Chapter Five: The Past Can Leave A Nasty Scar
In Lean On Vee's, Sylvia stood on the stage. Per the Friday night schedule, she made a habit of standing in the spot light, singing. Aside from the clinking of drinks, the clatter of eating utensils on dinnerware, there was no other sounds except for the pianist that played and Sylvia's voice in the microphone. The song of the night: 'Set The Fire To The Third Bar' by Snow Patrol.
"I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from A to where you'd be
It's only finger lengths that I see."
In the front of the audience was her regular attendee, her husband, Oswald. Lavish in his custom-fitted suits, he occupied one of the mahogany armchairs seated at a circular table; one hand holding a glass of red wine while the other was balanced atop a penguin-shaped handle of his cane.
He'd never missed any of her performances, even back in the days when Falcone or Maroni (whichever he'd acclaimed his loyalty to on the occasion) was demanding his advice or his presence.
"I touch the place
Where I'd find your face
My fingers in creases
Of distant, dark places."
Sitting adjacent to Oswald was Butch Gilzean.
Ever since he and Oswald had joined ranks to kill Galavan (or 'Azrael' as the newspapers liked to embellish), Butch was by his side, just like in the old days. Despite the ramifications that had followed while Butch was playing pet to his now fully conscious, ex-girlfriend, Tabitha, all things had been forgiven under circumstances provided: Butch was working for Penguin, so—naturally—he and Sylvia had to put their past debacles aside in order for work to take precedence.
Even if Butch hadn't been working for Penguin, odds are Sylvia still would've forgiven him. After all, they'd been good friends—even when Fish had carved the very symbol of her old club in Sylvia's collar bone; while the mark had faded into nothing but a hardly noticeable scar, it had left a lasting impression on the singer. The only satisfaction Sylvia had gotten at the time was equating Fish's mark to one of her own; Sylvia had bit the woman on the thigh, and unknown to her, Falcone's ex-underling still bore the mark of her hateful passion.
Butch's feelings for Sylvia were purely platonic. He'd watched her grow from being Fish's underling (on the same level as Oswald had been as her umbrella boy), then steadily had made her way up the ranks just as Oswald had. Butch was certain that if Sylvia ever had the ambition, she could outlast Penguin and become the One Ruler of Gotham's underbelly...after all, she'd done it for a period of time all alone back when Penguin was still under the impression that he had rehabilitated under Dr. Hugo Strange's brainwashing.
But for all her ambition, charisma, and her ability to bench press 300 pounds, Sylvia's only weakness was her husband. And that seemed to balance her out fairly well.
Sylvia smiled as she started the second verse:
"I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science."
Hidden behind the audience, the waiters and waitresses, the patrons and the body guards, was a man. His attire was all black, including the leather jacket he wore, and his boots. Arms crossed over his chest like the brooding former detective that he was, Jim Gordon stood with his back against the wall, watching his sister's performance.
Back when they were kids, Jim remembered when Sylvia had tried out to be in the chorus, or had even attempted to become a member of the Dance Team. Back then, she had little to no confidence; what little she had, Jim had remembered that their father had been especially hard on her dreams. Their father's criticism at his only daughter's wish to become a performer instead of something practical like—say—a lawyer, police officer, or a military member had evaporated whatever confidence and ambitions Sylvia had left.
Years having gone by, it was Oswald who had encouraged her to sing on stage, and it was by his affluence of attaining a night club that Sylvia finally did.
And she blew the audience away with not only her voice but with her charm. And then later, her talent to not just keep up with choreography but to create it as well.
And for Jim, who had followed the path of practicality, he found himself being a bounty hunter more than cop or detective. So, if their father ever lived to see the day when his starlet was performing at clubs (even ones that served lesser characters) while his son was a bounty hunter, Jim wondered if he'd still be proud or disappointed.
"Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices
Your words in my memory
Are like music to me."
Whatever the case, Jim could say he was proud. After all, Sylvia was living her dream.
"And miles from where you are
I lay down on that cold ground, I
I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms."
Sylvia stepped a little way from the microphone and gave the attention to the pianist, whose turn it was to sing a verse and a chorus.
Delilah strode to the edge of the stage where Sylvia met her, looking concerned. The young woman was Goth, wearing clothes resembling her style. A mysterious, darkened beauty, Delilah was not just a bar maid or Sylvia's financial head; she was a businesswoman, and Sylvia's second-in-command.
