This story is a sequel to a previous fanfiction, "Deep Into That Darkness Peering." It will make more sense if you read "Deep Into That Darkness Peering" first, but you don't have to; it can function as a stand alone.
Bonus trivia: The title of "Deep Into That Darkness Peering," by the way, comes from a line of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven: "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing/ Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." It refers to the Riddler's attempts to discern Batman's identity, is a nod to Jonathan Crane (who I somehow envision reading and enjoying Poe), and the "dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before" is echoed in the final lines of "Through the Looking Glass"- a reference to the Mad Hatter.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the DC characters, places, or referenced plots. This story was written for fun. Any profits will go to helping Alfred afford windows for the Batmobile, a less showy door for the Batcave entrance, and a decent alarm system for Wayne Manor.
A droplet of water slid down the length of pipe, hung suspended in the air for a moment, and dropped, landing with a faint plop in the forming puddle. A sudden thaw had come to Gotham, turning the white, fluffy snow into grey sleet and filling the streets with freezing water. Across the city, homeless drifters, professional panhandlers, and the ever-present prostitutes were suffering, their alleys and dumpsters and street corners flooded with cold, dirty slush.
The man in the green bowler hat suffered too.
He watched idly as another drop snaked its way down the rusted pipe, stretched itself out into a clear, clinging droplet, and fell. Plop. It certainly wasn't his most luxurious hideout, but it was his safest; and with the streets crawling with vigilant police, he'd retreated beneath old Gotham to wait and plan and think. The cold seeped through the cement walls, putting a faint shine on the pipe and brushing small clouds into the air when he breathed. He drew the heavy purple overcoat closer to him, rubbing violet-gloved hands together in order to take advantage of the heat produced by friction as well as the heat generated as the body burns calories in order to do work (also a byproduct of the second law of thermodynamics) and thereby raise the temperature in the body's extremeties—
"B-boss?"
Edward Nygma looked up, his eyes narrowing behind the purple domino mask.
"Why must you constantly interrupt my thought processes?" he snapped. "And yes, I am aware you have not the slightest semblance of intelligence in your useless mass of flesh you call a brain; however, you might have the decency to exercise common courtesy and not disturb me when I am thinking!"
His companion, a large, muscular individual who could have been a boxer, a bodybuilder, a professional cage fighter, or all three, shrank back and dropped his eyes humbly. He'd been with the Riddler for nearly a year and recognized when his "boss" was genuinely angry and when he just needed a lesser being to blame for whatever problem lay at hand. At the moment, it was both.
"The problem is," Riddler said, curling a gloved hand around the top of his cane, "the problem is that no one knows for sure. He's so clever, curse him, and that's the only reason… but then again, if he weren't, who would riddle me this? It could be a trap, or it might be… could he really be so foolish?"
The bodyguard watched quietly as Edward Nygma stood up and began pacing, the steady rhythm of his footsteps punctuated by the occasional plop in the bucket.
"Batman… Bat-man… Bat… man… hmmm… but we've been wrong before…" the Riddler murmured. "If it weren't for that single… but surely that could be a trick… he's playing with my mind, taunting me with that… Bat…"
The pacing slowed.
"The best defense… Bruce Wayne… alliteration, perhaps?… he certainly could afford it…"
Riddler tapped his cane against pipe thoughtfully, watching the water divert down the smooth metal and slide against the polished steel ball, trapping itself between the metal surface and a gloved forefinger.
"So what we've got to do… is turn the tables on him. The best defense… the best… that's what we've got to do. That's it."
The Riddler turned to face his bodyguard, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"I have a plan."
"...he's playing with my mind, taunting me with that... Bat..." A corruption of Skinner's line from Ratatouille. No, I don't think the Riddler has seen Ratatouille, I'm just a chronic quoter.