Chinatown

Holly wound her way through the bustle of men in suits and women clutching their shining leather purses.

They glinted like promises in the afternoon sun, making the tips of her fingers itch.

She'd found lots of good supplies from rooting around the dumpster of a Best Buy, full of little mechanical goodies for her to use. But some things you simply couldn't scavenge. That was where he came in.

A businessman, phone clutched to his ear, rooting around in his briefcase for something. Distracted, slightly irritated. Perfect.

Holly just barely bumped his shoulder, the impact distracting him just enough. The leather wallet slipping effortlessly into her hand.

She was a few steps away before she saw passerbys turn, looking at the man she had just pickpocketed. She didn't turn, didn't dare, but from the other people's expressions, he had shouted.

Damn.

Holly moved quicker, weaving around the mass of people. Seeing the man pursuing her in the reflection of a store window.

Martin had slipped out of the safe house, past the guards and to Chinatown. His father had implemented a heavy security system, difficult to get out, impossible to get in. That is, without being Oswald. Martin, however, had breached it countless times for simple strolls.

His father had become overly-protective of him after the incident, to an extent where he barely even trusted his guards to guard the vicinity.

He had to be at least somewhat discreet, anyone who knew who he was could exploit that, or rather, report back to his father. Not that he would believe them, but Martin guessed that his father would grow paranoid nonetheless, keeping a closer eye on Martin than he already had been. And that wouldn't exactly be in Martin's best interests, to be restricted even further.

He was comfortably sauntering along the sidewalk, keeping to himself and minding his own business. Avoiding people as best he could. He took in his surroundings, it was a chilly day, and he felt it begin to lightly drizzle. What he hadn't expected was to get too carried away, colliding into a stranger.

Holly slammed into the boy, stumbling and almost falling to the ground.

Thankfully, the collision seemed to have disrupted her path somewhat, the man chasing her was looking around, confused for a brief moment.

Holly gritted her teeth, looking around for somewhere to hide, ignoring the boy she had collided with.

Martin noticed her urgency, his instincts kicking in as he grasped her by the forearm and dipped into the nearest alleyway, tucking the pair into the shadows.

He was admittedly quite bewildered, but he could see she was in some sort of danger. He was quick to pick up his notepad, hastily scribbling down an, 'I'm sorry.'

She thrashed in his grasp for a moment, but realizing it was both someone young, and that he wasn't trying to hurt her, she stopped, moving into the shadows with him.

She glanced over, seeing the man run past the alley. She let out a soft sigh of relief, turning back to Martin.

She frowned softly at the notepad.

She signed with her hands; "You're fine. Thanks. Are you deaf?"

Martin was glad she hadn't put up much of a struggle, otherwise the... assumed pursuer, that she had eyed as he passed the alleyway, might've noticed them and then they would both be in a pickle.

He shook his head no in response, flipping to the next page of his notepad and scribbling something down again, showing her. 'Mute,' He frowned a little at the unpleasant memory it brought up, pointing at a faded scar on his neck.

He wrote something down again. 'Are you? And why was that man following you?' She'd spoken to him in sign language, which was a rarity for him to see. Perhaps she was like him?

Her eyes lit up a bit as she realized he realized he had understood her.

"Oh! Mute! I'm deaf." she explained. "Can you sign? Or do you prefer to write?"

She reached in her pocket, taking out a couple pieces of wire and metal before finally finding the wallet.

She took out the sizable amount of cash, dropping the wallet with the ID and cards by the dumpsters. If he was lucky, he'd find it. If not...eh, he was rich enough to replace it.

Martin nodded in confirmation that he could sign, signing a, 'I can, but I prefer writing.' He personally preferred the simplicity of illustrating and writing.

He observed in curiosity as she drew a wallet out of her pocket and pulled a fairly large sum of bills out of it. When she discarded the wallet, it finally clicked to him as to why she had been pursued.

'You robbed him?' He wrote down on his notepad, showing her, before quickly adding a, 'Don't worry, I could care less. I'm Martin by the way, what's your name?' Truthfully, whoever she had robbed was simply another face out of many to him.

She showed him her name sign, the "H" sign, gestured over her head like cat ears, then finger spelled out her name "Holly".

She shrugged "Gotta get cash somehow. Hi, Martin."

Martin was intrigued by the cat ear gesture, smiling fondly at that. He nodded in understanding.

He agreed, although money had never exactly been an issue when it came to the Cobblepot's. He was still admittedly paranoid that if he told her who he was she'd either take advantage of it or rob him.

Not that he would mind, she needed it more than he did if she had to get her living expenses through thievery. It was saddening to imagine having to live that way. And he doubted she'd give word that Martin was out when he wasn't supposed to be to his father.

'You need cash?' Martin wrote, frowning sympathetically, before taking out his own wallet and handing her two hundred dollar bills.

She frowned slightly, accepting the money

"Yeah. Trying to make some hearing aids. Who are you, Martin, that you're throwing around money like that?"

She looked him up and down.

