Chapter Fifty-Nine: Burgers, Targets, and Discussions
Author's Note: Here's another chapter, my Lovelies!
It was midday, a quarter to twelve. Oswald was finishing up eating lunch when he heard Sylvia's boom box blaring from where he sat. This was a notable cue that she was either practicing a dance for an upcoming venue or she was having an all-out sparring match with her twin sidekicks. She'd become most involved with those two, Oswald noticed—more than she'd ever been with any of her other loyal subjects.
Curious to the occasion, and hearing music, he ventured onto the patio.
As he suspected, Jack and Joel Kabuki, and Sylvia were outside. Both men were dressed down to black sweats and bare feet; Sylvia wore black leggings and a spaghetti-stringed burgundy top, which clung to her every curve, revealing the soft edges of her lean physique. Oswald found himself smiling a little, noticing the twins had a chiseled figure of their own.
The tune blasting on the boom box was an unknown song to Oswald; this song was not to his classical tastes, and from what he gathered from the lyrics, they were far from modest.
Jack and Joel, identical right down to the last flexed muscle, stood on either side of Sylvia, mirroring her every tilt, hip thrust and gyration; at one point, each twin grabbed a leg and she was tossed a few feet in the air, caught, and then wrapped around them once before she slithered down the floor to the music's last beat. Evidently, Oswald had caught the last bit of it, but he was impressed in general.
He gave a respectful round of applause as Sylvia praised Jack for his dexterity and Joel for his stamina. They both grinned widely at her words, knowing they'd earned it.
"Remember," Sylvia said, touching her head as a point. "There's going to be fire around us. Don't throw me up as high."
"I feel like there needs to be more involved," Joel said breathlessly.
"Example?" Sylvia asked, taking a towel from the patio chair and wiping her face.
"Like swords or something," Jack offered in Joel's place. "To add a slight bit more danger."
"The risk of being burned isn't enough for you?"
They caught her tease. Oswald watched them with subtle entertainment.
"Too bad we don't have more people," Jack said distractedly, gathering a towel for himself as he threw it over his neck, using one end to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "The more numbers we had, the better it'd look."
"Well, it helps that you two are twins," Sylvia reminded. "Having the both of you is like an illusion. And I do love illusions."
"Sounds like we got our work cut out for us then," said Joel, "but I still think we could use another element."
"You find that element, you let me know. Otherwise, you'll just have to settle for being singed. Take a lap," Sylvia told them, gesturing to the yard.
"After you," Jack challenged his brother.
"Bitch, I can outrun your ass in minutes."
"I can do it in seconds!"
"Oh yeah!"
"Yeah!" Jack said with a wider smile. "Need proof? Let's go on three."
"Fine. On three."
"One. Two…" Jack sprinted off towards what the 'start' line was. Basically, it was the beginning of a trail run.
"Hey, fucker! YOU CHEATED!" Joel sprinted after him, running barefoot like his counterpart.
Sylvia watched him catch up to Jack, not before he tackled him and they started running around the yard (a good three acres was inherited to Oswald after his father's passing). Sylvia smiled when Oswald handed her a bottle of water from the pack underneath a chair.
"You have a performance coming up?" He asked conversationally, sitting down on a stone bench provided more as decoration in the yard than as furniture—it suited him though.
They both lifted their eyes to the whooping and hollering heard some yards away in the field.
"Are they coming back?" asked Oswald with a quiet snicker.
"They're getting their energy out today," said Sylvia, before drinking from her bottle of water. "They can't be expected to sit still at a meeting with the other Heads of the Five Families without getting all of it out prior to it."
Oswald squinted, saying, "It looks like they're taking a break."
Jack and Joel strolled back.
"What the hell were you all doing?" Sylvia asked curiously, seeing how their bodies were covered in dirt and grime, and some leaves stuck to their bodies due to their sweat.
"We got into a bit of a scuffle," Jack explained away. "It's okay though."
"Feeling good?" Sylvia asked.
"Yep," the twins answered eagerly.
"Still ready to exercise?"
"You're not done yet?" Oswald questioned, startled.
"No. We were rehearsing when you came out," Sylvia said nonchalantly.
"It was only thirty minutes," Jack offered.
Joel disagreed: "Ya stupid, it was an hour!"
"Well, I lose track of time when I'm having fun."
"Glad you were having fun," Sylvia drawled, smirking at them, standing to her feet. She placed her hands on her hips.
"Oh shit, I know that smile," Jack groaned.
Oswald's eyes darted between the twins and he jumped a little when Sylvia shouted, "ON YOUR FACES!"
"Fuck, man…" Joel winced as he got down to do the first set of push-ups.
"Just shut up, and do it," Jack groaned. "It'll be over in an hour before you know it."
Oswald pleasantly watched the twins follow Sylvia's orders. Pushups, sit-ups, reverse crunches, burpees, mountain climbers, and she drilled them until Jack and Joel were begging for it to end.
"On your feet." Sylvia commanded.
"Fuck…If she tells us to run, I'm gonna die," Jack laughed weakly.
Joel stumbled to the balls of his feet, bringing his brother up with him.
"Go take a shower, fellas." Sylvia said, patting them both on the shoulders.
"We're done?" Jack and Joel expressed the same surprise.
"Yep. I'm feeling lenient."
"Oh, thank god…" Jack breathed, slowly getting to his knees. "I thought we were going to have to run again."
"I'm about to change my mind," Sylvia warned with a mischievous smile.
"Go, man!" Joel snapped, slapping his brother on the head.
The two of them jogged inside the mansion. Sylvia looked after them before she turned to Oswald, who watched her with fascination.
"How often?" He asked.
"Three times a week," Sylvia returned knowingly. "They normally run with me at the crack of dawn."
"And you decided to change things up by doing this in the afternoon?"
"Kinda. Just wanted to spice it up a little."
"Huh."
Sylvia sat down on the bench beside him. She leaned forward a little, smirking at Oswald, who peered at her suspiciously.
"A little spontaneity is good for the soul, Love."
"And you call that spontaneous? Changing your exercise regimen."
"Fine then…What about this?"
Her lips just barely grazed his bottom lip; her tongue teased the outer edge. His eyes closed when her mouth pressed harder against his; the softest pressure with the darkest intentions.
Oswald could feel his heart flutter when he felt her tongue slide along the line where his lips met. His stomach lurched with the contact of her hand on his face, her thumb lined along his jaw and applied a downward pressure so his mouth opened a little; with the invitation, Sylvia slipped her tongue inside to find his own.
He returned every kiss, every touch. Not much had changed between them as husband and wife, but he felt the dynamic change in the course that he was officially her superior and she, his subordinate. It seemed as though she was tracking it as well; she exhaled a sound of satisfaction when he brought his hand to her neck, pulling her gently to him in the force of a small tug to feel her closer to him.
