Chapter Eleven: Work Husbands

Author's Note: Thank you for all of your beautiful messages and reviews. I'm always appreciative of them and all of you 😊

Funnily enough, the trip to the warehouse had taken a lot longer than disposing of the Red Hood Gang. Oswald, Ed, and Sylvia led the group which consisted of Dagger, Chilly, Gabe, and Victor Zsasz; they'd expected something impressive to happen—perhaps a shoot-out—but when they strode inside the warehouse, there were seven bodies on the floor with Butch appearing to be the survivor and hero of the evening. While Ed looked on in disgruntled and skeptical fashion, Oswald was appeased by Butch's apparent heroic initiative; he'd hosted a press conference in the Meeting Room of his mansion where he congratulated and honored Butch Gilzean for his efforts. During such an event, Butch appeared modest.

There was a considerable toast to his valiance, and while the press took pictures of him and Oswald, Sylvia stood on the sidelines, drinking a glass of tea in the kitchen. After guzzling it down to assuage her parched mouth, she refilled it; she peered over her shoulder when she heard a clad of familiar footsteps padding through the threshold of the kitchen doorway.

"Good afternoon, Ed." Sylvia greeted, smiling candidly at him. She held up the gallon of tea as an offering.

Ed shook his head once, preferring to lean against the refrigerator with his arms crossed. His hair was slicked back elegantly, and he reminded Sylvia of a charming businessman, one who could be charmed more by wit than a simple flash of a woman's rack. Why the thought popped itself into her brain at that moment, she didn't know; maybe it was the jives of knowing the Sirens were hosting that party; the booze would run like the waves of Niagara Falls; or perhaps it was the sugar in the tea.

She silently poured only herself a glass, humming primarily to herself. Ed's serious expression wasn't daunting, but it piqued her interest.

"Smile, Mr. Riddles," Sylvia joked, earning a curious look from him. "The Red Hoods have been 'vanquished'." She made a dramatic swoop of her arm similar to what a magician might have done when something had 'disappeared'. "You could try to be cheerful."

Ed said dryly, "I'd be more cheerful if what you said was true."

Sylvia placed the gallon on the kitchen counter wordlessly; she took a small drink, only to grimace at the taste. A smile of familiarity tugged on the corner of Ed's mouth and he stepped past her, reaching to the cabinets that were above her head, and from them he pulled out a box of sweetener. He promptly closed the cabinet doors a moment after, placing the box in front of Sylvia, who looked at him with a hint of confusion.

"Two spoons." Ed stated factually, taking a silver spoon from the drawer closest to him, handing it to her: "Correct?"

"You are correct. Thank you." Sylvia returned graciously. She added the sugar into her tea, stirring it, then after taking a sip, she added, "Much better."

"I thought so."

"The gallon says 'sweet tea'."

"A fact, but has it ever been sweet enough for you."

"Point taken. So," Sylvia sighed, turning to him with one hand on the counter and the other holding her glass. "That was quite the press conference, wasn't it?"

"I can't argue that."

"You're skeptical, aren't you?"

"What could I possibly be skeptical about?"

"I know that expression of yours," Sylvia said impishly, pointing at his face. "It's the same facial expression you had whenever you doubted whatever it was that the original M.E. had to say about an autopsy. The one before Lee."

"That medical examiner was incompetent. How he managed to get the job is beyond my comprehension, merely because it's completely illogical."

"So you're saying it's beneath you to understand why a man of his deficiency became a medical examiner," Sylvia returned lightly. "And here I thought you needed to understand everything."

"I'm only interested in facts, logic, and practicality. I don't burden myself with the impracticality of an amateur."

"He was licensed."

"I doubt it."

Sylvia chuckled, "I digress, then. So going back to my earlier question: You're skeptical. Clearly, you appear to be. I'm just curious what you're so disgruntled about."

Ed bounced his back off the refrigerator in a confident flourish and said pointedly, "The Red Hoods were arbitrarily aggressive, despite having no existing motivation except to disrupt Oswald's businesses and what was supposed to be a grand ceremony."

"And that's befuddling to you?"

"I'm never befuddled." Ed responded abruptly, looking offended.

" 'Confused'?"

"I'm neither 'befuddled' nor 'confused'."

"So 'skeptical', then."

"I prefer that, yes."

"Why are you skeptical?"

"I came back from the crime scene." Ed informed.

"Alone? People who commit crimes regularly go back to crime scenes to relive it, to nourish the memory, to nurture that feeling," Sylvia said playfully. She scrunched her nose in the same manner and said with a mild tease, "Are you incriminating yourself, Mr. Nygma?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ed replied, although he smiled at her tease. Seriously, he added, "I was there with Harvey Bullock."

"Always a pleasure."

