Idiosyncrasies
Two figures moved through the darkened museum, a circle of light from a flash-light going ahead of them and several doors open behind them. The locks had either been meticulously picked and decoded, or simply hacked from their bearings with a hammer. Almost exactly 50:50, actually.
The smaller of the two burglars, who was walking with an odd sort of semi-confident swagger, muttered about how the light was going to get them caught. The other snapped back, in a voice with a startling growl to it, that his partner in crime was 'being stupid, as there was no living person or working CCTV to spot them, unless, of course, he doubted his ability to hack the system?'
The first one bristled at both the word 'stupid' and the implication that he could have made a mistake, but he didn't say anymore except a murmur of 'Moron' under his breath.
The ring of light illuminated another steel door, the last they had to face. Their gaze settled on the metal box with various LEDs and a touchpad. A hand scarred with hardened blisters fished in the pocket of a suit that was once expensive, taking out a flat circle of silver: a dollar coin, with heads on both sides so the only distinguishing feature was the scratched surface of one side.
Two-face flicked the coin in the air, but a skinny hand flicked out and caught it before it could land. Its owner glared down at the smirking face below.
"Riddler," he growled, and his partner in crime grimaced and handed the coin back, "I thought we had a deal. I make way for your... idiosyncrasies and you make way for mine."
Edward Nashton, although somewhat intimidated by the broader shouldered, lesser contained man before him, couldn't help but laugh briefly before speaking.
"Not if it's going to get us caught." he indicated the device on the door, "I've seen this system before. Question: Why isn't it widely-?"
"Get on with it." his co-criminal snarled, one hand grabbing his lapel warningly. He wriggled free, straightened his jacket and tie, and continued.
"It's not widely used, because it's so sensitive to knocks and bumps it's been known to go off at people who are supposed to go in. You bash at it with that thing," he gestured to the hammer swinging from the other's hand, "you'll have the whole neighbourhood knowing that we're here."
Two-face scowl deepened as he fingered his decision-maker, but he pocketed it once more with a dismissive "Fine, then you get it open."
"I intend to."
Nashton, though in this situation he preferred 'Nigma', knelt down before the panel and pressed one button. The digital screen lit up and a question flashed across the screen. He snorted.
"What?" Two-face asked irritatedly.
"Oh, just another moron who doesn't know how the system's supposed to work. The idea is you enter a question only you can answer, like the name of your high school football team. The custodian's put general knowledge questions in."
"Well, can you answer them?"
The Riddler didn't need to say 'Of course I can': his smug expression said it for him.
5 seconds later, there was a click, a bleep and the door slid open. Edward stood back, one arm outstretched as if to say 'You're welcome.' Two-face sniffed and stepped through the threshold.
This was the Ancient Egypt wing. The display cases containing bracelets and rings and pieces of stone engraved with hieroglyphs were locked, of course, but the locks were no more difficult to pick, or break, than the locks they had encountered so far. Clearly the custodian had hedged his bets on any burglars not knowing the founder of Wayne Enterprises.
"Moron." he repeated.
"You like that word, don't you?" Two-face commented from his scavenging.
"It's a word," Edward said, his voice with a soupçon of an edge to it, "just like any other. Five letters, two syllables, generally fitting for expressing my sentiment towards people I feel do not even have the bare amount of intelligence that counts as 'average' in this world."
Two-face rolled his eyes, well, only one rolled properly. The other just sort of twitched.
"You know, you could have said that with at least half the words." he pointed out, but the Riddler clearly wasn't listening. He had just chuckled to himself and was pacing over to the canopic jars.
"What's the joke?"
"Oh, just had an idea, that's all." Nigma pulled out a question-mark embellished notebook – he always seemed to have at least three on him – and began scribbling something down. He then neatly tore the page out and slipped the note inside one of the jars.
"Let me guess," Two-face said as Nigma passed him again, "that's your little clue for the almighty Bat?" The Riddler nodded. "How exactly is he supposed to know it's there?"
The Riddler gave another smile, and said "Question: When is a door not a door?"
Two-face thought for a second. He knew this one.
"When it's a-jar." he said before Nigma could answer it for him.
"And that is the question that will flash up on that locking system next time anyone wants to get in here. Once you've answered the questions it doesn't even need a genius like myself to change the-"
He was cut off by a creak from the stairwell. Both criminal's heads snapped round to where the sound had come from.
"Did you leave a clue for the Bat?" Two-face asked out the corner of his mouth, as if somehow that made it less audible.
"Of course I bloody did!"
"Keep it down." he hissed. For a second there wasn't a sound in the room, then another creak. The two criminals weren't going to wait for a third; Two-Face hastily tied the sack with the stolen goods up and they moved quickly and as quietly as possible towards the only exit.
But the Batman was quicker and quieter still. As soon as they were in the hallway they saw a flash of movement in the shadows a couple of stairs down. Certain that they had been spotted, Two-face broke into a run, but halfway down the hall he realised that his co-conspirator wasn't by his side. He glanced back to see him knelt by the lock, fingers a blur as he re-set the questions.
"Come on!" he exclaimed, panic and rage overriding desire for concealment.
Edward didn't even glance back, instead waving a hand fervently. Just a second, just a second. The door from the stairwell began to creak as the Batman burnt out the lock with acid. Two-face's sliver of altruism vanished at this point and he began to run again.