"Where's the venue?" Oswald asked, referring to her upcoming performance.
"It's in the Lo Boyz territory." Sylvia explained. She caught her breath. "There's a manager there. He has big enough venue—some opera, large seating, large stage…"
"And he's paying you?" Oswald asked. He heard her giggle without any dark undertones.
"Of course, he is."
"What is his security like?"
"Ten able-bodied men with guns. Four in the front, four in the back, two around the stage. I personally spoke to his security consultant. The guy's a little mouthy, but he's competent."
"And other than the twins, who else are you bringing with you?"
"All that security," She said coyly, "And you still don't think I'll be safe."
"You're a gang leader, Pigeon." Oswald said patiently, referring to her new role as a Donna. "You're in the same position as Maroni or Falcone. Plenty of people want to be in your position."
"And that wasn't the case when I was Gotham's acting Queen?"
He heard the humor in her voice. She was rightly in a better mood that he had seen her. Granted, dancing, fighting, and singing were her mood outlets. Well, excluding himself.
"Ignoring all the technicalities, you are still Gotham's Queen. I'm its King. The situation speaks for itself."
"I'm not responsible for the city. Or its Underworld."
"Not anymore."
She pulled the ponytail out of her hair; it fell around her shoulders in tangled curls. Sylvia rubbed her head, sighing in relief when she tussled her locks, feeling the pain of her roots trying to stay in their accustomed position while she massaged her scalp.
"I don't know how you do it, baby."
"What did I tell you a year ago?"
"At what point in time?"
"When you were still pregnant. And you were worrying about the Families, Butch, and Tabitha."
"You said for me to worry about Csilla, and let you worry about everything else," Sylvia recalled. "But that's easier said than done. Especially now. I may get tired of worrying about what everyone is trying to do, what they're saying, how they perceive me, and see how stressed being both the Mayor and the Underworld's primary ruler does to you. But at the same time, I can't let it go."
"And this is coming from someone who just stepped down to be Paddock's successor." Oswald said coolly.
"You sound upset by that, but you and I both know it was the only option. Paddock's Family has no other better ruler; either they don't talk or they don't listen—some of the Hearing folk don't listen, but it's out of their own ignorance or insolence. I'm not sure which."
"Hmm."
He watched her wipe the sweat off the back of her neck, and rub the towel over her chest. For all his efforts of teasing her the other night, taking care of himself later in bed, Oswald felt a little hot and bothered, seeing her this way.
She rubbed the back of her neck, lowering her head so she could get a better angle. She moaned quietly; the sound stifled in her throat. It made Oswald's heart skip a beat.
Sylvia said lightly, "I have to get ready." She leaned into him again, giving him another kiss before she stood and headed back into the mansion to take a shower.
Her display of affection was always in generous doses. For having teased and left her hanging the other night, Oswald wondered why she was being overtly affectionate now. Did she have something to prove? Was she teaching him a lesson? Or did her proclivity for dancing and bossing about her minions give her that much gratification to shower him in affection that he likely hadn't deserved in the past couple of weeks?
It annoyed Oswald to no end. And thinking on it was just frustrating in itself, when he knew the real reason: Sylvia showed her affection, how much she cared for him, regardless of how irritating he'd been for the last few days. Her love for him was unconditional, just like his mother's.
He'd forget that Sylvia didn't have to be as overly affectionate as she was. Comparatively, Ed wasn't by any means.
Then again…Sylvia was an open book, while Ed was clearly more complicated. Or maybe…
Oswald sighed in resignation, heading into the mansion to make a cup of coffee. He didn't care for the taste too much these days, but he'd started drinking a lot more of it when he needed to have his clarity. And for this meeting in particular, he'd definitely need it.
Alex and Victor saddled up in a car with the latter of the two in the driver's seat. They were just about to head towards their first unsuspecting target before the car pulled into the parking lot. Alex looked at the hitman, puzzled.
"Why the hell are we here?" He inquired, glancing back at the building. "This isn't the guy's place."
"Liv mentioned you were very perceptive," Victor sighed, rolling his eyes. He thumbed the restaurant behind him, adding, "I don't like working on an empty stomach."
"It's only one target."
"It's technically three."
Alex furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand what he meant without having to question it. Victor gathered too quickly why Sylvia found his oblivious nature a little irritating to be around 24/7. After a moment of waiting for Alex to put two-and-two together, Victor shook his head in obvious amusement before he opened the door, getting out of the car and headed inside the restaurant without another word.
The two of them had different styles of professional attire.
Victor preferred dark exterior with bright, shiny interior. He wore a charcoal-gray Armani suit, one of which he bought with the money Sylvia predisposed to him (her insistent nature was too exhausting to dismiss) prior to his departure to cross off two items from her agenda. Underneath his waist coat, he carried his crossed-back holster straps, which carried two of his babies. Unknown to anyone else, he'd named each of his Glocks as they were precious to him as any one of his scars.
He wore the holster straps over a shimmering bright, neon blue vest with a black, crackle pattern. He had enough confidence in his stealth and speed to wear such a color in the blackest of nights.
Alexander Beals ('Rooster', as he always preferred to be addressed) wore dark colors all around. Navy blue suit, ebony vest, gray tie—so boring.
Victor casually held open the door for Alex to enter first. A gentleman's code, it was presumed to be, but honestly, he preferred to be on Alex's back rather than in front of him. He felt safer that way until he could acquire a more reliable trust in his new partner.
At this time of night, the restaurant was nearly dead. It was open for twenty-four hours, and it was consistently understaffed, working with a skeleton crew of three people: One person to take the order and work the counter; the second to cook and fry whatever it was the customer desired; and a third to clean the mess.
"What'll it be?" The cashier said monotonously.
Alex immediately frowned at the lack of customer service; meanwhile, Victor seemed unaffected. He made a gesture to the cashier that the two of them were still deciding; in return, the cashier looked a little annoyed by their delay, but otherwise remained quite content to fiddle faddle in the back, talking loudly to his two other counterparts about whatever sport he was interested in discussing.
"He should be fired," Alex muttered, crossing his arms.
Victor glanced at him: "If he bothers you that much, kill him."
"That's a little over the top, don't you think?"
"Nope."
Alex shifted uncomfortably at the way Victor voiced his nonchalance for such a crime against a man's disinterest. At the same time, it was an interesting viewpoint. Were they not about to manhandle a potential debtor for much more than indifference?
"What're you getting?" Victor asked, leaning on a rail provided for aligning guests like a rat in a maze. He thumbed the bar with fingerless gloves, adding, "I'm in the mood for a burger."
"I'm not much in the mood for anything at the moment."
"Just get something so I don't have to eat alone."
"You care about your self-image?" asked Alex humorously.
