiss.

(He played along, pretending to catch it.)

“Well, that didn’t go terribly.” Charlie breathed out as soon as they were outside. “Or did it?”

“It went pretty damn well. He seems to like you. Or at least be into you.”

“Good.” Charlie said, thinking about the way he looked at her. “Or do you think he’s sensing a trap?”

“Nah, it’s genuine. Oswald’s a crap actor. He can’t keep a facade up for more than few minutes. That’s partially why he’s wearing that dumb mask.”

“Alright, I believe you. What now?”

“We’ll be in touch, I’ll let you know if he reaches out, or if he needs something… And maybe try to put some pressure on Avesta. You’re going to need something on the Joker soon. Oh, and one more thing. Be careful for the next few days, he’ll probably have his people follow you to make sure you’re legit. Act normal. Ignore them.”

“No, it’s probably a test.” Charlie muttered, checking the time on her phone. “I shouldn’t just ignore his men following me. I shouldn’t act like I’m dumb. Naive, yes - but I’m clever enough to find out his real identity.”

“God, I forgot the Agency tends to overcomplicate everything.” Louise sighed, waving her hand. “Fine, ask his men out for brunch if you want to, just be careful.”

Charlie got back to her hotel, let Flagg know how did the meeting go and that she’s in one piece - and then she contacted Avesta, who picked up after a long while.

“Finally!” Charlie said, sitting down on her bed. “I’ve been worried, Iman!”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy!” Iman said apologetically. “Getting used to the new life and so on. How are you doing?”

“Well, I’m back from my first meeting with the Penguin.” Charlie said and Iman gasped.

“Already?! That was fast!”

“Yeah, time’s on my side. But speaking of time… Did you find anything?”

“Except for the fact Joker apparently preys on social outcasts? Not really, no.” Avesta said with a sigh. “No sign of him for now, but then again… It’s been only a week. Patience is the key, and if that fails… There’s always good old copycat game. Surely that’ll get his attention.”

“Yeah, and will most likely lead to your death.” Charlie scoffed. “Save this as the last resort. I think I can manage for now. It’s not like I promised him blueprints of clown’s hideout.”

“...please tell me you didn’t actually promise him that.”

“...of course I didn’t. That’d be stupid, and I’m a very smart agent.”

*** The next few days were pretty uneventful. In her spare time, Louise was helping Charlie keep her cover up; which wasn’t particularly hard, because Charlie did come from a rich family. All Louise had to do was to introduce her to proper people - such as those Penguin had a vendetta against. Know your enemies, and such.

And frankly - in two of those cases… She understood. She knew his backstory; and she understood. But sins of the father are not sins of the child, and Bruce Wayne wasn’t to blame for what his father did; but the resentment, the anger - it was understandable. Not fully justified and definitely misplaced - but understandable.

And Bruce seemed to be blissfully unaware of what became of his childhood friend. Maybe for the better. There was no point in opening old wounds in hopes of finding something useful; Charlie already had nearly everything she needed. So all she did was smile and engage in a polite conversation and nod and giggle and hide her actual intelligence behind a shallow mask. It worked fine - no one took her seriously and no one cared about what’s under the surface, assuming there’s simply nothing there.

And during those few days - Penguin’s men were following her. Or rather: a man, the Skrillex-looking one, Tennyson. He’s been discreet, and keeping his distance - but he was there, following her on the street, from store to store. Because of this tail, she decided to not risk visiting the field office; there was simply too much at stake. Instead she decided to confront Tennyson, and convince him to back off.

It happened in a coffee shop one afternoon; he was sitting few tables away from her, pretending to be minding his own business - but she could feel his eyes on her, following her every movement. So eventually she picked up her coffee, walked up to his table, set it down and sat down, staring at him. Poor Tennyson looked as if he’s about to get a heart attack; but he didn’t make a scene. Instead he only cleared his throat.

“Hello, Tennyson.” Charlie said lightly, stirring her coffee. “You’ve been following me for a few days now. Found something interesting?”

“I’m not spying on you.” he muttered, looking down. “Boss says he trusts you, because… His friend does. And she knows people. So it’s not a matter of trust.”

“Well, then why are you following me?” she asked, resting her chin against the back of her hand. “I should mention… I’m not interested in you. I’m only interested in your boss.”

(It was a bit startling, how easily this came out of her mouth.)

“What? No!” Tennyson protested. “I’m not a creep, miss. I’m following you, because boss asked me to.”

“Really?” Charlie asked, raising her eyebrows. “Shocking. Why did he do it?”

“Because you’re new to Gotham and he doesn’t want a potentially valuable ally to get in an accident.” Tennyson muttered and Charlie gasped quietly, still in the role.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of him.” she said with a blush. “But I don’t need it! I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

(She was good with martial arts, very good with knives and improvised weaponry and decent with firearms.)

“But boss said-”

“Tell your boss…” she interrupted him. “That if he’s so concerned about my well-being… We can sit down and talk. Privately. I’m sure we’ll reach an… Agreement.”

“But-”

“No buts, Tennyson.” she interrupted him again. “Now I want you to disappear and tell that handsome devil exactly what I told you. Word for word.”

“Even that part where you called him a handsome devil and told me you’re only interested in him?”

“Especially those parts. Now scoot.”

“...aight.” he sighed, finished his tea and got up. “Sorry for the trouble, miss.”

He nodded in her direction and left, fishing out his phone on his way out, most likely to call the Penguin.

Few minutes later her phone rang; it was Louise.

“What the hell, Charlie?” she asked as soon as Charlie picked up. “What the hell?”

“I have no idea what are you referring to.”

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing the whole thirsting after the furry ploy?”

“Well, it’s too late to back out now.” Charlie sighed, thinking about Cobblepot’s handsome face. “Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Worst case scenario… He’ll fall in love with you.” Louise said firmly and Charlie, who was just taking a sip of her drink, briefly choked.

“Excuse me?!” she said after a muffled coughing fit. “Say that again?”

“He’s clingy. Has emotional issues. Don’t show him too much affection, or else he’ll fall in love with you.”

“But that’d be good, right?” Charlie asked, unsure of what to make of this situation. “With love comes trust. And that’s what I’m after. His trust. So I can get him.”

“He’s clingy.” Louise repeated. “He won’t leave you alone. And once he gets like that… It’s game over for us. Alternatively, you’ll shatter his heart into a million pieces and he’ll be of no use to the Agency. He’s like that.”

“Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall in love with me.” Charlie said with a sigh. “It should be easy. I’ll keep it… Weird. And physical. I’ll make it weird for him to fall in love with me. Does it make sense?”

“Not really, but you do you. Just don’t screw this up. Or else Waller will make a purse out of your skin.”

“...she wouldn’t do that. Would she?”

“...oh, honey.”

*** Penguin reached out to her one week later. As far as she was aware, no one was following her anymore, but she avoided the Agency’s hideout just in case; maybe his men got craftier, stealthier. And it’d be suspicious as hell for them to see her enter the warehouse; or even worse - someone would follow her inside.

No, she couldn’t afford that; so she stayed away, only contacting Flagg through daily phonecalls. On the plus side, it seemed like Iman is finally making some progress; not much - but progress nevertheless.

“I know he has people around the campus. I just need to make contact.”

“Do you have any idea who might it be?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few candidates. Did Penguin ask about Joker’s plans?”

“We haven’t spoke since we first met, actually. So you’re good. He did issue me a secret bodyguard though… Or so the dude says.”

“Oh my god, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope! All truth. The Penguin wanted me to be safe in Gotham, so he sent a man to look after me. Or he wanted to spy on me and Tennyson made it up in heat of the moment.”

“Wait, Tennyson? Archibald Tennyson?”

“Uh, maybe? He never gave me his first name. He looks perpetually disgusted and has the worst haircut.”

“Yeah, that’s Archibald! Charlie, Penguin sent his right hand man to tail you.”

“...huh.” she muttered, feeling uneasy; suddenly she heard a knock at the door. “Hold on, someone’s at the door. Coming!”

She left her phone on her coffee table and walked up to the door; but when she opened it there was no one outside, only a white rose with a note attached was on the floor.

“...oh my.” she muttered, picking the flower up and locking the door.

“Speak of the devil.” she said, picking the phone back up. “Someone just left me a rose and a note.”

“Oooh, classy!” Iman giggled. “What color? Rose, I mean.”

“Uhh… White.”

“Oooh, the color of a new beginning. And the note? What does it say? Is it handwritten? Perfumed?”

“Whoah, Iman!” Charlie said playfully, opening the note; it was both handwritten and perfumed. Cobblepot’s cursive handwriting matched the smell of cologne in a strange, wholesome way. “...yes and yes.”

“Damn, girl, of course you got the gentlemanly one!” Iman sighed as Charlie was reading the note. “Well? What does it say?”

“It seems like Penguin wants to meet… Tomorrow. He gave me a place and time… And wants me to dress up nicely.”

“Do you think he’s going to ask about the Joker?”

“If he does that… I’ll distract him.” Charlie decided. “I’ll keep his mind off the Joker and off anything and everything.”

“Really? You’re going to blow him just to buy me more time?” Iman asked with disbelief and Charlie laughed in response.

“That’s not the way I’d put, but yeah. I’m willing to do that if it helps the case. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Alright then! You blow your furry and I’ll pressure my weirdos. Nothing can go wrong!”

Later that evening, Charlie decided to try and prepare herself for the inevitable - physical intimacy with the Penguin. It was obvious it’s going to happen sooner or later; she saw the way he looked at her and the short note spoke volumes. Sure, the rose wasn’t red, but maybe he simply didn’t want to be too cliche.

It wasn’t a terrible thought, having sex with him; hell, if it wasn’t for him being a criminal and her target - she’d probably enjoy the thought. He was handsome, and the list of things he was into was oddly compatible with her own; he was also dangerous and charismatic, adding this pleasant thrill to the mix. But what was going to happen wouldn’t be genuine; he was her target and she couldn’t feel sympathy for him.

*** He felt alive.

The girl Louise brought to him - his fan, as his attorney friend claimed - stared at him lovingly with those pretty, blue eyes he could get lost in and handed him his mother’s engagement ring, in exchange only asking for a chance to see his face. She seemed and sounded so genuine; and he’d know if she was lying. He had a way with people - after years of being a criminal he learned to read them like open books. And she was genuine in her admiration, and the way she looked at his scar and her compliments and what felt like flirting. Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t tell; he was too busy staring at her and the way her red locks brushed her cheeks and the way her black satin choker accentuated her neck.

She was beautiful; and when she offered her support - he couldn’t been happier. Sure, his financial situation was actually pretty good with all the bank-robbing and petty thievery he had done over the years - but this girl, this beautiful, young woman… Said she can get him some of the Joker’s plans. And most importantly - there was not a hint of doubt, not a single false note in her voice.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Some time after Louise and her friend - Charlie, her name was Charlie - left his hideout he called his friend on the force, detective Bullock - not quite a dirty cop, but also not quite a good guy. Bullock was a loyal - if slightly unhappy - helper; and as a detective he had an unlimited access to civilian files.

“What’s up?” he asked after picking up; he was talking with his mouth full. “An emergency?”

“I need you to run a background check on someone.” he said, trying to sound casual. “A new associate.”

“...alright.” Bullock said carefully. “Who is that?”

In the background, Oswald could hear Bullock’s fellow detective ask who is he talking to.

“I thought I have a lead in the Miller case.” the detective lied smoothly. “But it’s nothing.”

“So can you do this for me? Her name’s Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen. She’s a friend of Louise.”

“Look, I gotta go.” Bullock said quietly. “I’ll contact you.”

And he did - few hours later.

“Alright, here’s what I’ve got.” he said without a greeting. “First of all… Nice. She’s a beaut.”

“Yes Bullock, I do realize. Allow me to remind you you’re taken… And if you break Fish’s heart - I’ll break you.”

“...I just said she’s pretty, you dumbass, not that I want to marry her. Anyway. No criminal records, the only child, spoiled rotten. Master’s degree in English literature. Registered Democrat - and thank god - single, her pop’s doing God knows what, her mother’s a surgeon. She stays at the Peak.”

“Single.” Oswald repeated and Bullock sighed.

“Well, she might be engaged, you know. But she sure as hell isn’t married. Or divorced. Or widowed. Or in separation. Or-”

“I get it!” Oswald interrupted him. “No criminal record? Are you sure?”

“I checked twice, just to be sure. Clear as day. She’s either a good girl… Or nothing ever went into her records. Know what I’m saying?”

“I’m going to ask her about it. Anything about her strikes you as… Odd?”

“Except for the fact she’s on your side? Not at all.” Bullock replied after a brief silence. “And, after some consideration… Even this isn’t so weird. Rich kids always end up mixed up in some shit. Just don’t be disappointed if she changes her mind and decides to leave.”

“Oh, but she won’t.” he said, feeling very confident. “She won’t. Thanks, Harv.”

Next he called his right hand man - Archie, the most competent and loyal of them all.

Also the most unhappy one.

“It’s past midnight, boss.” he heard Archie’s tired voice, muffled groan of his fiancee in the background.

“Doesn’t matter.” Oswald said dismissively. “What does matter, however, is the fact I have a task for you. A very important one. You listening?”

“Yeah.” Archie yawned.

“Good. I need you to tail someone for me - but rather than spy on them, I want you to make sure this blasted city doesn’t turn her into mince.”