Discreetly, Delilah leaned forward, looking up at Sylvia, who bent down at the waist to listen to her. Whatever Delilah had to say made Sylvia's nose wrinkle in disgust but just as quickly as the repulsion had come, it left her face immediately. She gestured towards the back where Jim stood, and Delilah followed the path where her finger pointed, and nodded dutifully.
Oswald watched the two women speak. His curiosity was only piqued when Delilah quickly strode away from the audience's vision, skimming past them and clinging to the club's walls as she briskly walked to meet Jim in the back, who received her expectantly.
Sylvia was back on the mic, attracting whatever attention had been divided. She sang:
"And miles from where you are
I lay down on the cold ground and I
I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warms."
Once the piano had struck its last softest chord, the audience erupted into a standing ovation, Oswald included.
"Thank you, thank you," Sylvia said happily. "Thank you! I enjoyed spending this time with you tonight—"
"WE LOVE YOU! WOO!"
"Settle down, Dagger." She chuckled. "That's one of my men from the back—he's enthusiastic, can't you tell?"
The audience tittered.
"Like always, I'll be performing again next Friday night, and you all are more than welcome to attend. As of now, I'll be giving the stage to the pianist, Michael Dugen...Michael, if you would..." (She handed the microphone to the pianist) "Not only is he a musician, but he's also a comic. So, we'll no doubt have a laugh or at least a cruel chuckle before the night is out!"
The audience clapped again and Michael took the stage while Sylvia, wearing a lavender-colored ballgown, lifted the dress just enough so she could find her way down the stage's steps without falling on her ass. At the bottom, she smiled sweetly at Oswald, who had met her halfway.
"You were magnificent, as always," He complimented.
He and Sylvia exchanged a gentle kiss.
"Wasn't she, Butch?"
"Yeah. A ringer, as always." Butch said, getting up from the table and meeting the two of them on the floor. "What was that little girl talking to you about?"
"Delilah?" Sylvia's smile faltered as she replied, "Nothing much. One of the guests saw one of Strange's monsters outside, and they wanted to call the police. Delilah brought the information to me first, and I sent her to Jim."
"How is Gordon?" Butch said curiously, crossing his arms. "I've not seen him in a while."
"He was just here. Standing in the back."
Butch turned but Jim wasn't there. He blinked, confused.
"Your observational skills must be off," She teased. "He was standing there though, before Delilah passed on the message."
"He's a bounty hunter these days?"
"Yep. Hunting for bounty..."
"He's not a cop anymore?"
"Not for the moment."
"The GCPD don't want him?"
"Quite the opposite. They're begging for him to come back but he doesn't want to be a cop for the moment. You know, loose ends to tie, fish to fry—that type of thing. You are just full of questions, aren't you?"
Embarrassed by her statement of the obvious, Butch smiled weakly. Oswald eased his mortification, saying, "Butch, would you give us a moment?"
"Sure thing, Boss. I'll go check out that buffet—looks like there's still some stuffed shrimp…"
He quickly hopped to it, leaving Sylvia and Oswald alone.
After he was gone, Oswald sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
"He's still heartbroken?" She questioned knowingly.
"Fragile as they come," Oswald sighed with a hint of annoyance. "It's been three months for god's sake."
"Tabitha wrangled her way into his brain in order to fix him, remember? Maybe along the way, she found a way inside his heart too. You never know…."
A waiter came by, offering a platter of drinks. Sylvia thanked him, taking a glass of champagne off the silver plate, and the waiter smiled as though he had been given three raises in a single go. As the waiter continued to serve other patrons, Sylvia took a sip while Oswald watched her, almost distractedly.
"Brainwashing is a mysterious thing all on its own." She continued compassionately. "Butch just needs to get into the dating world. With a guy like him, though, it might warrant a shove."
"I'm not fixing him up with anyone, if that's what you're implying. I'm no match maker."
"Wouldn't expect you to be, lover." Sylvia replied, winking at him. "Provided that this is what you want. As long as Butch is holding out for the day that Tabitha changes her mind and leaves Barbara—that old love triangle—then you've got this" (She nodded her head to the side to indicate Butch) "to work with until then. Personally, I'd have enjoyed it more if she just stayed in a coma...that would have been more satisfying."
"I doubt it."
"Doubt?" She responded, lowering her glass of champagne in surprise. "Why?"
Oswald said lovingly, "Satisfaction isn't in your nature."
"Oh, like it's in yours?"
"Pigeon, for the moment, I'm content."
"And if you weren't?"
"You would know."
"I'm sure I would. What if I was the cause of your lack of contentment?"
"That's hardly ever the case."
"Oh, so I'm the reason behind your satisfaction?"
"You always are."
"That's a provocative thought."