"For you, maybe," Ed said grumpily, rolling his eyes. "The man is a lazy—"

"—Careful, Edward."

He blinked: "What?"

"Think what you want about him, but Harvey is my friend." Sylvia reminded.

Ed said ironically, "Do you defend me when he talks badly behind my back?"

"All the time."

"Oh." Ed said, still surprised. "I had no idea."

"Well, now you do. So, you were saying: 'You came back from the crime scene'…?"

"The way the men fell on the ground," Ed explained. "It was as though they were waiting to get shot."

"Who draws the chalk outlines of the dead bodies?" Sylvia asked arbitrarily. "Was that your job or…?"

"That's a Uni's job." Ed answered, crossing his arms plainly as he leaned back against the refrigerator once more.

"Such heavy condescension for a simple answer."

"If Forensics required such a run-of-the-mill skill as drawing outlines of dead people, I would not have taken the position."

"I'm surprised you stayed in Forensics. You took over the Medical Examiner's lab so many times, I would have thought the Captain would just push you into that role."

"You mean 'Barnes'…?"

"I meant Captain Essen. Sarah."

Ed and Sylvia shared a sad but nostalgic expression. Those days when Sarah Essen had still been Captain, even when she had been Commissioner (however brief her term might've been), there had been some good times back then. Back when Barbara was just breaking out of Arkham; Ed was still working as his old quirky self; Jim wasn't nearly as cynical…

"Seems like such a long time," Sylvia said quietly.

"A very long time."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes." Ed admitted. "But I didn't know who I was back then. I'm happier now, personally."

"Good to hear."

"Do you miss those days?"

"From time to time." Sylvia confessed, smiling guiltily. "But it's like you said. I'm happier now as well."

The heartwarming moment spilled into silence and the two of them passed it over once they heard the clapping from the Meeting Room; the congratulations and admiration echoing from the news reporters who wanted a picture of Butch and Oswald for tomorrow's headlines; a quick shot of the last Red Hood's headwear before the evening news came out.

Sylvia gazed in the direction of the room with fondness, but noticed that Ed looked less than impressed with how the afternoon had turned out. Frankly, she had the same sentiment; although, she was more disappointed than anything. Frankly, she said, "So, you don't think the Red Hoods are all dead?"

"Oh, no, I believe that they've most likely been exterminated."

"And they're dead because they went against Oz. There's your 'why'. You've got the 'how' and 'where', 'when'…What are you so unhappy about, again?"

"Hmm," He hummed. He stepped towards her purposely, saying, "I want to know who."

"The Red Hoods were a bunch of nobodies. They're the 'who's'."

"I doubt they were smart enough to do all of this by themselves."

"Maybe they orchestrated such a lavish scheme just to gatecrash."

"I think it's more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"These people, as you mentioned before, were no one. They didn't have a stake or a claim to anything that might have affected Oswald: why would they care if the statue was destroyed. Why would these people band together just to kill a priest, and break inside the Merc with no other objective than to startle Oswald?"

"Personally, I think you're thinking too much about this," Sylvia said, shrugging. "Random acts of violence happen all the time. It's Gotham for god's sake. I mean, these are the same people who had nothing better to do with their time than go after symbols of Oswald's pride and joy: his mother, the Merc, which was basically his armory, and—"

"—You—"

"Excuse me?"

"You."

"I am not behind these jackasses—"

"Of course not! I'm not saying you are. If the Red Hoods had never been eliminated," Ed said darkly, "I imagine that they'd have tried to come after you next. You mentioned the 'symbols' of his pride and joy. I care to presume you're one of them."

Sylvia scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous."

"How am I being ridiculous? You know what makes Oswald strong, and where he is weak. You know where his safehouses are—or at least, I assume you do—and you're one of his most valuable assets. You can't be bought by riches or anything of marketable value, at least…"

"I'm a weapon." Sylvia said confidently. She drank the rest of her tea, adding, "I'm fit as a fiddle, cryptic as a riddle, and if someone wants to test my sadism, I say 'have at thee'. I agree, though, with what you're saying: I know I mean a lot to Oz: I think everyone knows that. Regardless, I doubt that any of the Red Hoods would come within a herculean inch near me before I blew their brains out."

"I don't mean to criticize, but they already have," Ed reminded. "At the press release when Gertrud's statue was unveiled. They practically put a gun to your head."

"And?" Sylvia said snidely, "I would have cut off their heads."

"Why didn't you?"

"They aimed a gun at you, at Oswald, and at my daughter."

"And you as well."

"I don't care about myself," Sylvia stated as though she was less than aware of her own personal sacrifice. "The only reason I put down my gun was because I was outnumbered. If the situation had been different, I'd have shot them all until they looked like jelly doughnuts run over by a truck."

