"Mr. Cobblepot, wouldn't miss it if I could help it." Stan told him with a smile.

"Even still, illnesses are rather unpredictable. I take it your brother recovered?" He questioned.

"Yeah. He was looking pretty bad, but the pneumonia cleared right up." Stan casually pointed to the map without skipping a beat. "South entrance still, right?" Just a small question to shift the focus.

The Penguin tapped at the table with his umbrella. "Precisely."

Nothing much had changed about the plan since he last saw it. There wasn't too much to it, really. The actual robbery was easy, it was just figuring out how to make a safe getaway that was the problem. A little hard to do when Batman could show up. The best way to get away from the Bat was to not get enough attention for him to show up, but there was no subtle way to rob a bank. So, next best thing was to set up for something to slow him down or be fast enough so they wouldn't get caught.

Stan adjusted the edges of his jacket like it was a fine suit and with no small amount of flair, he kicked open the glass door, garnering the attentions of everyone inside the room. He grinned, one of his hands going in his pocket while the other went to the side of his mouth as if to help get his voice across the room.

"Hit the deck!"

There were a few people inside who immediately did get down. This wasn't their first robbery.

The rest practically threw themselves to the ground at the explosions that soon burst nearby.

He beamed proudly as he stepped further into the room, letting the door close behind him. and Everyone else had now come through the busted-open side door. He could see two sneaking towards the safe door while Juan hopped up onto the counter, an intimidating machine gun already drawn.

"Oh! Gimme a sec here." He turned towards the glass door again, giving a winning smile to the couple of incoming security guards and putting a small bomb where the door met with the wall. A lazily blinking red light was pointed towards the outside in plain sight. Stan pointed down at it even as the pair were already skidding to a stop.

"Hey do me a favor and don't blow through this. Seriously, it costs an arm and a leg, and I don't mean what it takes to make the thing." An utter bluff, but an effective one. The two guards seemed pretty keen on not barging through the door anymore so he turned back around, pulling out a handgun.

That little doohickey made an explosion about as bad as a firecracker. It sure made a show like one too, but Stan had learn you could get through a lot with just a show sometimes.

He coughed formally. "Now."

He talked freely as he saw Juan had already gotten the security guard inside the building to the ground as well. "I can tell by faces here and there that not all of you have been inside the bank during a robbery. Let me, Sterlin Presley, welcome you to your very first robbery in that case! As some of you already know, as with any fancy bank they've got plenty 'a insurance to cover themselves so if you're worried about losing a fraction of you wealth, no in this city, nearly every bank goes for that extra double-bounded insurance package. So all you really have to endure is a few minutes of being pressed to a freshly waxed floor that's cleaner than everyone in this room put together. 'Cept maybe the employees. Banks aren't that keen on hiring ex-cons, believe me. Speaking on their behalves though, I can tell ya, they really couldn't care less what this bank loses as long as they don't lose their pay and go home fine. If they've worked for over a year this definitely isn't their first robbery either. They've probably gone through over a dozen robberies by now. More than once by us. We should really get a punch card system or something," he mused, gesturing out with a hand."Like a - a 'get robbed five times and then you get something free' card."

He pinched at the bridge of his nose briefly, quickly exasperated at his own joke "I don't know, I'm tired. Give ya a chair to sit in or something," he proceeded to grumble. "We should probably do that anyway."

Ugh, he wasn't feeling all that bad, but his head was lagging behind his mouth. Couldn't come up with the actual punchlines to the jokes he started by the time he needed to. If they'd done this a week or two ago he could have pulled up with tons of different lines. Sure, he'd burnt up the best ones during the Christmas Ball, but he still had one or two he could have used.

Ho ho ho, Happy Hold up everyone That's right! This is a hold up!

See now, that would have been a great intro! How long had he been talking? Almost two minutes, right?

He checked over his shoulder briefly to glance at the security guards outside, the pair of them talking into one's radio. They were a fair distance away from the door, and even better, distracted. From the vault door he could hear muffled zipping sounds from inside. Time to go.

"Anyways, remember, everyone," he turned and gave a solemn nod to the room, "friendship is the real treasure."

Then he turned around and shot at the firecracker bomb on the door.

The thing burst with a loud noise and sparking lights that made a large plume of dark smoke. Scraps of hard plastic shot out at the ground and there was a sharp smell of burning circuits.

