This story won't be in any particular order, and won't always be on track with the canon events, with Vic and the Zsaszettes doing jobs or whatever that aren't even alluded to in the show. The stories will probably jump from past to present and won't be exactly chronological, but that'll be indicated in the disclaimer right here.
This story will also be on my Wattpad account MelasMelos under the same name.
I do not have a Beta, and therefor everything is my responsibility, especially the mistakes and typos that may exist.
Disclaimers; Trigger Warning for Sex Trafficking (Mentioned), Attempted Suicide, and Murder
I do not, in any way, shape or form, own Gotham, which is a darn shame because my faves would get more time. Anyways, rolling!
Valentine was a girl filled with spite and self-loathing. She had grown up in the Narrows, a street kid with no name she cared to remember, no family, no friends. She was little more than a sort of animal, whose only instinct was to survive and stay away from everyone. She was a clever girl, though, who had gotten herself a decent way of life for a street kid, and knew the system like no one else did.
She understood that no one else but herself could keep her alive, and that, really, no one cared. It didn't bother her, that knowledge, because she didn't care about anyone else, either. She made her living in the streets from ages seven to age eighteen, and that was when the real trouble started; when she stopped being some gangling kid in black leather and hoodies, to a young woman, who, despite the greasiness of her black hair, the grunge on her features, and unflattering clothing, was quite an attractive girl, and the wrong people noticed.
The streets were a place where brain and brawn had to be seen in moderation; everyone had a place. The brains had brawn lackeys, or did it alone, and the brawn always found someone to be loyal to or someone to hit. But there was one thing for sure; street kids didn't have long lives, no matter who you were, and unless you made yourself useful in some demeaning way, you were screwed.
Valentine was a brain, who fought dirty and rarely lost, with a reputation preceding her despite how she kept to herself and only herself. But even so, there was little you and a group of frail girls could do against guns and a van, so there came the beginning of where the calculated Valentine would become the temperamental and spiteful woman she was on that bridge.
Valentine found herself in the trade of sex trafficking, and it was only by the grace of her spite that she didn't become broken like the other girls, only becoming more and more spiteful and furious as the two years dragged on. She wasn't sure what the breaking point was; the repulsive scent of ill-placed ignorance or rotten eggs, or just that she had always been teetering between homicidal and sane tendencies. She left that room with a bloody butter-knife in hand and a breathless laugh.
It all went downhill from there; or rather, it went uphill. She knew that there was no getting out of this without incarceration, or death, so she decided it was best to go out in a blaze of vengeful glory. Her employers were found brutally slaughtered in their homes, and a good number of ex-clients had been strangled, stripped, and, to be frank, with specific extremities missing. She was finished at last, and as she finished, the red left her vision and left herself feeling hollow, and almost wanting more.
Despite the great satisfaction as giving them all their due justice, and at getting her revenge, she couldn't help but feel like something had been taken away from her, something more than her dignity. Her reason for fueling on, the promise of revenge that she had focusing on the whole time, had been fulfilled, but had left nothing else in it's wake, nothing else. Which was, the exact reason she found herself at the bridge, pale hands tightly gripping the barrier as she stared down into the swirling depths of the river far underneath her, the moon reflecting in it's murky surface. Damn.
"You too?" a brittle voice asked from behind her, and she turned sharply to regard a tall man, who was wearing a suit ensemble that might've once been expensive, but was now just stained and hung raggedly on him. He was bald, and completely hairless, it seemed, lacking eyebrows, eyelashes, and any other facial hair. Honestly, she thought, he could be quite handsome, with a face cut from marble, if not for the sallowness of his skin and deep and dark bags under his eyes, like bruises. Besides that, she couldn't help a feeling of comfort when he approached. Someone else to be here at her hour of reckoning, someone who wouldn't try to stop her, or ask her why she had blood on her skirt, or really care in general.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Valentine replied with familiar snark, though she still smiled wearily at him, unsticking her hand from the cutting stone barrier and gesturing beside her, a position he took with grace. He hardly looked at her, but she looked at him, deducing that, once upon a time, he was quite a wealthy man, but that things had taken a shit turn, and here he was. Wasn't too uncommon, she supposed, but stranger bit were the guns holstered at his sides and the knife in his waistband. Yes, definitely not your average wealthy man.
