Chapter Two: Depression

Author's Note: C.S. Allen and SilverIce523: Thank you for your reviews and so quickly too! XD You all are amazing!


Charleen had taken a cab to the Van Dahl Mansion, giving the cabbie the fare as well as a tip for the quick, snappy ride home. She crawled out of the back, keeping the arm of her dislocated shoulder close to her, trying her best not to move it as much or as often. Every throbbing pulse felt like someone was shoving a piece of pipe against it; her nose—full credit to Lucas—felt as if it was broken; the heat of it was still there, and the blood dried above her lip.

Charleen started to the front door, a little irked however when it wouldn't budge once she tried to open it.

It didn't surprise her, seeing as how the city was nearly burnt to the ground. The Flea was still smoldering; half of the Fences lost their priceless antiques—and a little more since Lucas took charge.

She headed around back to the veranda. Maybe the back door was open. When she tried to open it, Charleen let out a huff.

"What the fuck…Suddenly the security is like fucking Fort Knox." She grumbled.

She reached into her hair right behind her ear where she kept a bobby pin for times like these. Sticking it into the hole, tinkering, waiting for the lock to come undone, Charleen's heart skipped when the door itself opened but not under her own tutelage.

A bald man dressed in an all-black, expensive suit held two guns, both of which pointed in her direction.

"Fuck!" Charleen gasped, jumping back. "What the fuck, dude!"

He lowered his weapons, looking at her: "What are you doing, kid?"

"Trying to get inside, duh! What does it look like to you, baldy? Why the fuck are you pointing guns at a kid, anyway? For that matter, who the fuck are you?"

He looked her over: dark auburn hair, a green and blue eye, potty mouth.

He sheathed his weapons; a trace of familiarity crossed his hairless features before he said monotonously, "You must be Charleen."

"You bet your fucking ass I'm Charleen. I'm also the White Rabbit," She said haughtily, putting a hand on her hip after gesturing to her ensemble to which the man merely glimpsed over with a skeptical amusement. "Mind telling me who the fuck you are?"

"Victor Zsasz."

"Well, good for you, I guess." Her waspish tone sobered to one of mild disrespect. "Fancy meeting you here. Aren't you supposed to be still working on some stupid contract, like bloodying up some poor sap who forgot to pay their rent?"

"I'm looking after Sylvia." He glanced over her appearance from her bruised and bloody nose to the way she currently babied one shoulder. "What happened to you?"

"That ain't obvious to you? I went to see Lucas and got my ass handed to me when I told him I disagreed with how he was running things," Charleen answered briskly. "Now, excuse me."

She pushed him against the door as she walked inside the mansion, heading through the living room and up the stairs, breathlessly curving around the banister before she stopped outside the master bedroom.

Opening the door, Charleen saw Sylvia lying in bed. The comforter covered her from the waist down; she was dressed in a night shirt; her hair was tangled, her eyes closed, and she appeared to be asleep but there was nothing peaceful about her disposition. She lied on her side, one arm under the pillow; the other held what appeared to be a stuffed penguin plush doll, and this was held close to her as if she feared she might lose it, even in her sleep. She looked as though she had drowned—her skin was so pale.

On the nightstand were five different pill bottles—all the caps were off but didn't appear that they'd all been taken at once; it was as if these were off on purpose. Opening them may have just been an inconvenience but for Sylvia, it would've been another obstacle to her source of relief.

Charleen whispered sadly, "Oh, no…Sylvia...Sylvia…" When that didn't get her attention, she called out, "Mom!"

Sylvia startled; her eyelids fluttered open before she trained her vision on whomever it was that moved towards the bed. She gave her a small smile but the light in her eyes were nearly desolate.

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse: "'Mom', huh?"

"Well, uh—it was a slip. I didn't…" Charleen began, but her Freudian slip suddenly became less than important when she glanced at the pill bottles on the end table once more. She took them briefly, glancing at the labels: "What are these?"

"Antidepressants, sedatives, and painkillers."