Stan dove through the door, yelling over his shoulder as the rest of the gang silently went out the side door they'd come in through.

"So stop tipping your waiters two goddamn-dollars, ya rich cheapskates!" He grinned, seeing the two security guards out of the corner of his eye belatedly start chasing after him, taking the loud bait.

Ha, suckers.

It had turned out, in fact, that Stanley had dropped him off by a Biochem library. However, they did have a campus map so he found his way to a historical library. As much as he did adore the sciences, they didn't exactly cover 'demonic possession' as much as the lore held in older texts.

Ford rounded up a few books he found in the system, but as he went to collect another one he came to a section with a locked glass door. Frowning, he went towards the librarian's desk, sure to have his hands wrapped around the books to hold them against his chest and hide his fingers.

"Excuse me, might I have the key for the documents room?"

The librarian looked up at him. "Do you have a Staff ID?"

"Ahh, no." He made a head motion towards the room. "There's just a few texts in there that I'd like to see."

They shrugged, polite enough to at least give a small consolidating frown. "Only academic staff or those accompanied by academic staff are allowed to enter that room. I'm sorry, but the Dean doesn't want any of the sensitive documents to get hurt."

"I've handled a lot of sensitive texts before." He started, counting on an understanding.

"Unfortunately, it's a university policy."

Ford frowned again. There was nothing to actually guarantee anything in the entire campus had a text that could help him, but if anything could it was more than likely behind that glass. The older the paper then the more chance that there was something relating to the occult, coming from before such texts had started to fade away into obscurity or fantastical fiction.

If there was anything there then Ford would find it, and the solution to get to the documents themselves was very simple.

"There wouldn't be any ongoing hiring for any academic positions, would there?"

The librarian blinked back at him, momentarily shocked by that. "Uhh," they looked down at their desk picking up a stack of papers only to set it down in its spot. Then they paused, obviously thinking. "I mean, there's always a couple professors that end up quitting at the end of the semester, but I don't know which departments they were this year. Biology is almost always one."

"Who do I give an application to?"

Stan ducked through a couple of alleyways, easily losing the security guards who weren't paid enough to actually put in that much effort to catch him. One hadn't even bothered going into the first alley. Stan gave the other a two-fingered salute over his shoulder when he saw them slowing to a stop.

He met back up with the others quickly afterwards, getting into the passenger's side of the getaway vehicle which was really too classy for such a small time job. It was probably too fancy for any of the usual jobs they used it for, come to think of it. It was a sleek looking black car that Oswald kept on hand for them. Well, for 'the gang' really, he guessed. They weren't part of the original gang and the gang now was more than just the four of them in the car right now.

Still, for a car that was well-used for crime it was really nice, probably the best getaway car Stan had ever been in, and that was saying something.

"A punch card, really?" A voice immediately greeted him.

"Look okay, you drive through Nebraska and see how your jokes hold up afterwards, chatterbox." Stan replied easily, glancing back through the window.

"Alright, alright, alright. Not that I'm complaining. That whole being the distraction isn't my game. I'm in the business of shooting, not getting shot at."

"Yaps." Stan said, looking at the driver's seat where the other was still talking.

"I know what you're going to say! 'Do it right and you won't get shot at.' Well, here's what I gotta say. Not everything goes as smoothly as you think. Sometimes people shoot at you. Sometimes they don't. It's just a grab bag of what people could do."

"Yaps." He said again, tired this time. Regardless, they kept talking away.

"People are only predictable to a point I tell you and let me tell you something else. You're not all that charismatic as ya think. Sure, we love you, don't get me wrong, but-"

"Lou." Stan said, finally getting them to stop this time. Stan gestured in front of them. "Still gotta actually get away here. Could ya talk and drive?"

"Oh, my bad, sure, sure." Starting the car, they moved off, the group riding back with cash in tow. Lou took no time in starting back up again.

After a little bit of time - which Ford spent studying - the librarian was able to figure out which positions, exactly, were open and even included the papers he'd need to fill out. She seemed oddly perplexed the entire time, but the information seemed correct so he didn't bother trying to figure out where the confusion was to begin with.

There were indeed a few biology classes needing professors, as well as an strangely fair amount of other subjects. Calculus I and II, Geometry Proof and Theorems, Organic Chem, and Clinical Methodology. Aside from the psychology class, he could easily teach any of the classes.

