Chapter Sixty-Eight: Tensions Build
Barbara, Tabitha, and Butch Gilzean sat at the empty bar in The Sirens. Barbara watched empathetically as Tabitha tried bearing a harder grip on the knife in her injured hand (the one Ed had chopped off), but it was proving to be less than productive, despite the woman's stellar effort. Frustrated by the disappointing result, she slammed it down, glaring at no one in particular.
"I can't even hold a knife," Tabitha scoffed angrily. She glanced at Butch: "I swear when I see Nygma—"
"We'll kill him together," Butch reassured softly, the empathy for his girlfriend's condition obvious in both his face and tone. "Real slow."
Barbara glanced between them: "How sweet."
Just as she said it, the double doors opened. The three occupants turned around or peered over to the entrance as Edward Nygma traversed inside, strolling in with the intent of a determined predator but with the caution of one who knew he was outnumbered if in any case the real tigress of the crowd decided to take her pound of flesh immediately.
Pointedly, Barbara took the knife from within Tabitha's proximity and took her place to stand in between them. The moment Tabitha recognized who it was, she broke her wine glass on the counter and started forward threateningly before Barbara held up her hands, holding her back.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Butch growled, taking out his gun from inside his jacket.
"Hear him out!" Barbara mediated. "Please."
Tabitha and Butch glared at her, wondering what her weight in all of this truly was but they decided to appease her, even though neither Butch nor Tabitha decided to lower their gun or broken glass piece respectively.
Ed stepped forward so he was standing completely inside the club: "I don't want to kill him."
He paused, pondering the best way to articulate his true desire. The words were spoken in a steady, darkened tone: "I want to destroy him." (Barbara smirked at his sentiment.) "I want to take away everything that he loves. I want to make him despised."
"What are you talking about!" Butch snapped.
"Penguin." Barbara said victoriously, her grin nearly reaching ear-to-ear. "He killed the librarian."
"What?" Tabitha growled. She shot a glare of daggers at Ed: "And you cut off my hand?"
Ed ignored the other two as Barbara turned to look at him.
"Did you happen to confront Lark about any of this? Out of curiosity…" She began.
"Yes."
"And how did that go?"
"How do you think?" Ed said curtly. His tone softened with the thought of her, his anger towards Sylvia for covering for Oswald slowly extinguishing to that of pity. "Liv loves him too much; she wouldn't incriminate herself nor implicate him."
"Yeah, and she doesn't care enough about you not to tell you when your best friend has gone behind your back to kill your lady love," Barbara said apathetically. "You must be feeling pretty weird since she slept with you knowing she killed the librarian."
"It's a little more complicated than that. And I'm pretty sure you know this."
Barbara smiled half-heartedly at his passive-aggressive response, but Tabitha stepped forward, pushing her to the side.
"You'll chop off my hand," She said furiously, "and electrocute Butch without really knowing it was either of us who killed this woman. Yet, you find out—for a fact—that Lark is the one who killed her, it's just 'complicated'? How the hell does that even make any sense!"
Ed's frown deepened as if he was considering chopping off her other hand, but Barbara held out her arm to separate the two.
"Penguin ordered Lark to kill her," Barbara explained gently. She looked at Ed with a knowing glance, and he returned one of agreement. "It's common knowledge to Gotham that she will do anything for him at this point. But, Ed…You know by going after Penguin, you will have to deal with her at some point."
Ed seemed to accept her words, but they flowed through one ear and out the other before he said coolly, "I assume you want something out of all of this."
"Well, you're not wrong." Barbara said with a slighted smile. "With Penguin gone, the Underworld will need a new leader."
"The crime families will never follow you." Ed informed smoothly. "And, even if they do, one of the Heads is Liv herself." He leaned in with a small cynical smile, adding, "I don't think she's going to hand over the empire to you so easily. If I recall, it didn't work out too well when you two" (He gestured to Tabitha and Butch) "tried taking it away from her twice, and for a third time, after her mother-in-law passed; by the way, that was in really poor taste."
"Fuck you, Nygma," Tabitha hissed.
"Although, I'm glad to see that it hasn't dampened your efforts in the slightest bit." Ed responded. He looked at Barbara pointedly. "You may contend with the other four Families, but Paddock has been down for the count for a few weeks and Sylvia has recently begun acting as the head of the Paddock Family table. You may be able bribe some of her men, but I don't see how that is possible seeing as how Isaac himself chose her to take his place."
"Money speaks volumes," Butch reminded.