"Basically, you're telling me that the best way to get inside your head is to threaten your family and friends."

"I'm not the only one like that."

"No, that's true. But I can certainly see why it would be tempting to try."

Sylvia stared at him, saying carefully, "If the Red Hoods are not dead, and you believe they'll be threatening me next, then I suggest we bait them. Have the rest of them who are lurking underground reveal themselves. Preferably before the party: I've been looking forward to seeing who Barbara hired for the entertainment."

Ed sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a prayer. Tactfully, he said, "Sylvia. What you're saying is for you to be used as bait to lure the rest of them out of hiding…"

"…So that we can be done with this," She finished. "Yes, that is what I'm saying. You heard me the first time."

"I hate admitting it, but it sounds like a really good idea."

"Well, a compliment on my intelligence. Color me flattered."

Unabashed, Ed returned smoothly, "Complimenting your intelligence isn't difficult for me. You have plenty of it."

"You're flirting again."

"Perhaps I am."

"Now, see, if you were ever this charming with Kristen, you might've won her over a lot sooner."

"By that logic, I would have killed her sooner."

"Perhaps," Sylvia said, smirking. "But then again, if that were the case, you'd have figured out who you were a lot sooner too. From the sound of it, I doubt you could have refused that circumstance."

"You might have a point."

As quickly, Sylvia asked seriously, "So you think the Red Hoods are still out there? That there might be more?"

"Not so much as there are 'more' as much as 'it's not over, yet'. And I can assure you with one-hundred percent of my absolute confidence that it isn't."

"What are you willing to bet?"

"I don't like to gamble."

"So, you're saying you're not confident at all."

"I never said that."

"It's a game, Nygma. What would you be willing to bet that the tale of the Red Hoods is not over?"

Ed said without hesitation, "I'd risk lowering my IQ by ten points if I am wrong."

"High stakes for a man who doesn't gamble."

"I never said I 'didn't' gamble. I said I prefer not to."

Sylvia smiled, saying, "So, then, what do you propose? A stakeout outside of the Siren's club? A short trip to the GCPD?"

Ed didn't say what he wanted to say. He was tempted to, though. Instead, he cleared his throat intentionally and Sylvia looked at him curiously. There was a beat drop, in such a way that made the two of them perceive the other's intentions. Ed took Sylvia's hand in his, and the gesture made her look at him more carefully, out of suspicion perhaps.

"At this party, I'd like you to be safe. Be aware." Ed told her.

"I'm always careful."

"More so than usual."

"Fine." Sylvia said, shrugging. "I'll be more careful than usual."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

After a moment of silence passed, Sylvia looked him over and asked, "Is that a new suit?"

"Yes, it is!"

"I like it."

"Do you, really?"

"Green is definitely your color." Sylvia noted, smiling at him. "It has a certain jovial appeal. Matches your quirky sense of humor."

"Thank you." Ed said, flattered. He then took in her over all appearance: she'd changed her clothes after coming back to the mansion: a knee-length black cocktail dress; fishnet, fingerless gloves that were pulled to the middle of her elbows. She wore no stockings, but her legs were tanned from running outside during her usual exercise regimen.

"You look good too." Ed said, gesturing to her outfit.

"Do I?" Sylvia responded coyly.

"Very…Very Rubenesque."

Sylvia smirked saying, "Oh, now I know you're flirting with me."

"In my defense, it would have been a missed opportunity if I didn't." Ed returned charmingly.

A moment of silence passed between them again. Suddenly, Sylvia grinned and said, "Speaking of old times…"

Ed blinked and said pointedly, "That's not exactly a 'speaking of which'. We spoke of old times, but that conversation had long since passed."

Ignoring his logical observation, Sylvia said with a subtle smirk, "Remember when I used to come to the GCPD to visit Jim and whenever you and I met, we would exchange riddles?"

A familiar grin met Ed's eyes as he returned, "I do. Are you saying you have one?"

"Perhaps. If you don't mind hearing it."

"As long as you don't mind that I already have an answer for you."

"Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Lay it on me."

"'When you do not know what I am, then I am something. But when you know what I am, then I am nothing. What am I?'"

"You are a riddle." Ed answered.

"Aren't I?"

"No, that was the answer."

"I know," Sylvia said with a knowing grin. "I just wanted to hear you give me another compliment. Do you have one ready for me?"

"You know I do."

"Tell me."

"You'll appreciate this, if I know your dark sense of humor."

Sylvia said mischievously, "Well, now you have to tell me."

"Here it is, then: 'There is a dead man in the middle of a field, nothing is around him. There are no footprints of any sort. There's an unopened package next to him. What was the cause of his death?'"

Sylvia gave it a moment's thought and then she started giggling. Ed grinned, knowing she knew the answer.