After hastily pressing the last button, Nigma took off at a run as well, but his path was halted by a sharp and terrible pain as a hurtling piece of metal – a batarang – embedded itself in the back of his knee. He cried out involuntarily, and tried to run it off, but the injured leg collapsed beneath him. He fumbled for the pistol concealed in his jacket pocket – his own, with a question mark engraved on the trigger. He aimed towards the Batman's feet and fired several shots. It would never penetrate his body armour, but it distracted him. Gave Two-face enough time to lift Edward into a fire-man's lift and sprint to the nearest exit.
30 seconds later, they were in the back of a getaway van, driven by a loyal yet stupid henchman.
"I knew we should have had him as a g-guard." Edward muttered, even blood loss not stopping him from making snide remarks.
"You saying it's my fault we got caught?" Two-face said, his voice still several registers louder than usual from adrenaline, "Come to think of it, what was that about not letting our idiosyncrasies get us caught?" He laughed bitterly, "Now I remember why I had my doubts about letting you come along." The lack of an indignant remark caused him to glance over at the man he was shouting down; he was peeling back his trouser leg to try and expose the wound, shuddering violently as he did so.
As if fulfilling the need for an explanation, the Riddler said between clenched teeth "Endorphins. Wear off. Quickly." He was glad the wound was on the back of his leg; he had a feeling if he'd been able to see it all, he would have seen the white shimmer of bone. He studied Two-face's, er, face, as he peered at the wound, looking for a clue as to how bad it was. However, the man was, understandably, difficult to read. Besides, he highly doubted he was squeamish. How else could he ever look in a mirror? Despite the pain and blood loss, or maybe because of it, he tittered at the thought.
"I don't know what you're giggling at," Two-Face snapped, "Here, give me your jacket to use as a bandage."
Nigma blanched. "Why my jacket?"
Two-face growled, and, for the sake of saving time as much as any compulsion, fished out his coin once more.
"Scarred side we use yours." He said as he flipped it into the air and caught it with an automatic motion. He opened his hand to reveal the scratched surface.
Nigma groaned, then winced as he shrugged the jacket off.
"I'll never get the blood ou- oow!" his sentence ended with a strangled cry as Two-Face less-than-gently pressed on the exposed cut with the balled-up jacket, sending pain shooting from the injury up to his stomach.
"What are you…trying…to do to me?" he demanded between gasps.
"Keep your bony ass alive until we can get that stitched up."
A thought seemed to occur to Edward. "1-4-3-B Green Avenue," he said simply, as he was beginning to lose his already tenuous grip on consciousness, "there's a Dr. Reane…he'll stitch it, n-no questions asked."
Two-face muttered something about it being more than their business relationship was worth not to dump him on the steps of Arkham Asylum, but perhaps the part of him which was still called Harvey was the reason he passed the directions on to the driver anyway. He then studied his 'patient' critically. His complexion, which was pasty at the best of times, was fast approaching the colour of a marble slab, and the thin sheen of sweat only added to the effect.
"I think I'll pass out now," he said as though remarking on the weather. The edges of his sight were starting to darken, giving him tunnel vision.
"Good," he replied, all of Two-Face's spite returned to his voice, "You'll finally shut up."
---
When he next woke, or at least the next point he was aware of being awake, he was on a hastily assembled army cot. He was hungry, and his tongue had a good and disgusting coating on it, which told him he couldn't have brushed his teeth for at least two days. And his leg hurt. A lot. He wanted the first thing he said to the lined face of the man bandaging it to be something like 'Long time no see, Dr Reane,' or 'If this is heaven then you sure are an ugly-looking angel.' As it was, the first thing he said was "Oh god, haven't you got any morphine?"
The doctor chuckled. "I thought you hated painkillers. Always said it stopped you thinking."
"It does. That's how much pain I'm in." He winced as Reane pulled on his bandage, "Speaking of which..."
"You have such a low pain threshold." he heard someone say from the corner. He craned his neck to see Two-face sat in an old, patched-up chair, wearing his customary half-scowl and flipping his coin rhythmically.
"I'd have thought you'd have hit the road by now."
The scowl didn't budge. "I haven't given you your share yet. Can't get a reputation as being untrustworthy, though between you and me I don't think you should get twenty percent, let alone fifty."
Edward pushed himself up on his elbows. "Well excuse me, I do believe we got the loot, and we're not in a prison cell or an insane asylum. Overall, I feel that was an overwhelming success. Besides, I don't know why you're complaining. You're not the one with a chunk out of his leg."
Two-face snorted from his chair, but didn't say anymore. Nigma shrugged and turned his attention back to Dr Reane.
"So doc, will I live?"
"Yeah, yeah. Though it was close for a bit. Had to put back 3 pints of blood."
"Guess I shouldn't ask where you got blood bags from?"
"Ask no questions and you'll get no lies. At least most of the time." He snapped back to business, "Now, whatever did that to you damaged one of your ligaments. I had to go in and fix it."
"And..?"
"Well, to put it in a way you'll understand: the Sphinx would say that it's evening for you."
While most people would have told him to talk straight, the Riddler was intrigued by the chance to exercise his mind.
"Hmm...wait, three legs in the evening. You saying I'm going to need a cane?"
The doctor nodded. "Well, look at it this way; you could have been stuck with your foot at the wrong angle for the rest of your life..."
"I'm thirty; I can't use a bloody cane!"
Two-face seemed to take this as his cue to speak. "Ok, for starters you've been thirty for five years. Secondly, who says you can't work it into your gimmick?"
"It's not a gimmick, it's my modus operandi!" he paused though, thinking it over, "Although, now you mention it...maybe something shaped like a question mark...I do like question marks."
"I'd never have guessed."