A/N: Slight departure from the dark and dismal to bring you another addition to the 'Hey Diddle Diddle, Time for a Riddle-er' universe. This is set early in Riddler and Anna's acquaintance.
Hope you enjoy!
Annabelle was sick.
She was sick because Shelley Maine, one of the other girls who worked at the diner, had come in sneezing and coughing over everything… And then, after several germ-spraying hours, had decided that yes, it would be a good idea if she in fact, went home.
A day later, Anna had woken up feeling as though her head was stuffed with cotton wool. A couple of hours later and she could barely move.
And now she lay in bed, dozing in and out of a coma-like state of misery and despair…
Days passed by in a blur of pain-filled delirium, until one morning she opens her sleep-encrusted eyelids and sees…
Him.
Staring down at her with a look that could only be described as 'repulsed'.
"I'mb sick," she croaks by way of greeting.
"Obviously," he drawls in response. Then, as though it was expected, he continues, "Riddle me this–"
"I can'd," she whines, cutting him off, "I'mb sick." He raises a perfectly manicured but distinctly unimpressed eyebrow. Had she been able to so without bringing on a sneeze, she would have huffed in exasperation, "Lookb, if you want to kill bme, jus' kill bme – I can'd feel any worse than whad I do alreaby."
He narrows his eyes at her for a long moment, seemingly to seriously consider her suggestion, but in the end he just lets out a deep sigh and decrees 'graciously':
"Very well. I will let you off this one time."
"Danks," she replies, and he eyes her as one who knows she's being sarcastic, but can't quite prove it...
She sits up slightly and hunts round the tissue-festooned bedcovers before discovering what she was looking for. Flopping her head back down on the pillow, she hands him the newspaper that her neighbour had brought round for her yesterday. "No prizzes for guething why you're here," she says.
In his cane free hand he takes hold of the paper and eyes the front page, upon which read the headline:
Riddler escapes Police custody. Again.
Mayor blames Batman.
His blue-eyed gaze moves to wander round her room before he spies the beige plush chair sat in the far corner. He leans his cane against her dresser and picks up the chair. She frowns as he places it beside her bed and then proceeds to comfortably sit himself down, propping his feet up on the mattress. He opens the newspaper pages with a rustle.
"Well, let's see what tripe they've written about me this time," he states as his eyes swiftly start moving across the blackened print.
The frown remains on her brow as she looks from his designer-shoed feet on her bed to his relaxed form now reclining in her chair. When it becomes evident that he wasn't about to be looking up from the paper, she asks incredulously, "Whad are you doing? Shouldn'd you be off hiding, or someding?"
He glances up with a patronising expression across his aloof features, "What do you think I'm doing here?"
"…Oh."
She's woken up by a finger poking her shoulder.
"Whaaad? Whas'da-madder?" she groans, peeling her lids away from each other and seeing him. Again.
…Except, rather than his usual cane, he was holding a tray.
"Whad's dat?" she asks suspiciously, as she eyes his unusual prop choice.
"It's soup," is his bland reply before he carefully lowers the tray so that she can see for herself the steaming bowl of watery broth.
Her eyes move back up to him, narrowing as they do so. "Are you tryingb to poison bme?" she asks in all seriousness.
His response is a roll of his cold blue orbs.
"If I wanted to kill you," he explains with exaggerated patience, "I would come up with a far more inventive way to do so than through poisoned soup." He sneers. "I am a genius, after all."
"Really? Well, you'be never tolb me that before," she gripes with congested cynicism as she heaves herself up into a sitting position.
Now it's his eyes that narrow. "You're much more outspoken when you're ill," he notes disapprovingly, using that particular tone of voice that never fails to send a shiver up her spine.
She quickly defends herself, "I can'd helb it – I'm dying!"
The blue eyes narrow even more. "Not yet you're not," he reminds coolly (and with the voice of experience) as he hands over the tray.
She examines the soup again just to make sure it didn't look poison-like and then she looks up once more, squinting at him.
"Why are you bringing bme soub?" she enquires with genuine perplexity.
She sees him let out a huffed exhalation. "Because the old coot who lives next door to you let herself into your apartment and caught me going through your fridge. She asked me who I was, so in order to protect my cover, I informed her that I was your lover–"
She chokes on the spoonful of soup she'd been in the process of swallowing and he waits until her coughing splutters have died down before continuing indifferently, "–at which point she made it perfectly clear that I should have 'come round earlier' and that it was 'my duty' to tend to you until such a time as you became better." He looked severely disgruntled at this notion.
"Sally's not deab is she?" Anna countenance becomes suddenly alarmed.
"Who's Sally?" Riddler replies with confusion.
"My neighbbour!" she exclaims.
"Oh," he answers blankly. "No, she's not dead," he sighs, as though this were a great shame. "It would have been a hassle to dispose of the body, and I am supposed to be lying low at the moment."
Anna feels her shoulders sag in relief but the feeling quickly vanishes when Riddler points an accusing finger at her, "However, you will get your spare key back from her the first moment you're able to. I'm not going to risk being discovered by that old hag every time I desire to come and see you."
"But who's going to hab my spare key?" Anna protests, "Whad if I get locked out?!"
"I'll have it," he proclaims, clearly having already thought of this and arrived at a fool proof solution.
"I don't want you habbing my spare key!" she exclaims.
"Why not? It's hardly going to make any difference," he states.
She opens her mouth immediately to retort but then finds it slowly closing again as she realises; no, it really won't make any difference. He'll find a way in no matter what…
"Oh, fine…" she murmurs, too tired to argue anymore.
She continues with her soup.
Finally, the morning comes when she wakes up without an overstuffed skull and muscles made of toxic jelly.
She stretches just to make sure and – yes, definitely feeling alive once more.
She gets up and has her first proper shower in far too long, wallowing under the heavenly spray for hours before finally drying herself off and getting changed into her finest sweatpants and t-shirt.
She wanders through into the living room and sees a pair of feet propped up on the armrest of her couch.
"Guess what? I'm feeling loads better!" she tells her 'guest' cheerfully, her newfound lease of life causing her to forget her innate fear of him just this once.
A vague mumble is her only reply.
She frowns slightly and veers away from her previous destination – the kitchen – to walk round to the front of the couch–
–Upon which lies the prone figure of The Riddler, one lean forearm draped dramatically over his eyes.
"What's the matter with you?" she asks with a frown.
The arm is removed and pale lids crack open to reveal bloodshot eyes…
"I'mb sick," he growls.
I hope it was clear that I was misspelling words said by Anna to give the impression of them being said in a congested voice. I'm not certain if I should have done it this way since I *think* it's frowned upon for authors to write out distorted speech due to it being hard to read/understand – that's what I seem to recall anyway from various writing forums but I may be misremembering it… Feel free to correct me if I've got it wrong! Basically, I just hope you all understood it!
Also, the headline: 'Mayor blames Batman' is a reference to the hilarious '12 Headlines the Gotham Gazette ran during the Dark Knight Rises'. If you haven't already checked it out, I would seriously suggest google-ing it and having a look – they make me laugh every time!
Thanks all
x