"And you don't?"
"No. I don't care what people think about me."
"That's pretty admirable," Victor mused. "For someone who insists on everyone and their brother call him 'Rooster'."
Alex sent him an annoyed glare but Victor grinned shamelessly as he approached the counter to give the cashier his order. Alex sifted forward, after the other man stepped aside. With a point to make, Alex said coarsely, "Burger and fries. And a Coke."
"Sure thing." The cashier sighed dismissively. He pushed a few buttons on the register. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, uh…A milkshake."
"Ooh!" Victor quickly ambled next to Alex, pointing to the register. "Put me on there for one as well."
"What flavor?" said the cashier tonelessly.
"Vanilla," Victor said with a grin.
"Chocolate." Alex piped in.
"So two burgers, a fry, two milk shakes…" The cashier continued flatly. He asked Victor, "Do you want to make your burger a combo? You can save four dollars."
"Sure, why not," Victor shrugged. "Oh, and add a cookie."
"Cookie…Two Big Man combos, two milk shakes…anything else?"
"That about covers it," said Alex, nodding his head with finality. He looked at Victor: "You're going to eat all that, and a cookie?"
"Nah. The cookie is for someone else."
"For Sylvia?"
Victor chuckled, "No, but I think it's hilarious why you'd suddenly think that."
"Then if not for her…?"
Victor simply handed the cashier a credit card, which the cashier took in what could only be described as painful relief while the other two men bantered about whatever the hell—he didn't care. Once Victor was handed the card, he pocketed it in the inner part of his coat, smiling widely once their large fountain cups were placed on the counter.
Victor handed one of the cups to Alex, who took his with an implied 'thanks'; Victor took his own cup and the hard plastic plaque labeled '21' and strolled to the farthest part of the restaurant where there were an assortment of options for a fountain drink, consisting of teas, lemonades, colas, Gatorade, and even water.
There was a brief silence between them until Alex and Victor sat down in a booth. The both of them had excellent views of the entrance and exit doors.
Too happily, Victor placed the numbered plaque on the edge of the table; after, he drank from his cup, eagerly waiting for his milkshake.
"So," Alex begun. "Who's the cookie for?"
Victor grinned: "Curious, aren't ya?"
"Yeah. If it's not for Sylvia…"
"You think it's for her even though I said it wasn't."
"Well, I've seen how you two act when you are together…" Alex said, his voice trailing off intentionally to lead Victor into the implication.
"And how do we act when we are?"
Alex frowned: "So you know."
"I do." Victor said with a crooked grin. "I know what we look like, and I know what you're thinking. But if it's any consolation, man, Sylvia's a friend. A close friend."
"How close?"
"Just very close."
Annoyed by his vague responses, Alex questioned point-blank: "Are you fucking her?"
Victor grinned widely enough so that all of his white teeth were exposed. In return, Alex's frown deepened and he crossed his arms, sitting back.
"What would you really do if I told you we were?"
"I'd probably knock you in the head with a club."
"Such a violent response for someone who could never commit to her. You know…back when it really mattered."
Suddenly, Alex's ill-disposed behavior towards Victor faltered and he gave the latter a mixed look of remorse and offense. Victor took a drink from his cup, lifting the straw a little so he put it back down in thought. He didn't say much of anything else, but Alex wasn't one for uncomfortable silences…Then again, Victor seemed comfortable in any situation, no matter the amount of tension.
"She told you about all of that?" Alex asked.
"Yep," said Victor, then he drank again through the straw. "You and Sylvia were an item for, what, six months. She loved you, you allegedly loved her. You were in and out of jail, and instead of telling her the truth about your criminal past, you lied and said you just had to 'be gone a while'. And then," Victor looked up at Alex for the first time since speaking, "You decide that you have to consummate whatever it is you had with her, told her to meet you at the pier one fateful night. And you never showed." He smirked, adding, "You devil dog, you."
The smirk was there, but there was an hostile undertone to his voice, one of which Alex heard.
"That's how it happened, is it?"
"As she remembers it," Victor pointed out. He leaned back into his seat, crossing his ankles: "Obviously, as you can tell, I have my own feelings regarding that whole situation. But as a man who has never really committed himself to any one person, I thought I'd find out your side of the story before I truly came to my own reservations about you."
"Is that why you brought me on this trip?" asked Alex defensively. "To get my side of the story?"
"Not at all," Victor snickered. "Liv asked me to bring you. She seems to be under the impression that you're not cut out to be just a bodyguard or a bouncer."
"That's because I'm not."
"And, yet, you are more than content to work at her club like you are."
"There isn't any work down South anymore."
"Oh, I know. Why do you think I've been working for Penguin all these months?"
"So why the malcontent?"
Victor sighed, and his lips straightened to a tight line: "Do you want to know why Don Falcone never asked you to do his bidding? Why he always chose me over you, in any day of the week? Or, for that matter, why he chose anyone else to carry out his contracts? It's because you don't sell yourself very well."
"Good to know," Alex said despondently. "I didn't realize you were a fucking errand boy yourself. It's nice to get on the same level of respect."
"I'm not an errand boy. For anyone."
Alex startled at Victor's deadly tone, but he reminded, "You've been working for someone your entire life, haven't you? Well, so have I. How is what you do for a living any different than what I do?"
Victor made a face reflecting agreement at this point.
"It's frustrating," Alex offered. "Sometimes, I wish I was my own boss."
"Well, if you're looking at it like that, then we are definitely different. I make my own hours."
"How?"
"I do what I want, when I want, and, more importantly, how I want. But, I also do whatever it is that my boss prefers—why do you think I've worked for Don Falcone all these years?"
"Now you're working for Penguin."
"Yep. And he always makes things interesting for me. He doesn't even do it on purpose."
"And you can work for someone like Penguin?"
"Obviously." Victor mused. He leaned forward: "Personally, I'm surprised he hasn't come for you yet. Penguin isn't exactly the type of man who likes having potential beaus lurking around Sylvia. Then again" (Victor snickered) "Look who I'm talking to."
"Sylvia says I'm good for something."
"Aren't we all?"
"We have history."
"As do we," Victor reminded. "You may know a side of Sylvia that I'll never know, but if you ever have to wonder why she shoots as well as she does, how she's such a great marksman, and moreover, why she's so good at being Penguin's enforcer, you need only look to me."
"You trained her?" Alex asked incredulously.
"You sound surprised."
"Not really 'surprised'. Well…I guess 'surprised' would be the word for it. I just don't see you being a mentor."
"I don't waste my time on candidates who prove to be incompetent or unmotivated," Victor said lazily. "She proved to be worth my time."
"What was her motivation?"
"What do you think?"
"Money?"
Victor giggled, "You really don't know who you left at the pier, do you?"