"Nice clothes, didn't turn me into the cops. That means you're upper class, but don't care very much about the law...so you're connected to the mob or a villain. Am I right?"

Martin shook his head. 'A nobody. But no one deserves to live like this.' He wrote down on his notepad, a frown still pulled across his face.

He tilted his head, writing down, 'That's very perceptive of you. I'm impressed.' He gave her a considerate smile. 'Martin Cobblepot,' His father had more enemies than he did allies, and he was still fretting she was one of them.

Holly's eyes widened.

"Woah, like the Penguin?"

She leaned against the brick wall, studying him, her green eyes bright. "That must make your life pretty interesting. And don't look so nervous, I'm not gonna shiv you. Now, if you were related to Black Mask..."

She gave a shrug, giving a slightly vicious grin.

Martin nodded in confirmation, Penguin's son indeed. His life was... surprisingly quite boring considering his father was a big-shot mafia boss of the Gotham underworld.

After the incident, he had been put under heavy protection by his father, practically almost completely isolated from the outside world. He shook his head, 'Surprisingly it is quite the bore.'

He wrote in his notebook, flipping the page over to the next, 'I wish my father weren't so protective of me. But I understand he's only doing his best to prevent this from happening again.' He gestured again to the healed over scar tissue on his neck.

He was growing fond of Holly, she was interesting. More interesting than anyone he'd met up until recently.

She shrugs "I get it, but a golden cage is still a cage. Maybe I'm biased though. Alley cats don't like to be locked up."

She grinned. "You should get up to some mischief of your own. Catwoman's letting me... only cause she can't really stop me."

she admitted.

Martin agreed with her there, writing, 'I agree, it can become quite suffocating.' He grimaced at the thought of countless days spent alone, staring up at the ceiling.

He tilted his head, 'Mischief?' He wrote, he was captivated, mischief did sound fun. But he was afraid of his father finding out. Although Oswald would never physically lay a hand on him, nor verbally abuse him, he knew Oswald's disappointment would hurt all the same.

But... if he didn't get caught...

'What kind of mischief?' He wrote down.

She tilted her head.

"Well, Catwoman has been helping me learn how to pick locks better, and fight."

she grinned.

"I can teach you how to fight! It's so fun! I have a really annoying neighbor, and I'm gonna roundhouse kick him someday!"

She grinned.

"And I can teach you how to be sneaky! I've got lots of practice, you'll be out of whatever cushy cell Oswald's got you locked up in with no one the wiser. Have you ever jumped rooftops?"

Martin had only been taught the basics of combat by his father from early on in his childhood, otherwise he hadn't gotten much experience. Holly's words of enthusiasm only encouraged him further, and he frantically nodded in overt excitement and awe. He returned her grin, only growing more excited at every word.

He had never been quite a natural when it came to stealth, and it took him months of constant trial and error before he finally succeeded in breaching his father's security system. And to this day he still took some time in doing so. He shook his head.

She threw her head back "Oh. My. God. You have to go rooftop jumping with me! Don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall."

She tilts her head. "What are you doing Wednesday night? I won't have much homework, so let's do it then!"

Martin considered it. He didn't have anything on Wednesday, possibly tutoring but if he played ill he'd be able to get out of it earlier. 'Wednesday sounds great,' He wrote down with a small smile. 'Where will we meet?'

She tilts her head.

"Try and get to this street corner again. I'll pick you up from there, okay?"

,She grins excitedly. "Security is SO lax at my school, I'll be able to get out, no problem!"

Martin nodded, feeling adrenaline rushing through him already at the eagerness of what was to come.

He quickly wrote down, 'Around what time?' He knew it would be sometime at night, but he didn't want to miss her.

She paused. "10 pm."

She gave him a slight salute "Can't wait! See you then, Martin!"

Penguin's Safehouse

Croc stood away from the hideout, wearing the same hoodie and jeans, but something else seemed a lot dangerous to him. He held a rocket launcher in his hand and had plastic explosives on the ground next to him.

Explosions and the sewer don't go together, so he decided to keep the explosives. He would slowly aim down the sight and growl, he was here to leave a small message.

He would pull the trigger, blowing up the entrance to smithereens, using some of the plastic explosives to make the hole bigger as he started rushing in the safe house.

He was looking for one certain individual, Martin Cobblepot, he needed him to send off the message to penguin, to not mess with Croc or his people.

All the men that attacked Croc got their throats ripped out, slammed against the walls and got their heads bit off. Time to time, yelling.

"martin cobblepot! get out here right now! or i am going to eat every single one of your fucking fingers!" he was making quick work of the guards.

Martin heard the commotion outside, his puzzlement clear as day. He made his way out of the security of his own bedroom, approaching the... crocodile man? With his notepad in his hand.

He quickly scribbled down, 'Hello? Who are you?' Onto it. The man looked familiar, he was almost certain he'd seen him on television before. Did he know his father?

As Martin arrived. Croc smashed a poor guy's head against the wall, the head popping like a watermelon. Crocs hands and mouth, covered in blood as he picked up Martin by the shirt to look him in the eyes.