"Titillating, at the very least," Oswald agreed.
He couldn't help but take in Sylvia's appearance; the way all of her ginger hair was pulled to one shoulder so that in her strapless gown, her skin was exposed for everyone to admire. In the alternating sunshine colored lights as well as the indigo-colored bulbs above, it was making Oswald think of the dirtiest things he could be doing to her now rather than standing in this professional atmosphere and having to behave as such.
In any other time, Oswald would have taken her against the wall, show her just how 'provocative' his thoughts could be, but when it came to business—even in what used to be his own club—there was a demand for civility.
In an attempt to push away the obtrusive (although exceedingly satisfying) inappropriate thoughts he had, Oswald cleared his throat and Sylvia looked at him with a business-like smile, although it shrouded her mischief as well as he could hide his own.
"How has Delilah been doing?"
"Training her has been a cinch. She works diligently during duty hours—a few times I've come in and she was still here. It's damn near miraculous."
"A much better choice than that Brittany girl," Oswald said bitterly.
"If it wasn't for her going behind my back, I would have kept her. Instead...well, I had to fire her."
"You shot her in the face."
"She went behind my back, Oz. It seemed to be the only logical thing to do. If I hadn't caught her before, I would have been neck-deep in betrayal from the other Families."
"You couldn't predict that."
"No, you're right. But I wasn't about to let it happen, if it could happen," Sylvia said darkly. "Brittany wasn't anywhere ready to take on this type of business; she was easily twisted by Drake Anderson—"
"—Yet another, you've killed—"
"—He also went behind my back!"
"I'm sensing a pattern here."
"Sweetie, you know if I had any other alternative, I would have taken it," Sylvia said defensively. "I loved her like a sister. But Brittany chose to go behind my back—she wasn't asked to or forced to do it. And she was going to use my brother's file to undermine me, to undermine us, and I simply wouldn't have it."
"And killing the youngest Anderson?"
"He was a misogynistic asshole. If I hadn't killed him, someone would have."
"What exactly did he do that warranted a death sentence?"
"He tried convincing the other Families to go against me, as you very well know."
"Honey, I doubt any of them would've been persuaded by someone as ditsy as that woman."
"I'm not saying that they would have. They believed that Drake Anderson wouldn't have been able to sway the other families to do as they're told."
"So, killing Drake was...?"
"Warranted," Sylvia answered, looking at him offensively. "If I hadn't, he would still be planting seeds of treachery and then you would have to deal with him. Personally, I think it all paid out in the end. He wouldn't have been able to lead the families, and even if he could have, someone would have rebelled against him, leading to his death anyway. His demise was inevitable."
"You honestly think that someone would have stood up to him, if he'd taken control?"
"Of course."
"Why?" He asked, genuinely curious.
"While you were still under Strange's manipulation, I was in control. I've gained a lot of respect from people, you know. In between running my club and keeping the Underworld out of the hands of people like Tabitha Galavan, I was also juggling my brother's problems. Through all of that, I'm certain I'd have gained enough friends, who would have taken down Drake Anderson the moment he dared to contest you, me, or anyone else that's on our side."
Oswald considered this, and seeing her side of things, he hadn't anything else to debate.
In the time where Elijah Van Dahl had still been alive and Oswald was under Strange's brainwashing, she had proven herself more than ten times over that she was capable of ruling by herself. It not only reassured Oswald that if something ever happened to him that his kingdom would still be in good hands, but the revelation had also allowed room in his mind for a single, suspicious inkling: If he and Sylvia were no longer together, she had enough power and loyalty from the captains and foot soldiers to silence what voice he had.
If it was Sylvia's wish, Oswald could be turned out and left with nothing but himself.
Now, that was a scary thought. Not titillating in the least.
"Do you need any more staff?"
He had to force the petty thought out of his head….after all, she loved him far too much to do such a treacherous thing.
He was already feeling remorse for having been gone as long as he had while Sylvia had kept the kingdom from toppling over his in absence. Now, he was already imagining her betrayal? How little he must have thought of her for a terrible thought to even put its foot through the door!
"I think I have enough," Sylvia returned contentedly, nodding her head as she observed the club's active conversation. "I'm working at full capacity. There might be room enough for another bouncer if the Regulars don't start behaving themselves, but it's quaint for the moment."
"If you find yourself short-staffed—"
"I know I can always come to my boss."
Oswald and Sylvia exchanged amused expressions prior to Butch entering the conversation with a full plate. He offered them a chicken wing each; both politely declined.