Alex frowned: "What was her motivation for learning from you?"
"Penguin."
"What about him?"
"Goddamn, you're oblivious," Victor stated in amusement. "Sylvia learned to be a better marksman, to be a better soldier so she could protect Penguin. Everything she has ever done has been done to serve Penguin, to be his unstoppable weapon and his impenetrable fortress. Literally, money is her last priority. If you had taken the time to understand her, to really know her, you'd see that."
"Why do you keep coming at me?" Alex said indignantly. "I told her I was sorry for leaving her. I can't be held accountable for doing something stupid for the rest of my life when it was literally thirteen years ago."
"Sylvia's forgiven you for a stupid mistake. I, on the other hand, can't. And, by the way, you'll always be held accountable for it: in one way or another. Be it by Penguin, by Jim, by me, or…even by Fate." Victor stated. He pointedly held up the plaque that was numbered '21', adding, "See? Even Fate knows the age at which you made your dumb mistake."
"I know it was dumb. I am sorry." Alex said impatiently. "There's nothing I can do to undo what I've done."
"True."
"Besides, you're not her husband or her brother. So why are you taking it so personally?"
Victor leaned forward so Alex slowly sat back.
"Sylvia means a great deal to me, Rooster. And I don't use those words lightly with anyone. She's one of my best friends."
"You were friends when you met. That doesn't really count."
"On a contrary. When we first met, she was ready to kill me." Victor said with a small laugh.
"Because you're a killer?"
"No. Falcone asked me to bring Jim back from the GCPD alive. He wouldn't come quietly, so I had to rain down hell and fire. I'll admit, I really enjoyed it. Falcone later asked me to pass on a message and I met Sylvia for the first time in an alley; she was trying to break into 'Joe's'—it's a floral store, you know."
"I know the place. So did she try to kill you?"
"Nah. But I tell you what. She really wanted to. I could tell. She had a gun to my head. A few things happened since then, and here we are. She's one hell of a woman, one hell of a friend…and Penguin couldn't be luckier to have her. Which is why I don't understand why you'd leave someone who's so dedicated to her family and her friends."
"I thought I saw something more outside of Gotham than what there was. Clearly, there wasn't."
"Clearly. And thanks to your absence, Penguin found her. Thank goodness too. Sylvia deserves someone smart."
"I'm smart." Alex recoiled.
"I'm talking about Penguin-smart, or Edward Nygma-smart."
"Edward Nygma?"
"Penguin's Chief-of-Staff."
"I know who he is," Alex said, mortified. "Why did you mention him? Wait…Does she like him too!"
"Between you and me: Sylvia's heart is fully invested in Penguin. But she does like Nygma. I've seen them together." Victor said with a smile. He put his hands together, adding, "They've got chemistry—"
"Wait, you mean 'like-like'?"
Victor shrugged carelessly: "Sylvia's got a thing for intelligent killers."
"I've killed people."
"Yeah, but you're not intelligent," Victor reminded. He chortled: "Man, you built me up to that one, didn't you?"
"So, she's lusting after nerds."
"I wouldn't go so far as to call either of them 'nerds', but I can certainly see how she's turned off by you." Victor reasoned.
"So, she does have a thing for Nygma!"
"Boy, you just have a one-track mind, don't you?"
Alex stood, leaning over the table: "I'm just as good as either of them."
"And there's that ego she's been telling me about."
"I'm smart as any of them!"
"In the department of good looks and being a bodyguard, I guess," said Victor with another careless shrug. "But you still don't even know who our targets are."
"I would if you'd tell me!"
Victor smiled for two reasons. The cashier came out with their order, placing the tray on the table for the men to arrange their own food amongst themselves. For the other reason, Victor found his ignorance too comical.
When the cashier retreated behind the counter, Victor took a long sip of his milkshake and sighed, "You know, vanilla ice cream is so underrated."
"I'm not a vanilla person."
"Well, I'd say that's another reason why Sylvia was in a good way about not being with you, but—then again—you and her had one night together. That's not enough time to—"
"Just shut up and eat," Alex snapped.
Victor smirked. It was easy to get under the young man's skin, no matter how hard Alex tried to make it seem. After a moment of silence where the two hitmen ate their meals to completion and drank their milkshakes down to the bare bones, Alex and Victor sighed in content, both leaning back into the seat to allow their food to digest.
"So who are our targets?" Alex asked.
"You should know two of them."
"Why?"
"You told Liv you'd take care of them, remember? To make sure they weren't dirty?"
"Who?"
Victor shook his head, standing to his feet: "'Who'…You have the memory of a seventy-year-old man, and that's not even doing it justice. Paddock's nearly reaching his higher tenure for dementia, and he still remembers names."
"Would you stop breaking my balls?" Alex retorted as they stepped out of the booth.
"Funny. I didn't realize you had any. My bad," Victor returned politely, slipping past him and out of the restaurant.
Alex watched him in pent-up annoyance.
As he walked after Victor, Alex shouted in exasperation, "Would you at least tell me who the fucking cookie is for!"
Ed Nygma had never felt alive, although his happiness now derived from electrocuting Butch for the fifth time in the past hour and a half. His better half, Tabitha Galavan, could only let out a desperate plea, muffled by the ball gag in her mouth.
"I'll never get tired of that," Ed purred as he took his button off the remote control.
Once the jolts of electricity slackened, Butch's heavy breathing dulled to painful groans.
For all the efforts of their hiding and dodging crosshairs, Ed had found them.
Butch had a tendency to order take-out a little too often and utilized only a single messenger to transport that food from a single restaurant. The youthful messenger had to be bought with a hundred dollars before he leisurely gave up his contacts—evidently, the boy wasn't tipped well enough.
Butch and Tabitha were hunkered in an abandoned house near Gotham's city limits. The house itself looked like it would collapse from the asbestos likely living within its walls, and Ed had considered moving his torture game to a healthier and humanely inhabitable location. That was before he met eyes with the people who'd murdered his girlfriend. Once he laid eyes on Butch and Tabitha, their slow, devastating, painful deaths had become his only focus.
The both of them had eaten the takeout Butch had, for the last time, ordered. Before the messenger boy had delivered their orders, it had been poisoned with an odorless, tasteless solvent, one of which Ed had placed unknown to the messenger.
Tabitha had fallen 'asleep' long before Butch; the solvent had to work in overdrive in order to counteract Butch's body weight; this was a problem Ed had long since premeditated and it was just a matter of waiting for the chemical to digest before Butch fell unconscious as well.
In their temporary coma, Ed had tied them both to their own chairs, latched their wrists in leather straps, and gagged the both of them with the parts ordered from a provocative store. The financial dip in his assets would be worth seeing them die.
"You should have known this was coming," Ed said hoarsely, glancing between the pair of them as they glared back at him.