"i don't care if you are mute.. i don't care if you're scared, but if you don't deliver my message to your father... the penguin..." he snarled as his grip tightened.

"i want you to tell him… to leave me and my people alone, not to step foot in my territory... not to even try approaching me or any of my people"

Martin was in the villain's business, he knew that a message came with an injury "and finally... not to mess with killer croc... he can get as many goons as he wants. i'll just kill them."

He dropped Martin to the ground, his claws making a quick slash across his cheek. Making a very deep cut. Probably leaving 2 detailed scars as Croc simply turned and started walking away.

"you have till tomorrow evening to tell him... otherwise... i'll be back, and i'll kill you." Croc said with a growl.

Martin was a tad shocked, he'd been through a scenario similar to this once and left without a voice. He had winced at the gruesome sight of the crocodile man popping a guard's head open, his eyes widening as he approached and grabbed the front of his shirt.

Martin reached his hand up to touch the slash marks on his cheek after collapsing to the floor, drawing his fingers back and seeing blood.

He was more than relieved that 'Killer Croc' had spared his life, and left him only with scars. He was almost thankful, and if it weren't for the abundant pain that had shot through him he might've even thanked him for the mercy.

He looked back up at him, blinking wetness out of his eyes. Had his father done something? He wasn't aware of most business Oswald did. And he longed to find out more.

Perhaps Holly could help him with that. He nodded, he would inform his father, using his sleeve to stop blood from spilling from the gashes. He would also have to clean up this mess... his father would be beyond livid.

Croc stopped by a manhole and kneel down, opening the hatch, before hearing a car come racing around the corner, it came flying straight at Croc, going to run him over. Croc sighed and stood up, putting his fist up, and in a split second, his hand came crashing down onto the car's hood, crushing the motor and stopping the car in its tracks.

He put the manhole back on and finished off the driver and the people in the car, glancing back at Martin before turning his head forward and walking into the city.

Disappearing in the night, now he was waiting for Cobblepot to hear about this. For now, everything was going according to plan.

Martin had mopped up the gruesome heap of mangled bodies and disposed of them in a nearby lake, scrubbing away the blood splattered all over the place and washing his own face, ignoring how much it stung.

He hid the two slash marks with plenty of makeup, he knew if his father saw he would be beyond furious, and Martin didn't want to be the cause of a full-blown war. Nor did he want to worry his father any further.

Oswald came home around quarter past eight, earlier than he normally did, not knowing what he was expecting to see, but it was not this. His entrance had been ripped off at the hinges, and his guards were nowhere to be seen.

He felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest almost instantly after the initial shock, tumbling into a state of frenzied worry.

"MARTIN?!" He called out as he bolted inside, his bad leg aching uncomfortably. When Martin stepped out, Oswald threw his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Martin, you— you had me so worried... I thought..." Oswald sucked in a sharp breath and Martin frowned, his arms coming around his father. They stood there for a while, in comfortable silence.

And before long it felt like an eternity had passed before Oswald had finally pulled away, his eyes watery. It made Martin's own eyes become wet, it was a rarity his father didn't have his cool composure set in place.

Even when Martin caught him staying up until ungodly hours in his office at the manor, indescribably exhausted, he hadn't allowed a moment of weakness to slip. "What happened? Are you alright?" Oswald spoke softly, his hands braced on Martin's elbows.

Martin picked up his notepad, and Oswald watched in tense anticipation as he scribbled something down. 'I'm fine, father. A man named Killer Croc came to leave you a message. He says to stay away from him and his people.'

Oswald reached an arm up to take Martin's chin between his index and thumb fingers and study his face, turning it over side to side. Before letting up and letting out a relieved sigh.

"That foolish beast is going to get what's coming for him..." Martin shook his head, flipping over to the next page of his notepad and writing down. 'Father, please, he said not to. I'm fine, don't put yourself in danger.'

Oswald kept his hands braced on Martin's arms, his tone was eerily gentle but Martin knew the danger under it, it was when Oswald was most unpredictable. "He could've killed you, my son. He dared to cross me at all. Not to mention, he slaughtered all my guards. Those were the only guards I trusted in protecting you. I am left with no choice."

Martin shook his head again, this time more frantically, writing down. 'Please, father. He let me go without a scratch, I don't want you to do this.' Oswald stiffened up, dropping his arms and beckoning for Martin to crouch down.

Martin did as told, and Oswald pressed a kiss against his forehead. "It's better this way." He whispered, before stepping back and pulling his phone out of his pant pocket, dialing someone.

"I'll need the estate to be repaired and security measures reinstalled. Prepare a room at the Iceberg Lounge and send a limo. I have urgent matters to be taken care of, do not be tardy."

He hung up and pocketed his phone in one swift moment. Martin felt dread stir in the pit of his stomach. But he knew he couldn't change his father's mind when his decision was made. When the limo arrived, he and Oswald got into it in complete and utter silence. In the duration of the entire ride to the Iceberg Lounge, neither made any means to communicate. And soon enough, they had arrived.