“Soo… To put it in normal people language… You want me to be someone’s bodyguard.”

“...yeah. I guess you could call it that. I want you to tail Louise’s friend. You know. The one who showed up recently.” he said, trying to sound casual. “Got it?”

“Yup.” Archie yawned again. “I’ll start in a few hours. I need my sleep, boss. I’m human.”

“Sure you do. Oh, and don’t take Schulz with you. He doesn’t know shit about being subtle.”

“Says the man who wears a penguin mask.”

He spent the next few days working - heists to plan and one annoying clown to kill. Also, vengeance to be had. He was a busy man; and he threw himself into plans and schemes to not think about how soft Charlie’s skin was when he kissed her hand.

(And their eyes locked and he felt a shiver run down his spine.)

Archie called him a few days later; judging by the sounds, he was in the middle of a street.

“For your own good I hope everything’s fine.” Oswald said casually, walking away from a table covered in blueprints.

“Yes and no.” Archie said hesitantly. “She told me to fuck off.”

“Oh.” Oswald said, slightly taken aback. “So you were spotted. That’s bad, Archie. Really fucking bad.”

“That’s the bad news. I also have two portions of good news, if you’re interested.”

“Good news is all I care about these days. Well, that and a number of other things. Shoot.”

“She’s alive, she’s fine, she’s in one piece. That’s part A. Now, part B is… Much more personal and frankly, makes me feel like I’m in highschool again.”

“Cut to the chase, Archie.”

“She said she’s only interested in you. She also called you a handsome devil. Now, if I were you - which luckily isn’t how the things are - I’d… Do something about it.”

“Wait. Hold on.” he said, trying to collect his thoughts. “Did she really say that?”

“Word for word, boss. Word for word.”

“Oh, that’s incredible!” he said, feeling alive. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed off at you for letting her notice you and I’m probably going to yell at you once I see you, but this is some truly good news. What should I do?”

“Are you asking me for dating advice, boss?”

“Well, you’re engaged. I dare to say… You might be slightly better at this stuff than I am.”

“I say… Go for it.” Tennyson said carefully. “You could use a distraction. Shit, boss, do we really have to do this? I don’t want to be responsible for mess in your personal life as well.”

“And there goes your loyalty.” Oswald snickered, turning on the computer. “But I’ll take your advice.”

He got to work; he had some planning to do. A normal dinner at a normal restaurant was out of question for obvious reasons; but luckily the owner of Lafontaine’s owed him a favor, the favor being the fact he kept Vicki Vale from publishing all the dirt she gathered on him. He decided the owner of one of the most prestigious restaurants in Gotham, favored by socialites, politicians and local celebrities might be useful, so he kept everything Vale got on the guy; and he was right. Monsieur Moreau was useful, in all his cowardice that kept him from going straight to the police.

“I need an unlimited access to your VIP room and for the back door to be clear. No staff, no customers. Also I’ll need your best chef on duty.”

“Bien entendu, monsieur Manchot. Celebrating something?”

“The less you know the better for you.” Oswald said dismissively. “And remember, Moreau, don’t fail me. You know what happens to people who make the mistake of underestimating me.”

“Unfortunately I do.” Moreau said raspily. “I will not fail you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Next he called Fish Mooney.

“What can I do for you, boy?” she asked, yawning. “Need dirt on Falcone?”

“No, I’m good. Actually I call to ask if you still have those lace masks you told me about. I’m going to need one… In a week.”

“Well, that can be arranged. What are you planning, boy? A masquerade?”

“Something along these lines.” he said, checking another thing off the list. “I’ll send one of my men to pick it up. Oh, Fish, one more thing. Can you recommend me a florist?”

“Oh my god, Oswald.” Fish said with amusement. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mayhaps, dearest Fish. Mayhaps.”

“Oh, this is simply adorable. Are you going to give them a pretty pebble?”

“Oh, piss off, Fish.” he said, opening his drawer filled with stolen jewelry. “Hilarious. But anyway. The florist.”

“Well, Pamela Isley does sell flowers as a coverup for her money laundering business. Also drugs. But mostly flowers. And those are exquisite.”

“Who is she laundering money for?”

“Not Falcone, if that’s what you’re worried about. Now, unless you need something else-”

“No, I’m good, I’m good. Thanks, Fish.”

Lastly - he called Louise.

“What did I tell you about calling me when I’m at work?!” she hissed. “What do you want?”

“I’m going to ask your friend out.” he announced. “You know. Charlie.”

“...are you serious right now? You’ve met her exactly once.”

“Yes, and I want to get to know her… A little better. You know. To celebrate the beginning of a beautiful partnership. What wine does she like?”

“My god, you are a disaster.” she said, sounding almost impressed. “Also pink. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Well, you told me she can be trusted. Plus I know people. She has nothing to hide, she’s an open book… And in words of Archie - I could use a distraction. You know. Before I forget I’m human.”

“Not sure if one date’s enough to humanize you again, but alright.” Louise sighed. “Go for it. I’ll keep it a secret. Just… Don’t scare her away, alright? She’s… Alright, calling her a good person is bit of a stretch, considering she joined forces with you, but she’s still alright. Don’t be a dick to her.”

“Me? A dick? I would never!”

“...I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

*** “Twelve hours.” Flagg told her. “Are you sure this is a good plan, agent?”

“This is the only plan I have.” she said, smoothing out her dress and briefly glancing at the phone. “Not many things can go wrong.”

“Have you considered there’s a chance he realized you’re an agent? You might die tonight.”

“If he realized I’m an agent, I might die any other day as well. Plus there’s no way he knows. I’ve been ridiculously careful. I finished the training with top grades, after all.”

“Just be careful, agent. If this goes south I’ll take the fall. And I’d rather avoid that. Flagg out.”

Finally it was time for her to leave; one last time she looked at her reflection, checking if everything works. Nice pencil dress… Check. Flawless makeup… Check. Nice lingerie hidden under the black fabric… Check. She was ready to dazzle the hell out of Gotham’s most handsome villain.

(Why did she think that?)

She got there on time - and there was a dark alley behind Gotham’s best restaurant. She could see someone standing with their back against the wall; she could also see the outline of the familiar, penguin mask.

“Mister Penguin.” she said, approaching him slowly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You came!” he said; he sounded excited. “Well, obviously, it’d be shocking if you didn’t show up. No one stands the Penguin up… And lives.”

“Oh, but I’d never stand you up.” she said, looking at him as tenderly as she could. “So. What’s the occasion?”

“There’s no occasion, I simply wanted to talk. Spend some time with you. Get to know you.” he said with a shrug and a cold shiver ran down her spine. “The owner owes me a favor and we have the VIP section all to ourselves.”

“Oh!” she said, genuinely surprised. “That’s very kind of you, mister Penguin, I’m flattered.”

“Please.” he said softly, pulling something out of his pocket. “Call me Oswald. In private, that is. In front of others… Penguin. Just Penguin.”

“Alright… Oswald.” she said as gently as she could; she nodded in the direction of a thing he was holding. “What’s that?”

“A mask for you to wear. Just in case.”

He handed her the mask; an intricate mass of lace, just enough to cover and turn attention away from her features. She put it on, tying the ribbon and not taking her eyes off Penguin.

“Ah, now I won’t see your lovely face.” he said, offering her his arm; she took it with a nod and squeezed lightly, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

Back of the restaurant was almost completely empty; only one man was there, Baptiste Moreau himself, the owner of Lafontaine’s.

“Monsieur Manchot.” he said as soon as they walked in. “Everything is ready, just the way you wanted. Please, follow me.”

“You know, Baptiste…” Penguin said as they were following the nervous owner. “I’m going to be very, very disappointed if we reach the VIP room and it turns out to be a trap. And I’ll get you, Baptiste. Even from prison.”

His voice was calm and relaxed, as if he was making a casual conversation. Moreau looked at him over his shoulder.

“Monsieur Manchot, s’il vous plaît… Save your threats. I would not betray you.” he said, opening the door; the room was cozy, windows were hidden behind heavy, velvet curtains and there were candles on the table.

“Ooh, romantic.” she said, walking past Moreau who was holding the door open for them. “Ah. Merci.” she added with a flawless accent.

“Est-ce que vous êtes français?”

“Oh, non.” she said, shaking her head; Penguin - Oswald - snickered.

“The less you know about my companion the better for you, Baptiste. Besides… Your job here is done. Leave us. My man will take it from here.”

He sent Moreau away with a simple handwave; as soon as the door closed behind the owner he took his mask off and looked at Charlie with a weird spark in his eye.

“I’m afraid your mask has to stay on.” he said, pulling a chair out for her; she sat down, briefly glancing at his - slightly scarred, long-fingered - hands.

“Anything for you.” she said as he sat down at the opposite side of the table.

“Well, what I want… Is to talk.” he said calmly, looking at her attentively. “Get to know you.”

“Naturally.” she said breathlessly. “W-what do you want to know?”

“Everything you’re willing to share.” he said, still not taking his eyes off her. “How hungry are you?”

“I skipped lunch.” she said; she wasn’t lying.

“Then I will sacrifice myself for your sake and endure a six course meal, even though I hate fish. Do you like fish?” he asked, looking at her attentively and she knew this is a test.

“I do.” she said, deciding to not play the mindless card. “But if the smell repulses you-”

“It’s not the smell.” he interrupted her with a faint glimmer of relief in his eyes. “It’s the texture. Also, that was a test.” he added, confirming her suspicions. “You passed. You’re not a mindless drone, blinded by admiration. That’s good. I don’t surround myself with people like this, they’re useless.”

“Even as pawns?” she asked and he scoffed.

“I don’t deal in pawns. The key to success… Is personal touch. You know. Knowing everyone by the name, their favorite color, birthday…” he said, resting his chin atop the back of his hand. “It creates a bond. A sense of obligation.”

He had a point; but something was telling her that’s not the whole story.

(Something in his eyes.)

“That’s true.” she said, thinking of how impersonal the Agency sometimes felt. “And I will very gladly tell you about myself… As soon as I eat something. I’m starving.”

“Oh, right!” he remembered, picking up and handing her the menu. “First let’s take care of appetizers, or - as I call it - horse divorce.” he said, glancing at her; and she laughed and her laughter was genuine, not a part of her role.

“Oh, I need to make you laugh more.” he said. “A music to my ears.”

Against her own will, her cheeks turned red - but it was alright. It was in character.

Instead of a waiter, their food was served by one of Penguin’s men; for the sake of not revealing his identity to the kitchen staff, Sebastian also wore a mask, though it wasn’t as elegant as Charlie’s or as ostentatious as Oswald’s. He was quiet and nimble and watching him Charlie came to a conclusion he probably used to be a waiter.

And Oswald turned out to be a pleasant company; he was attentive, his jokes were funny and his gaze made her skin tingle. He only asked about her and her life, and none of them as much as mentioned the Joker or what her money could get him. He was charming, showered her in compliments - that actually sounded genuine, which was both nice to her character and a bit concerning to herself - and somehow knew exactly what kind of wine does she like.

If it wasn’t for him being a criminal mastermind and for her being a secret agent sent out to ruin his plans and capture him it’d actually feel like a wonderful first date; and under her skin Charlie felt just that, even though she was doing her best to fight it off. She kept telling herself her feelings can’t be genuine, her positive emotions must be fake, because it was all just a part of the job - but deep, deep inside she was beginning to feel first cracks in her shell. And what was underneath… Wasn’t too much different.

“Do you treat all new associates to a dinner?” she asked frivolously, trying to push those thoughts away. “Or am I special?”

“Something tells me you already know the answer.” he replied playfully. “Do you consider yourself special?”

“Yes.” she replied instantly. “There is only one me. Of course I’m special. Plus I’m attractive, smart and rich. That alone puts me on a cultural pedestal. Now, the question is…”

She paused for a moment and tilted her head.

“Am I special to you?” she finished. “Because you are to me, you know. I’ve spent months following breadcrumbs on the deep web to figure out who are you. I bribed people to get access to files and records.”

“”Do you consider yourself special to me, Charlie?” he asked, staring at her attentively; she didn’t look away, even though she wanted to.

“That was not a smart question to ask.” she said finally. “You barely know me. I’m the one who spent months studying you, not the other way round.”

“Maybe not months, but I did ask my friend to check few things for me.” he said calmly and her heart stopped; did he know? Was it a trap?

“What did you find out?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

“That I can’t for the life of me figure out why would someone like you be so interested in someone like me. Happy childhood, master’s degree, rich social life… And yet here you are, dining with a criminal.”

He smiled.

“I’m fishing for compliments right now.” he added with a wink and a wave of relief washed over her body. “Am I your forbidden fruit?”

(Yes, she realized. He was something she couldn’t have, not in this life. The thought of wanting to have him - it didn’t scare her. It was a calm realization. Perhaps she was overdoing her role a bit. Perhaps it would pass.)

“No.” she said instead. “But you are intriguing. Plus, everyone has some surprising interest. Something they deeply enjoy, despite the thing going against their image.”

“Well, would me being interested in you go against my image?”

“Maybe a bit.” she said and he raised his eyebrows. “The media does paint you as a heartless monster. But I… Know the truth.”

“Of course you do.” he said softly and she recalled Louise warning her against making him fall in love with her. “You spent quite some time studying me. Did I meet your expectations?”