"Hmmrmmm!" Tabitha growled.
"Hhhhmmmhhmmmm!" Butch protested.
"I'm glad we're talking it through like adults," Ed snickered. "That's how things are normally done. You know…when people close to me aren't being pushed off a bridge and into traffic."
Butch and Tabitha glanced at each other in confusion before Ed hit the button again, and it threw Butch into another convulsing shock. Tabitha started screaming something, more than just her unintelligible shrieks that meant nothing to Ed…until she started wringing her restrained hands to the best of her ability.
"You need to say something?" Ed asked apathetically.
Tabitha nodded her head violently, getting her point across.
"I sure hope it's a heart-felt plea to keep your lover alive, otherwise, you're really wasting my time," Ed uttered curtly.
He placed the remote on the table, rubbing his hands on his pants before he stepped towards his female antagonist. Ed reached behind her head, undoing the leathered gag. Once he did, Tabitha let out a snarl.
"Tell us what you want!"
Ed smiled cruelly: "I want you to suffer."
"For what?"
"You, and your gorilla boyfriend," said Ed, disgruntled (Butch growled) "took the love of my life away from me."
"We didn't do anything like that—"
"—Oh, you didn't—"
"No, we didn't!" Tabitha exclaimed furiously. "We've been here the entire time, you idiot!"
"Calling me names wouldn't be in your best interest, Tabitha." Ed said calmly. He held the gag up pointedly, adding, "The helmet currently programmed to shock your boyfriend…those same electric shocks are under your chair. You're so worried about him, you should be worried for your own safety. After all, they named you first."
"I've been here the whole time!"
"Well, that's what you would say."
"Who was it?"
"A homeless man. A homeless man named your name. 'Tabitha', he said."
"You're such a liar."
Ed frowned: "I may be a few things, but I don't lie about anything. And I don't bluff either. So…as fun as it was hearing your lamentable excuses," (He strolled to the table, picking up the remote once more) "I'm about to give you a reason to start calling me names. 'Murderer' will likely be one of them."
Butch started struggling, to get out of his restraints while Tabitha desperately pleaded for Ed not to hurt him anymore.
"Maybe I'll just get rid of you first, huh?" Ed offered, pointing the control to Tabitha. "That might hurt Butch a lot more than me hurting him. In fact, I think that is what I'll do instead. And, I think I want to hear you" (he pointed to Butch) "plea for me not to do it. Just as I might've done if I'd been there to stop the two of you from pushing Isabella into the thundering traffic below."
He stepped over the electrical lines on the floor and pulled off Butch's gag.
"Any last words before I kill your girlfriend, lover boy?" asked Ed sinisterly. "You never know. You might be able to sway me. But I highly doubt it."
"That fact that any woman would fall in love with you a second time is kind of funny," Butch said, licking his lips; like Tabitha's, his mouth was chafed by the leather gag that had kept his mouth open for a few hours.
Ed frowned, looking at him.
He couldn't deny that hurt him.
"Or that any woman would want you in any other way but—" Butch started, but his sentence was cut off by the electric jolt that to his own relief had only lasted a few seconds.
Ed bent down at the waist, holding the arms on Butch's chair as he met the man eye-level.
"For your information, Butch. There are plenty other people who like being with me."
"Who?" Butch laughed. "Who would want—"
"Sylvia, for one."
That really stumped Butch's guffawing, much to Ed's deep satisfaction. Tabitha's eyebrows raised in response, and neither of them really had anything to say, based on how confident and how brazen Ed's comeback had been. It had been spoken so boldly, there was no questioning it.
"I guess I'll die happy then," Butch groaned. "Because after I'm gone, you'll be joining me later."
"Why?" Ed asked lowly.
"Because Penguin will be coming for you."
"No, he won't. He knows."
Tabitha let out a small hysterical giggle, "She's more fucked up than I thought, then. I knew she had a hand in a little insanity, but I didn't realize she was out of her fucking mind. And being with you…" Tabitha's head fell back to the top of her chair as she continued to giggle (mostly mad due to the fact that her boyfriend had been electrocuted over and over in the past hour or so).
Ed strode over to her.
"You think she has a hand in it?" He uttered darkly. "Let's see what you're like when you don't even have a hand."
He strode over to the table on which sat a variety of torture tools. One in particular was picked up and moved onto a smaller table, which was wheeled over and placed directly beside Tabitha. The torture device appeared to be a mini-sized guillotine, fit for chopping off feet or, in this case, hands. The blade gleamed from the sunlight reflecting through the windows.
"What the hell is all of this over again?" Butch called over to Ed, hoping to distract his attention from Tabitha. "Because of a girl?"
"You and Tabitha both conspired to bring Isabella to the bridge. There was a struggle. You shot her" (He gestured to Butch) "and you" (He glared at Tabitha) "pushed her over the bridge and into traffic. The cars literally ran her over to the point I could barely make an identification."
"Wait!" Tabitha squeaked. "If Butch shot her, there would be a bullet missing from his gun!"
"What makes you think I'd believe he'd still keep his gun after committing a murder?" Ed snapped. However, he glanced at Butch. "Then again, he's an idiot. In that instance, I'd be a bigger idiot not to believe that."
He smiled at Tabitha widely. She looked back at him uneasily.
"You sit tight." Ed drawled, patting her head. She angrily flinched from him, to no avail. "I'm going to put this on a 2-minute timer. You twoare going to sit here and talk amongst yourselves, while I go back to your bedroom and get his gun. After all, I can't in all good conscience kill you without really knowing, right?" He snickered, "But I have been feeling a little under the weather, so it will take me some time to get it. Hopefully, I'll be back to stop this metal monstrosity in time to save your hand. That is, if you are innocent."
He patted Tabitha's head again and then Butch's head, then placed both the machine on a timer as well as his watch. Once the clock started counting down, he sauntered out of sight.
"In any case this lunatic kills us," Butch managed calmly, "I have to tell you something, baby."
Tabitha glanced at him, muttering, "Whatever you want to tell me, you can tell me later."
"This can't wait."
"Yes, it can."
"No one has ever looked at me the way you do," Butch said, shaking his head, ignoring her reluctance to hear his words. "You're the only one who has ever looked me in the eye when I spoke, cared to listen when I talked, and, honestly, I never thought I'd find someone who would make me feel the way I do."
"Butch…"
"It's okay if you don't feel the same way," Butch insisted. "I just wanted you to know that. I want you to know that I love you."
Ed came back, looking surprised. He held the gun in his hand, and showed them a fully loaded chamber.
"You didn't kill her." He said incredulously. "But who—"
"Stop the timer!" Butch shouted. "Stop the timer! The timer is still—"
And just as he said it, the clock dinged and the steel blade of the guillotine fell.
