Chapter One: Having A Drink
Disclaimer: So, here we go: I don't own any of Gotham's plots or its characters. This story is non-profit, please don't sue me: I don't have any money. My main OC, Sylvia Gordon, is my creation as well as a few minor OCs. I've added subplots of my own that will likely alter events set in Gotham so be aware of that.
Author's Note: To my readers who've read the last two of my stories, I apologize for the delay. In order to tell the story better, I have switched from first person to third person.
James Gordon was only a year older than Sylvia. They were brother and sister; Jim had dark blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes; he took after their father. Sylvia inherited their mother's ginger hair and had eyes like Dad's. Both siblings were stubborn, strong-willed. What kept them from being the same person was their stance on crime: Jim was a cop. Sylvia, a criminal.
Their stance on crime was what led Jim and Sylvia down two different paths.
Sylvia's fiancé was the new King of Gotham. In all fairness, she knew he would have gotten to the top with or without her help; he was ambitious, clever, and he had been plotting to take Falcone's place the moment he met him. And Sylvia loved him for it all.
But not without struggling to keep the sibling bond between her and Jim.
She and Jim had been through a lot together as children, but nothing like they'd been through as adults. With Fish Mooney dead in the water, Maroni in the ground six feet under, and Don Carmine Falcone retired out of the business, it seemed that Oswald had finally done what he had set out to do—and while the love of her life was living on the highs of success, Jim was demoted. That being said, it was hard for Sylvia to celebrate Oswald's long-time coming fortune wholeheartedly while her brother's career was seemingly in the can.
Jim was grimly tossing back booze; he'd finished another shift as a traffic cop (or she assumed as he was wearing civilian clothes instead of his uniform). She'd guessed it was a shift gone bad since he was grumpier than usual.
"I guess you're living the high life now," Jim said despondently as he threw back his fifth drink. "Aren't you going to say 'I told you so'?"
"What kind of sister would I be if I kicked a man down while he was drowning in his troubles." Sylvia questioned ironically.
"You'd be my sister," He said.
"True, but you have my pity vote for now. I'll buy you another drink when you've finished that one."
They sat at a bar counter, her seat neighboring his. Jim made a habit of casually switching his attention between his next drink and side-glancing at his sister with a grudge. Jim wasn't happy—he had been telling Sylvia all this time that her bird boyfriend would not amount to anything and yet, here they were: Penguin was boss of the underworld now, and Sylvia was his bride-to-be. And Jim was a level above being a civilian—that was if Loeb didn't find one more reason to get rid of his badge already.
The corner of his mouth tugged upwards as he attempted to suppress a smile. Normally Sylvia's antiquated, cynical sense of humor was enough to cheer him up. Not today.
Sylvia sat backwards on her stool, her back leaned against the counter, elbows on the surface. The need to make her brother smile had quickly faded; sometimes, he refused to be happy, even if he did want to smile. He just wouldn't allow it.
"How does it work," Jim said nonchalantly, earning a curious look from her. "With Penguin being the 'king of Gotham'."
Sylvia shrugged, saying, "It's business as usual; he has the empire to rule, debts to collect."
"You're not going to be a part of that?" Jim questioned poignantly.
"I will be, but for now, I have things to take care of."
"Things like what?"
She smirked, saying, "Oswald gave me his nightclub."
Jim raised his eyebrows: "That's generous of him."
"It was a wedding present."
Jim cleared his throat, and placed his empty shot glass in front of her. It was a nonverbal request that he wanted that drink now, especially since they had inadvertently approached the white elephant in the room. Sylvia offered her own, placing the drink in front of him.
Sylvia exhaled a long deep breath, certain that Jim had not changed his mind since they had last spoke of the rhetoric. She turned to face him, crossing a knee over her leg and leaned towards Jim so that he had to acknowledge her.
She said softly, "I know you're in a mood, and it's hard for you to be happy, but would it kill you to at least pretend you're happy for me?"
Jim tossed back the sixth drink of the evening, and placed it on the counter, turning in his seat to face her completely. Ever since he found out that she and Oswald were together (shortly after he falsely followed Don Falcone's orders to kill him), their sibling friendship had become something of a love-hate relationship.
Jim refused to accept that she was going to marry Oswald. While she attested the contrary, she did not blame him; she could see his reasoning for hating him—after all, Oswald stood for everything Jim was against.
"You know I only want what's best for you," Jim said hoarsely.
"I know," Sylvia reassured. "But 'what's best for me' and 'what you want for me' are two separate things. And we've been over this many times before." (She took his hands in hers, he allowed her to do so reluctantly.) "You're my brother, Jimmy; you're the only family I have left. I want you to be the one who gives me away."
Jim frowned, saying, "You want me to give you to him."
"I will be marrying him regardless...but it would be nice to have your blessing."
Jim made a scathing noise.
Sylvia frowned saying coldly, "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
"I haven't."
"You won't sacrifice your damnable pride even for my wedding day?" She questioned incredulously.
"He's a gangster, Vee."
"He's the love of my life."
"That makes it worse."