“Yes.” she said, against her better judgement. “The spell isn’t broken.”

He smiled and opened his mouth to say something - but he never did, because they were interrupting by Sebastian, who suddenly barged into the room.

“This better be important!” Oswald said sharply, turning around to face him. “What is it?! Did Moreau call the cops?”

“No! It’s the Joker, he’s here!”

“Shit!” Oswald cussed, instantly getting up. “Get me Schulz. Now!”

Sebastian ran off and Penguin put his mask back on.

“We’ll have to finish some other day, love.” he said, fixing the last strap. “My man will get you to safety.”

“But I want to stay!” she protested, just the way a spoiled brat would. “I can help!”

Just as she predicted, he shook his head.

“No.” he said firmly. “I don’t want this clown to know about you. The less he knows, the better for both of us. Schulz!” he said as his man walked through the door. “That took you long enough. Get her out of here, and do it quickly.”

“Sure.” Schulz said shortly and put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder; but she shook it off and quickly walked up to Penguin.

“Be safe.” she whispered, planting a quick kiss on the exposed part of his jaw.

She then left with Schulz; together they slipped past Joker’s men and reached the relative safety of her hotel’s back courtyard.

“So, how did your date with the boss go?” Schulz asked as she took her mask off and stuffed it into her purse.

“How do you know it was a date?” she asked, and Schulz scoffed.

“Maybe because he told us it’s a date. I’m not sure what game you’re playing, but better don’t fuck with Penguin.”

“Or maybe I’m not playing games.” she said lightly. “Maybe I’m genuine.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Schulz slowly repeated after her, still staring her down. “Anyway. I should probably go back and help out. And you go bask in luxury.” he added mockingly. “How comes boss didn’t want you to stay? Maybe he doesn’t treat you seriously?”

“Oh, fuck off!” she finally snapped. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what’s your exact problem with me, but if I were you I’d think twice before speaking to me like that. Of course he’s serious. Who wouldn’t be?”

That was - more or less - the dumbest thing she have ever said, and before turning around and walking away Schulz smiled mockingly, leaving her with a burning feeling inside her chest.

What was going on with her? She couldn’t tell. Or: she could tell damn well, but didn’t want to admit it. She wasn’t born yesterday; she knew how a developing crush feels - and it felt just like this. To her, Penguin had been nothing but polite and charming - everything else she knew about him felt like a made-up story. That was the exact mindset the Agency tried to make her forget; but it felt like her training was for nothing. One evening spent with him, one dinner, a few candles and his smile, oh god his smile and his eyes, a few compliments - and she was doubting herself and her task. Her integrity was in danger, and god knows what would happen if it wasn’t for the Joker. What if he’d kiss her?

(She was almost sad she dug out her nicest undies for nothing - again. Well. Third time’s a charm.)

It was probably just her act getting to her, nothing more; but she couldn’t stop thinking about the advice Louise gave her; was he seriously developing feelings for her, or was it all just an elaborate act to make her feel special, to allow him to get whatever he wants from her without a hassle?

(Without a hassle. Hah. That whole dinner was a hassle.)

*** The night was going well - but then the fucking clown had to show up. How did he know Oswald’s going to be at Lafontaine’s was a mystery; but he showed up regardless - and ruined a perfectly nice… After short consideration, Oswald decided to call this thing by its name - date. It was a date.

Despite his - rather irrational, considering her behavior and the way she looked at him - fears she showed up; she was looking around uncertainly and for a short while he watched her from the shadows.

He actually felt nervous - in fact he was so nervous he accidentally implied he’d kill her if she didn’t show up. Those words were completely empty - he wouldn’t kill her. He’d probably drink himself to sleep and never try asking her out ever again, sure; but he wouldn’t kill her. He had a soft spot for her already - and it was getting worse by a minute, the more he listened to her and the more he looked at her. She laughed at his dumb, dumb joke and her laughter was genuine; her appreciation and affection were genuine and not based in fear and it left him dumbfounded. She wasn’t mindless in her sympathy; and he was about to gift her a lovely pair of benitoite earrings he stole one year earlier when they were interrupted by panicked Sebastian.

Oswald’s blood boiled in his veins, as he imagined all the things he’s going to do to that clown for interrupting a perfectly nice first date; he didn’t even get to kiss her, just like he wanted to - he wanted to hold her face in his hands and lightly brush her cheekbones with his thumbs and look into her blue, blue eyes-

He came to a conclusion he’s getting sappy and soft - all because a pretty girl was looking at him in that special, soft way. And the gentle brush of her lips on the exposed part of his jaw burned like fire; it was light and tender and felt almost like a promise and left him wanting more. The art of seduction in a nutshell; and as she was leaving with Schulz - one of his most trusted and effective men - she looked at him over her shoulder, same way she did when they first met and she blew him a kiss.

His mind was preoccupied with his developing crush when he got to the main part of the restaurant; but the clown was already gone, only leaving bleeding Sebastian behind.

“What do you mean he’s gone?!” he asked angrily. “What, did he pop out for five minutes?!”

“It looks like it.” Sebastian said, visibly embarrassed. “He fired a few bullets, told a few lame jokes… And left. Sorry, boss.”

“That motherfucker.” Oswald muttered, kneeling down next to wounded Sebastian. “Where did he hit you?”

“The arm.” young ex-waiter groaned. “I’ll live, but I definitely need patching up.”

“I’ll get Crane.” Oswald replied, reaching for his phone. “That maniac owes me one. He’ll patch you up.”

He paused for a moment and carefully picked up an object lying nearby; a joker card, stained with Sebastian’s blood. He turned it in his fingers and groaned; the other side contained a message, short and messily scribbled down.

Your turn. :)

“So he wants to play.” he muttered, staring at the card. “Alright. I’ll play. Schulz!”

Schulz - who barely got back - walked up to them quickly.

“Cops are on their way. We should go.”

“Help Sebastian get up and follow me.” Oswald said, already on his way to the back exit, calling Crane while walking. “Come on, you pretentious fuck, pick up.”

Moreau tried to stop him, but Oswald simply pushed him away. Crane finally picked up.

“What do you want, Penguin?”

“I’m on my way to your downtown clinic. You’re going to patch my man up.”

“What makes you think it’s going to happen?!”

“Jericho.” Oswald said softly, getting into the car and taking his mask off; the police didn’t know what he looks like. He could roam the streets freely.

“Fine.” Crane groaned, as Schulz and Sebastian got in as well; Sebastian was bleeding all over the backseat.

“Good boy.”

“Hey, boss.” Schulz said as Oswald put his phone away. “I’ve got a question.”

“Then ask.” Oswald said; they were driving past the Peak and Oswald glanced at the building.

“How do you know she’s not Joker’s mole?” Schulz asked and Oswald smiled coldly.

“I know people, Schulz.” he said calmly. “She’s not a mole. Now, as to what exactly is her role in all this… Is none of your business. Were you nice to her?”

“Perfectly nice.” Schulz said and Oswald knew he’s lying, that he probably acted like an asshole.

“One day your lies are going to be your undoing, Schulz.” he said. “If you made her cry I’m going to rip your head off.”

Schulz scoffed, but didn’t say anything; good. If he did, it wouldn’t end well for him.

After the whole ordeal with patching Sebastian up was done with Oswald found himself back in his hideout, in front of a giant map of Gotham. He stared at it, trying to figure out where exactly might be the clown hiding, like he did many times before; but to no avail. The Joker was elusive, and no one knew where to look for him; he had no allies for Oswald to interrogate, no weak spots to stab.

(Allies are important, but can be used as a weakness; Oswald learned that the hard way. That’s why he kept the identities of his associates a secret - for the most part. Now three of his men and two people outside of his pack knew about Charlie.)

His people didn’t know anything; he asked them multiple times. Nicely. And not so nicely. No one knew anything; but he was determined to get his answer. The Joker wanted to play - and Penguin was going to show him exactly what happens to people who mess with his plans, even as prosaic as a date.

He went outside, to get a breath of fresh air; at this time the docks were empty and the silence was only interrupted by ever present hum of the Gotham River. It was a chilly night, and the sky was cloudless and full of stars; the moon was in its first quarter.

Soon Oswald was joined by a man he was seeing in the docks from time to time - a harmless, middle-aged weirdo named Dick. He was probably homeless, holed up in one of many empty warehouses around; Oswald had to admit, it took some courage to use docks as a living spot. The place had bad reputation, and for a very good reason - it was the place where most of Gotham’s shady deals were taking place. Be in the wrong place at the wrong time - bang, you’re dead. But somehow, Dick managed to avoid this fate - and he was now standing silently next to Oswald, staring at the airport lights on the other side of the water.

“Nice night.” he said eventually and Oswald glanced at him. “Calm.”

“I’ve heard the Joker shot up a restaurant uptown.” Oswald said, his eyes focused on the lights again. “So that calm is fake.”

Dick spat on the ground.

“That clown.” he said, his voice filled with disgust. “I can’t wait for someone to put a bullet in his head.”

“Yeah.” Oswald said, his eyes still transfixed on the horizon. “Me too.”

“You sound tired.” Dick said, leaning against the rusty crash barrier in front of him and turning his head to look at Oswald. “Long day?”

“You could call it that.” Oswald sighed, taking the same position. “My date got interrupted.” he said without thinking; why was he suddenly opening to this weirdo?

“Then finish it another night.” Dick said, shrugging. “Things get interrupted all the time.”

“Yeah. I might do that. I think she’d like that.”

“Oh, so it’s a she? You got yourself a lady?”

“We’re… Working on it.” Oswald said carefully. “But I think we’re on the right track.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Dick said, taking a step back and stretching. “Give her my regards. Is she nice? Pretty?”

“Very.” he said, thinking of her laughter and eyes.

“That’s also good to hear.” Dick said, turning around and walking away, his back crooked, his hands in his pockets.

Oswald stayed there for a while, looking at the horizon, listening to the city and the river flowing through it.

*** Louise called her in the morning.

“I heard what happened at the restaurant. What was the Joker looking for?”

“No idea.” Charlie sighed. “I haven’t heard from Avesta in a while, and the clown decided to shoot up precisely the restaurant I was in… Don’t you think it’s suspicious?”

“The Agency doesn’t believe in coincidences. Do you think Avesta ratted you out?”

“No, she wouldn’t do that.” Charlie stated. “Maybe Joker has a mole? One of Penguin’s men told me everyone knows it’s a date.”

“Well, if the clown has a mole among Penguin’s men, then I’d be careful if I were you. Maybe he’ll come after you. To hurt his enemy.”

“Are you implying I became Oswald’s weak spot? After one date? An unfinished one?”

“Oswald, huh?” Louise asked after a brief pause. “Not Penguin?”

“...I’m in character.”

“No, you’re growing fond of him.” Louise stated firmly. “I can hear it. You like him, don’t you?”

“The key to lying is to at least partially believe in your own lie.” Charlie protested faintly. “It’s all an act, alright? He’s a criminal. A menace. And I’m going to bring him down.”

“But would you like him if he wasn’t a criminal?”

“It doesn’t matter! Ifs don’t matter. Only the reality does.”

“And the reality is you’re conflicted. You don’t want to like him - but you do. Did he make you laugh? Make you feel beautiful? Special?” Louise pursued relentlessly and Charlie groaned; right. She was an attorney for years now. She knew how to read people, the Agency taught her that - so reading a rookie agent, fresh out of training couldn’t be very hard. Maybe she heard doubt in her voice. Maybe she heard something in the way Charlie spoke Penguin’s name.

“Will you report me if I say yes?”

“No.” Louise replied. “Your feelings are your own business, as long as you don’t compromise the operation. The truth is… Every agent had been in this situation at least once. They got attached to their target. They saw their target in a different light, and not through their character’s eyes. They grew fond of the monsters they were chasing. It happens to the best of us. Everyone has to go through this heartbreak. It hardens us.”

“Does it mean I can vent to you?”

“Well, it’s better for you to vent than to internalize it. Internalized crushes tend to mutate into obsessions. Is your character obsessed with Penguin?”

“Obsessed? No, she’s not obsessed. Interested, infatuated, sympathetic… But not obsessed.”

“You just described your own feelings, didn’t you?” Louise asked softly. “Oh, Charlie.”

“Fine!” she groaned, rubbing her forehead. “I like him even though I shouldn’t, alright? He’s nice, he’s handsome, he’s so blatantly into me it’s kind of adorable… Taking him in will be super hard for me.”

“Or maybe you just want to bang him.” Louise suggested casually. “Have you considered that? That it’ll pass once you bone?”

“Ooh, that’s a good possibility. I’m going to hold onto it. It works for hormonal teenagers, why wouldn’t it work for a stressed out secret agent?”

“See? That’s the spirit. Oh, I gotta go. Work. Bye!”

Louise hung up before Charlie asked her how can she contact Penguin directly if she needs to. Not like she wanted to; for now she wanted to maybe stay away from him for a few days, collect herself, meditate, maybe go to a party or two. She tried to call Avesta, but her phone was off; again. It was getting worrisome - even Flagg hadn’t heard from her in a few days.

“She told me she has go off the grid for the sake of the chase for a few days, but you’re right, this is weird. Eh. Waller won’t be pleased.”

“This is getting complicated.” Charlie muttered, wondering what now. “Do you think Joker got her?”