Sylvia stood in the Meeting Room of the Van Dahl mansion. It was the first meeting in which Isaac Paddock was not a part. The usual routine of the Heads of the Families arriving and gathering in the living room like a herd of cattle was different when Sylvia was on this end of it. She felt like she'd come to a party either too early or too late as she and the other Heads waited for the Kingpin to make his presence known. Each of the Families had brought one or two constituents along (eye witnesses baring the truth, body guards, that type of deal).
With her, were Jack and Joel, and Benson. The twins stood a little away from the table and the alphas, speaking to each other in quiet conversation. Per the usual, they mimicked Victor Zsasz's dress attire, all for the exception of a brightly colored vest. Meanwhile, Benson kept his arms crossed, the palms of his hands hugging the outer corners of his underarms. Compared to the other body guards, he looked like a rock-hard, boulder.
"Where's Paddock?" asked Anderson to no one in particular. "It's the first time he's going to be late."
"Maybe he's laid up," Ronald Maroni said curiously. "He's not been looking too good, anyway. Guy deserves a night off."
Jock Belich, the French and Russian Head of the Belich Crime Family, sat in one of the chairs, pulling out a cigar from the inside of his leather jacket. He'd joined the table with Don Dray, the Head of the Dray Crime Family; comparably, Don Dray's face was looking more elastic and his hairline was receding more than usual; less salt-and-pepper, more salt than anything, if not gray.
"Can you imagine?" Ronald Maroni uttered, shaking his head. "Barnes gone? What happened to him again?"
"He got infected," Belich said nonchalantly. "Tetch Virus, and all."
"Guy like him, I didn't think he'd get infected with anything," said Maroni, shrugging. "Not even the clap."
"Well, I don't think it was intentional," Belich offered.
"Maybe it was."
"Maybe it wasn't."
"I'm just saying," Maroni offered. "The nicest, most hard-working people have the hardest breaks. All of us are aware of that. We profit on it."
"My expenses are all on the books," Belich said honestly.
"Aren't all of ours?" Maroni joked. "That's what makes us legitimate."
Sylvia smirked: "Just because a business has legitimacy does not mean it is honest."
Maroni giggled, "Ain't that the truth." He looked around the room. "Say, Lark. I thought Zsasz would be here."
"Why would he be?" She asked.
Maroni shrugged. Likely, he was just making conversation.
"He's busy doing something for Penguin and me," Sylvia answered cryptically.
That seemed enough to appease the curiosity within the room.
Tommy Bones arrived, his facial hair a little misshapen as though he'd forgotten to trim. The Duke, who was normally fashionably late, appeared by his side; the latter was always quiet, not having said much, and he looked reasonably fit for a man who only held a small portion of assets when compared to all of them.
"Wow. Duke's here before the King," Anderson loudly announced. "And now that all the jesters are in the court, where on Earth is His Majesty?"
Sylvia wordlessly brushed past Anderson, who minded her curiously quelled retorts with subtle interest.
"You've been having meetings with Paddock," offered Belich. "Any idea where he is?"
"His absence is intentional," Sylvia returned comfortably.
"'His absence is intentional'," Anderson repeated spitefully. "My presence is intentional. So is his, and his, and his, and his, and his" (He motioned to Dray, Belich, Maroni, the Duke, and Tommy Bones) "and mine, and even yours, your Highness."
"Enough with the medieval references," said Sylvia dangerously.
"Don Falcone's boy nearly gets blown to bits," Anderson continued. "Penguin calls us to his humble castle, and here we are. But where is he?"
"I said enough with the medieval references!" She snapped, stepping towards him. "You're getting on my fucking nerves, talking like that. So, do me a favor, would you? Shut it."
She turned to walk to the table to take a seat, her hand on a chair.
"How about speaking to me professionally, in the way that your husband taught you?" Anderson asked.
The Kabuki Twins in the corner frowned as did Benson. Tommy Bones and Maroni glanced at one another uneasily while Dray and Belich closely watched Sylvia as she slowly turned from them, taking her hand off the chair and stepping towards Anderson. Her eyes gazed at him with a deadly calculation.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" She uttered lowly.
"I said—"
"You want me to address you professionally?"
"Well, yes. I think I've deserved that."
"You deserve it?" Sylvia retorted. "Fine. If you think you deserve it. I'll give you what you deserve. Don Anderson, would you kindly shut the fuck up, sit your fucking ass down in a chair, listen to whatever your king has to say, and then kindly, go home and fuck your wife with a K-bar!" (She pushed Anderson hard enough so he tripped over the coffee table and fell onto the floor, on his back.) "Once you do that, you can go fuck yourself with the sharpest motherfucking chainsaw you can find, and then come back to this motherfucking house in an iron lung!"
"Sylvia!"
Sylvia turned to see Oswald walking into the Meeting Room, his widened eyes narrowing and staring at her when he realized how the situation had escalated—Olga wasn't joking when she mentioned the conversation 'has having turned ugly'.
Benson's expression, which was normally stoic or flat, had turned into one that implied that he was impressed with her temper and interesting way of telling one of the other Dons to stop irritating the piss out of her. It wasn't an outburst by any means; Anderson had slowly been making his small, addlepated observations, ticking his proverbial fingernails into the fine lines of Sylvia's figurative skin.
"Everyone. Have a seat." Oswald ordered.
They all did. Sylvia sat beside him, but she didn't sit nearly as close as she used to. After all, they now played different roles.
"Where's Paddock?" Anderson once more demanded to know. "We're all here. We can't start the meeting without him."
"Don Paddock is no longer an associate where we are concerned," Oswald explained. "Lark has succeeded him in that regard."
"You killed him?" asked Dray, startled, looking at Sylvia.
"He is not dead, Mr. Dray." Oswald told him, pulling Dray's attention to him. "Isaac Paddock has been ill for quite some time. It hadn't interfered with his role up until a couple of months ago. Benson, here" (Benson nodded his head at the mention of his name) "was his advisor as well as his accountant. He can attest to the change of command."
"Yep." Benson grunted.
"So, if you haven't gathered your wits about you, gentlemen, Lark is now a part of the Family's chain-of-command."
"What's the verbiage?" asked Belich, clicking his tongue, looking at Sylvia. "What do we call you?"
"Donna Gordon," Benson voiced in his deep baritone.
"Ah, the maiden name thing," muttered Dray, shaking his head. "I'm a fan of tradition, but considering who Detective Gordon is, that'll be confusing."
"I know," Maroni laughed. "Can you imagine? We say 'Gordon' and most people will think of the male one. 'How's Gordon?' 'Which one?' I can see the confusion from a mile away, and I don't even the greatest eyesight."
"What can make it less confusing?" asked Belich.
Oswald glanced at Sylvia indicatively.
"Call me 'Lark'." She said calmly. "As it always has been."