There was only one sort of application. Rather convenient, he found. As he started to write in the wrong address, though, he paused and scribbled out the few numbers he had already written in pen.

He... couldn't remember the address of the apartment. He could say which number, certainly, and could navigate back, but actually recalling the street name was another matter entirely. Actually, he wasn't sure he ever spotted the street name at all.

The frown on his face deepened as he came across the option for a phone number. He didn't know Stan's number off the top of his head. It'd only been thanks to Ma writing it down that he had had it at all.

Ford paused that train of thought as well, realizing something else. There hadn't actually been a phone inside the apartment. Not unless it was hidden, but that wouldn't make sense, really. If it rang then nearly anybody could find it. On the other hand, maybe it was an unorthodox phone and he just hadn't seen it... But... even that really didn't make sense. Ford wouldn't have called the apartment completely barren, but there weren't many knick-knacks lying around. Certainly not any that would have been big enough to plausibly be a phone.

Gah - this really wasn't something he needed to focus on. He'd find a store and just buy a phone and plug it in at the apartment. He already needed to buy a few locks to install anyway.

Ford walked out of the library with the books he had and aimed to go out for the supplies necessary to make the apartment secure.

Perhaps, if Ford wasn't as occupied he would have noticed the librarian belatedly calling out to him with an uncertain voice in an attempt to catch his attention.

"Sir? Sir, are you- ? I think you need to..."

She let out a sigh and rested down on the table as he continued on, completely oblivious to her and the fact that he'd forgotten to check out the books.

As the drive went on and nobody stopped them, the unspoken uneasiness started to ebb into a comfortably happy tone, with jokes thrown back and forth.

"Ya know, you couldn't even be the distraction 'f you wanted ta."

"Oh, huh, yeah? Why's that? Tell me, now. I'm all ears."

A finger snap. "That's a laugh, all ears. That'd be the problem. You'd be talking along, and just be so moved by the sound of your own voice you wouldn't even realize when it was time to get out."

"Oh, ha, ha. You're so funny. Why don't'cha just go and become a comedian already."

"Come on, you know she couldn't make a living like that."

Stan smiled quietly, mood lifted by the friendly atmosphere around him. It was enough to make him feel a bit better since he'd gotten back. The gentle bullying was more than welcome, and easy enough to fall back into. Mocking jabs pointed at one another earning all but bitter replies.

Soon enough they parked the car outside of their base, and went inside. Once the money was secured away, they splintered off. Counting the money and splitting it up was never a good idea right after a crime. Somebody trying to go back home with a few large wads of cash the same night as a robbery was more than a little bit suspicious.

Oswald had gone right to the Iceberg Lounge once they all had left for the robbery, to give himself an alibi. Not to mention that he had to take care of all the business with the night club itself and getting intel from different informants.

Stan went to his own car, starting it up to go and meet up with Oswald for a bit. He was already driving towards the Lounge from muscle memory alone when he suddenly remembered Ford. Shit.

He'd actually forgotten. That's right. Ford had come with him to Gotham. He was- Jesus Christ, Stanford was actually with him. Probably still at the library he'd dropped him off at, maybe back at the apartment. Actually, yeah, the library had to be closed by now, he was probably back at the apartment already.

For just half a second he worried that Ford may have been waiting for a ride back from him, but yeah, no, there was no way Ford would have been expecting anything from him.

He couldn't really do the usual meet up with Mr. Cobblepot.

Err- well, he guessed he could. It's not like he'd said he was going to be back a certain time or anything, but he usually ended up staying at the Lounge for the rest of the night. Stan really didn't want to have to try explaining why he had taken so long.

...Oh man, he really hadn't thought this through. He didn't even know what he was going to tell Ford about what he did. He really couldn't just outright say that he mostly worked robbing banks and galas and whatever else.

Stan stopped his thoughts to push through a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He'd come up with some believable lie, but he should just figure out what to do now. He had already started to drive to the club, but rather than keep driving he pulled over into a parking lot and stopped.

Okay. Time to think.

He could still go to the Lounge, but he really didn't want to accidentally lose track of time or anything. He just needed to let Oswald know that they all hadn't gotten caught or anything like that.

He ran a hand over his face. "Ugh."

Alright, just... So he'd call him to let him know, easy enough. Then he'd go back to the apartment and…?

