From the author that brought you Life with Oswald Cobblepot comes the new fanfiction, Question Marks and Patriarchs, The Riddler and the King of Gotham. Read up, my pretties! :)

I wiped my blade with a damp cloth, meticulously cleaning the scene that Penguin had left in his wake. He was sleeping now, apparently exhausted by both the effort of murder and the extent of his injuries. He had a smile on his face, I noticed.

I started humming as I worked; the same song we had sang together as we ate earlier in the evening. Together. I had found a partner in crime. And to think Penguin was going to give up the game. Ha! He wouldn't have lasted. I'm just glad I got to him first. Now I have an ally, one that I'm positive will take good care of me. After all, I am taking very good care of him, and then some.

Once I had "taken care of" Galavant's servant, I joined Oswald in bed. I was also quite tired after cleaning up out little mess and opted for a nap. I quickly fell into a deep slumber next to my new partner.

There's a warmth next to me. Mother, perhaps? No, Mother is dead. Her spirit? What nonsense are you thinking, now? I shifted slightly and sleepily opened my eyes. There's someone there, facing away from me. It's Nygma. I flip over and out of the bed, reopening my aching wounds. I groan in agony. Nygma woke up and rushed to my side.

"Mr. Penguin, please don't move," he commanded. He didn't have his glasses on. He looked so different without them.

"Why were you sleeping next to me?!" I gasped, still writhing in pain.

"My apartment only has one bed, and I'm quite tired with sleeping on the couch."

"I'm a guest, and I'm injured! I deserve it!"

"And it is my apartment."

My face twisted in anger. There was no winning with this man. I had to watch what I said. He was taking care of me now but could just as easily let me die. I conceited defeat this time.

"Just fix me."

I patched Oswald up again and gave him more medication. Maybe I should cut back a little. He seemed rather shaken. It's likely that that's just his personality, though.

"Anything specific that you'd like for breakfast, Mr. Penguin?" I asked from the kitchen.

"I don't care," came the usual, snobbish reply.

I sighed, knowing that whatever I made would be whatever he didn't want. It was if last night didn't happen and he was the same brat of a man he had been for the past week. Reluctantly, I began to gather ingredients for the meal I had to make for myself and him.

Nygma set down what appeared to be a perfect omelet on the table in front of me. It was almost a work of art.

"Eat up," he said, sounding irritated.

I looked at him. He had his glasses on, making his weirdly chiseled face tolerably geeky once more. Nerds shouldn't be as handsome as he was.

I felt my face getting hot. Clearing my throat, I said, "You know, Nygma, you cook well. It almost makes my imprisonment here bearable."

He smirked, his eyebrows raising. "I do hope you enjoy your time here. I'm hoping we can be good friends. That's why I brought you that gift last night."

"Yes, I appreciated it very much!" I laughed, maybe with too much snark. I coughed and tried to tone down my sarcasm. "I really did. Thank you for making me come to my senses. A peaceful life is not meant for me. And, yes, I do think we can be friends. In fact, I would call you my friend, now."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Just what I wanted to hear."

"I'm glad you were the one to find me in the forest."

"Oh, me, too."