The amusement between Oswald and Sylvia settled on a single notion: all-in-all, she preferred to be his subservient for mainly two reasons: A) She liked it...she even admitted that she got off on the idea of just working for him. And B) While Sylvia was a great leader, and had clearly proven herself to be successful in any managerial position—whatever the circumstance—she did not want to lead 24/7.
So, while even though Oswald guiltily suspected that Sylvia could kick him out of his own kingdom, the knowledge of Sylvia not wanting to rule predominantly was what settled his paranoia. That, and her love for him outweighed any hunger she might have for power.
Shortly after Delilah had left and reported the finding of Strange's monster to Jim, she'd come back and smiled plainly as she stood beside Sylvia.
"Did Jim…?"
Delilah nodded as she reassured her, "He seemed happy enough to go after the thing."
"Good. You didn't call the police, did you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good girl." Sylvia praised, patting the girl's back.
"Even if I had, what good would it have done anyway?" Delilah responded, smiling cynically at Oswald and Butch, who shared her skepticism.
Sylvia asked her, "What's on your schedule for the rest of the day?"
"Just business."
"Don't you have a date or something?" Butch asked, looking at Delilah.
"Fuck, no." She answered coolly. "Have you tried dating in this city? It's a goddamn madhouse."
"Well, I can tell you've been hanging around Liv a lot," Butch muttered. "You've got the mouth for it."
"I had the mouth before I ever applied for this job—you can bet your ass on that, buddy."
With a flick of her raven hair to prove a point, Delilah left the circle so she could scold one of the bartenders who had unwittingly left the cash box out for anyone to take. Her shrill voice wasn't easily ignored.
Oswald said pointedly, "Well, she certainly has the personality for the job."
"You're a fucking moron!" Delilah insulted the bartender.
"Excuse me." Sylvia pardoned, forcing a smile.
Butch and Oswald watched Sylvia dismiss the bartender who, with a great sigh of relief, quickly left his post so she could reprimand Delilah for berating the staff.
"The learning curve is high in this place," Butch cared to note.
Oswald didn't acknowledge him with a response. At some point, Delilah was remorseful and to Sylvia's satisfaction, the young lady called the bartender over and apologized for her coarse criticisms. Shortly after, Sylvia rejoined the circle and smiled happily at Butch and Oswald.
"How's your training with Bell?" asked Butch curiously.
"Mr. Bell has been under the weather." Sylvia answered, rubbing her sore neck. "I think he might've caught some kind of flu when he went home for the summer."
"Where did he go?"
"Nebraska."
"Who's there?"
"He has two grandchildren," Sylvia explained. "A little girl and a boy. Contrary to what I may seem, I do let my staff go home and see their families."
"No one said—"
Oswald smiled amusedly: "She's just teasing, Butch. Settle down."
Butch cleared his throat, obviously trying to hide how quickly he'd become defensive.
Sylvia said lightly, "Since he's come back from Nebraska, he's been coughing, sneezing—the works. Last night, he could barely stand to make soup."
"He couldn't cook?"
"No, Butch. He couldn't stand."
"Oh..."
"And since he can't stand, I didn't think it was reasonable to make him train me. Personally, I think it's just a facade. He's running out of things to teach me, so he's pretending to be sick to bide his time."
"Do you plan on disposing him? Once he has nothing else to teach you, are you firing him?"
"Why would I do that?" Sylvia questioned, clearly offended. "He's more than just my trainer or a manservant. He's a friend."
"Well, after what you did to Brittany—"
"Let's not argue here." Oswald interrupted, before she could irately respond. "Butch, why don't you get ready to leave? We have more business to conduct before time gets away from us. Hmm?"
Butch nodded and he left the club. Oswald watched him go then looked at Sylvia, who was mildly irritated. She drank the rest of her champagne and sat it on the table nearest to them, before she turned to him inquisitively.
"'Business'? What business?"
"I told you what happened after I found the bus that was allegedly carrying Strange, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you said Fish came up behind you. Scared the crap out of you. You fainted, and she—for whatever reason—spared your life."
"I'm still looking for her," Oswald explained. He placed two hands on the top of his cane, adding, "Her sudden disappearance has been unsettling."
"Well, this is a woman you killed. I'm sorry…. 'killed'," Sylvia said with an impish grin. "Sure, it's a little irksome, but if you didn't find it unsettling, I'd be more concerned with your need for self-preservation."
"Don't poke fun, Pigeon."
"Fine. Fine." She raised her hands at shoulder-level. "I'm done joking. So, you don't know where she is. What business are you tending to?"
"I'll be pulling all my resources. From the Families to the Narrows—someone will have seen her."
"I could talk to Jim."