As his thoughts trailed off into nothing, he shrugged his shoulders and leaned his head back against the headrest. "Stupid," he grumbled to himself. He'd just go back to the apartment and exchange some stiff conversation with Ford before going to bed. That's probably what was going to happen, he was sure. After that, who knows? He didn't want to think about it.

Sure, Ford had openly agreed to living with him, but this wasn't going to be for long, Stan knew that. There was no way Ford was actually going to stick with him. For all he knew, everything would blow over in a week and Ford would immediately go right back out of New Jersey all over again, to the other side of the country.

This was stupid He was just going to call Cobblepot, at the very least to let him know how the operation had gone, and get himself to stop thinking about all of this.

He pulled out the cell phone and dialed the number, waiting as it rang a few times before Oswald picked up.

"Hello Stanley, is everything well?"

"Hey, Mr. Cobblepot. Yeah, it all went through like a charm. We were in and out of there quick, didn't even see the Bat."

"Ah, good. No issues, I suppose."

"None," Stan assured him. "I mean, Lou took five years to actually start the car, but we had plenty of time. Plus, I used one of the fake bombs for a flashy step out."

There was a slight laugh on the other line. "A little flair is good for the soul. You abuse those sometimes, though, Stanley."

He started to feel himself relax back as he talked with Oswald. "What can I say, Boss? It's bright and loud, perfect distraction material."

"Did you use that one line again?"

"Which one?" Stan asked, feigning innocence.

"'Going out with a bang.'" He could hear the curved smile over the line just through the tone.

He smiled himself. "No, classic as it is, I didn't. I used it a few times too many before, got to use it sparingly now. I'll bring it back when everyone's forgotten about it. Nothing's going to replace it though, I tell you."

"Take caution, all the same. Classic or not it, can still grow stale. What sort of quip did you use this time, then?" Oswald asked, amused.

Stan paused for a moment. "Told them the greatest treasure of all was friendship or something like that. Not my best, but, hey, they can't all be gold. I might workshop it."

"The small occasions are rather safe places to try out new methods or material."

"Smaller crowds and smaller security guards." Stan agreed.

Oswald hummed, tone of voice changing slightly. "I have to ask, are you feeling alright, Stanley? It's not very often I get a phone call rather than a visit from you."

He faltered for a moment, glad Oswald couldn't see the quick change of expression on his face. When he spoke, he covered up his tone, hand moving as he talked. "Just a bit tired from driving, is all."

And from suddenly worrying his brother was seconds from death.

Then actually seeing his brother, paranoid as all hell.

Plus, finding out about the literal demon possessing him on the drive back.

You know. All that. That could be a part of it too. Who knows.

"I haven't really had a chance to sit down since I got back, not sure I'd stick around for very long tonight."

"Ah, I see. Make sure to rest up, then. To push oneself with little sleep does neither the mind nor the body any favors."

"Will do, Boss."

"Mr. Cobblepot or otherwise, if you will."

"Sorry, Mr. Cobblepot, Old habits die hard, ya know." He said. Honestly, with the amount of times Stan flubbed up he was a little surprised Oswald was still taking the time to remind him.

"One day then, Stanley. One day." Mr. Cobblepot said, genial. "Get some proper rest now, Stanley."

"You got it. I'll talk with you in person, next time, promise."

"I'll look forward to it. Goodnight, Stanley."

"Goodnight, Mr. Cobblepot." He clicked the end call button, putting the phone back in his pocket. He took a breath, letting himself have a calm moment before shifting the car back into drive and turning off towards the apartment building. Better to assume Ford was already back there instead of outside of a closed library.

As he went up the stairs of the apartment, he winced at the sounds of a power tool, which only got louder the closer he got to his floor.

"Who the hell is even working on stuff this late?" He grumbled, the stop-and-go noise quickly getting on his nerves.

Once he reached his floor, it was obvious the noises were coming from the same level. He continued down the hallway, steps slowing down as the sound got worse.

...Wait a second.

Finally, he stopped outside of his room, the gratingly loud drilling sound coming from just behind the door.

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AUTHORS NOTE:

Ford has lived in a shack by himself for 7 years far from anybody else that could be disrupted by his erratic work hours and it shows.

Also! Props to Rain the Revenant because they helped me a ton by beta-ing the chapter, proofreading it over and catching a bunch of stuff. So, the narration grammar is going to be overall better now!