“If that’s the case, we would know by now. He’s not exactly the subtle type. He’d send out a message… Just the way he did last night.”

“Yeah, but the question is if the message from last night was for us, or for Penguin. There’s no telling what’s going on in Joker’s head and what does he know.”

“Waller’s going to be pissed. Are you certain your cover isn’t blown?”

“Positive. Penguin doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

*** He paid her a surprise visit few days later, under the guise of needing her help with robbing a fundraiser; she seemed eager to help when the Joker showed up, so he assumed he can as well count on her assistance in this case - but the true reason behind his visit was way more prosaic. He simply wanted to see her; after all their date was cut short and he didn’t even get a chance to steal a kiss from her, like he originally planned.

(Oh, he had it all planned; a quick kiss, a wink, a courteous farewell - but all he got was a quick brush of her lips on his jawline and a burning feeling that didn’t go away.)

He dressed up nicely, to not arouse suspicion at the hotel she was staying at; he was well aware elegantly dressed men who seem to know what they’re trying to achieve have no problems with being let in into places they shouldn’t be. The oldest trick in the book - fake it till you make it.

He loved wandering through the streets of Gotham, well aware the passersby have no idea who he is; without his mask he was just a random, forgettable stranger, and not a menace looming over the city. It was refreshing.

On his way to the hotel, he stopped by one of Gotham’s many bakeries; his date got interrupted before they got to dessert.

(Yes, Oswald Cobblepot was buying sweets in a bakery on his way to visit a girl who was probably going to assist him with a heist. Life’s like that sometimes.)

He bought a bit of macarons, biscotti and meringues; and the money he paid with was stolen and the girl behind the counter was none the wiser.

“Going on a date, mister?” she asked, putting his sweets into a paper bag.

“Kind of.”

“Ah. Figures. The flower shop on the other side of the street is good, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, taking the change. “Getting paid for advertising it, Donna?”

“No, my brother’s working there.” she said with a smile and he laughed.

(He ended up buying a red rose there, just because he felt like it and because the color reminded him of her hair.)

As he was entering the hotel building, he faked a phone call. “Yeah, I’m here, I’ll be with you in a minute!” he said, nodding in the general direction of the receptionist, who paid no attention to him; after all he looked like he should be there. Bullock gave him her apartment number, so he didn’t have to ask any questions; few minutes later he was in front of her door. No sound was coming from behind it, and he suddenly realized this might not be a good idea; after all he didn’t even ask if she wants to see him. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she decided that after all he’s not from her.

He knocked hesitantly and she opened few moments later, wearing only a fluffy bathrobe and a pair of slippers.

“Oh my!” she said as he stared at her messy hair and flushed face. “Did we have a date?”

“We did, actually.” he said, admiring her freckles and wondering what was she doing before he showed up. “Few days ago.”

“...you know what I mean.”

“Of course I do. Can I come in?”

“Sure!” she said, letting him in and closing the door behind him. “I’m glad I didn’t have any plans for today. I’d hate to miss out on you.”

“Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?” he asked, looking at her rosy cheeks; her face turned even redder.

“I’m glad you’re in one piece.” she said, instead of answering his question. “Are you sure coming here was a good idea?”

“Relax, no one knows what I look like.” he said with a shrug. “Blessed anonymity. Also, this is for you.” he added, handing her the rose. “Red like your hair… And your face.” he added; her fingers were trembling slightly. “Are you… Alright?”

“I just need a moment, that’s all. What’s in the bag?”

“We were interrupted before the dessert, so… I’m fixing that.” he said, shaking the bag slightly. “Baked goods. It’s not crème brûlée or red velvet or pavlova, but… It’ll do.”

“Damn right it will, I have a sweet tooth.” she said with a smile, reaching for the bag; he instinctively lifted it up, holding it above her head.

“Not so fast.” he said with a smile as she scoffed and stood on tiptoes, trying to reach. “Go put that rose in a water.”

“It’ll wither anyway.” she said, still trying to reach the bag. “I have a much better idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hm.”

She suddenly grabbed him by his jacket and pulled down; rose petals brushed his cheek as she kissed him, and there was some strange desperation in that kiss, some odd longing; but her lips were so soft and her breath tasted like raspberry toothpaste and he kissed back instantly.

But that was merely a distraction; she quickly yanked the bag out of his hand and ran away, laughing like crazy and he followed, fixing his tie.

“Want to play dirty? Fine, I’ll play dirty.” he said calmly, looking into the living room; but she wasn’t there.

“Is that a threat?” he heard from the bedroom; she was talking with her mouth full judging by the sound of it.

“Oh, it depends. Do you want it to be a threat?”

“Maybe so!”

She was sitting on the bed, staring at him with her head tilted, and his precious bag was nowhere to be seen and he laughed, leaning against the doorway.

“I have to say, your methods of seduction are one of a kind.” he said finally.

“Well, are they working?”

“I’ll give you an answer in exchange for a biscotti.”

“And I’ll give you a biscotti in exchange for a kiss. How’s that?”

“Well.” he said. “Looks like I’ve got no choice.”

He walked up to her bed, barely believing in what’s going on, but not questioning it - the lickety split pace of this odd relationship felt right, somehow.

She grabbed the fabric of his shirt again and pulled him in and kissed him and her lips and breath tasted like hazelnut macarons and coconut biscotti.

“I lied.” she whispered into his lips. “I can’t give you a cookie. I forgot where did I put them.”

“Then let’s try to refresh your memory.” he said equally quiet, untying his tie and then the belt of her robe; she smiled and kissed him again and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding her hands across his skin, gently caressing his scars.

Her body was soft and sensitive and he wanted the moment to last forever, as he was kissing her breasts; unfortunately her phone rang as he was sliding his hand between her thighs, listening to quiet gasps and moans escaping her lips.

“I have to take this.” she muttered, reaching for her phone; in response he only groaned and moved his lips onto her neck.

“What?” Charlie said slowly, trying to focus on her call. “What?”

He pinched her nipple lightly and she bucked her hips, trying to be quiet. He snickered quietly and dragged his teeth across her neck, causing her breath to become shaky.

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” she said, running the fingers of her free hand through his hair. “Be careful.”

She put her phone away and he raised his head and looked down at her.

“My friend…” she said slowly, writhing slightly. “Take this hand away, alright? I can’t focus.”

“Fine.” he sighed theatrically, taking his hand away. “I’ll be good now.”

“For some reason I doubt it, mister Penguin.” she said with a smile, stroking his face with her fingertips. “But I’ve got some good news for you.”

“Well, I’m all ears.”

“My… Friend found out what place is the Joker using as his hub.” she said and Oswald froze in place, his eyes transfixed on her face.

*** He showed up at either the best or the worst moment possible; she had a well-deserved day off from everything and everyone, just her, the luxuries of her apartment and mindlessly switching between shows on Netflix. She had to charge her mental batteries a bit; she had to come to terms with her emotions.

She felt sympathy for Oswald Cobblepot; it was out of place and kind of scary and definitely disturbing. She only saw two options she held tightly onto; either she really wanted to have sex with him - which was a plausible option and she was not at all ashamed of wanting to get into this wanted criminal’s bed - or the spell would be broken once she saw him the way she knew him from the files - violent, ruthless, dark. After all, he had blood on his hands; but there was something in his eyes, something irresistible, something drawing her in.

And it was this something she was thinking about during her day off; against her better judgement she let her thoughts wander in the direction of the unavoidable, in the direction of light caresses and kisses and desperate want.

It took her a moment to realize someone’s at the door; someone had truly impeccable timing, knocking as she was indulging herself, hoping to relieve some of this weird tension and longing she was feeling. For a moment she considered ignoring the intruder and carrying on; but her common sense took the better of her and she wrapped herself in her bathing robe and opened the door, the memory of her own touch still fresh on her skin.

Was she hallucinating? No, he was really there, just outside the door, looking impeccable and holding a rose and a paper bag from the nearby bakery. One more time she wished they were both in a better, happier timeline where she wouldn’t have to lie; the way he looked at her made her feel as if they were made for each other, as if all puzzle pieces fell into place.

She kissed him that day, under the guise of stealing sweets from him; but the truth is, she was just really in the mood and wanted to feel his hands on her. She wanted the inevitable to happen as fast as possible; to be able to put those horrific feelings behind, to get lost in his touch only to find herself again.

His lips on her skin felt right, and so did her fingers on his scarred, warm skin; she wanted to wrap her arms around him and pull him closer, closer, closer. She wanted the moment to never end, and for Oswald to replace his nimble fingers with his silver tongue; and she was about to say it when her phone rang. It was Avesta - she had to take this one, no matter how badly she wanted Cobblepot to pull her panties down with his teeth.

(He wasn’t making anything easy for her, and her body responded to his every touch; she kept the moans inside of her, her thoughts drifting away again and again and again.)

But what Avesta had to say brought her back to Earth quickly and effectively - her fellow agent managed to find one of Joker’s safe spots in Gotham, an East End club named - quite ironically - Carousel.

Duty called; so she told Oswald about the club, gently stroking his scruffy face, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingers. The feeling - sympathy, attraction, longing - didn’t go away, his kisses and gentle bites didn’t scare it away; she wanted that moment, that tiny vignette to last forever, just them and their warmth. She wanted the outside world to disappear, leaving only them and that weird, not entirely true thing between them.

But the outside world still existed and Oswald froze after hearing the news.

“Are you sure?” he asked finally.

“Dead sure.”

“Bloody hell.” he muttered, getting up. “I talked to the owner once. He swore on his mother’s grave he didn’t even see the Joker. I tried threats, I tried promises… That fucking liar. Wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out his mother isn’t even dead.”

“What now?” she asked, rolling onto her side and watching him put his shirt back on. “You’re leaving? What about me?” she asked mournfully and he laughed, reaching for his abandoned tie and stuffing it into his pocket.

“We’ll finish another time. Actually…”

He paused for a moment, looking at her; she anxiously brushed her hair away from her face.

“Come with me.” he said finally and she blinked a few times. “That’s right. Come on. Get dressed. We’re going to repay the clown in kind for interrupting our date.”

“Why the change of mind?” she said, not moving. “You didn’t want me to stay last time. Why do you want me to come?”

“Because I’m going to keep an eye on you.” he said, putting his jacket back on. “Also there’s a matter of you wanting to let out some steam. I would hate to see you explode.” he added with a grin and she laughed, getting off the bed.

“Alright, I’m game. I want some action.”

“Perfect.” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Get dressed, pick something nice.”

“All my clothes are nice.” she said, opening the closet. “Give me a minute.”

“Don’t bother with makeup.” he said as she disappeared in the bathroom. “Just brush your hair. We’ll be wearing masks anyway.”

“Masks?” she asked, putting on one of her favorite dresses; black, with a circle skirt, a Queen Ann neckline and a sewn-in bra. “Makes sense.”

She quickly brushed her hair and left the bathroom, walked up to Oswald and turned around.

“Zip it up.”

“I’d rather be doing this the other way ‘round, you know.” he said, zipping her dress up and she laughed. “Or was that too forward?”

“I’ve always dreamed of getting into a tempestuous affair with a criminal. Infatuation at first sight, surreptitious kisses, partners in crime, two souls feeling like they are one and the same… Living the dream.”

“Well put.” he said softly, as she was putting her shoes on; black, studded Louboutins. “Does it mean you’re really going to stick around?”

“I moved to Gotham specifically for a chance to meet you.” she said, picking the room key up from the nearby table. “And what I got… is surpassing my wildest hopes. Of course I’m going to stick around.”

(The last thing was almost painful to say.)

“That’s even better to hear. Come on. Time to cement this… Thing, whatever it might be.” he said and she nodded.

They took her car; Charlie was driving. Oswald called his right hand man and told him to get everyone to the hideout in the docks; he sounded serious.

“So what’s the plan?” Charlie asked as he turned his phone off.

“We’re going to gear up and then we’re going to wreck the Carousel.” Oswald said calmly. “The Joker wants to play, and I’m going to send him a message. Don’t fuck with Penguin.”

“And what if he retaliates?”

“Oh, but he will. We’ve been doing this for months - except this time I’m going to put an end to this. When the chance arises - and I know it will - I’m going to kill the Joker.”

“That sounds chilling.” she said with a smile. “Love it. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”

“Tell me about my mole among Joker’s men. “Oswald said suddenly. “Who are they? Why do they want to help me?”

“They don’t want to help you, they want to help me.” she corrected him; a cold shiver ran down her spine. “We’re good friends, we go way back… And they owe me one. So they decided to repay the favor by helping me get into your good graces. You know. Like friends do.”

Oswald laughed.

“Oh yes, this is a true meaning of friendship - repaying a debt by helping you steal the heart of Gotham’s menace.”

“So I stole your heart, huh?” she asked, her heart beating unsurprisingly fast; Louise’s words ringed in her ears. “Jackpot.”

“Remind me to thank Louise for introducing us. Gotham’s very own Cupid.”

Penguin’s men were waiting for them in the warehouse; Tennyson did manage to get every one of them, even Sebastian whose arm was healing well.

“What is she doing here?” Schulz asked as soon as they entered. “Does she think it’s a game?”

“She’s under my care, Schulz.” Oswald said calmly, pulling out blueprints of the Carousel building; thanks to Louise’s friends at mayor’s office he had copies of blueprints of most - if not all - buildings in Gotham. “Also her friend’s our informant. So lay off her and do your job.”