"Yeah, but you fail to remember—as you always do—Liv doesn't just deal in monetary value. What Penguin honors is compensation in just that; what she offers is compassion, and…" Ed gulped a little, startled by the sudden tug on his heart. "A mutual level of respect."
"Well, that's where you come in." Barbara piped, smiling widely. "You know the Families inside and out: what they want, what they need. You're a whiz with strategy. Not to mention the fact that you know the best way to get between her and Penguin. Surely, they've talked to you about their little scraps."
Ed crossed his arms and said coolly, "You want to separate them."
"Obviously. She's his life support, his main anchor; even if he loses everything, even his sanity, she'll be there—as she always is for anyone—to pick up the pieces. The only people who have the guns to compete with that type of emotional artillery are the people who know Penguin and Lark best."
"You've known Liv longer than I have," Ed reminded callously. "You can't think of anything?"
"Well, I could," She said defensively. She shrugged: "But you're closer to Penguin. Hearing your tone, I imagine you've already thought about how to bring her down."
Ed thought about how Alex was tethered to her and drawled, "I'm three steps ahead of you."
"Wait," Butch interrupted. "I thought you didn't want to hurt her."
"No, no," Barbara tittered. "We just don't want to kill her."
"But we're killing Penguin," Tabitha said skeptically. "If we're killing him, we'd have to kill her too."
Ed scoffed, "Haven't you been listening? Sylvia has allies and family in the GCPD, in the majority of the Families, the Narrows, on the Mainland, and—I don't know if you're aware this, Butch—the former crime lord, Don Carmine Falcone asked for her personally to organize his late son's engagement party. If you kill the Queen of Gotham, there will be a mob the size of this city standing outside the double doors. In case you haven't seen the big picture: A lot of people respect her, and she offers them the same."
"Well, I don't like her. And she doesn't exactly respect me." Tabitha said snidely.
"That's because you killed her mother-in-law, Sweetie." Barbara placated flatly. "And she may be the 'Queen of Gotham', but we're about to change all of that."
"So, what if people respect her and she respects them: She works for Penguin. They don't like Penguin," Tabitha said heatedly, ignoring her. "Easy choice."
"You can love the Queen and hate the King and still claim loyalty to the monarchy," Ed said irritably. He glanced at Barbara as such, "How are you able to work with these people?"
She ignored Tabitha and Butch's aggressive response and said loudly, "Think about it, Ed. Your brains, their brawn, my…me. We could make quite the team."
"We destroy Penguin first."
"Of course. And I assume you're already working on a plan to separate him and his sweet little wife?"
"Obviously."
"Excellent."
"Are we going to continue to talk this one out?" Ed asked readily.
"Definitely. However, there is one thing you need to do," said Barbara sweetly. She held her hand up in Tabitha's direction.
Ed looked at Barbara skeptically before he consented. "Okay…" He stepped towards Tabitha. "I'm sorry about your hand."
"Apology not accepted!" She snapped, gunning for him a third time with a broken bottle before Barbara held her back impatiently.
"We'll work on that." Barbara insisted, adding loudly as an invitation: "Drinks!"
Ed grinned broadly at her.
Sylvia sat up in bed, covering her nudity with the comforter. Her back rested against the headboard. 'Movie Night' had ended with a several drinks on her and Oswald's part, and the night was a little blurry after the fact. Seeing as she was waking up in a bed rather than on a couch, Sylvia grinned mischievously; at some point, their drunken sex had ended up in the bedroom to sleep it off.
When she heard a bit of light breathing, she glanced downwards to see Oswald nestled under the covers. Naked as she, his back was covered in scratches that ranged from hues of light pink to red where her nails had dug a little too deeply, but that man had never looked so content whilst sleeping.
Sylvia stood and walked to their adjoining bathroom, her grin widening in pride to see that her back might as well had reflected his. The same marks were on her back, with most of them lining the top and sides of her thighs. This coupled with the feeling of post-sex aches, the slight bruising hue along her hips, and soreness, brought about a pleasant conclusion: She'd presumably ridden him to the heavens and back, and perhaps the other way around.
After using the bathroom, washing her face, and coming back to bed, she was surprised to see that it was only four o'clock in the morning. Satisfied that she can easily go back to sleep, Sylvia shifted the covers and slid back underneath them, lying close to Oswald as he turned on his stomach. When he did, she rubbed his back, tracing indistinguishable designs over his shoulder blades and down his spine.
"Is your aim to lull me back to sleep, Pigeon?" He said groggily, eyes still closed.
Sylvia half-smiled and said softly, "I didn't even realize you were awake."
He exhaled deeply, turning his head so he faced her and opened his eyes with an effort: "Why are you?"