She turned her head, seeing Victor standing in the doorway, leaned against the door frame. His answer was spoken coolly, but he looked just as concerned as she felt. Charleen peered at Sylvia uncertainly, noticing how even though it was four o'clock in the afternoon, she was still in her pajamas.

Charleen's attention was divided, turning back to Sylvia when she felt her hand on her wrist.

"I'm so glad to see you're alive," She whispered softly, the same hand that held her wrist lifted to brush Charleen's hair behind her ears. "So happy to see you're still alive…So happy…"

Sylvia's dazed way of talking was startling. Charleen had expected anything but this. She took her hand, placing it on the bed pointedly.

"Lucas is running the Fences dirty," She pointed out the window. "And Barbara Kean owns your club."

Sylvia just smiled and said with a raspy voice, "That's great, sweetheart."

"Great? Uh, no, it's not." Charleen poked her in the arm. "Hello! People are telling me that you're just letting her to do all of this! They're saying you're out of the game! That isn't true though, is it?"

"—Charlie, you don't understand—"

"What don't I understand? You're hiding out here, all drugged out and shit. Meanwhile, they're killing your own supporters, people who've been looking to you for guidance, for leadership! How can you not be angry about that?"

"Victor." Sylvia looked past Charleen and waved him in. "Could you…?"

"Sure." Victor stepped forward and tapped Charleen on her non-injured shoulder, but she pushed him away.

"No! This ain't something you can just ignore! Look at what Lucas did to me!" She argued, pointing to her face. "He broke my nose! He—He dislocated my shoulder because I tried telling him that he was fucking over his own people: your people."

"You shouldn't have gone there." Sylvia uttered hopelessly.

"Are you even listening to me? He kicked my ass." Charleen reminded angrily. "You should be wanting to kick him in the balls! You should be wanting to take back your club! It's the club that you've been running for years! It's yours! And it was Penguin's at one point! Don't you care about that! Don't you care about anything! Don't you care about me!"

Sylvia closed her eyes and pulled the comforter over her head as she shouted, "Victor, please! I don't need this!"

"Let's go, kid." Victor took Charleen by the arm and tugged her back. "Trust me. There's no getting through to her."

"Fine!" Charleen groaned. "Just lay here in bed, rot away, I guess! God!"

She walked with him out of the room.

Once the door was closed, she thrust her arm out of Victor's grip, whirling around as she glared at him.

"How can you just sit in this fucking house and let her stay like that?" Charleen accused. "Didn't you use to be like her mentor or some shit! Haven't you tried talking her out of it! What the fuck is wrong with her! Why isn't she fighting back!"

"Geez. She mentioned you were a little feisty."

"Tell me what's happened to her right now."

"I will. As soon as we go back and join the others."

She blinked: "'Others'?"

Victor waved for her to come with him.

She followed him downstairs and she was a little disarmed to see the living room now occupied a few more people than it had when she'd arrived.

There were the Kabuki twins, Jack and Joel, identical twin brothers with black hair, green eyes: they typically served as the other two dancers in Sylvia's performances, as well her loyal servants. They sat on the couch together in the living room; on the coffee table were a deal of cards.

A card game had started during the time that Charleen had begun questioning Sylvia's motivation.

Sitting in a chair (which had been taken from the dining table set) across from the twins was a large, muscular man with a blonde flat top, no facial hair, gray eyes, and he looked like he could've been a champion in any cage fight.

Recently, Benson had taken up on his swordsmanship hobbies again, and had taught the Kabuki Twins how to use Samurai swords. He was a man of few words but the words he said, he meant them. He was the middleman between Gotham's Underworld-like mafia and the mainland gangs: prior to Sylvia becoming the new Donna, he'd been Paddock's accountant; he still resumed his duty underneath her.

Seeing Benson here didn't surprise Charleen; she'd have figured that his loyalty was still to Paddock. Paddock had chosen Sylvia as his successor, that loyalty had easily been transferred over to her as well as her leadership over the Crime Family.

Even now as Benson was a traitor to the Underworld's newest ruler, he retained a cool ambiguity. As such, he played poker with the twins, although he wasn't nearly as chatty.