"Don't."
"Excuse me?"
Oswald stepped closer to Sylvia, who looked at him with a reproachful expression.
"I know you love him. He's your brother—"
"—And your brother-in-law, don't forget—"
"—Believe me, I haven't." Oswald more than reassured, although his tone had a hint of disparagement.
"He would know better than anyone else where Fish could be. Yet, you don't want me to talk to him?"
"Anytime you two are together, you somehow get pulled into whatever chaos he is facing. There will come a day when he needs you, and being the caring sibling that you are, you will go to help him, and more than likely end up in a much more dangerous situation you won't be able to get out of. When that day comes, you'll leave, but you will not come back."
"You're worried." Sylvia noted, unable to hide her smile. "After all this time, you're still worrying about me?"
"Your safety is one of my deepest concerns."
"And that's all nice and everything, but—"
"—I'll be blunt. With Strange's monsters lurking around, I don't want you anywhere near your brother."
Sylvia's smile disappeared.
"Oz, you're not going to keep me from seeing my family."
"I am your family—"
"—Well, so is he." She argued, stepping a foot closer to Oswald. "You may be my husband, and you may be my boss, but I'm not going to stand here and let you decide when or when I can't see my own brother."
"Pigeon—"
"Don't you 'Pigeon' me. That's not going to work."
"I'm only looking out for y—"
"—I know—"
"—your safety is my top priority—"
"—I'm going to be fine!"
"Eventually, you're going to get hurt—"
"—You're not going to tell me what I can or can't do—"
"Someone has to!" Oswald shouted.
In that moment, the pianist/comic had stopped riffing about airline food, and the entire audience within the club silenced. And in that moment, Sylvia appeared as though she might blow a gasket; her eyes brightened and narrowed.
If Oswald had been anyone else, they'd be dead.
"Get out." Sylvia said lowly.
Oswald realized what he'd said the instant he had said it. And he'd never regretted a decision more than he did at this very moment.
"Sylvia..."
"I said. Get. Out." Sylvia ordered dangerously, enunciating every letter as she pointed to the door.
Sensing that there was no way of getting past her cold disposition, Oswald relented and left the club, albeit in a huff. He figured if she was going to respond to him in such a way, he'd do the same.
Sylvia glanced at the comic, who waited for further orders. She nodded and the audience went back to laughing, talking, the like. Meanwhile, she closed herself inside her office, sitting at her desk.
What the hell had just happened?
First, she and Oswald were having an amusing discussion, and then...what, Oswald cared about her safety to the point he was recommending that she not hang around Jim quite as much because he naturally attracted danger.
Oswald hadn't been wrong.
Sylvia knew Jim was dangerous. He, himself, was a softy, but the fact of the matter was that Jim would no doubt be running into monsters—he was a heat seeking missile for chaos. Oswald just worried for her so much that he was strongly recommending (and wasn't that all he was doing, really) to stay away from Jim just while Strange's monsters were out and about.
And how did she react?
Sylvia rubbed her face.
Clearly, she hadn't recuperated in general. She was still tired, still thinking that she had to control every aspect of the empire as though she was still running it solo. Oswald was back in the game now, so she should have lost that suspicious drive.
He was right, in a way.
No one told her where to go or what to do—Sylvia was headstrong, stubborn as a mule, and she was completely independent. She protected Jim and Oswald from anything, anyone, but then who protected her from herself?
Sylvia had felt that Oswald was trying to control her in a way that she vowed never to be controlled again. It as was though she'd been forced into the same situation when she was a younger woman, walking on egg shells, pretending to be happy when she wasn't, telling people that the bruises on her arms and legs were from falling down the stairs.
All of those strong emotions had come so quickly that Sylvia couldn't see that Oswald was just trying to protect her from her own idiocy. And how did she respond? She'd ordered him to get out of her own club.
"Good job, Sylvia. Good job," She muttered, rubbing her temples. "Goddamn it."
It was well past ten when Sylvia glanced at the clock above the door. In the past five hours, she had paid off the captains who docked the ports, those of whom regularly transported drugs (cocaine, heroin, that sort of thing). Sylvia had emphasized the importance of keeping it out of the reach of children this time; she didn't think she'd have to reiterate the point, but some of the sailors had selective amnesia, apparently.
After she had finished conducting her business with them, she'd made friends with a few street kids. A bargain was made; as long as their parents didn't know that they were working for her, the children received money for doing what all children should do: play, and stay off drugs.
Some of the children didn't have parents. One of them was Ivy Pepper, whom Sylvia had previously been introduced to back when Barbara was still housing her and Selina Kyle.