"I had to go pee."
Oswald breathed a quiet laugh at her response, turning so he lied on his back, looking up at her. The moment he did, he seemed more alert; a shadow of worry darkened his facial features.
"What's wrong?" Sylvia asked.
"You were talking to Ed outside, weren't you? Last night?"
She smiled sadly and nodded.
"Did he say why he didn't come in?" Oswald asked, sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face tiredly.
"He didn't want a confrontation."
"What confrontation?"
There was a puppy dog look in the way Oswald peered at her and it tugged on her heart strings. That familiar urge that she and Gertrud shared to make him feel better when he was so disappointed; it was hard to ignore.
"Ed is confused, sweetheart." Sylvia offered gently. "He's just trying to work out a few things on his own; sometimes, people need to step back before they can fully appreciate what you have to offer. You know, not everyone feels like they can accept another person's love, especially when they've lost someone close to them so early on."
"He knew Isabelle for a week."
"Well, her name is Isabella, and that week meant a lot to him."
Oswald rolled his eyes contemptuously at her correction and posturing but there was an element of compassion in her tone that made him rethink his knee-jerk reaction. All he really wanted now was his friend back, even if all he could have with him was their friendship.
"This certainly brings a few things into light, you know." Oswald muttered.
Sylvia sat up with him, taking the covers with her so she could remain warm despite the drafts that always made their way throughout the old mansion.
"What things?" She tilted her head to the side.
"Some things…For example, why some people in your life can't leave well enough alone."
"Who?"
"Never mind."
"No, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing."
"What is it?"
"I said it's nothing."
"And I'm asking, 'what is it'." Sylvia insisted. She sat on her knees. "Who are you referring to?"
"Who else?"
She sighed patiently, "Are we really going to talk about Alex again? Now?"
"This is why I said, 'it's nothing'. I really don't want to talk about it right now."
"So why did you bring him up?"
"I didn't. You did." Oswald reminded pointedly.
"But you're the one who half-haphazardly mentioned him. And obviously, we're talking about it. How does what's going on with Ed have anything to do with what's going on with Alex?"
"Beals is always trying to be your friend."
"Okay…So?"
"At some point, he's going to try to be more than that, isn't he?"
Sylvia stared at him, more startled by his sudden spark of insecurity than the question. Even after all their conversations and arguments about Alex and what encompassed all the vulgarities of the past, he was still insecure about the proximity placed between them.
"You're comparing your situation to Alex's?" Sylvia inquired skeptically. "Oz, you told Ed you loved him, and he didn't reciprocate. That isn't to say that once the awkwardness goes away that he won't want to be your friend again. Maybe even more, once his heart realizes what's in front of him. Things are weird between you two for right now, and that's normal."
"And you're telling me that your ex-boyfriend is only interested in being your friend and nothing more, and that he hasn't at any point in time tried to elevate that proposition even once?"
She sighed, rubbing her eyes. The response was an admission to his speculation, and this didn't make Oswald feel any more consoled clearly as his lips tightened to white lines.
"It's complicated between Alex and me."
"No kidding," Oswald scoffed. He slid out of bed and moved about the room, putting on a robe and tying it off.
As if that was the end of the conversation, he started walking off, but Sylvia grabbed the tail end of his robe and tugged it back, so Oswald had to slowly step backwards until he stood in front of her. When he did, she moved to the edge of the bed, only smiling when he instantly gave her a once-over at her figure, including her royal purple panties, the only piece of clothing she wore. Her hands reached out to his hips, moving him closer until he stood between her legs.
"We've had this conversation several times," Sylvia stated softly. "And we circle back to 'it's complicated' quite frequently, don't we?"
"We do."
"Alex does want more than friendship."
"As I suspected—"
"—But I don't. The only person I could ever want, the only love I would ever truly need is yours, sweetie." Sylvia uttered genuinely. "You see me as he couldn't; you understand me in a way no one else can. And I see all of you: your passion, your love…your insecurities and I know you." She ran her hands up his chest as she stood to meet his height. "You want to know if there is the slightest possibility that he could ever take me away from you."
Oswald stiffened at her words; his entire demeanor chilled to a stony face as if he was trying to bar her attempts to bring out those insecurities, some of the things he didn't care too much about himself.
"Or…Maybe it's not that at all, is it?"
"Sylvia…"
"You're not concerned with whether he could take me away from you…You're worried that I will leave you for him."
Oswald frowned. He wasn't angry; but there was a certain amount of vulnerability that he hadn't expected. Sylvia cradled his face in her palms, her thumbs sliding over his cheeks with a gentle stroke.