"I could marry a lawyer or a cop and they could treat me like a piece of meat. I'm marrying Oswald because he loves me for me; just as I love Oswald for all that he is."
Her words had no way of changing Jim's opinion, clearly, as he remained stone-faced.
Sylvia rolled her eyes, dropping his hands from hers completely, and turned in her seat to stare angrily at the bar counter.
"Why him?" Jim asked tiredly. "You're beautiful, you're intelligent—Mom and Dad would want you to be with someone honorable."
"Oswald is an honorable man."
"He's a crook."
"So am I. And everything he has done, he's done for me. To better himself, to better our lives as a couple."
Jim rolled the empty shot glass in his hand; he said icily, "He tried to kill Falcone."
"And you arrested him; doing so, you nearly got all of us killed—thanks for that by the way. And if it wasn't for him, you, Harvey, Falcone—all of you would have been dead by Fish Mooney's hand." She reminded him hotly.
"None of that would have happened if it wasn't for Penguin starting the war," Jim argued. "And you know that's true."
"I'll stipulate to that," Sylvia agreed. "But Falcone was losing control. Maroni would have run wild, and Gotham would have been thrown into chaos. It's because of Oswald that Gotham's Underworld is finally starting to settle down ever since the Waynes were killed. You have to admit that. At least that."
Jim rolled his eyes in disgust. He was the unstoppable force, trying to prove to Sylvia many times over that she and Oswald were not meant to be together. Yet, the facts were there, were they not? How many times had Oswald been there for her when she needed him to be? And then how many times had Jim been there when Sylvia needed him? The odds weren't in her brother's favor. And this wasn't the first time they had argued about this very issue. It might have been the fiftieth time, give or take. And it always ended with a stalemate.
"What can you possibly see in someone like him, Vee," Jim muttered, rubbing his temples.
"Many things: he's sophisticated, handsome, well-dressed, and he has an intellect that borders on a level of psychotic genius," Sylvia said pointedly. She smirked, adding, "Not to mention, he's a monster in the sack."
"Ah, Vee!" Jim cringed. Sylvia laughed at his reaction.
"You asked, I answered."
"God, I wished I hadn't," Jim groaned.
"That's an interesting visual," said Harvey as he approached the bar counter on the opposite side. Sylvia lifted her eyes from her cringing brother to the bartender. Humored, Harvey asked, "Long time, no see. How have you been? Mug any of the lonely hobos in the Narrows?"
He punched her playfully on the arm, earning a sheepish smile from Sylvia while Jim scowled.
In her teen years, Sylvia mugged people left and right. And she didn't stop even after she turned of age; While not many could match the crime to the assailant, Harvey and Jim always knew she was somehow behind the two-bit crimes. Over the last couple of years, she had worked for Fish Mooney, Maroni and Falcone—or at least that had been what most had assumed. Really, she had only one boss; and she planned on marrying him.
Harvey smiled at her expectantly, waiting for a witty comeback. Sylvia crossed her arms on the wooden surface of the bar counter; the former cop mirrored her in stance.
"I've not had to roll anyone for their cash for some time now," Sylvia noted smartly.
"You robbed a bank a few days ago." Harvey reminded coolly.
Sylvia smirked, "You can't prove that."
Jim said callously, "Witnesses say they saw a redhead."
"As according to whom?"
"Rumors say," Jim said gruffly. "The other cops assume it was you."
"Hm," Sylvia hummed. "Hypothetically, if I did rob a bank, why would I do that?"
"Maybe it's not you," Harvey suggested. "You work for Penguin, right? Being 'Queen of Gotham' means ya have the jitters—Queenie like you doesn't need money."
Sylvia shrugged nonchalantly, like she was innocent. But Harvey knew better. Jim knew better.
"Maybe it's not the money. You miss it, though, don't you," Harvey teased. "The mugging, the robbery. The thrill of getting caught. You know what they say—'Once a skell, always a skell'."
"Harvey," Jim hissed. "She's still my sister, damn it."
"Nah," Sylvia mused, sharing a smile with Harvey. "He's right—about the thrill. Done that for the better part of my life, it's hard to stop."
Harvey said knowingly, "Penguin keeps tabs on your extracurricular activities, doesn't he?"
Sylvia rolled her eyes saying, "Yes."
"Working for your fiancé seems like a bittersweet deal. Keeps you on a leash, tells you what to do, tells you what not to do (Like robbing banks, am I right?). But you like it, don't you—being told what to do." Harvey questioned knowingly.
"Within reason," Sylvia admitted.
Harvey drawled, "You know I give you a hard time because I love you."
"Have I ever mentioned that I hate you." Sylvia responded wittily.
"Hate has turned into love over time, Liv," he said cheekily, "and you know I have only love for you. I hear you got your own nightclub. Taking over Mooney's old place; Guess you'll be renaming it 'Sylvia's'?"
"No." Sylvia replied, standing to her feet. "I'll be calling it 'Lean on Vee'."
"'Lean on Vee'? I'm the only one that calls you 'Vee'," Jim pointed out.
"I know," Sylvia said passively, smiling at her brother; Jim glared at her in response, pouting like a kid.