Charleen noticed that Gabe, however, was nowhere in sight.

Victor sat on the edge of the coffee table away from the poker game so as not to interfere as he offered the empty armchair to Charleen, who sat in it, looking at him expectedly.

Once she did, Benson glanced up and he nodded at her with familiarity.

"Hey, Charleen." He grunted.

He saw her as an annoying kid but because Isaac passed his tolerance and favoritism for Charleen on over to Sylvia, Benson appeared to tolerate her as well as he did when Paddock was still alive.

The Kabuki twins looked up at her pointedly and they waved at her in unison.

Victor leaned forward, reaching beneath the table before he lifted his arm, wordlessly handing Charleen a can of coke. She hesitated before she took it after reconsideration, opening it as Victor took one out of the cooler for himself.

"So…" Charleen glanced around. "Are you guys the only people still loyal to Sylvia or are there going to be more of you 'poofing' out of nowhere?"

As she asked, another voice called out as its owner strolled back to the living room, ranting mostly to himself: "¿Cuántas veces tengo que decirlo? Cuando use el último papel higiénico, reemplácelo. No es tan dificil."

When the owner revealed themselves in the light of the living room, Charleen recognized him but didn't know his name.

He had a tan complexion, smoldering dark brown eyes, combed black hair, and his Spanish rolled off his tongue almost as smoothly as his English did. He glanced curiously at her and asked no one in particular, "Who is this?"

Victor smiled: "Marcus, this is Charleen. Charleen, this is Marcus."

Charleen cocked her head to the side: "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"He's Liv's bartender." Jack stated as he placed two cards face down on the table. "Or was. I fold."

While Marcus dressed like a bartender at Lean on Vee's, he dressed almost as well as Victor outside of work. He wore a slimming maroon collared shirt, buttoned at the wrists; the first three buttons nearest to his neck were left undone. He wore slacks with a leather belt, and his shoes were black suede. He sat on the couch in front of Victor.

"What, did Barbara fire you?" Charleen asked arbitrarily.

"No. I quit." Marcus answered smoothly. "I refuse to work for that woman. Also, that new manager: not exactly a generous hostess, or half as talented."

Charleen noticed that he slightly rolled his 'R's as he spoke English, but it wasn't distracting.

"So, there's no one keeping an eye on the club anymore?" She questioned irritably.

"Why? It belongs to Barbara."

"None of this belongs to her!"

Marcus flinched at Charleen's harsh tone; when he did, Victor leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Whatever he said made Marcus smile, reassured by his spoken message, and he nodded. He stood, kissing Victor on the cheek.

"Do you want anything in particular?"

Victor shrugged: "Surprise me."

Marcus grinned broadly before he left for the kitchen.

Charleen smirked, saying slyly, "Ohhh, so are you two dating? That's kinda cute. I didn't know you swung that way: big, tough Mr. Bad Guy over here."

"You were asking about Sylvia?" Victor turned the conversation to the matter at hand, ignoring her implication.

"Well, sure, but—"

"Then ask your questions about her."

"Ooh, touchy. You want me to ask questions? Fine, I've got questions."

She stood up, looking at Benson, the twins, and Victor.

"How come Barbara Kean hasn't been put back in her place? How come you guys just let her take Sylvia's bar? How can you just sit here when people are taking her territory and killing your guys' friends and teammates! You're a fucking hitman—you used to work for Falcone," Charleen said irately, pointing at Victor. "Have you tried getting rid of Barbara yourself?"

"Oh, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Then why haven't you!"

"She hasn't asked it of me—no matter how many times I've offered. She doesn't want any of it back, as it seems."

Charleen opened her mouth to talk.

"Yeah, you act as if none of us have tried." Jack offered from his place on the couch, shutting her down. "We have. All of us have tried getting through to her. Benson, even."

"Yeah," Joel added. "She doesn't want to hear it. All she cares about—all she wants—is Penguin back."

"So, find him!" Charleen said loudly, gesturing to them.

"He's gone." Jack explained.

"He's not gone—he's missing!"

