The silent standoff had probably gone on for thirty seconds in real time, but to both participants, it seemed more like twenty minutes. The man who made the suggestion stared expectantly at the man who did the listening. The man who did the listening let his mouth work soundlessly before returning to a state of stoic consideration. Finally, the listener stared at the speaker as if to bore a hole straight through his pale, greasy forehead.
"So let me get this straight," began the listener. "You… want to help me… get back together with Lee…"
"Yes," affirmed the instigator.
"… by dating me," the listener finished.
"Yes."
The listener stared at the instigator, pop-eyed.
"Okay, you're a maniac," he said flatly.
The snarky little creep grinned a shit-eating grin.
"Why, detective," he almost stammered with obvious delight. "I thought you knew that about me!"
Jim Gordon had to just blink for a second and question all the possible life choices that could have led him to this moment. The Penguin sat across from him, still grinning from ear to sticking-out ear. His, Jim's, ex-girlfriend had gone on the run with… the Riddler. From the little sense he could make of the Penguin's rambling, apparently he – said Penguin – had gone gaga for the same Riddler. And THIS had been his suggestion. Yeah, and next Harvey would be calling him to say he'd gone into the seminary!
"Okay, so if we pretend – just pretend! – for two seconds that I shouldn't knock you flat for what you said," began Jim. "I can still think of infinite reasons this idiotic stunt wouldn't work!"
The Penguin only continued to grin, and it was only the Italian Catholic wrath of Mama Antonia that kept Jim from breaking the table with Penguin's face.
"Go on?" the little shit prodded.
"Well, for one, I don't like you!" exploded Jim, cringing as Mama Antonia glared. He dropped his voice accordingly. "You're creepy, sycophantic, obnoxious… and what the hell is that in your hair – chicken fat?"
Seriously, Jim had always sort of wondered: what grown man got up in the morning, looked in the mirror, and deliberately did THAT? It couldn't possibly do that sticking-out-spike thing by itself! He noticed Cobblepot staring and rolled his eyes so hard he swore they might fall out of his head. The Penguin heaved a large fake sigh.
"Well, I can see how, attraction-wise, I will always be second-best," he pretended to agree.
"Face only a mother could love, right?" Jim fired back.
Cobblepot's slack face purpled.
"Leave my mother out of this!" he warned before continuing. "As I said, I can see how I would be a less desirable specimen as compared to HER."
Jim ground his teeth audibly, earning another glare from Mama Antonia.
"But, Jim, could you really give her up like that?" He angled hard, his jaundiced eyes glittering with malicious triumph. "Can you really let yourself lose… to him?"
Like watching a cartoon character run headlong off a cliff, Jim saw himself hang in midair for a second, thrashing wildly. He then saw red as he unavoidably pictured that riddling maniac. How long before he put his hands on her? Mental-cartoon Jim let out a patented Goofy-holler and plunged over the proverbial cliff, dropping like a lead rake. Not willing to admit defeat even as he lay there, metaphorically squashed, he scrubbed at his face with his hand.
"Suspending reality here for a second and pretending I decided to go along with this insanity," Jim started carefully, acutely aware of the Penguin's gaze. "Exactly – and I mean that! – what would you suggest… happen here?"
The Penguin's snide, conniving grin split his sallow face in two. Seriously creepy, thought Jim. The little shit had been tragically right, though – Jim Gordon could not bring himself to lose to the likes of Ed Nygma. Damn pride of his – Harvey would just have a field day with this! From his first day at GCPD, everybody had warned him about his pride. Now, here he sat, theoretically about to agree to a date with the Penguin. He glanced at the ceiling. Somebody up there clearly had it in for him, and he bet it was his dear old dad.
"Plain and simple," the Penguin's greasy voice cut into his internal monologue. "A date – you, me, a nice dinner somewhere… and I might just happen to know where and when they will both be there to see it!"
Jim felt very much like ramming his head into the wooden slab of a table and knocking himself unconscious before this charade could pan out.
"You're loving this, aren't you?" he groused rhetorically. "Why don't you call out the 11 o'clock news while you're at it?"
The resulting expression on the Penguin's face nearly made Jim sick.
"And how easily do you think I could arrange that, Jim?" that oily voice dug into his ears like a toothpick.
"Forget it!" Jim exploded.
"A-hem!" Mama Antonia coughed menacingly.
Both men quailed in their seats like reprimanded schoolboys.
