Chapter Fourteen: Comfort and Betrayal
Early in the morning, Sylvia took a walk.
Normally, she'd have a guard with her, per Oswald's insistent request, but for a visit like this, she preferred her company to be solitude. And per her comfort, she wore something inconspicuous: black sweat pants, flats, and a forest green, cotton sweatshirt. While she appeared harmless, she actually had two daggers sheathed in leather bands on her forearms, hidden by her sleeves.
'Harmless' had little on her, though.
In The Flea, most people knew who she was. It was a shopping mall for the homeless, the wretch, and the unnamed. Its Fences came with low-sell values, and priceless marketable sales. If she felt charitable, she even bought a few things just to boost the children's spirits. Once or twice, she'd come just to give money away…she kept this part unknown to Oswald; she never said much to him, but knowing him, Sylvia was certain he knew of her charitable hobby. It didn't impact him financially, after all.
They had separate bank accounts.
A stark, angry-looking fellow stood in front of a dark evergreen door; his eyes were dull, and he had that thousand-yard stare. Perhaps he was a war veteran; or maybe, he was just a man who had seen too much in Gotham. Dark-haired, forgettable face.
"Good morning, stranger." Sylvia greeted with a light smile.
"Ain't good." He sniffed.
"Well, then. 'Morning'. Is that any better?"
"Nothing's better."
"You're a hard character to charm, aren't you?" Sylvia said, smirking at him. "Is that why they placed you at the front lines?"
"I don't like people," He answered, giving her a once-over. "What're you here for, huh?"
"I'm meeting someone." Sylvia answered politely. "I'm actually a little late for my appointment."
"What kind of appointment?"
"One that I'd prefer you kept quiet." Sylvia said slyly. "If you'd let me in, I could make it worth your while."
His cheap grin that came after made her frown.
"Nothing like that," Sylvia said coolly. She held up her hand, showing her wedding band. "I'm married, see?"
"That's a nice ring. Your husband give that to you?"
"No, I found it in the pit of hell, thought it looked nice, and I paid off the Devil with my soul."
"That's a lot of sarcasm."
"Yes, it is." Sylvia returned. She reached inside the front of her sweatshirt casually, and took out five bills; both of which were twenties each. "Now, I can give you this, and you let me by."
"Or?"
"You don't want to know the fucking alternative, fly boy."
He glanced, and noticed that his zipper was down. He quickly remedied that, before smirking at her.
"I still feel like you owe me a little more if I let you in."
In a matter of seconds, Sylvia had him on his knees, a dagger to his throat, and her voice was acidic as she spoke dangerously in his ear: "Fine. We'll do it the hard way. Open the fucking door, or I'll slit your throat."
"Okay, okay! Goddamn, no need to be so rough!" He cried. He quickly knocked on the door.
Someone heard and they quickly hopped to it. When a slender fellow answered, he looked taken aback by the sight; a woman, no more than five feet, holding a blade to a man who was at least seven-foot-tall. Once the door was open, Sylvia let him go.
"You can still keep the money, since I'm in pretty good mood. But you know. Manners don't cost anything." Sylvia said unhappily. She smiled sweetly at the young man, "Thank you, sweetheart."
While the large, dark-haired, angry-looking man had no idea who she was, the slender fella told the former, "Why the hell were you trying to hustle her? She's the fucking Lark, man!"
"That's her?"
"Penguin's wife."
"I know who she is—Well, fuck me. I didn't know what she looked like!"
Sylvia grinned inwardly as the argument continued before going on her way. Even though she had some time to get used to hearing her new title, 'The Lark', it still felt weird hearing people call her that. Perhaps it was just a matter of getting over the fact that she was definitely not a morning person. The only thing she had in common with the songbird was its melody. Aside from that….nothing else. Then again, perhaps Oswald had the same bond with his own moniker; the only thing he had in common with a penguin was his walk…
Sylvia strayed in an area that could be called a 'courtyard', since the Flea was something of a shopping mall. Her eyes wandered through the various 'stores'; they all offered one thing: possibly cheap old items for nothing it was valued: a golden watch at $500 when it was nothing more than a $20 one you'd buy at a Walmart; 'real' Cashmere sweaters…not in this part of Gotham, surely.