"So what're those for?" Valentine asked, nodding towards the weapons. He gave her a grim smile and put his own ring-adorned hands on the barrier. "Options," came the simple, morbidly amusing answer.
"Huh."
Valentine turned back to the water, and with a graceful movement, she brought her legs over it, so that she could sit precariously on the edge. The man was watching her sharply with coffee-colored eyes, those of which nearly looked black, as she considered the waters below.
"The name is Victor Zsasz," he introduced suddenly, and Valentine brought her attention from the water back to him, raising a brow.
"Valentine. You can call me Val," she returned, and he hummed thoughtfully, although their strange peace was interrupted by a clearly homeless man hobbling towards them, a gun in shaky hands as he approached, looking half-mad and half-starved from more than just food. It was a look that Valentine easily recognized, and she swung her legs back over the ledge, standing on the deserted bridge again. How rude.
"Give me all you got!" he ordered, his smokers-voice harshly scraping the air. Valentine glared, hardly paying attention to Victor Zsasz besides her, and advancing, a cold breeze feebly blowing some black locks from her face and chilling bare shoulders. Victor held up hands in surrender, regarding the man sharply.
"We don't have-" he began, but a bullet whizzed past his head, and was only avoided due to great reflexes. Valentine cussed colorfully as she ducked down on the ground, not listening anymore to what the homeless guy was babbling, and only on a sudden flare in her chest, something not quite tied to the adrenaline racing through her, she thought. A sort of excitement she didn't dwell on.
Victor had pulled a gun, but the man actually tackled Victor, knocking the gun away as the pair rolled away. Valentine shot a hand out and grasped her fingers around the cool metal of the gun, straightening herself and taking aim, clicking safety off with a thumb. With zero hesitation, a crack sounded in the air as a bullet ripped through the man's shoulder. He gasped in pain, but neither he nor Valentine had any time to process or predict the knife that Victor pulled, and how, with zero hesitation, he had plunged it into the man's throat, eyes alight with fresh life.
"Shit," Valentine swore, not exactly feeling regret or satisfaction, just the euphoria from having survived the situation. Victor's hand was still tight on the handle of the blade, breathing just as heavily as she did.
"Still gonna kill ourselves?" Victor asked, finally pulling himself up and brushing off his pants, and suddenly he didn't look so weary and dead anymore. Valentine bit her lip, remembering how the gun had felt in her hand, how even though she still felt some bit of hollowness within her, a new feeling had risen within her; not the righteous fury of when she was killing her bosses and clients, but something new, something powerful. She had taken control of a chaotic situation, and had made it work for herself, with Victor dealing killing blow. The feeling of camaraderie came up as well, something utterly unfamiliar, and she smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in a while.
"I suppose not," she replied, tucking Victor's gun into the waistband of her skimpy skirt and began to pull the body to the edge, Victor quickly catching on, grabbing the legs so they could both fling the body over and down the the depths below.
"It's raining men," Victor quipped, reminiscent of the disco song, and Valentine began to laugh, laugh harder than she ever had, joining in with Victor, their laughter mostly fueled by hysterics, delirium, and adrenaline. Mostly hysterics on Victor's part.
"Let's go," Valentine said finally, and she knew, in that moment, that even if they both got caught and killed in only a few hours, it would have been worth it, because at least she had a friend in this mess.
AN;
So there we go, with Victor and Valentine. I'm sorry that this was dealing with rough ass theme after rough ass theme, and was mostly more Drama and Crime than Humor. Next chapter will likely have more banter and light-heartedness between Victor and Valentine. This, by the way, is not necessarily a Romance story between Victor and Valentine, just putting that out there.
"It's Raining Men" by The Weather Girls
Valentine's Fc; Sofia Black-D'elia