"His parachute failed." Sylvia said with a raucous giggle.

"Exactly!"

Their playful back-and-forth was momentarily interrupted as Victor Zsasz sauntered into the room. Seeing the gallon of tea sitting on the counter, he helped himself; only after having poured himself a glass, he had cared to notice Ed and Sylvia standing there, talking. He grinned at the both of them, saying, "What's up!"

"Not much," Ed returned. He glanced casually at the hitman before he told Sylvia, "I'm going to get the Mayor's schedule ready for next week. Those meetings can be brutal."

"No doubt," Sylvia said. She grinned politely when he left her side. She turned to look at Victor, who had been watching her with a smirk. "What?"

Innocently, he responded: "Nothing."

Sylvia poured herself a third glass of tea, wordlessly taking a sip. Victor stood, his hands on the straps of his holster vest as he watched her like a hawk. Curious to his behavior, Sylvia looked at him questionably.

"So how disappointed are you that we didn't get to waste those Hoods?" He asked knowingly.

"Damn, you've been waiting to ask me that question, haven't you?"

"Since we got back."

"Well, to answer your question: Very."

"So much for going in and not sharing. Who knew that when it came to killing, you'd have to give it up for someone like Gilzean? I didn't see that coming."

"Who would have."

Victor said sweetly, "Don't worry, Kiddo. We still have Dolores Reese this weekend."

"Yeah, sure, but there's something about a mass genocide that is still so profitable."

"We wouldn't have made any money from this."

"Profit in happiness points."

Victor said impishly, "So, what's going on between you and Mr. Chief of Staff."

"Nothing is going on between us."

"You two seemed pretty chummy in here together. All alone."

"We're just friends. It's just like you and me."

"Oh, I see."

Sylvia said defensively, "What do you see?"

"You've been cheating on me, Liv. Found yourself another Work-Husband." Victor joked. "And here I thought we had something special. I guess I could have seen it coming. He's the Mayor's Chief of Staff and you're Penguin's Chief of Staff."

"That's perverted."

"Well, look who we're talking about here."

She sent him a sideways glance and muttered, "Point taken."

"Is it the intelligence?"

"What is?"

"You have a type." Victor said, poking her playfully in the shoulder. "I thought you might have been more for the 'tall, dark, and mysterious'. I figured that's where I come in, but you like 'em nerdy and smart with a side of confidence."

Sylvia put her glass in the kitchen sink, turning to Victor, saying, "I don't have a type."

"Criminals are your type. Personally, I'm flattered."

"Fuck off, Victor." She warned, but she smiled in spite of herself.

"I love you, Kiddo. But we both know my love for you is purely platonic."

"Thank god for that."

"Are your plans still open for the weekend?"

"You know they are."

"How did you want to go about getting Reese?"

"Kidnap and torture," Sylvia answered nonchalantly.

"Feeling generous these days?" Victor commented.

"Well, the Red Hoods are gone; Oswald's having his mayoral party tonight, and I'm feeling pretty hopeful."

"Did you ever find that kid? Mario's kid?"

"No," said Sylvia sadly. "I don't know what happened to her."

"Did Jim find anything out?"

"Nothing worth mentioning. Some random woman was wearing Ivy's sweater but nothing else came from the investigation. Came up with nothing."

"I guess that was worth the five G's, huh?"

"Jim helped me out. He deserved it."

"Funny how he needs money to do you a favor but you don't ever ask for anything in return," Victor said shallowly.

"It's one of my least profitable traits, unfortunately." Sylvia said crassly. "And before you lay into my brother about his efforts, you didn't find anything either, just so we're clear."

"In my defense, I didn't really look. Kids are always disappearing in Gotham. She's no different."

"She's very different." Sylvia said crossly. She poked Victor hard in the chest, adding, "You didn't know her so you don't get to talk about her like that."

He recognized that tone and Victor held up his hand apologetically.

"I guessing you'll be pretty drunk by the end of this party," He assumed, gesturing to her.

"How you figure that?"

"Demetri's watching your kid, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You don't have any meetings for the rest of the day?"

"None."

"So, you're going to get drunk tonight."

Sylvia smirked asking, "If you're trying to weasel your way into my inebriated shenanigans, Victor, you don't have to compromise your honor: you can just ask."

"I'd love to ask," Victor said with a sly grin of his own. "But I love our friendship and I'm afraid if I asked, you might say 'yes'."

Sylvia snickered, "Looking out for me, huh?"

"You know how I feel about you, Kiddo."

"The feeling's mutual. Love you, work-hubby."

Victor took her hand, and kissed the back of it.

Pleased, Sylvia smiled at him. Victor politely excused himself and left the room. Sylvia considered getting another glass of tea but after having three already, she decided to go to the bathroom instead.