"Same thing—"

"—No, it's not!" Charleen said heatedly, stepping towards him. "Have any of you seen an autopsy? Any obituaries in the paper? Do you guys have any proof that Nygma killed him? No. No, you don't! So that means he's still out there!"

"Donna Gordon believes him to be dead," Benson said in his low baritone, peering up at Charleen with a deadly calm. "She has been in mourning."

"The five stages of grief. That's right, five?" Jack asked as if they've spoken on this topic before.

"Five stages, my ass." Charleen declared. "Even if he is dead, why is she betraying him like that? Why give up everything—she didn't before! She didn't give up when he was in Arkham or that whole mess. Why give up now? What's different!"

"She didn't give up last time because she knew Penguin was still alive," said Victor defensively—for the first time, he betrayed a hint of impatience. "She knew Penguin was eventually going to get out of Arkham and she wanted him to have an empire to come back to. This time around, Penguin isn't around to come back. That's what has changed for her."

"She's in the five stages of grief, then. So, we do the only logical thing. Knock her out of the depression stage and right into anger. Has anyone tried that on for size? How hard is that! Just make her angry."

"We have!" Jack said strongly. "But when she's angry, she doesn't stay angry. She just goes back to being…well, you were upstairs. She just wants to sleep all the time."

"She's sleeping all the time because you guys are making her take all those fucking drugs!" She pointed upstairs. "How can you expect her to take back her kingdom if you guys won't let her!"

"You think we're making her take them?" Victor asked.

His voice had a touch of empathy. Charleen glanced around at him, looking as if she might hit him.

"Sylvia's taking them on her own because she'd rather stay asleep and dream about Penguin." He explained lightly.

"What do you mean 'dream' about him?"

Joel explained, "We got some of those pills from Hugo Strange." (Victor looked less than enthusiastic about how and from whom the twins had gotten the sedatives and painkillers.) "It was the only way to keep her from…Well, from doing …"

Charleen glared at him but she didn't understand why she was suddenly feeling this white-hot anger lick her insides. They were allowing her to stay drugged, and paying garbage like Strange for what reason?

"What?" She questioned. "To keep her from doing what? Why are you letting her take those dream pills? What do they do? Do they hurt her? Do they—"

"—They make her calm, like docile," Jack explained quickly, clearly intimidated by the ferocity at which Charleen seemed to frequently operate. "In return, she gets to keep dreaming about Penguin, like have conversations with him and stuff."

"Why would she need that? What happened?"

Victor sighed, "Benson, buddy, you want to take this one? Tell her what happened."

Benson cleared his throat and said calmly, "A week ago, Donna Gordon was left alone. Victor was working on a contract; Jack and Joel were with me practicing our swordsmanship; and Gabe was with his mother."

"Okay," Charleen muttered. "So, she was alone. What's the big deal?"

"Just listen, kid." Victor instructed. He nodded for Benson to continue.

"We thought she would be fine; all she was doing was sleeping," Benson continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "A few hours before the twins and I were coming back to the mansion, we got a call from her brother, Detective Jim Gordon.

"Detective Gordon told us that Donna Gordon had walked right into the GCPD, pulled out a gun, and threatened to kill Detective Alvarez unless they took her down first," said Benson. "Her gun was confiscated; she was booked, but Detective Gordon convinced Captain Bullock that he would keep a closer eye on her. So, she was brought back to this mansion. Detective Gordon made a deal with us: As long as we kept Donna Gordon under suicide watch, he would not arrest her for attempted murder."

"It was all talk, though," Jack offered freely, looking at Charleen. "Jim Gordon ain't going to arrest his own sister for attempted murder."

"Did she really want to kill that officer?" Charleen asked confusedly. "What did he do?"

Victor said coolly, "Sylvia didn't plan on killing anyone when she threatened Alvarez. She was hoping that those surrounding him would kill her: Suicide by cops. But a bunch of cops in the GCPD will not readily kill another cop's sister. Not even with her reputation."

Charleen frowned deeply: "Why?"

"Cops see other cops as their siblings after a while," Jack explained.