It seemed like ages ago. Ivy Pepper had become something of a spy for her. While the little girl wasn't as quick or clever as her feline-like counterpart, that's the main reason why Sylvia liked her. From one redhead to another, they understood each other.
After settling a bargain with Ivy in general (the little girl was scrappier than Sylvia had figured), she then balanced the books while Delilah finished cleaning up the bar. There had been a total of two bar fights, all of which included beer bottles being thrown, chairs being broken, and an assortment of light fixtures were blown out when one riled customer's gun went off.
Dagger and Chilly, her two primary bouncers as well as bruisers, pushed the two uncivilized guests out, but that led to another hour of upkeep.
"Vee."
When she peered up from her books, she saw that it was Jim who had spoken. Odd how she hadn't heard him coming a mile away...then again, Dagger and Chilly had been dismissed a few hours ago, along with Delilah.
At this hour, Sylvia was the only one burning the midnight oil. Well, herself and it looked like her brother, who wore the same thing he had since seeing her on stage.
"What are you doing here?" She questioned flatly, as she lowered her eyes back to her books. Scribbling a few words.
"You're still here."
"Yes, I am."
"Why?"
"I'm running a business. While it's normally fun and games, it's actually very time-consuming. Of course, for someone who has never owned a club, I hardly expect you to understand that." Sylvia sneered. "Or anything that has anything to do with my day-to-day life when it doesn't revolve around people like you."
Then she paused.
Jim stared at her. He was a bit taken back by her acidic tone. Seeing that Sylvia was just as surprised, Jim walked completely into the room, and closed the door to her office. After, he took a seat in the armchair that was placed opposite of her, folded his arms over the back, sitting in the chair in reverse.
"I figured once Penguin took over, you'd be a lot easier to get along with." He said coolly.
"I'm just tired."
"Is that all?"
"I'm a little irritated." Sylvia admitted, still trying to balance her books. "Two fuckers practically ruined my club, and—as always—I'm picking up after them."
"You run a club. You pick up after everyone. Then again, I've never owned one. So, what would I know about it?" Jim said, reiterating her cold words.
Sylvia's eyes lifted up to meet his.
"There's something else irritating you."
"Have you ever considered it's just you?"
"I have, but I doubt I'm the reason you're bitter."
"Perhaps you're just blind."
"Blind, maybe, but I have at least one eye open." Jim said wittingly. "And if you want to know my opinion—"
"—I'm fairly certain I don't—"
"—You're not angry at me."
Sylvia gave him her full attention, putting her pen on the surface of the desk and leaning back in her chair with a small revelation.
"Fine." She sniffed. "Maybe I'm not angry at you. So, what do you want?"
"Talk to me, Vee."
"Talk about what?"
"You and Penguin had a fight." Jim suspected. "You've got all the signs of a bad argument."
"I don't…."
"Don't insult me. I know better than anyone what the bad end of an argument looks like. Don't act like I don't know you back when we were kids." Jim said, smiling despite his knowledge that Sylvia was hurting. "Come on...Talk to me."
Sylvia crossed her arms grumpily, looking anywhere but at him. What are the odds that the tables would turn on her? Normally, she was the one encouraging Jim to speak, and tell her what had him all upset. He'd normally resist until he could see no other way around it. And here they were…
"Do you remember," She said quietly, "back when you found out that Oswald and I were together?"
Jim nodded.
"You and him were always at odds with each other. Somehow, I always felt like I was in the middle of it."
"Of course, I remember. Why does that matter?"
"I'm having that feeling again."
"Really? Why?" Jim asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. Sensing the seriousness of the discussion, he stood, twisted the chair back to its normal position and sat in it like a normal human being. "What happened?"
"He asked me not to be around you anymore." Sylvia admitted, gritting her teeth as she remembered the conversation from earlier this afternoon.
"Oswald, you mean?"
"Yes. He told me that he didn't want me to hang around you."
Coolly, Jim asked, "And why did he tell you that?"
Sylvia was surprised he didn't throw a piece of furniture or lash out in anger. Not being a cop must have simmered him down some.
"He fears for my safety. While you're out, hunting monsters, he doesn't want you anywhere near me."
"I'd have to agree."
"What?"
"Vee...I like having you around. Especially since you're someone I can count on, who gets things done. While Strange's monsters are wandering around, it's probably best that you and I don't make as much contact—at least not until all them have been found."
Sylvia stared at him. Completely speechless. She hadn't expected Jim to say that.
"You're taking his side?" She questioned incredulously, pointing to the door which indicated Oswald.