“I can take care of myself.” she added, as insolently as she only could. “I practiced self defense for years.”

“Ever played baseball?” Oswald asked, handing her a bat, wrapped in barbed wire.

“No, but I know how to swing a bat.”

“See?” Oswald said to Schulz. “Relax, Schulz, have some faith in my decisions. It’s just a surprise visit anyway, not a meticulously planned operation. Now, speaking of planning…”

The plan was as simple as it gets - they show up, they enter through the back door (secured with a chain, but it was nothing they couldn’t deal with), they kick the people out, they wreck the place, they leave. No bloodshed, if possible; just destruction.

“Alright. Take your masks and meet me in the back alley in thirty.”

“I don’t have a mask.” Charlie said hesitantly, to which Oswald nodded.

“I know, I remember. Try this on.” he said, handing her one; it was smaller than his and was obviously modeled after a seal’s head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his men take their masks; each resembled a different animal. There was an ox, a mongoose, an alligator; a wide array of animals - but only hers in any way matched his iconic penguin one.

“Let’s just adjust those…” he muttered, helping her with the straps. “Looks like it fits.”

“It does.” she said; her voice was muffled and slightly distorted. She took the mask off and looked it in the eye.

“They were being sold as a set.” Oswald said, shrugging slightly. “Ready?”

“I was born ready.”

***

It went almost flawlessly.

At that part of day - early afternoon - the club was almost empty; and the owner trembled in fear, begging Penguin for forgiveness and to not wreck his local; but in vain. Oswald was feeling vengeful and relentless that day; and at his sign the destruction had begun. Surprisingly, smashing furniture with a baseball bat turned out to be enjoyable; same case with flatscreens and music players and the bar.

“Enjoying yourself?” Oswald asked, as she was destroying a set of chairs and ripping posters to shreds at the balcony.

“Yeah!” she replied; the voice-altering device inside her mask hid her surprise. “What did the guy have to say?”

“Well, he claims the clown is no friend of his, but…”

He paused for a moment and shrugged.

“But he did lend his place to him, so I don’t believe a word he’s saying. Piggsy and Owl are now squeezing the truth out of him.”

“Torture?” she asked, trying to feel appalled or disgusted; but to no avail. She felt… Nothing. The fact Penguin was directly responsible for a man being tortured - didn’t make her feel anything.

(At least nothing negative; with a shiver she realized she’s kinda into it, the fact she’s involved with someone as cruel as him. He was terrible, and a monster - but his lips on her neck felt like a revelation, rather than a curse.)

“A friendly conversation.” he said carelessly. “You’re pretty handy with that bat, I’m almost afraid of you.”

“What can I say?” she said, smashing a glass table. “I like it rough.”

He laughed, walked up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“I’ll remember.” he promised her quietly.

And that’s when everything went to shit.

“Boss!”

Tennyson - wearing a mongoose mask - ran up to them.

“What?” Oswald asked impatiently.

“The Joker is here!”

“Shit!” Oswald cussed, pushing Charlie down. “Quick, get down before he sees you!”

She dropped onto her stomach, feeling… Not afraid - but alive. The adrenaline, the thrill, the Joker’s voice coming from downstairs - it was exciting.

“Get her out of here.” Oswald quietly said to Tennyson. “Her car’s parked nearby.”

“But what about you?!” Charlie protested; he only shook his head.

“I’ll manage.” he said, cocking his gun. “But your concern is touching. Now get your ass out of here, I still want to finish what we started earlier today.”

“Be safe.” she whispered and - slowly, carefully - got up and followed Tennyson.

They stayed out of sight and almost managed to sneak out; but then one of the Joker’s thugs noticed them.

It was a split second decision, and Charlie decided there is no other way; her barbed bat clashed against his head, killing him instantly. His brain tissue and blood splattered around and his corpse fell down with a hollow thud.

“Christ.” Tennyson muttered as she stood there, her hands shaking. “Remind me to add you to the list of people I don’t want to piss off. You’ll be number two, right after boss.”

“Thanks.” she said faintly, feeling like she’s about to throw up. “Come on. Let’s move, before more of them shows up.”

“Good idea.”

Behind she could hear gunshots, and her heart stopped.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“Who, boss? Of course he’ll be fine, he’s indestructible.”

“He better.” she muttered. “I only just met him. I don’t want this relationship to end through premature death.” “Relationship, huh?’ Tennyson said after a short pause. “So are you and boss-”

“That’s what I’m trying to accomplish, yeah.” she said against her better judgement; that was what she was supposed to avoid. Emotional attachment. She had no idea where this thing is going, but one thing was certain: it’s going to end badly “Alright, I think I’ll manage on my own. Thanks, Tennyson.”

“It’s Archie.”

He turned around to get back in the fight, but she stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell your boss to come to me.” she said quietly. “Tell him… I’ll be waiting.”

“Will do. Take care, Red.”

She hid the bloodied bat and her mask in a trunk of her car and drove back to the hotel. She considered calling Flagg to report her progress and to give him a list of names of Penguin’s men; but she didn’t. For a little longer she wanted to pretend this is all real, not an act. For a little while longer she wanted to pretend she’s a spoiled, rich kid playing with fire and spiraling down, and not an agent, trained specifically for this sort of thing.

Oswald came to her a few hours later, in evening hours; the doors to her apartment were unlocked and she was lying on the sofa, wondering if this truly is the direction her life should be taking. She could feel herself slipping; and the truth is, she never really cared about the Agency’s mission. It meant nothing to her.

Perhaps she simply put herself on the wrong side of the conflict. Perhaps she wasn’t slipping; perhaps she was simply coming to an unwelcome realization.

The sound of doors opening and closing brought her back to Earth and she sat up, looking in the direction of the entrance; Oswald was there, his hair a mess and his clothes stained with dried up blood - but he seemed unharmed.

And unhappy.

“Oh my god, you’re alright.” she said, and her relief was genuine. “I was so worried when I heard the gunshots-”

“They got Sebastian.” Oswald interrupted her. “He’s dead.”

She covered her mouth and looked at him in shock.

“I’m so, so sorry.” she said finally and he sighed. “But if it makes you feel any better… The Joker now has one thug less as well.”

“I know.” he said, walking up to the couch and slowly sitting down next to Charlie. “Tennyson told me. You killed him in one hit. I’m… Impressed.”

“i told you, I can take care of myself.” she said quietly. “Also I was scared and very, very tense.”

He laughed quietly and shook his head; impulsively she leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I am sorry about Sebastian.” she whispered; her lips were gently brushing his skin.

“It happens.” he said equally quietly. “At least he went out quickly. I’m more concerned about the fact that clown yet again… Knew where and when to find me.”

He looked at her and his eyes were dark; but after a moment he sighed and shook his head.

“I know you’re not the mole.” he said and her heart felt heavy. “I can’t explain it, I just… Know it. You’re not the mole.”

“Of course I’m not the mole.” she said softly, getting up from the couch; her shirt hung loosely on her, curving slightly on her small breasts. “Stay here. I’ll… Make you some tea. And then maybe take a shower.”

But he didn’t stay on couch; instead he followed her quietly, just as she hoped he would.

“I don’t want any damn tea.” he said finally, standing right behind her. “I want to finish what we started, you tease.”

“Well.” she said quietly, turning around to face him and dried up blood on his clothes and dark echoes of violence in his eyes and death in his smile. “What are you waiting for?��

He pushed her against the wall and she gasped in surprise; he held her hands and kissed her deeply, possessively, desperately. In his breath she could taste cigarette smoke and whiskey; but he wasn’t drunk, he was perfectly sober.

He broke the kiss and she opened her eyes; her cheeks were flushed and she could feel the warmth and tension building up in her body again.

“Kiss me again.” she whispered; but he only bit her bottom lip.

“What were you doing when I first showed up today?” he asked, and she scoffed.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m wondering how nice am I going to be. What is it gonna be, Charlie?” he said quietly.

“Don’t be nice.” she said breathlessly, her eyes fixed on his narrow lips. “I want it to hurt.”

(She felt like maybe a little bit of pain will bring her back.)

“Do you want me to hurt you?” he asked quietly; he moved one of his hands onto her neck and squeezed lightly.

“Yes.” she panted out.

(From him even a stab in the back would feel like a blessing, and she wanted those bruises and bitemarks as badly as a saint craves holy pain.)

“Alright.”

They did hurt each other that night, many times; with scratches and bruises and bitemarks and hair-pulling. His touch was merciless and relentless and his kisses burned her skin like fire and she wanted more, more, more. He bruised her neck and hips and thighs and she drew his blood with her fingernails; he marked her skin with his teeth and she pulled his hair. He made her scream and muffled the sounds with a kiss and laughter came out of his throat as she was dragging her sharp nails across his already scarred back.

“Was that sufficient?” he asked later, as they were lying in bed and her thoughts were hazy and blurry. “Or did you want me to hurt you more?”

“No.” she muttered in response, her body sore, but relaxed. “How’s your back?”

“I’ll live. Now, treat your bruises with respect.” he said jokingly. “Not every of my fans can say I choked them.”

“I’ll wear them with pride.” she promised him, closing her eyes for a moment. “Oswald…”

“Yes?”

“My heart belongs to you.” she said very quietly, her common sense practically begging her to stop. “Do you realize that?”

“Yes.” he replied. “And I want you to know… You’ve earned a spot in my heart as well. I think there is something going on between us, Charlie. Even though we barely met.”

They fell in love, hard and fast; and Charlie tried to feel bad about suddenly developing feelings for one of Gotham’s most notorious criminals - but to no avail. She felt scared about what the future will bring for the two of them and how the story will end - but she didn’t feel bad. The heart wants what it wants and love cannot be compelled; the inevitable consequences were horrifying to think about, but she decided to live in the moment.

(There was always a possibility of this whole thing being just a result of her getting too much into her role; maybe it’d pass once he left. Maybe it’d pass once she saw him spill blood. Maybe it’d pass if…)

***

He fell in love, plain and simple - he fell in love with a girl who brought him his mother’s ring and who burned his skin with a kiss and who smashed glass tables with a baseball bat and who killed a man with no hesitation and in one, swift swing. He fell in love with a girl who looked at him with pure adoration as his fingers were wrapped around her throat; he fell in love with a girl who showed up out of nowhere - but it didn’t matter. He checked her reports, and she had a life before Gotham; she was an actual person and everything she told him about herself was proven to be true. She came to Gotham to finally meet her idol; and he was so, so glad she did. They were a match made in Heaven, two sides of the same coin. His heart belonged to her and his skin yearned for her touch.

His men and associates mostly took it relatively well - Fish and Louise seemed to be happy for him. Bullock was skeptical, and so was Schulz. Tennyson refused to give out his opinion; maybe for the better.

“I don’t like it, boss.” Schulz said, shaking his head. “At all. What if she’s the mole?”

“Nonsense, Schulz.” Oswald replied calmly, sharpening his knife. “She’s not the mole. I’d know. No one can be that good at acting.”

“Ellen Page pretending to be attracted to Michael Cera?”

“Compare me to Michael Cera one more time and I’ll cut your throat, Schulz. And that’s a promise.”

Schulz did have a point though - there was a mole among his men. Someone told the Joker he’s going to be at Lafontaine’s. Someone told him about the Carousel. Or maybe the Carousel was a trap? Maybe the clown intentionally fed Charlie’s friend this information knowing it’s going to make his way to him?

He shared those doubts with Charlie.

“That’s impossible.” she said; they were in her apartment on the couch and he was lying with his head on her lap. “She didn’t find out directly from the Joker, she did it all by herself.”

“Hm.” he muttered. “Well, then who is the mole?”

“I wish I knew.” she sighed. “Maybe some new blood?”

“I have to think of a way to flush them out.” he said absentmindedly. “Have you heard from your friend recently?”

“Actually I’m waiting for a call. She texted me. Apparently she has something big. She’s going up through the ranks, you know? She’s incredible.” Charlie said with pure admiration in her voice.

Her mysterious friend turned out to be useful; she had plenty of leaks for Penguin, nothing big enough to draw suspicions, but also significant enough to allow Penguin to slowly, methodically undermine Joker’s plans and alliances. Eventually - and he was sure of that - he’d be able to plan a surprise attack on the clown and end him once and for good.

But for now, he had his love life to take care of; he was glad he decided to put off revealing his identity as Oswald Cobblepot, the long-lost last heir to the long gone Cobblepot fortune. Sure, Charlie figured it out all by herself - but she was the only one resourceful enough. Money can open many mouths; and he was sure it cost her a lot, following the gossamer thread of leads he had left behind.

Keeping his identity a secret opened up a lot of opportunities - normal opportunities, like walks in the park. It felt weird, walking hand in hand with someone who’d later the same day be his assistant in robbing a fancy party. It was a quick, easy job - Charlie was a guest, a charming personality, a dazzling star of every gathering. She spent an hour or so chatting people up, taking mental notes of who’s present and whose necks are decorated with priceless diamonds; she then discreetly signaled her lover who - accompanied by his men - barged in, took the nearest guest hostage and threatened to shoot them unless the other guests part ways with their jewelry and cash.

It worked; Charlie was a very convincing hostage, trembling as he was pressing her arms to her sides, while putting a loaded gun to the side of her head.