"I meant why did she try to kill herself!" Charleen said viciously. "She may not have Penguin anymore, but she still has me."

"She thought you were dead." Victor reminded.

"Why? I left a note—"

"—You said you were going to the Flea to take care of business. It was burned down."

"I mean, I did go to the Flea but then I ended up leaving Gotham," Charleen said quickly.

"She went to the Flea," Victor emphasized, "What was left of it. She didn't find you, so she thought you'd either died during the blackout when Jerome's posse did their temporary takeover, or you died in the fire."

"But I'm alive. And she said she was glad I'm alive."

"Relieved, more like." Jack said with a shrug of his shoulder. "But I don't know if she's happy. Not enough to do cartwheels out of the door and confront Barbara Kean, at least. She's more than content to take those happy pills Strange gave us."

Charleen sat down asking, puzzled, "Why did you guys go to Hugo Strange at all?"

Benson offered the rest of the narration: "Donna Gordon became infuriated when we—Jack, Joel, Victor, Marcus, me—told her that she would have to be more careful about where she goes and what she does. She nearly tried to kill all of us when she thought we were turning against her. Victor managed to talk her down, but just barely."

Victor added as a point, "She had a gun to my head, and told me to swear on my bubbie's life that I wasn't going to betray her."

Benson continued, "We told Jack and Joel to find any medication that would allow Donna Gordon to—for lack of a better phrase— 'mellow out'."

"So, you went to Hugo Strange?" asked Charleen incredulously. "You know he's the same tweaked freak that likes bringing people back to life."

"Hey!" Joel said defensively. "We were told to find something. We found it. Strange said the drugs he gave us would keep her calm. They have!"

"A caveat that Strange didn't tell them," said Victor steadily (although he glared at the twins respectively) "was that Sylvia would have vivid dreams with the person she misses most—it's a side effect to the lucid calm and euphoria."

"So, when she sleeps…She's talking to Penguin?" asked Charleen, stupefied by this magic-like medication. "How do you know that?"

"She talks in her sleep." Benson answered lowly.

"What is she talking about?"

"Dinner parties." Benson answered again. "Sometimes, old memories. Stuff from the past. We don't listen. Dead, missing, alive—Conversations like that are best left in privacy between the two of them."

Charleen crossed her legs on the armchair, looking between all of them: "I don't understand though. Sylvia should want to help the Fences. Sylvia should want to avenge the people that Barbara Kean got rid of. She should want to help me. I don't understand why she's like this."

"She doesn't have a good enough reason to get out of bed in the morning, I guess." Joel said sadly. "She'd rather just, you know, stay in bed and sleep."

Charleen frowned: "Well, I can't stand to see her like this."

Marcus came back into the living room, holding a glass filled with cerulean-colored liquid in his hand, a small umbrella angled on the edge with a lime wedged on the rim. He smoothly handed it off to Victor.

"What's in this?" He asked.

Marcus answered happily, "Part vodka, part rum, part vanilla syrup, part blue cognac, and a hint of lime. Are you surprised?"

"Pleasantly."

They briefly kissed and Charleen said sarcastically, "Well, isn't that just nice. I'm going upstairs to talk to her since you guys would rather just sit here on your asses, play cards" (She gestured cynically to the twins and Benson) "and drink whatever that is."

She headed upstairs. Victor watched after her, taking a sip.

"I'm not going to feel my face after I'm finished with this." He said with a wide grin.

"So, you're pleased?" Marcus asked hopefully.

"Very!"

Marcus beamed, hearing his approval.


Charleen didn't even knock when she entered the master bedroom. She closed the door with a small mechanical click; shortly after, she hopped onto the bed and sat in the middle, wincing when her shoulder protested her movements. With her good arm, she reached to Sylvia cradling her upper half and moved her, so her head lied in her lap.

"Mmmm…?" Sylvia stirred.

"It's okay…It's just me." Charleen said steadily, rubbing Sylvia's bare shoulder.

"Ooh…Hi, sweetheart."

"Sylvia?"

"Yeah?" She sighed.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, sweetie."

"Are you happy that I'm alive?"