"That's what he wanted, right?" Jim clarified. "To keep you safe? If that's what he wants, then I say, do what he's asked."
"How can you stand there and tell me to stay away from you? You're my fucking brother. My blood—"
"And I'm dangerous."
"You'resoft! You aren't dangerous, you just attract danger. We both do." She snapped, standing up. "So you get in trouble sometimes. So I happen to get caught up in the trouble when I try to help—it never bothered Oswald before, so why does it bother him now?"
"I think it has always bothered him. But he cares about you. And he doesn't want to get in between us. But he's right."
"So what, you're just going to agree with him, take his side?"
Jim chuckled, appearing surprised by her aggressive response: "Vee, I'm not taking anyone's side."
"It doesn't matter," She snarled, ignoring him. "I'll do what I want, when I want! Neither you nor Oswald are going to stand there and tell me what I should or shouldn't do. If I want to put my life in danger, I'll fucking put my life in danger. Neither of you would be able to stop me!"
"No one's stopping you from doing anything!" Jim retorted, standing as well. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
"I don't know! I'm pissed off!"
Jim rubbed his face and said, "What are we even arguing about?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Sylvia shouted, and she threw her pen at him. "You're the one who just barges in whenever he feels like it!"
"I didn't barge in..."
"Did you fucking knock! I don't think so—"
"—Why are you yelling!"
"You're yelling!"
"Because you're yelling at me!" Jim snarled.
Sylvia and Jim were separated by the desk, but barely. Both of them were baring their teeth, snarling each other like two mutts fighting over scraps. As though they realized what they looked like, and how they were behaving, Jim and Sylvia alike stepped back, and took a breather.
Jim brushed a hand through his hair while Sylvia crossed her arms, feeling more irritated than she'd started out.
"Okay…okay..." Jim mumbled. He looked at her: "Tell me what Oswald said exactly."
"He said that while Strange's monsters are lurking around, he didn't want me anywhere near you. We started arguing, and I told him that no one was going to tell me what to do. He said 'someone has to'. I wasn't going to take that kind of talk in my club so I ordered him to leave."
Jim scratched his forehead, saying, "It sounds like you two got into a marital scrap. That's all."
"Oh, really. Is that all?" Sylvia scolded. "Don't think I know that?"
"Well, you are argumentative by nature. Anyone in Gotham can attest to that."
"'Attest'? I'm not on fucking trial, Jim. He was going to stand there and tell me who I can or can't talk to? Fuck that. Been there, done that—I swore I would never get myself into that situation again. What would come next then, huh? Isolate me from my family, take hold of all my financial assets? Next, he'll fucking hit me. I wasn't going to be one of those women again—not since the last one. I won't, Jim—I won't!"
Jim stared at her.
Sylvia didn't have the best relationships known to man. She'd kissed a great deal of nasty frogs before finding Oswald Cobblepot. Granted, the man wasn't as gold and shiny as Jim would have wanted her first husband to be, but at least he never laid a hand on her.
While it had been a long time since Sylvia had been in such an abusive relationship, the pain of it might have gone, but there were still remnants of it there. Most people wouldn't be able to see it, but for those who had gotten close enough to Sylvia to see her soul, there was a nasty scar from where she'd endured it.
Hearing anything close to being told who she could or couldn't be with...Jim was certain that had been Sylvia's trigger, and it brought back the anger of her former self. Maybe Oswald had known that too, but things said in anger always came out the wrong way. And Sylvia...as argumentative and fiery as she was by nature...was an unstoppable fire. Once the match was struck, everything burned.
"Vee." Jim sighed, walking towards her. "I wasn't there for the argument. So I can't say whether you or Oswald were either right or wrong, but you...I really don't think that's what Oswald meant."
"Again, you're taking his side?"
"I'm not taking anyone's side. I honestly think you overreacted—"
"—Overreacted—"
"—Yes, you overreacted, but—"
"—Get the fuck out of my office, James. I don't need this!"
"Will you just listen for a moment and stop talking!" Jim shouted.
Sylvia stared at him.
Rage filled her entire being; there wasn't a part of her that was calm. Her blood boiled, her mind was fuzzy. Yet, something pulled at her to listen to her brother. Some part of her that wasn't furious beyond any reasonable doubt...it beckoned.
"Oswald is a lot of things," Jim said, eyes widening and eyebrows raising when he thought of all the things that man had been capable of in the past. "But I really, really, really doubt that he's the type to tell you what to do. Even as your boss…He knows you're independent, and you'll do as you please—God knows you're more bullheaded than me. And that's saying something, don't you think?"