"And so…" Anderson said dryly. "It looks like you and I are now on the same level of respect."
Oswald shifted in his seat with a slight bout of irritation towards Anderson. He saw Sylvia's hands on the table clench into fists. Her usual restraint seemed lacking today as she turned towards Anderson.
"On the same level of respect?" Sylvia questioned. "I have no respect for you."
"That's good enough for me. Because I don't have any respect for you."
"Good to know."
"Good."
"Fine."
"Good," Anderson repeated, shaking his head with a nagging fury.
"You already said that."
"I know. I just wanted to make sure you were listening."
"I don't listen to assholes."
"Sounds to me like you are." Anderson retorted, standing up, leaning over Belich to send her a glare of daggers. "And if I were you, I'd—"
"If you were me?" Sylvia responded immediately, getting to her feet.
Belich glanced between them, slowly pushing his chair out of the way so he wasn't stuck within the crossfire.
"Yes!" Anderson lashed out. "You're no longer on top of me. So, you can't—"
"On top of you?" Sylvia giggled with a malicious smile.
"You know what I meant!"
"I couldn't take it any other way."
"I'm sure you couldn't," Anderson assured. "All you do is order people around. Times are changing, and they have changed. We are on the same playing field. Once you start giving me respect, I'll start giving you the same."
"You can't give anything you never had, you limp dick," Sylvia snarled. "By the way, I ordered you around because it was in my power to do so!"
"You overeager little—"
"—And if this is about your son, we've been around that conversation too many times to count. Can't get over it? Fuck off."
"You're not going to keep talking to me like that!"
"You deserve to be talked to like this!"
"See here, young lady—"
"—And you deserve to be slapped, you fucking asshole!"
"How dare you—"
"—No, how dare you—"
"Enough!" Oswald barked.
"But I—" Sylvia began furiously.
"Lark, leave the room," He ordered.
"But—"
"Do as I say." Oswald urged. He added softly, "Please."
Sylvia looked at him angrily, the heat rose to her cheeks as she was obviously humiliated. Oswald motioned his hand towards the kitchen as a point. She pushed her chair into the table with such an admirable force that the candle sticks on the dining table shuddered, then turned on her heel to storm out of the room. Oswald looked after her until the door was audibly closed.
Meanwhile, the Kabuki twins and Benson stared at Oswald with their mouths slightly open, but they were immediately pacified when Oswald leaned forward over the table, his eyes meeting Anderson's with the most animosity any of them had ever seen.
"Don Anderson, you have every right to be angry." He said darkly. "However, while Lark has now been perceived to be a formidable target in your eyes now that she is a Donna, I feel the need to emphasize that while she is no longer your superior, she is, however, still my wife. The next time I hear you debase her in such a cowardly, misogynistic manner, I will personally seek out the service of Victor Zsasz and I will condemn you to hours of torture, the likes of which you, in your many living years, have never seen."
His fingertips tapped the table once before Oswald added, "Are we clear on this matter?"
Anderson gulped and said coolly, "Yes, Sir."
"Good. Now…" Oswald looked at Benson. "Would you kindly ask Lark to return."
"Sure." Benson said, nodding his head. He briefly left the room as Oswald sat down in his seat.
Sylvia returned and she exchanged expressions with Oswald before she sat down. Her arms remained crossed as the discussion continued. During the meeting, Sylvia felt humiliated that she'd been excused from the room, but whatever had transgressed during her absence, Anderson seemed more or less resigned to stay quiet for the duration.
"As members of the Five Families, you are well aware of the tragic downfall of Captain Barnes. People are frightened. They will be looking to us for stability. To feel safe. So," said Oswald slyly, "how does a fifty percent increase on protection fees sound?"
Everyone except for Sylvia tittered in agreement.
"Sounds a little steep to me."
Oswald, Sylvia, and the other Heads of the Families turned their attention from one another to the doorway. From there, Barbara Kean strutted into the room in a mid-thigh, white, sequenced dress and black feathered coat.
"What do we have here?" She said sarcastically. "A little family reunion."
She smiled at Sylvia: "Hey, Girlfriend."
Sylvia said with little enthusiasm (due more to the previous argument with the Senior Anderson than with Barbara's unannounced visit): "Hey, Babs."
Barbara glared at Oswald: "Did my invitation get lost in the mail?"
"No." Oswald answered. "This meeting is for grown-ups. So, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to leave."
"Hm." Barbara sighed. "Quick question."
She pulled out a gun from the pocket of her coat and pointed it at Oswald.
The moment she did, literally, everyone in the room stood and pulled out their own weapon, aiming it at Barbara, who seemed barely affected by their response.
"Is it 'how do I commit suicide'," Oswald said quickly, "because that answer is coming."
Sylvia pointed her gun at Barbara notably, standing closer and at least a foot in front of him. Oswald noted her sudden lack of distance, but he wasn't too bothered by it. He didn't see Barbara so much as a threat as an annoyance.
"Tabitha and Butch are missing," Barbara stated sweetly.
Sylvia glanced at Oswald pointedly; he didn't return the expression as he was too preoccupied.
"Where are they?"
"I have no idea," Oswald answered truthfully. "I have not seen Butch since his little summer stock revival of the Red Hood gang."
"Let's cut the crap, shall we? Tabitha has been helping him hide since your little victory celebration. They're an item now, barf. She was supposed to check in every night, and she hasn't; she's not answering her phone, and no one has seen her."
"And you think I took them?"
"Obviously," Barbara hissed.
Oswald gave a little snicker that he could not suppress and said seriously, "How about this. You put your gun down, and you beg for my forgiveness for this gross insubordination, and I might let you walk out of here alive."
There was a small stand-off between Barbara sizing him up and Oswald glaring right back at her. During this time, Olga came strolling in with a cart full of coffee and when she saw the stand-off happening in the Meeting Room, she let out a 'oh gracious', spoken in Russian.
For whatever reason, Barbara smiled and she placed her weapon back in her coat, saying, "My apologies. They must've run off somewhere without telling me."
And this seemed to pacify Oswald as he smiled understandably—the others in the room lowered their weapons as well.
"Love," Oswald said with a grin. "Makes people do crazy things, doesn't it?"
"All the time," Sylvia voiced lightly, earning a glance from both Barbara and Oswald although for clearly different reasons.
Oswald stepped towards Barbara who watched him carefully as he gave her a warning: "We have history, you and I. But if you ever point a gun at me again, Olga" (He indicated the housemaid) "will be cleaning your brains off the floor. She's a whiz with stains!"
"Bye, Pengy." Barbara whispered. Without looking at her, she added, "See you later, Girlfriend."
Sylvia didn't give her the satisfaction of a response, although hearing Barbara call Oswald 'Pengy' made her a little more than irritated. Just the common lack of respect in the past two hours was starting to grind her nerves. Starting to? No. It had.