“This is exciting.” she whispered to him, quietly enough only he could hear her. “You’re wearing the gloves I bought you. That’s nice.”

(She bought him a pair of expensive gloves, made of the finest, Italian leather.)

He didn’t say anything, instead gently nudging her with his gun, hoping she’ll understand what he means; she squirmed slightly and he tightened his grip.

He dragged his gun across the skin on her back that evening, and smiled under his mask, seeing a shiver run down her spine; before she handed him his prize - her hands shaking ostentatiously - he grabbed her chin with his gloved fingers and lift it up, forcing her to look into the empty eye of his mask.

All the terrified guests were behind her back and no one except for him could see her face; and she looked at him same way she did when they first met, same way when his fingers were around her throat after she asked him to hurt her.

“That’s what I like to see.” he said, looking her in the eye. “Good.”

(He adored the way she looked at him.)

He hoped it would be like this forever.

*** Filling our reports and talking about her progress was getting harder with each passing day; with each day she felt more like a traitor to Oswald, than to the Agency. She made a mistake, all those months ago; she picked the wrong side and the time to pay the price was slowly coming. She learned everything that was to learn about Oswald; his habits, hideouts, plans. She gained his trust - and her supervisor was insisting it’s time to put an end to this.

“But what about the Joker?” Charlie protested during a sparring session. “We still have to use Penguin in that one!”

“And we will do it once he’s in our custody and working on our terms.” Flagg replied. “This is taking way too long.”

“Yeah, well, getting his trust wasn’t easy. He’s… Secretive.”

“Sure he is, agent. Sure he is.”

She was given an ultimatum - two months. She had two months to wrap her operation up and arrest the Penguin, or Agency armed task force would swoop in and do it for her, stealing her thunder. It was least of her concerns, not getting the recognition; she found herself in a situation without exit and that was the only thing she could think about when he was wrapping his arms around her.

“Is something bothering you, love?”

“No.” she said, turning her head away. “Make it hurt. Please.”

“Oh, but I don’t want it to hurt tonight.” he muttered, brushing her temple with his lips. “I wanted tonight to be romantic…”

His words brought tears to her eyes, for some reason; it’s not like their rough, bruising sex worked in terms of bringing her back and making her look at him differently - if anything, it brought quite the opposite result. He was a thief and had no remorse about selling weapons to drug lords and would order his men to torture someone without giving it a second thought - but he would also kiss her bruises and make her laugh with his terrible jokes. He was bad - and she didn’t mind.

For some time, she tried to comfort herself by thinking that maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe he’ll agree to work with the Agency. Maybe he’ll forgive her. Maybe they’ll be an odd couple - the agent and the prisoner she brought in, love through the cage bars, sad little story of a predator and its prey. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

There was a lot of maybes in her thoughts, a lot of what-ifs - and she never got any confirmation or answers for most of them.

The beginning of an end came with a bank robbery.

It wouldn’t be the first time Penguin requested her assistance in a heist - but it was the first time she was supposed to lead the operation in his name, while he was busy in the other part of town. He worked out a plan with her, and made his men swear on their lives they’ll follow her lead; officially Penguin wasn’t playing favorites. Unofficially everyone knew who his favorite is - and no one had enough courage to argue with his decision. Not Schulz, who was very close to making Penguin lose his patience. Not Tennyson, who saw what she can do when in desperate situation.

At first, everything went smooth; she entered the bank with her bat and a drawn gun, Penguin’s men behind her, a grim horde. She shot at the ceiling to draw attention.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” she said as bank workers and clients were being taken care of. “Unfortunately Penguin couldn’t make it, so today I’m in charge. You can call me Pinniped.”

That whole thing - the robbery, the thrill, the mask - felt right. Like she was born to do it.

“Now… You know the rules.” she said calmly, walking in front of a terrified row of clerks. “Play nice… Or else.”

She smashed the nearby wooden table to illustrate her point; pieces of wood flew in all directions.

“Do we understand each other?”

“Cops are en route, we should move quickly.” Tennyson advised her quietly and she nodded.

“Fine. Everyone take as much as you can and we’re gone.”

“You heard her!” he said louder, walking away. “Come on, we don’t have a whole day!”

They got rich that afternoon, and disappeared without a trace; they had it mastered. Her presence was only needed so the city knew who’s behind this - she had to carry on Penguin’s name. It was pure showmanship - but she enjoyed it, much more than she wanted to admit.

She realized something’s way off during the escape. They were escaping in twos, and she ended up with Schulz; but she was fine with it, because she was sure Schulz reconsidered and is at least going to stop being an asshole.

(Why was she so concerned with what this random criminal thinks of her? She had no idea. Sometimes she pushed the thoughts of her job so far away she forgot her current life was supposed to be a mere act.)

But something was wrong - and wherever Schulz was taking her definitely wasn’t one of Penguin’s hideouts.

“What the fuck, Schulz?” she asked sharply. “Where are we going?”

“There was a small change of plans, princess.” he said mockingly. “I’m not taking you to the Penguin.”

“He’s going to rip your head off.” she said, reaching for her gun; but Schulz only snickered.

“You’re out of bullets. I counted. Now stop being a brat and maybe you’ll live. Sure, you’ll have to watch the Joker take care of Penguin, but it’s still better than being dead, right?”

“No.” she said, feeling cold sweat run down her spine. “No. Oh my god, no. Don’t do it.”

“Too late. Everything’s already in motion.” Schulz said with a shrug.

The situation looked bad. She considered jumping out of the driving car; but there was no way she’d survive this. She could try to fight - but that would end up in a car crash. She had no weapons, no equipment; she was on her own - and scared. There was no way out - all she could hope for was Flagg taking initiative after she fails to report back. She also hoped for Oswald to magically show up and save the day - but he’s been searching for the Joker’s hideout for months with no success.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked quietly, wondering why is he allowing her to see where are they going; but she quickly realized why. She wasn’t going to leave anyway.

“Me? Nothing.” Schulz said with a shrug. “But the Joker wants to chat with you. And believe me - he can be very convincing.”

“Well, what does he want from me?”

“Penguin’s plans, of course. And if I were you… I’d give them all the answers he wants.”

When she wasn’t looking he stabbed her in the neck with a needle; she gasped in pain and after few minutes everything went black.

*** He fell in love and it broke his heart, shattered it to pieces and made him feel like he’s drowning, suffocating, dying. It made him feel like a kid all over again; betrayed, angry, bitter. Heartbreak tasted like ash, like blood, like gunpowder; heartbreak tasted like hazelnut macarons and coconut biscotti. Heartbreak was knowing that all the adoration in her eyes and kisses… Was fake.

It began with a bank robbery; he had a deal to strike in another part of town, so he decided to let Charlie run things for a while. It’s not like there was a lot to fuck up; she knew to not kill civilians, could be intimidating if she only wanted to, knew how to make an unforgettable entrance. The heist was in good hands; his reputation was in good hands.

He realized something went sideways when he met up with his crew in one of his hideouts. Everyone made it in one piece; everyone - except for Charlie and Schulz.

“Well this is fucking fantastic.” he said, trying to remain calm. “What happened? Did the cops catch up to them?”

“We’d hear about it if that was the case.”

“Then where are they?!” he snapped. “Alright. Alright. I’m going to call my friend on the force. Maybe he knows something. Anything.”

But Bullock haven’t heard about anything; no arrests had been made in regards to the heist. GCPD had no suspects regarding the identity of Penguin’s masked representative, there was nothing.

“Hold up.” Bullock said as Oswald was about to smash his phone against the wall. “Didn’t you put tracking devices in your getaway cars?”

The detective was right - Oswald did do it, months earlier - he then forgot about it, because he never had any need for those and had a lot of his head. The computer connected to the trackers was in his main hideout in the docks; it took him about an hour to get there.

“They’re… By the harbor?” he said, surprised. “And not moving. Also she’s not picking up her phone. Neither is he.”

“Maybe they have an affair.” one of his men - Graham - suggested, to which Oswald promptly punched him in the celiac plexus.

“I’m going there.” he decided calmly, putting his gloves on. “I’ve got a bad, bad feeling about this. Take your best toys, boys.”

His bad feelings were confirmed to be true; the place - an abandoned building - was surrounded by Joker’s men. Charlie and Schulz were nowhere to be seen - until he got to the room on the top floor. He could hear voices coming from behind the closed door; Joker’s joyful trill, Schulz’s grumbling… And Charlie’s breathy, terrified pleads. She was begging the clown to not kill him; but the clown was ignoring her, instead negotiating payment with Schulz.

He cocked his gun and cursed quietly; he only had one bullet left. He could wait for his men to catch up; but he felt like the moment he walks away the clown will slip through his fingers, like many times before.

“You fucking traitor!” Oswald screamed, bursting into the room; two men froze in place, taken by surprise.

He made a split-second decision; traitorous Schulz dropped onto the ground. There was no doubt he was the mole; and Oswald didn’t care about his excuses or explanations.

Charlie - drugged out of her mind - was tied up on the chair; and the clown raised his hands, giving Oswald a sardonic smile.

“My good friend!” he said, staring at him. “Look, pretty thing, your white knight is here!”

“I’m going to kill you.” Oswald said calmly, pointing his gun at the Joker. “For ruining my plans and for planting a mole among my men and for what you did to her.”

“Last one on your list of priorities!” the Joker giggled. “It’s a good thing she’s so high her brain’s basically in another dimension. But… You can’t kill me now.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re out of ammo.” the Joker said calmly, slowly lowering his hands and sitting more comfortably. “We still have a few more minutes. And it’s good! Because, my good friend… There’s something you should know about.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Oswald said instead. “It’s over, clown. Your men are down and I have you at my mercy. You’re dead. Face the facts.”

“Suit yourself.” the Joker said, slowly showing him a pocket dictaphone. “But this little bird did sing me a remarkably pretty song… And trust me, you’re going to love it.”

He reached out to touch Charlie’s face; and before Oswald could react - she headbutted him with all her might.

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, struggling desperately in her bonds. “Don’t touch me!”

“Boss!” Tennyson panted out, bursting into the room. “There you are!”

“Give me your gun, Archie.” Oswald said calmly, not taking his eyes off the Joker, who was groaning in pain. “I need one shot.”

“Penguin, wait!” the Joker pleased, as Oswald cocked Tennyson’s loaded gun and slowly walked up to him. “We can talk, just don’t-”

Least memorable last words in history. Joker’s head practically exploded as Oswald shot him in the face, once and for all putting an end to their war; he then turned around to face Charlie, who - in the meantime - was being untied from the chair by Archie.

“I was so worried.” he said quietly, helping her get up; her legs were shaking and it looked like she’s going to pass out. “What did he do to you?”

“He drugged me…” she muttered, showing him a big, ugly bruise on her neck. “Truth serum… Big dose. Schulz’s the mole.” she said suddenly, gripping the fabric of his jacket. “Oswald. Schulz’s the mole.”

“Schulz is dead, Charlie. I killed him.”

“I must have missed that…” she muttered; she was shaking badly. Suddenly her legs gave up and she almost fell down; he caught her and picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I knew you’d come for me.” she whispered as he carried her down the stairs. “I knew it.”

“Shhhhh.” he said, laying her down on the backseat of his car. “Don’t talk. I’ll take you to a safe place, and I’m going to get someone who’ll fix you up.”

The Waterfront - belonging to Falcone - wasn’t exactly a safe spot; but it was nearby, and he trusted FIsh Mooney enough to know she won’t rat him out to Gotham’s ugliest mafioso.

Through threats he convinced Crane - a professional doctor, a brilliant chemist and a complete nutjob - to come over and help.

Fish lent them her office, where she had a comfortable futon; she seemed concerned, as Oswald marched in, carrying nearly unconscious Charlie.

“Oh my, what happened?!” she asked, following them and watching as he carefully laid his drugged up lover down.

“The Joker.” Oswald replied shortly. “Scarecrow will be here soon. He knows what to do to make her… Better.”

“Then she’s in good hands.” Fish said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll get you something to drink.”

“I’m not leaving her.” he said quietly, looking at Charlie’s flushed cheeks and seemingly unseeing eyes. “That bastard… I’m glad he’s dead.”

“She’ll be fine, boy. She’ll be fine.”

Crane managed to bring Charlie back to Earth, somehow; she was still weak and scared - but at least she wasn’t high anymore.

“Now the only thing I can recommend is some sleep.” Crane said, putting on his coat. “Some sleep, some vitamins, some water… What she was injected with isn’t addictive, so that’s not gonna be a problem. She should be good to go in two days tops.”

“Thanks, you weirdo.” Oswald said, looking at Crane; outside of his Scarecrow persona the disgraced psychiatrist seemed almost normal, almost pleasant. “I’m… Sorry I threatened to cut you to pieces and feed them to you. Heat of the moment.”

“Ah, but I understand. Love makes fools of us all.”

“Yeah.” Oswald replied quietly, watching him leave. “Yeah.”

“Can you take me back to the hotel?” Charlie asked, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I think… I need to rest in my own bed.”

“Of course. Charlie…”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and hiding his face in her hair.

She asked him to not leave her alone, and he happily obliged; he was dangerously close to losing her, after all.

She fell asleep eventually; curled up in bed and muttering, but at least she was alive and in one piece. Watching her and the shadows of her lashes on her cheeks, he absentmindedly played with something in his pocket; eventually he pulled it out, not recognizing the oblong, metallic item.