A hand tugged on Sylvia's sweater. Her instinct was to cut the hand off, but she quelled that particular instinct when she turned to see that it was a young girl, standing no taller than her waist. Smiling down at the redhead, Sylvia greeted her with an open hand shake.
"Ms. Pepper."
"Lark."
Ivy Pepper had been enlisted into Sylvia's rank only a few months ago, but she'd not been needed so frequently. Sylvia used other people to find out information, more bruisers than sweet little girls: Dagger, Chilly, Butch, Gabe…and back then, Mr. Bell. Infrequently did Sylvia ever need someone so meek, so quiet…but there was more to Ivy Pepper than what met the eye, if only the young lass was given a chance to prove herself.
"I'm sorry I was late," Sylvia apologized, looking down at her sincerely. "The entry staff are fucking rude."
"Bole?"
"Who?"
"Bole," Ivy said, pointing her thumb behind her to indicate the larger, angry man. "He's always like that."
"Well, he needs to find some fucking manners, doesn't he?"
"I knew I'd like you."
"Well, I like you too."
"Did you wanna go somewhere?" Ivy asked, glancing around. "I don't know where but…"
"I'd rather talk somewhere more private. Probably a stupid question, but do you like ice cream?"
"What kid doesn't like ice cream?"
"Good point."
Ivy shrugged, smiling sheepishly.
"Did you eat lunch?"
"What do you think?"
"You're pretty mouthy, aren't you?"
"No other way to be, Mrs. P." Ivy sighed.
Sylvia grinned broadly, holding out her hand. Ivy took it, and they silently left The Flea. Instead of ice cream in mind, Sylvia went to the nearest hamburger joint, bought them a course meal. It was not as private as she might have liked, but a meeting like this was probably best done in public. There weren't many details for the job just yet. After all, she had only minor suspicions.
"You look different." Sylvia noted, glancing Ivy over.
"New hair style."
It took her a moment to realize that Ivy had been joking and Sylvia let out a delightful chuckle when she got the joke.
"I have a job for you, if you're interested." Sylvia offered, sitting back and wiping her chin with a napkin.
"What kind of job?"
"You want to know the details?"
"I figure I should," Ivy mumbled. "Cat'll want to know if I asked."
Sylvia leaned forward, crossing her arms, saying, "Do you tell Cat everything?"
"Not everything. But she always comes and visits me…you know, here and there. She gives me money, sometimes. But most of the time, she's hanging out with Billionaire Boy."
"Billionaire b…Bruce Wayne?" Sylvia recollected.
Ivy smirked.
"You catch on quick, don't you, Lark."
"You're a quick one yourself."
"Yeah, well, flattery ain't goin' to get you anywhere," She sassed, giving her a little bit of a mouthy look before she started digging into her meal. "These fries are pretty good, where's the ketchup?"
Sylvia flagged down a waiter, who came by and brought another Ketchup bottle. He left quickly. Ivy noticed.
"People know who you are. Don't they?" Ivy said, glancing back at the waiter who was trying to avoid getting flagged down again. "They're afraid of you."
"I'd say they're more about avoidance than fear."
"Still, though. They take you seriously."
"I suppose so."
Ivy munched quietly on her fries a little longer, thoughtfully. After she was done, she pushed her basket with plastic wrappings away from her.
"What's the job, Lark?" She asked more seriously. "If it's killing people, or something, I've never—it's not that I can't, you know."
"Oh, Ms. Pepper. Anyone can kill people." Sylvia rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. "That's not a talent. It's a marketable trade, don't get me wrong. But the trade is a dime, a dozen. Let's be honest; if I wanted someone killed, I'd be doing the deed. I wouldn't let a little girl do it. You're too young—"
Ivy stood on her knees in her seat, her hands on the table.
"I'm young, but I've seen things." Ivy declared fiercely, her eyes wide but fiery. "People don't get that!"
Sylvia clicked her tongue dangerously, and Ivy sensed the warning before the woman in front of her had to say anything. Steadily, Ivy slowly sat back down, glancing around them, noticing, too, that people had started looking in their direction.