"Everyone out!" Oswald ordered. "Now!"
Sylvia watched everyone leave. She was about to do the same, but he caught her wrist.
"Not you, Lark. You stay."
Sylvia dismissed Jack and Joel, and Benson.
"I hear you know how to wield a Samurai sword," Jack told Benson eagerly as they were heading out. "Any chance you could show me and my brother—" The door closed on their conversation.
Oswald used his landline phone on the wall to call the most obvious person, Edward Nygma.
"They what?" Oswald asked, startled. "Who? How did…Ah…"
There was silence on his part as he listened. After a moment, either Ed hung up first or Oswald was still a bit taken aback by Ed's information to say much of anything before he placed the phone on the receiver.
"What is it?" Sylvia asked, concerned.
"He knows Tabitha and Butch didn't kill Isabella," Oswald informed.
"How?"
"Long story short: Butch has a full chamber in his gun."
"Well, that would make sense. He didn't shoot Isabella. Alex did," Sylvia reasoned. "I guess that was enough to convince him, huh?"
"Obviously." Oswald said dismissively. "Meanwhile, he's not back in the office yet."
"He's grieving," Sylvia reminded. "And he doesn't have closure. So, the odds of him resuming his obligatory duties: very minimal."
"Don't condescend to me."
"I'm not. I'm pointing out that Ed needs to work through his grief. It isn't exactly something that is on a timeline. And now, he doesn't have the proper outlet."
"An outlet?" Oswald exclaimed, annoyed. "He's literally been torturing Butch and Tabitha for over an hour, and—"
"Finding out that he's been torturing the wrong people does not replace the vengeance he's still feeling. Nothing is going to compare to actually going after the real people who killed Isabella. He's angry enough, he won't stop until he does."
"Then we need to replace it."
"Replace what? Another murder? Does Ed have anyone else close to him that I can push off another bridge?" Sylvia said sarcastically.
"No, not a murder," Oswald said impatiently. "Just something to dull it down."
"Oswald, you can't dilute anger."
"There's always the option of choosing a different outlet."
"You mean other than killing people. Finding an alternative to that…That's gotta be a strong alternative to displace that sort of emotional gratification."
"Or a physical one."
Sylvia looked at Oswald, disarmed. For a moment, she wondered if he meant what he just said.
"You are not serious," Sylvia chided.
"Well, it's an option."
"Temporary."
"But it would distract him."
"Sex?" said Sylvia cynically. "You think sex will distract him from wanting to kill the people who murdered his girlfriend?"
Oswald shrugged: "I know it takes my mind off something that I'd like to forget."
"No."
"No what?"
"No. You are not having sex with Ed just so he doesn't pursue his agenda, however murderous the intent. That's not even right!" Sylvia scolded.
"Not me!" Oswald responded strongly.
"Well, it's not gonna be me!"
"Why not you?"
"Why not me?" Sylvia exclaimed. "He's grieving! He's depressed! He's not even in the right state of mind. Having sex with me isn't going to change his mind about killing people who hurt him, Oswald! I know I'm a good fuck but goddamn, I have limits too, you know."
Oswald smiled half-heartedly at her point: "It might make him feel a little better."
"No, Oswald."
"I mean, you have my permission."
"No."
"What would be the harm?"
"Emotional distress, angst, anger, self-loathing," Sylvia listed effortlessly.
"During?" Oswald asked, taken aback.
"No! After!"
"I just can't stand to see him moping around."
"Then maybe you should've just let him be with Isabella. Live and let live, Oswald." Sylvia said irritably. "Eventually, he'd have figured out that she wasn't—"
"—Stop, Sylvia. Enough," He recanted, waving his hand to her dismissively. "We've been through this argument before."
"So, you thought you'd just spice it up by adding the little bit where Ed would be happier if I fucked him one night?" Sylvia offered sarcastically. "That's not making your defense any better."
"Call it a 'suggestion'."
"It's a horrible one."
"But it is an option. And a spontaneous one, at that."
"Oswald," Sylvia sighed, "There's just so many things wrong with it…Ed is hurting. He is in pain. Having sex with him while he's in this vulnerable state—it's not right."
"And yet, I know you've thought about it." Oswald reminded with a small smile. "Especially the other night."
"You mean the night when you started things and just when they were about to heat up, you cut me off?" Sylvia asked sardonically.
"Yeah," Oswald said mischievously.
"I did think about it," She admitted. "But then I took a shower, fucked myself in the tub, and then went to bed like, you know, a reasonable person."
Oswald laughed. He couldn't help it. Just this argument alone and all the disagreements in the past seemed to have had bubbled to the very surface. Out of all the arguments they'd had, this was probably one of the most unnecessary ones.
"Has it ever occurred to you," He said softly, "That maybe Ed is curious what it is like with only the two of you."
"It has. And he is. But I'm not going to take advantage," Sylvia reminded coolly.
"But maybe that's what he wants."
"God…Is that what you want?" She questioned. "You're pushing this too hard for someone who just 'wants to see Ed happy'."
Oswald shrugged, saying, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious. We've talked about this before."
"Hypothetically, yes. But if all you want is to see Ed happy, then why don't you just suck him off?" Sylvia said bluntly. "I always hear a man knows what a man wants. Plus, it'd probably be quicker if you did."
Oswald smirked at her suggestion as if he hadn't thought of it before.
However, he had. There was something he couldn't quite configure about Ed's behavior, though. Between Ed and himself, there was almost a tension that wasn't quite right, and yet, was right as is. For someone who'd seen themselves naked, had born their very animalistic desires before each other, Ed was almost passive with his affections towards Oswald. This alone made him think that what Ed had said that night—that he loved them both—was not meant in the amorous sense.
Platonic love was still a love, Oswald assured himself. But he wanted more than just platonic love. That sort of love was reserved between Victor Zsasz and Sylvia, or even the interesting friendship that Sylvia and Barbara Kean shared where there was mutual respect, even mutual physical attraction.
Oswald sneaking into Ed's bedroom for a repeat of that night didn't sit well with the Kingpin, no matter how badly he wanted it.
However, he knew Ed loved Sylvia; their chemistry together consisted of their love for riddles and word play, the easy banter between them, their knowledge of the GCPD and its workings, and the strength their friendship had been built simply based on Ed's pursuit for Kristen Kringle's affection. It was a chemistry that couldn't be made in a lab, and it even rivaled Oswald's love for Sylvia's.
The only difference being, of course, that Sylvia saw Ed as a friend. Even an amorous one. But still a friend.
"So, is it still a declination?" Oswald asked.
Sylvia rolled her eyes, biting back a smile as she walked into the kitchen, helping Olga start dinner.