It was Joker’s recording device, and in its memory - everything Charlie told to the clown; for a while he stared at the device in silent, before moving to another room and - against his better judgement - pressing play.

He listened to the recording over and over again that night, but it didn’t make it any less painful.

Charlie - his Charlie, the girl who brought him his mother’s ring, the girl who looked at him with loving adoration and whose kisses were sweeter than honey and more tempting than sin - was an agent, sent out by the Agency to capture him; he knew it’s true. She said it while drugged with a truth serum. Her feelings were all an elaborate lie, a way of getting into his good graces; her love wasn’t real and he felt as if someone ripped his heart out.

He waited till morning to confront her; and he listened to her confession over and over again, until he had every word memorized, every shaky note, every change of tone. It burned itself into his brain, into his soul, into his heart.

“I know the truth, you lying viper.” he said quietly as she left the bedroom, her hair a mess and her body soft and warm. “I know who sent you.”

She turned pale.

“Oswald…” she said faintly, reaching out to touch his face; but he pushed her hands away. “Oswald, please…”

“Shut up.” he said; suddenly he felt very calm, almost dead. “I’m leaving now. You can drop by my hideout in the docks today to pick up your stuff. After that… I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Oswald…”

“No.” he said, walking to the door. “Don’t talk to me.”

“But I love you!”

She sounded desperate and almost sincere and he laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Oh, Charlie. You must think I’m really fucking stupid.”

He left, not giving her a chance to say anything else; he punched the corridor wall, enough times and hard enough to make his knuckles bleed.

*** The thing she so badly didn’t want to think about happened; Oswald found out. He didn’t go through her phone, he wasn’t digging in her laptop; he didn’t have to. He simply listened to what the Joker recorded - plain truth, spilling out of her lips like poison. He didn’t want to listen to her explanation; there’s no way he’d believe her anyway. Her love confessions didn’t feel real to him anymore. Her love didn’t feel real anymore; even though it did to her. It was real, it was all real; and that was the source of her suffering.

The rest was a blur, only interrupted with few sharp, crystal clear memories.

She went to the docks the same way, to pick up few things she had left there; a bra. A hairbrush.

(Her heart.)

“So that’s it?” she asked quietly, looking at his back; he was packing up, ready to abandon this hideout. “We’re done?”

“Actually, Charlie…” he said and her heart skipped a beat. “We’re not done. Because apparently… What we had was never real. And you can’t destroy something that never existed in the first place. So, since there was never any we to speak of…”

He turned around to face her; his face was calm and his eyes were cold and dark and indifferent.

“My heart isn’t broken.” he said and his voice was a bit shaky. “You’re just a stranger. A spy I’m mercifully sparing, as an act of good will. Now go, before this changes… And I get really fucking unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry.” she said quietly, trying to not think about what’s going to happen once her superiors find out.

“Oh, and one more thing.” he said as she was by the door.

“Yes?”

“Here.” he said, throwing a small box in her direction; inside was a pair of beautiful, white gold and benitoite earrings. “A token of appreciation.” he said bitterly. “I’ve been meaning to give those to you for quite some time now.”

She left without a word, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Louise wasn’t overjoyed.

“I know.” she said, before Charlie said anything. “So do Flagg and Waller and Avesta. Almost everyone’s pissed at you.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I’m not.” she said with a shrug. “Waller sent a total rookie to deal with the Penguin, a man who probably rolled over thirty on charisma.”

“Louise, I love him.” Charlie said tearfully. “I really fucking do.”

“Oh, but I believe you.” Louise replied calmly. “He’s very likeable, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“Luckily for you, I have a way out of this mess.”

“...what?”

She couldn’t believe her ears; was it real? Did the superior agent really have a way to solve this ugly clusterfuck?

“Please tell me.” she said tearfully. “Please.”

“How good of a liar are you?”

“Good enough to trick myself into thinking it’ll pass over and over again.” Charlie said bitterly. “Come on. Hit me.”

After Louise laid out her idea, silence fell in the room for a moment.

“Why are you helping me?” Charlie asked finally. “Shouldn’t you be angry at me as well?”

“I’m leaving the Agency.” Louise replied with a shrug. “I’m tired of this double life bullshit. Plus… I’ve spent months working with Cobblepot. I think he corrupted me as well. He does that to people. Only ever brings out the worst in them.”

“Yeah.” she said, thinking about his kisses and the warmth of his body. “He does.”

Finally the judgement day came and Charlie had to face a very pissed off Amanda Waller.

“I’m taking Avesta after you, because I need some damn good news.” Waller said without any greeting. “Penguin got away. How so?”

“The Joker drugged me. Got a confession. Penguin heard it and… He disappeared.”

“Months of hard work gone!” Waller exploded. “And this is all you have to say?!”

“Well what do you want me to say?! I’m not going to apologize, this is not my fault! I was kidnapped and drugged!”

“You were trained to persevere in situations like this, agent.” Waller said, shaking her head. “This is most disappointing.”

Her disappointment didn’t hurt half as much as she thought it would.

“Then maybe I’m not the Agency material. Maybe I should leave. But…”

“But? Spit it out, for fuck’s sake.” Waller groaned.

“Here’s what I have to say: you sent a rookie agent, straight out of training, to deal with someone you claimed to be a high priority target. This is a mistake on your part, ma’am.” Charlie said calmly. “And I think you realize that. Am I right?”

“What’s your point, agent?”

“My point is… You fucked up. If Penguin really is a high priority target - someone’s going to ask questions. Someone’s going to wonder what happened. And eventually… Someone’s going to give an answer to those questions.” she continued, crossing her fingers under the table. “Someone’s going to say I was a rookie and I was sent out to get the Penguin, despite barely having finished my training. And then… There will be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me, agent?” Waller asked with amusement, leaning forwards slightly. “That’s adorable and pointless, because I can simply say Penguin never was a high priority target. Also I could lock you up for this insolence.”

“I wouldn’t do this if I were you.”

“Oh really? How so?”

“I have access to the Agency database. I printed out a lot of pages - mostly personnel files. Names, numbers, addresses… The good stuff, all in physical copies. They are in good hands - for now. Everything will go viral… If I fail to call a certain person by a certain hour.”

That was it: the tipping point, the deciding moment, the essence of Louise’s plan.

“That’s treason.” Waller said calmly. “You’ll go to jail.”

“Maybe, but the damage will already be done. So… Worth it.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t.” Charlie replied calmly. “Polygraphs are extremely unreliable, and as for chemicals… During the last few weeks I’ve been injected with a dose big enough anything more than that might be lethal.”

“Alright, let’s say I play along.” Waller said, folding her hands. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“I want to leave the Agency, no strings attached. This is not a mutually beneficial relationship.” Charlie said with a polite smile. “I also want Penguin to be off the Agency’s target list.”

“Oh, this is fascinating.”

“He’s just a common thief. He’s not big enough to be that important… Unless he is. Which brings us back to the beginning and my initial… Suggestion.”

Waller didn’t say anything, and her expression hadn’t changed; but Charlie felt the scales tipping in her favor.

“There’s no good way out of this situation.” she added eventually. “Except for agreeing to what I suggested… And keeping your word. And I’ll keep the files. You know. As a protection.”

“Your impertinence is remarkable, agent.” Waller said; and her calm sounded fake. “But you know what? Fine. Have your damn deal. I’ll gladly do anything to never have to look at Cobblepot’s mug ever again.”

“It’s a deal then.” Charlie said calmly. “And I’m going to keep my end of the bargain… As long as you keep yours.”

“Penguin will be off our list by midnight. Now get out before I change my mind and lock you up for treason.”

Charlie left Waller’s office feeling triumphant; naturally she knew that with Waller nothing is as simple as it seems. Maybe she was the one being played. Maybe she simply gave Waller what she wanted; but it didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact she was free - and with bold blackmail she won a chance to try again.

Over the phone, Louise confirmed her doubts.

“We’re being played.” she warned her. “And I just sent my resignation letter, so we’re on our own.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let me live in the moment.”

“Living in the moment caused you to be in situation where you had to blackmail Waller. But fine. When are you coming back to Gotham?”

“I should be there by tomorrow evening. Why?”

“Falcone’s doing another auction soon. Theodore Cobblepot’s monocle will be up for grabs. I’d say...It’s a good starting point.”

“But I’m over Oswald.” Charlie lied. “He hates me. We’re done.”

“You’re not over him and he’s not over you. Trust me on this one.” Louise said tiredly. “Get your ass back to Gotham as fast as possible, I want this mess to be over with. You’ll get him a family memento, we’ll track him down and then you two will talk shit out, like functional adults.”

“That almost sounds like a plan.”

“Not almost, Charlie. Not almost.”

*** She was back in Gotham, and it felt like she never left; it felt like she belonged there, in that cursed city, plagued by crime.

She even managed to rent the same hotel apartment she resided in; it was clinically clean again and the staff had changed the sheets and cleaned up all surfaces, but the air still felt heavy with memories of kisses and gasps. The dried-up flowers she kept in a vase were gone; but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact her skin still remembered the touch of his lips and her heart still remembered that weird thing in his eyes, that irresistible spark drawing her in. Her heart remembered; which is why she gave up on claiming she’s over him.

Also because Louise threatened to not help her if she says that again. That was a factor too.

Falcone’s second auction was being hosted in the same exact building as the first one: and she recognized many faces, from the evenings spent mingling with the social elite. Maroni was nowhere to be seen, and so was Bruce Wayne; some people approached her to ask how is she feeling after that one time Penguin took her hostage at a party.

(She still remembered the feeling of a gun sliding across her bare back and his gloved fingers on her chin.)

“It seems like the Penguin had disappeared after killing the Joker. Maybe he grew bored of Gotham.” one attendee theorized. “Maybe he’s waiting for another worthy opponent to show up.”

“Or maybe he’s planning something big.” Fish Mooney chimed in, slightly nodding in Charlie’s direction. “Gathering up resources, scheming… Or maybe he needed vacation.”

“Maybe.” Charlie said, nodding in the direction of the nearest restroom; Fish rolled her eyes, but followed her after a moment.

“What are you doing back in Gotham?” she asked as Charlie was fixing her lipstick.

“Making things right.” she muttered. “Also I’m looking for Oswald. Where is he, Fish?”

“I’m not telling you. I know you’re from the Agency. Your cover’s blown, agent.”

“My cover’s old news. But fine. I’ll find him on my own.” she said, sliding her lipstick back into her purse. “Can you at least tell me how is he?”

“Bad.” Fish replied after a moment. “He’s claiming he’s perfectly fine, but… He’s lying. He says he’s over it, because it never actually happened, but… I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Then I better find him soon.” Charlie said softly. “Oh! The auction’s starting. I better go, I seriously need that monocle.”

“I’ve got to ask… What was your cover story in case someone asked why are you buying Cobblepot family memorabilia?”

“I’m naturally drawn to family tragedies.” Charlie replied, with her hand on the doorknob. “Look up my family. Many parts of my cover… Weren’t actually made up.”

The auction went remarkably fast; no one else seemed to want the monocle she intended to use as a make-up icebreaker. She could see Falcone is looking at her weirdly attentively, as if he was trying to figure her out; but she didn’t mind. She had almost nothing to hide.

Finding Oswald was a bit trickier.

“He cut all ties with me.” Louise confessed as they were sitting in Charlie’s apartment. “I think he connected the dots and figured me out. I’m surprised he didn’t try to take revenge on me.”

“Maybe he decided it’s not worth it. Or maybe he hadn’t tried… Yet.”

“Shit.” Louise said with a shudder. “You’re probably right. Well, if that’s the case we better find him fast, I don’t want to one day wake up to my reputation completely tarnished. If he digs deep enough he’ll find tons of dirt on me.”

“He doesn’t have to dig. All he has to do is to admit to being friends with you - and you’re done.”

“...thanks, that really cheered me up. But luckily for us, detective Bullock owes me a favor. I’m going to call it in. I bet he knows where this jerk is hiding these days.”

Bullock - perpetually tired, perpetually snarky detective from one of better known precincts - was a bit… Hesitant about helping them.

“I don’t know, Louise.” he said, shaking his head. “This is kind of a big thing. And I owe you for what, an anonymous tip?”

“I saved your career, detective.” Louise hissed, slamming her hand down at Bullock’s desk. “Time to repay the favor.”

“Good afternoon, miss McDonagh!” precinct captain’s assistant cheerfully greeted Louise, briefly glancing at Charlie, who was awkwardly standing behind her. “Did detective Bullock mess up? Should I get the captain?”

“No, no, we’re good.” Louise replied, not taking her eyes off Bullock. “He just refuses to hand me an old file, that’s all.”

The young man nodded and went back to his desk; Bullock sighed and got up.

“Alright, come with me. We have to talk in private. You…”

He paused for a moment, staring at Charlie.

“You stay there.” he said eventually. “You’re a civilian now. Right?”

“I cut all ties with the Agency, if that’s what you’re getting at.” she replied calmly. “So yeah. I’m now a civilian. Will you help us?”

“Fine, but only because she is friends with the DA.” Bullock grumbled out; he and Louise disappeared in the evidence room and Charlie was left behind in the main room; it was a remarkably calm day and precinct detectives were mostly busy with paperwork. Nobody paid any attention to her; near the elevators she could spot a bunch of WANTED posters - on one of them she could see herself, wearing her mask.