"Catchy," Harvey complimented. "Will you be handing out invitations?" (He wiggled his eyebrows) "I hope I get one; I'd love to see one of your performances; I hear you sing like a lark."
Sylvia smiled modestly, "I do occasionally—I've let Tiffany take the reins; she finds the best entertainment. And invitation is all by mouth."
"She dances too," Jim said curtly, glaring at Sylvia. "You should see the perverts watching her—like she's a piece of meat."
"Well, Jim—I know you can't tell because you're her brother, but Sylvia here is a 13 on a scale of 1 to 10." Harvey stated pointedly (Jim rolled his eyes.)
"I plan the choreography," Sylvia corrected. "And it isn't as though I'm strip dancing on the catwalk." She smiled at Harvey, adding, "show girls don't know how to dance anymore. You have to show them how to do it, step by step."
"How does Penguin feel about you singing and dancing in front of all those skells?" Harvey asked interestedly, wiping the counter as though he wasn't all too curious but the quirk of his eyebrow said differently.
"The club makes a hell lot more money than when Fish was running things," said Sylvia coolly, tracing the rim of her glass. "I have guards at every door."
"Sounds like you're protected," Harvey noted cheekily. "But you didn't answer my question."
Sylvia met his eyes directly.
"Men look at me all the time, my entire life." Sylvia said seriously. "They look whether I am in sweats or in a dress. Where Oswald is concerned, he has nothing to worry about. He knows he has nothing to worry about. Besides, dance practice only happens when the club is closed."
Sylvia smirked: "My men are almost as protective of me as Oswald is. People who are afraid of Penguin know they can't touch me."
"I'm not afraid of Penguin," Harvey pointed out. "What if I wanted to try something?"
"Then you have him to worry about," said Sylvia, nodding her head in the direction of her brother. "If they're not afraid of Penguin, they're afraid of Jim. He punched Paul Britton in the mouth when he gave me a Valentine's Day card."
Harvey raised his eyebrows at Jim incredulously, but not surprised.
Jim said defensively, "He should have known better."
"James," Sylvia chuckled. "We were eight!"
Harvey had a nice laugh about that; Sylvia joined him.
Jim frowned, saying "Congratulations on all your success, Vee."
Sylvia chuckled, "You can say 'fuck you'. It just makes you look like a sycophant trying to congratulate me with that false cheer of yours."
"Well, then: Fuck you," Jim grunted, throwing back another drink.
"That's the brother I know and love," Sylvia chortled.
Harvey and Sylvia grinned broadly at each other. Harvey refilled Sylvia's glass of bourbon, three ice cubes upon her request. She thanked him, taking a sip. A moment later, her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans; quickly, she pulled it out and answered the call while Jim and Harvey spoke quietly.
"Sylvia, where are you?"
It was Oswald, speaking in low tones. Sylvia felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach; his voice made her smile—many nights, he could make her wet using only that.
"Having a drink with my kin," She answered softly, "You?"
"I'm where you should be," Oswald said calmly.
Sylvia held her drink in her hand, swirling the liquid in her cup, watching the ice melt, "I haven't forgotten—the meeting at four, right?"
"Correct," Oswald said, satisfied by her answer. Then he asked sincerely, "How is Jim Gordon?"
Sylvia glanced at Jim and Harvey speaking in low tones about police work. She answered quietly, "Solemn and grumpy. I've never seen him act so dull. He'll get over it though."
"He has no other choice, I imagine. Are you leaving soon?"
"About to, yes. I have a few errands to run before I come home."
"What are you doing after?" he asked.
"I'll be helping Tiffany unpack. I've already met with the landlord," She said conversationally. "I've paid the rest of this month's rent; Tiffany will be completely moved in by the end of the week, hoping to the move the rest tonight. I'll be happy when she moves out of that shitty half-way house."
"I'll send Gabe to help," Oswald offered.
"The more the merrier," Sylvia responded enthusiastically.
In the background, Victor Zsasz and Butch Gilzean spoke in less than dulcet tones. Obviously, there was a disagreement. Sylvia's suspicions were confirmed when she heard Oswald's familiar exasperated sigh.
She lowered her voice to a low seductive pitch, drawing him back to her: "Ozzie."
Oswald's response was soft; however, faint was the hint of annoyance, "Yes?"
"What are you wearing?" She whispered humorously.
Her sexual innuendo made him chuckle, but his response was serious: "Don't be late to the meeting, Sylvia."
"I won't be. Love you!"
"And I, you." Oswald responded. Just as Sylvia was hanging up, he yelled, "Victor! Do not shoot Butch—we're going to handle this like adults!"
He hung up. Sylvia placed her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Harvey and Jim were eyeing her expectantly; they had listened in on the last portion of the conversation.
"Who's Tiffany?" Harvey asked curiously.
"A friend of mine," said Sylvia. "She's taking my apartment since I'm moving into the Falcone Mansion."
"What's the meeting at four about?" Jim questioned.
"Business," She quipped, getting to her feet. "I'll see you all later."
She placed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, patted both men on the shoulder, and then headed out the door.