"Forget it?" the Penguin echoed mockingly, his voice considerably lower. "Well, if that's the case, you certainly aren't the determined dick-"
"Excuse me?" Jim cut in.
The Penguin smiled an uncomfortably wide smile.
"Of course, I meant 'detective'," he over-corrected, still smiling. "Slip of the tongue, I assure you."
Jim looked vaguely nauseated.
"Please, the less said about your tongue, the better," he muttered drily. "I'm still not crazy about this whole… thing. And I mean it when I say I want exact specifications. No tricks, no loopholes."
That greasy smile had not gone away.
"Haven't I earned your trust by now, Jim," the Penguin all but giggled – a hideously creepy sound.
"I don't trust anybody in Gotham as far as I can throw 'em," Jim countered, staring at Cobblepot's forehead rather than his eyes. "And if I were you, I wouldn't want me thinking too hard about throwing you."
Cobblepot merely continued to grin.
"Mind your attitude, Jim," he practically sang. "Or maybe – I know! – that's why she left, isn't it? You can be awfully short with people, can't you?"
Before he could go on, Jim interrupted.
"How's this for short?" he growled. "Don't make me pop your head like a zit."
The graphically hyperbolic threat had its desired effect.
"Well," began the Penguin, visibly shaken. "Perhaps while we're out, you might try a little… performative consideration?"
Jim rolled his eyes again, supposing he might as well get used to it.
"Swear you're worse than Nygma," he grumbled. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Cobblepot stared across the table in what Jim guessed passed for flirtation with the little weirdo.
"Stop that!" he commanded. "That's exceptionally off-putting, you know."
Baggy, yellowed eyes blinked owlishly back at him.
"Why, Jim I only meant that you should make a great show of what a gentleman you can be!" exclaimed the Penguin. "I trust… you can be a gentleman?"
Jim had to exercise every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from screaming. In fact, he wanted to scream, get up from the table – still screaming – and run screaming into the night. Maybe he wouldn't stop screaming all the way back to his apartment! At this rate, he might keep screaming until he had a nice soft room where he couldn't hurt himself. However, he put a lid on it and forced his face into a terrible smile.
"Yes," he answered finally between clenched teeth. He looked and felt like he had just swallowed a live frog. "Yes, I can."
The smile that now lit up Oswald Cobblepot's face made Jim Gordon want to smack him as he had never smacked anyone before. Jim could feel his right eye twitching as he forced himself to maintain his own expression. The Penguin sat back in his chair, gleaming with satisfaction, and reached for his wine. He raised his glass to Jim, who refused to return the gesture.
"Well then, Jim, perhaps we can talk about this more over dinner?" he announced more than asked. "I took the liberty of making reservations already… Shall I send a car for you at eight?"
Jim almost spit his wine across the table and had to make a dreadful honking noise into his napkin. Cabernet Sauvignon did not belong in human nostrils! He straightened himself out as Mama Antonia rolled her eyes out loud. The detective false-started twice.
"Eight… car… now wait just a minute!" spluttered Gordon's finest. "I haven't agreed to anything and you already have dinner reservations!?"
The Penguin drained his glass and eyed the server. She glanced at Mama Antonia, who shrugged. Clearly, that meant something, because the otherwise inert young lady cruised into the back and re-emerged, bottle in hand. She had been watching the table by way of slow-day entertainment for several minutes. Chicken-head guy had clearly managed to get way under the obvious cop's skin like a bad rash. She poured slowly, hoping to pick up some of the conversation.
"Half a glass will be fine, Leah," the Penguin prompted.
Leah looked at Jim next.
"Full for me, thanks," he told her before mumbling, "I'll need it."
He watched her retreat after she finished, but then returned his attention to his dining companion. Oswald seemed to be sniffing his wine a touch longer than necessary. Threat of poison, maybe. Jim told his detective brain to shut up. If the little maniac fell over dead, the sooner he could bag him, tag him, and let life get back to abnormal.
"Oh, Jim, I know no one can say no to Ogden's!" exclaimed the Penguin. "This is the only chance you'll have to get in for months! Do come along, if only for the new dessert menu?"
Jim's eyes brightened in spite of him. "Dessert" had always been something of a magic word with him. He felt the imaginary scent of chocolate eating away at his resolve. Maybe he could humor the freak, just this once. Besides, he didn't want to give Cobblepot the chance to start going on about owing favors or anything.
"Fine," he said abruptly. "I can't believe I'm saying this but… fine. But no funny business! Dinner and we talk, agreed?"
"Agreed."