Sylvia smiled involuntarily.
Jim continued: "No one is telling you what to do, how to act, or who you can or can't be with. The reason I agree with Oswald is that Strange's monsters are monsters. One almost killed me the other night, and this one that the little girl told me about—"
"—Delilah—"
"—That's the one. That one almost killed me too. Oswald is looking after you. I have to give him credit; not even I would have told you what to do or that you shouldn't be around me. That took a lot of guts."
"But Jim..."
"You're my little sister. No matter how many pounds you can bench press, or how old you get, you'll always be that. And it's my job to look after you. Oswald and I had an understanding: we would bend over backwards to make sure you're taken care of." Jim reassured. "Now you need to do your part. When one of us asks you to stay away, it's not because we're jealous or trying to control you. It's because you need to stay back."
Sylvia frowned.
While she was still unhappy with whatever the arrangement Oswald and Jim had formed only-god-knows when or where, this seemed to pacify her. And like a fire being extinguished, her temper flared only a few times before being extinguished too.
"Now..." Jim said as he hugged his sister. "There's something else I need to tell you."
Dreading the worst, she muttered, "What…."
"It's almost eleven o'clock."
"What does that matter?"
"If I know Oswald as well as I think I do, he's still up, waiting for you to come home." Jim said with a deeply measured tone. "Something tells me that if you don't get home by midnight, he'll be sending an army."
"You've got a point."
"Wow, I can't believe you agree with me."
"Sometimes, you're right. Other times..."
"Hey, hey!" Jim warned, but allowed himself a smile. "Let me enjoy my moment, okay? Before you stomp all over it."
Sylvia chuckled as Jim wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They started walking out of the office, then the club.
Jim glanced at the cracked chair, saying, "Who are you going to send the bill to?"
"Hmm?"
"To cover the damage."
"I thought about sending it to you, since you're racking up the money for bringing in those monsters. How's the GCPD paying you—does Barnes know?"
"Yeah, Barnes knows."
"By the sound of your voice, I'm guessing he's not happy about it?"
"He wants me to be a cop."
"What's stopping you?"
"I get to sleep in, get up when I want, and drink when I like, and I don't have Barnes breathing over my shoulder." Jim explained.
"If you ever want to completely step over your boundary line, I'll be in need of a bouncer soon," Sylvia said slyly.
"Is that a job offer?"
"Mm-hmm."
"As much as I like hanging out with you, Vee, I don't think it would work out, me working for you."
"I pay well."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
"You still want to be a cop, don't you?"
"Eventually. I won't ruin my chances by working at your club. I'm sure you'd be a great boss though."
"Watch that mouth of yours, Jim. I'm a fantastic boss." Sylvia said, smirking at him. "You could throw a rock at anyone in Gotham and still not get a better boss than me."
"Considering most of them work for you—I'm thinking that's about right."
"Wow. You're right twice in a row."
"I know," Jim chuckled. "I'm on fire."
They walked to her car.
"I don't know how I'm going to make it up to him," Sylvia muttered as she opened her car door. "I think I wounded him."
Jim stood on the opposite side of the door with his arms folded parallel with the frame.
"Make-up sex?" He suggested.
Sylvia stared at him, and said suspiciously, "Are you really Jim Gordon?"
"In the flesh, Vee. Why are you looking at me like that?"
"My brother frantically avoids referring to anything sexual around me. Suggesting I win my husband's affection with make-up sex is the opposite of what he'd suggest."
Jim said honestly, "Look, I still don't like the idea of you and Penguin being together, but if it's going to be a constant pain in my backside, I'd rather it be a well-oiled machine. Plus, when it comes down to it, Penguin's the only reason you don't go bat-shit crazy and destroy the entire city. If the two of you break up, I honestly don't know how I'll keep you from destroying Gotham."
"You're saying Oswald controls me?"
"Before your temper flares up again, no. That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?"
"In a world where you're a brush fire and everyone else is either dried grass or gasoline, he's the only one standing in a lake, holding up a bottle of Aloe." Jim said bluntly.
"That's the sincerest thing you've ever said about us. That was really goddamn poetic," Sylvia said, putting a hand over her heart. "Did Strange's truth serum stay in your system or something?"
"Nah. I just get tired of lying to you."
"Another confession by the infamous James Gordon. How lucky am I."
"That's all you're getting. Good night, Vee."
"Are you heading home?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Be careful."
"You too."
They hugged once more and Sylvia watched him jog to the bridge. Sylvia got in her car and headed home. She'd find a way to make it up to Oswald. After all, he was just looking after her.