“She’s a mystery, that one.” one of the detectives - a tall, blonde woman - said, standing next to her with hands in her pockets. “Showed up out of nowhere and disappeared without a trace. We think maybe it was a lover’s quarrel.”

“Are you implying you think Penguin killed his girlfriend?” Charlie asked, not taking her eyes off the poster. “That’s dark.”

“Well, Penguin’s a weird person. Who knows. Maybe one day we’ll fish her corpse out of the Gotham River.” detective said with a shrug, turned around and walked up to sergeant who had some questions for her.

“Detective Sawyer, I just want to make sure-” was the last thing Charlie heard before Bullock and Louise returned; Bullock looking grim and Louise smiling triumphantly.

“I squeezed the address out of him.” Louise said quietly, putting a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Penguin moved all of his hideouts, but I’ve got the main one.”

“Oh thank god.” Charlie said with relief, shooting mopey Bullock a grateful smile. “Then let’s go.”

“Not so fast!” Bullock stopped her. “You can’t just show up out of blue. Use one of his men. I think Tennyson might be willing to help.”

“Okay, this is getting way too complicated.” Louise interrupted him impatiently. “The more people know what’s up the bigger the chance he will realize something’s going on and then we will have to start all over again. Bullock, not a word to anyone. Charlie, get back to the hotel and wait for my sign. I still have one more ace up my sleeve.”

They parted ways outside the precinct; Charlie got into a cab. Before the car drove away in the direction of her hotel, she heard Louise speak French to her telephone.

“Monsieur Moreau! Comment vas-tu? C’est Louise McDonagh-”

*** He got a call from Moreau one afternoon; the restaurant owner sounded desperate and terrified and insisted the matter he wants to discuss is too important for a phone call.

“It better be good, Moreau.” Oswald said calmly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But fine. I’ll be there in an hour… And not a second earlier. So try to not die, hmm?”

He dressed up, snuck out of his hideout - which he moved to the same abandoned building where he once killed Schulz and the Joker - and drove to the restaurant, pondering on last details of his next big heist: he was planning to finally reveal himself to the world and get his revenge on the last remaining heir to the Wayne fortune, his childhood friend. Over the years of criminal activity he gathered enough contacts, resources and money to be able to put things in motion; now all he had to do was to actually start working towards getting back what was rightfully his.

He put his mask on and entered the restaurant through a back door, reminiscing on his first - interrupted - date with the girl who broke his heart; he did his best to push her out of his mind and move on with his life, but it was hard. Her lies broke his heart and her kisses burned his skin; he tried to hate her - but he couldn’t. He tried to imagine actually hurting her - but he couldn’t. All he could imagine was the way she looked at him as his fingers were around her throat.

‘This better not be a trap, Moreau.” he said as the distressed Frenchie was leading him to the back room. “You won’t like what might happen if you’re screwing me over.”

“Please, monsieur Manchot. We’ve been through this already.” Moreau said, opening the door. “I would never betray you.”

It took Oswald a moment to process what’s going on.

Charlie was there, wearing the same exact outfit she wore during their date, down to the mask he gave her to conceal her identity. She was sitting at the table, looking down at her hands; she turned her head and smiled at his sight and his heart stopped and he turned around and grabbed Moreau by his neck.

“You slimy bastard.” he hissed out as the man started to wheeze. “You fucking-”

“Penguin, this is enough.” Charlie interrupted him and the sound of her voice made his heart ache. “Let him go.”

“Fine.” he said coldly, letting the coughing man go. “But I’m leaving as well.”

“At least hear me out, dammit!” she said tearfully, crossing her arms. “Please. This is all I’m asking for. A chance to explain everything.”

“Alright, I’m listening.” he said, feeling as if he’s being manipulated. “You have two minutes. After that… We’re done for good.”

“Deal.” she said; her voice was trembling. “Just let me take care of this first…”

She turned her attention to Moreau.

“Monsieur Moreau, c’est tout. Merci beaucoup. À charge de revanche.”

“Je vous en prie.” Moreau said shakingly, nervously glancing at Oswald. “Bonne chance.”

He left hastily and they entered the room; Charlie quietly sat down and took her mask off. Oswald - for now - decided to keep his on.

“So, I’m all ears.” he said finally. “What does a viper have to say?”

“I really was sent out by the Agency.” she said, glancing at him anxiously. “And at first - at first - it really was an act. But then… It stopped being an act. And then I realized… I’ve been wrong all the time. I wasn’t meant to be an agent. It’s not the right path for me. The right path for me is either somewhere in the middle… Or on your side of the war.” she said softly. “So I came back. Because… I wanted to see you again.”

Her words sounded genuine, and he did his best to not believe her; she was wearing the earrings he gave her. The intense blue of the gems contrasted beautifully with her red hair.

“You were spying on me.” he said, shaking his head. “You should be dead.” he added without thinking; but she only sighed and closed her eyes.

“Then kill me.” she said calmly. “I know what happens to people who double-cross the Penguin. They either die or they lose everything.”

“I can’t kill you.” he said weakly. “I… Charlie, I loved you.”

(The past tense was a lie, as he realized looking at her face and hearing her voice.)

“I know.” she said softly, opening her eyes. “I know. Which is why… I left the Agency.”

“...what?”

“I left.” she repeated. “I… Might have blackmailed my ex-boss into getting you off the list. Everything and everyone I have is now in Gotham… And I intend to stay.” she added. “Whether you want it or not. I’m going to keep trying again and again, until I finally manage to build a good life for myself.”

“I don’t own Gotham.” he said, feeling a weird lump in his throat.

“No, but you said again and again you don’t want to see me.” she said sadly. “Which is… Fair enough, I suppose. I should be glad I’m not dead. I was kinda expecting a revenge, you know.” she added. “Some sort of retaliation. Someone wrecking my car, dead animals on my doorstep, wrecked reputation… That sort of thing. I unintentionally broke your heart.”

“Why did you want to talk?” he asked hesitantly, uncertainly. “I appreciate you getting me off the Agency’s hook, but… Why? Why would you do this?”

“Oh, but I told you already, when we were parting ways. Don’t you remember? I told you I love you - and I meant it. Hell, I think… I think I still do.” she added quietly, looking away. “It’s in the recording as well, I think. I remember… I remember I begged the Joker for your life. And I remember he asked me why am so adamant in staying by your side? And I said… It’s because I love you.”

He didn’t say anything; she looked up at him again.

“I meant everything I said, Oswald.” she said, her voice cracking. “I fell for you so hard and so fast I nearly shattered to pieces. I love you, but I understand if you tell me to fuck off forever. Even though… It feels weird, apologizing to a criminal.” she added with an uncertain smile. “You’re awful, but I love you. And I guess that’s what I wanted to say.”

“That’s… A lot to process.” he said after a long pause; her words echoed in his head and in his heart.

He started to consider his options; this could be a trap, Agency’s last desperate attempt at capturing him - but she cited what she said when she was drugged out of her mind. She also was - or used to be, if her words were true - a trained agent; a trained agent who - for some reason - allowed herself to be vulnerable around him.

She was also telling him something he so badly wanted to hear; something that was haunting him during night hours, when he only had his thoughts for company.

“I know.” she said, again looking away from him. “I just… Wanted to see you again. Explain some things. I didn’t want us to be… Such an ugly story.”

“Charlie…” he said, but she interrupted him, waving her hand.

“Don’t, Oswald. Just… Just don’t. Or I’ll start crying and it’ll be a mess.” she said, shaking her head. “I guess… I’ll be going now.”

She got up and picked up her purse and he watched her without a word; on her way to the door she remembered something, turned around and walked up to him.

“I got you something.” she said softly, opening her purse. “A parting gift of sorts.”

She handed him a small box; after opening it he saw his father’s monocle - and a bag from the bakery near her hotel. Judging from the smell it was filled with coconut biscotti and hazelnut macarons; inhaling the sweet aroma he remembered their first kiss, and the way her lips and breath tasted.

“Charlie, wait.” he said as she turned around again. “Don’t go. It’s my turn.”

“...alright.”

She sat down again, and he finally took his mask off; the corners of her lips curled in a gentle smile at the sight of his face and that thing he loved so much was in her eyes again, that spark of adoration and affection.

“I reacted the way I did, because.... I was happy with you.” he said, deciding to - for once in his life - actually be honest. “Love at first sight, and so on. And you know my backstory. You can probably imagine how it felt. I was sure… I was sure everything you said was a lie.” he said, his eyes focused on her face. “A lie, deception, a snake in the garden… It hurt me so fucking much because on my end - it was real. Hell. It still is.” he added impulsively and her face lit up.

“I loved you.” he said softly. “And I still do. I tried to stop, but… I couldn’t. I tried to hate you, I tried to want to destroy you, I tried to want your blood… But I couldn’t. Which is why the past few weeks had been hell.”

She started to cry, and it was a mess - but a beautiful one. He kissed her wet cheeks and she was laughing and simultaneously pushing him away and pulling him closer and she was warm and real and alive; and the way she looked at him made his heart flutter.

“I’m hungry.” she eventually said quietly. “I didn’t eat anything today, I was… Too nervous.”

“Well, we’re at a restaurant, aren’t we? Let’s fix that.”

“Will you… Walk me home later?” she asked hesitantly. “I’m staying at the Peak again.”

“Of course I will, love. Of course.”

***

He walked her to hotel and stayed the night; he kissed her tenderly, holding her face in his hands and gently brushing her cheekbones with his thumbs. He also made her cover her face with her hands as her cheeks turned red; he had the audacity to wink at her as he was pulling her undies down with his teeth, just like she wanted him to.

He peppered her skin with bitemarks and kisses and almost made her forget her own damn name and she kept pulling him closer; and she didn’t mind when the night ended. They had many more nights and days ahead of them, more stolen kisses, more lovestruck gazes, more, more, more. He shared his next big plan with her; a plan to get back what’s his - and she promised she’ll be more than happy to help, in any way possible.

But that could wait for another day, that didn’t matter for now. Nothing mattered to her that night - not the Agency, not Oswald’s criminal records, not her - now gone - friendship with Avesta, not the fact she had to turn her life around yet again. Nothing mattered - except for the fact she was in love and he loved her back and this love felt like the most beautiful, warmest thing in the world, even though he had blood on his hands and violence in his smile. He was awful and she loved every dark part of him.

Gotham wouldn’t know what hit it.

[fieldworkterm2017]

Summative Post

We’re back.  Campus is buzzing and busy again.  It doesn’t feel like I never left.  Campus sans-students is somewhat of a different universe than Bennington during a semester.  There will definitely be times I miss the cold, quiet emptiness.  It was peaceful, and I felt like I had both the world and in other ways my day more to myself.  

But there’s nothing wrong with a campus full of friends and peers again.  

My FWT this year was two-fold, with 105 hours devoted to these two positions:

1:  

Wrote, refined and delivered a one-hour workshop on consent and communication.

I began in the Fall, asking the intended audience essentially “Do you want this?”  Upon hearing yes, I gave myself two weeks to write the thing, spent the following three refining the writing, building out slides and sending it around to call out what I missed.  I rehearsed, made last-minute improvisations when tech needs fell through and gave the darn thing.  I now have a written start, a beginning model to ground later work.  

What’s difficult now is that I feel the work requires more people.  It would feel stronger and more appropriate coming from a small group of 3-5, rather than just myself.  In fact I feel this by now with all my sexual health work.  The logical next step is the begin developing that team, but that’s not so easy.  Particularly not when many of my closest co-workers have long graduated and BeWell long dissolved.  Mostly, it’s another initiative on top of what I thought I’d be doing already so it’s just unfortunate.  But I’ve known this for a while.  There is no reason for me to be doing sexual health work by myself.  It’s not a reflection of my ability or uniqueness, rather my failure to recognize and engage the other people who share my interests. So we’ll see what happens.  

This project was only half of my FWT, however.  I haven’t written much about the other bit so here’s that:

2:

I gave myself the first two weeks and the last week to write the workshop, and in between I was helping Bill Scully write a speech.  Bill managed to measurably improve riverine habitat as a consequence of re-developing a small-scale hydro dam.  In March he goes to Boston to speak on how he did it, and how ongoing and persistent resistance from environmental groups is beginning to amount to a climate-denier stance.  

For the middle month of FWT and continuing still, I took a general assistant type of role. I organized his writing into the outline we’re using now, built a presentation, took care of logistics and tech needs with hosts and did research to ground comments on climate change.  As I did this, we met regularly to work through what he wanted to talk about and refine our talking points.  

I went through the classic FWT surprise of my boss routinely asking me what I thought was best, and me having good answers.  It’s been good, forcing me to elevate my concept of self a bit, while also noticing all the ways I had been at that point already and not known it.  

In addition to these, I spent another winter cooking, exploring and enjoying the quiet snowy nights. I successfully made a practice of cooking a week’s worth of food on Sunday or Monday evening, saving a significant amount of time, energy and money.  In particular this meant fourteen solid days of eating a delicious and vegetable-heavy lightly-fried rice.  I will be doing that again.  

Almost forgot:  on Saturday I return to the world of D&D, where I am currently at 1 hp and my friend just lost a leg.  

Byebye,

Liam