"How many times must I say it?"
"I know." Oswald said remorsefully. "But you can't fault me for thinking it."
"What is our relationship based on if you don't trust me not to break your heart?"
Oswald hesitated. Sylvia looked at him, her eyes coaxing him to speak. When he finally did, she was taken aback.
"What strengthens a relationship but can equally damage it forever?"
Sylvia blinked: "Did you just give me a riddle?"
"Yes. It's a commonality you and Ed seem to share, and I tolerate it. Now, give me the answer."
"The answer is 'history', but I don't understand how it pertains to—"
"History, exactly." Oswald said darkly. "Whatever it is you and Beals have is nothing short of what we have. There are moments we've shared, tragedies we've suffered, and people we've had to be rid of in order for us to be together. You're telling me that you don't have these same memories with him?"
"I do, but they're different. You have me in a way he never could."
"If that's the case, then why is he still here, following you around like a lost puppy, thinking there's still a chance of that happening?"
"Because he chooses to follow me around. Like he chooses to hang around."
"But not without your permission."
"I didn't invite him to come up here from South. He wanted a job; he needed one. I gave him one."
"Yes, your charity really knows no boundaries, does it?"
"Why do I detect resentment in your tone?"
"Maybe because it's there."
"But why?"
"You've provided the length of time needed for him to slowly wear you down and—"
"—Oswald, Alex is an idiot. He left me for some half-pint dream that was out of his league, out of his depth, and out of the way." Sylvia interrupted impatiently. "Yes, we had memories. At one point, I loved him just as much as he loves me, but I don't feel the same way anymore. I don't know how many times we need to have this conversation."
Oswald crossed his arms, staring a hole into the bed post before Sylvia sat down on the bed, running a hand through her hair listlessly. After a moment, he sat beside her with a steady exhale, looking at her as if he was trying to figure out the most impossible riddle known to mankind.
Sylvia was a complicated woman. There was simplicity in her lifestyle, but not in her nature. Her mind was a convoluted mess full of intricate wires for thoughts; brick and mortar for barriers, but her heart was transparent. Oswald could hear it in her voice that she would love no other man than he, so why the nagging, incessant prodding of his subconscious? Why did he feel like at any moment, Alexander Beals might say something to bring Sylvia to his side and she'd be gone in a matter of days?
There wasn't much he could say at this point.
"What must I do in order to prove that you mean more to me than he does?" Sylvia asked imploringly.
"Get rid of him."
She blinked, but met his eyes, searching them for clarification.
"What do you mean by that?" She asked quietly.
"Not in the way you think." He reassured.
"You want me to fire him?"
"Yes."
"His existence makes you that insecure about our relationship, our marriage?"
Oswald frowned: "Perhaps, but it's more than that. This is a man that broke your heart. And you keeping him around is a constant reminder of your past."
"Past relationships, you mean."
He breathed a sigh of forced patience, glaring up at the ceiling as he tried his best to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.
"What is your attachment to him?" He questioned.
"He's…I don't know. Luck hasn't been the best to him, and I'm just starting to feel bad for him."
"For my benefit, please consider it. Dealing with this Isabella situation, the mayoral duties I have to keep up with, and Tarquin—"
"I'll consider it."
It was his turn to stare at her. He hadn't expected her to resolve the situation so hurriedly. There was a reluctance to her voice, however, and he saw the way she bit the inside of her bottom lip nervously; even her gaze seemed to stutter as she met his eyes. It was the same way she looked at him when he'd ordered her to get rid of Isabella.
Even though she said nothing, he could feel her troubled aura coming off her. For someone who was so abrasive towards everyone else, even himself, there was a certain powerful feeling he experienced whenever she gave into him. Still, he saw her hesitation.
She would get rid of an ex-boyfriend, her first love, in order to ease his mind and, admittedly enough, his jealousy. And that kind of dedication and adoration she devoted to him matched the extent to which his mother would've gone to make him happy. And that type of sacrifice, especially during these times when he felt unsure of everything from his relationship with Ed to the Underworld's stability in power, was meant to be acknowledged.
He leaned in, gently moving her hair behind her ear to kiss her cheek. She looked at him, puzzled by his sudden display of affection. He smiled when she returned the kiss immediately to his lips. This exchange was a way of showing his fealty, his way of saying he was sorry for having this conversation for the umpteenth time, for his nagging suspicions. Her return was the acceptance of that.
"I love you." He whispered against her lips.
"I love you too."
"I love you more."
She pressed her forehead gently against his: "Impossible."