"Of course, I am," Sylvia yawned, gently rubbing Charleen's leg. "I'm so…so happy."

"What did you do when you thought I was gone?"

"What did I do…?"

"Yeah, like, did you cry or anything?"

"Of course, I cried." Sylvia whispered.

"When you cried, did you cry for me because I'm your friend or do you think of me as, I don't know, your daughter, or something?"

There was a moment in silence where Charleen wondered if she'd fallen asleep, but instead, Sylvia slowly rose from her place in bed and she sat against the headboard, rubbing her forehead then her face. She reached to the nightstand, taking the glass of water that rested there and brought it to her lips to take a drink.

When she sat it down, Sylvia looked at her: "I think of you as my ward, yes. In some ways, my own."

"Do you mind if I call you 'Mom'?"

"No, I don't mind."

"Do you care if I'm hurt? 'Cause right now my shoulder's dislocated and I got my nose broke by a guy that Barbara hired to run the Fences."

Sylvia squinted for a second as if she were trying to refocus her eyes before she looked at Charleen. She reached out and touched her shoulder and Charleen winced when there was pressure.

"Who did that?" She asked confusedly.

"Lucas. Do you know who Lucas is?" Charleen asked.

"No…Can't say I do."

"He's the one that's running Fences. Like what Fish Mooney used to do for Falcone."

"Mmm. Can't say I've met him."

"Trust me, you're not missing anything." Charleen said curtly. "My point is that he just hurt someone you see as your own daughter and you're not doing anything about that."

"What can I do? It's already been done."

"What do you mean 'what can you do'? You're the Lark!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are! People are afraid of you! People still respect you—if you went down there and kicked their ass, they would respect you all over again! That's the good thing about being you—"

"I'm not Lark! I gave it up," She shook her head, adding pitifully, "I don't think I can be Lark anymore."

"Because you think Penguin is gone."

"He is."

"He's not!" Charleen argued. "He's just missing. You think Nygma could kill him?"

"Charlie, please."

"You think that guy can do something that all these other fucking hacks have been trying to do for years? I don't think so!"

"I know what you're trying to do and it's not going to work. I'm not going back to all that." Sylvia said tearfully, shaking her head, still. "I can't. I won't…"

"But you have to! Barbara Kean isn't queen-material! She doesn't know the people like you do!"

"I can't be Lark anymore! I can't be. Don't you understand!" Sylvia shouted, glaring at her. "What made me her was Oswald. I can't be her anymore. I don't want to be if it means losing more people, losing you. You can't understand that! You're just a kid! How could you understand?"

"I'm a kid who's been in this shit and knows that no one knew the Narrows or the Flea or cared about the others like you! Barbara Kean only cares about the money. She doesn't care about the people underneath her! I understand that much!" Charleen shouted back, sitting on her knees. "You're not the only person affected by you stepping down, you know!"

"I only kept up this empire bullshit because it's what Oswald wanted—and he's—he's—"

"Look, I don't want him dead any more than you do, but sitting here and taking fucking drugs ain't going to bring him back—"

"—I can't—"

"—If you don't do something about your club, the Flea, or what Lucas did to me, then I guess I'll have to because right now, all you care about is yourself—"

Charleen grunted, her body hitting the mattress. She looked up at Sylvia, both taken aback and hurt by how hard that slap felt.

Sylvia shifted towards her, taking Charleen's face in her hand as she said dangerously, "You are not going anywhere near Barbara. And don't you dare tell me what I care about—you're just a fucking kid. You don't know anything."

She released her. When she did, Charleen's bottom lip quivered, and she rubbed the back of her hand over her cheek.

"How can you tell me what to do when you're not going to do anything about it anyway?" Charleen questioned brazenly. "You just want to lie in bed and take these hallucination pills because you think that's what's best for you. Maybe it is. But it's not doing any good for me—or Victor, or Jack, or Joel, or Benson—to see you like this. Why don't you grow some balls, confront Barbara, and take back what you're owed? She's obviously not waiting for you to do it. And she doesn't think you're going to do it either."

Sylvia sat back and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her shoulders slightly shook as she tried to hide her urge to cry.

"Look…" Charleen said softly. "I don't know if Dad—er, Penguin—is dead or not. I don't want to think he is. All anyone knows is that he's missing. He could be alive. He could be dead. He could be anywhere in between. But this?" (She gestured to Sylvia's overall disposition). "This isn't who or what he married, and this ain't what he'd like to see if he saw you now. But it's clear you're not going to do what's gotta be done, so…"

She moved off the bed and stood nearest to the door.

"I'm going to get my shoulder put back in place and my nose too. The day after tomorrow, I'm going to the Sirens club and demand that Barbara give us what we're owed. I might get my ass handed to me again, or killed or whatever, but at least I'll be doing what you're too pathetic to do. If you think you can do better, let me know right now."

Sylvia looked at her for a second. Charleen was disappointed when Sylvia took a few pills from the bottles, downing them with the rest of the water in the glass before she lied back down. Charleen heard her crying before she shook her head and walked out of the bedroom.

She headed down the stairs where she saw that Marcus had joined the boys in their card game.

When they heard her footsteps, all of them peered at her expectedly.

"How'd it go?" asked Marcus.

Charleen rolled her eyes before she approached Victor who looked at her curiously.

"Do me a favor?" She pointed to her shoulder.

"Are you sure? It's going to hurt." He cautioned.

"I know it's going to hurt. I'm not stupid. Just do it."

Victor sighed as he put his drink down and he sat up from his reclined position at the end of the couch. He gestured for her to follow him into the dining room where he prompted her to lie on the table, face down. Once she did, he told her to breathe and in five minutes of pushing down on her shoulder, her bone popped into place and she swore heavily after.

She sat up, saying breathlessly, "What about my nose?"

"Your nose isn't broken." Victor said briskly. "It's bruised. If it were broken, you'd be in a lot more pain right now."

"What are you, a doctor?"

"Just trust me."

"Fine."

Victor brushed his hands together with a smile: "You'll be sore for a few days—best to keep away from Lucas and stay out of any fights for the next week or two."

"Eh." Charleen dismissed his advice.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get a reliable gun—the one I have is a little faulty. Then, after, I'm going to walk into the Sirens club, put a gun to Barbara's mouth until she gives up the empire because Sylvia sure ain't going to fucking do it."

Victor stared at her: "You're not serious."

"Well, I gotta be, since she isn't."

"You'll get yourself killed."

"I told Sylvia what I was planning. She didn't do anything but cry. If she cares about me at all, she'll fucking toughen up or I guess my death will be on her hands."

"That's a little cruel, don't you think?"

Charleen shrugged: "It's the best I got. So, move out of my way. I gotta go see a man about a gun."

Victor watched after her as she left the mansion. He glanced at Benson and the twins incredulously, thumbing in her direction afterwards.

"What are the chances of her walking out of that place alive, do you reckon?" asked Jack.

"No chance." Benson uttered darkly.

"Do you ever say anything happy?" asked Joel, annoyed.

Benson glanced at his cards and he said lowly, "I fold."

"Well," Jack mused, smirking at his brother, "That made me happy. I win!" He put down his cards.

"I'm not playing with you anymore. You always win!" Joel groaned. "I miss the days when Gabe was playing: At least then I'd have a chance!"

"Yeah, but Gabe hasn't been here for weeks."

"Where did he go anyway?"

Benson shrugged and said gruffly, "Deal. Again."

Victor clicked his tongue before he pulled a dining chair up to the coffee table, sitting across from Marcus: "I'm in this time."

"Now the game's interesting." Marcus said flirtatiously, smirking at him.

"What, it wasn't interesting before?" Jack asked, pretending to be hurt.

"Deal. Again." Benson said more impatiently, tapping the table.

"You heard the man. 'Deal. Again.'" Victor mimicked, smirking as well when Benson sent him a look.

Jack and Joel giggled, and Marcus smiled proudly. As before, the cards were dealt, and another game of poker began while they kept their ears on alert for any sound coming from Sylvia's bedroom.