"First things first, Ms. Pepper. Your father was taken down by the police, and your mother slit her wrists, and that makes you an orphan. All of that makes it hard for someone like you to make a name in a town where everyone has the same sob story. It's hard to prove yourself when you're standing beside people like Cat; she casts quite the shadow, doesn't she?"
Ivy frowned, a temper tantrum boiling inside. But Sylvia could see it. And it was the only reason Ivy said nothing at this point.
"I, more than anyone else, can understand where you're coming from. You want to be treated like an adult, don't you?" She asked calmly.
"Yeah." Ivy's bottom lip sat forward, in a pout.
"If you want to start acting out like a child, that's how I will treat you." She dipped her hand inside her sweatshirt and pulled out a wad of bills bound tightly in a rubber band. "I don't need the help of a child. I need a spy. Now, if you want to be my spy, then we can move forward."
Ivy took the money, looking at it quizzically.
"Is this it?"
"This is a down payment."
"For?"
"See, now you're asking the right questions, and without Cat's help."
"Yeah, I guess so, but that doesn't answer my question, Lark."
"Well, Ms. Pepper, that kind of talk will have to take place outside of this diner. So…interested?"
Ivy glanced at the money, then out of the window, in the direction of the Flea. Before she could make up her mind, Ivy held out her hand, determination written all over her face.
Sylvia smiled widely, took her hand, and shook it.
Once her deal with Ivy Pepper had been settled (along with giving the girl something of a meal ticket for the next two days, per Ivy's own condition), Sylvia made her way to the GCPD station.
Back when things weren't so chaotic, the Desk Sergeant welcomed pretty much anyone into the facility without so much as a once-over check for weapons and the like. Due to people like Jerome Valeska, Theo Galavan, Hugo Strange's Monsters, including the one that impersonated Jim Gordon himself, and god-only-knows who or what else, the Desk Sergeant did weapon checks with anyone.
Sylvia was no different.
As she entered through the double doors, she gave a brief derisive chuckle when the sergeant politely asked her to relieve herself of all and any weapons on her. She took off her sweatshirt, revealing a turquoise halter top. She unstrapped the arm guards containing her daggers, and lifted both pant legs where two knives had been strapped to her calves with Velcro. She placed these in front of the officer as well. The Desk Sergeant stared at her with wide eyes, taken aback, by her weaponry before letting her go, although with some hesitation.
She met with Harvey Bullock and Jim Gordon who were standing on the tallest balcony, above the one where Captain Barnes regularly stood, giving orders to his beloved Strike Force.
Harvey smirked at her, chuckling, "Are you sure you don't have any more?"
"Any more what?" Sylvia questioned.
"Weapons."
"I'd offer you to do a strip search but I'm too afraid you'll say 'yes'," Sylvia said, smirking when Harvey let out a sarcastic ha-ha, before guiltily grinning at Jim, who rolled his eyes. "How was the bounty tonight?"
She leaned against the railing while the former detective and the current detective leaned casually over it, their hands clasped together solemnly.
"It paid."
"Almost get killed?"
"What do you think?"
"I'd say that was a 'yes'. Thanks, by the way."
"For?"
"Finding out what happened to Mom."
Jim looked at her, startled. Then, as though realizing just what Oswald had done, he growled, "He wasn't supposed—"
"Ohh ho-ho, ho…" Sylvia jeered, smiling cleverly at him. "So it was you who told Oswald not to tell me anything, wasn't it?"
"Tell you what?" Harvey interjected, suddenly taken in by the excitement.
"It's not that I didn't want you to find out—"
"—Tell her what, Jim—"
"Shut up, Harvey—"
Sylvia waved Jim away and stood between him and Harvey, who she addressed with sarcastic cheer, "Well, you see, Harv. My big brother here" (Jim put his hands over his face, exhausted.) "was asked to find out what happened to our dear mother…as a favor to Oswald, you know, like a gift for our anniversary, in an attempt to find me some closure."
Harvey seemed to look as though he wasn't sure whether to be amused like Sylvia or sympathetic to his partner, who by all rights, was facepalming himself pretty hard.
"This White Knight," Sylvia mused, patting Jim on the back, "told my husband not to tell me what really happened to our mother. Or should I even go as far as to say that he even threatened him."
"Vee…"
"Save it." She sighed, waving her hand. "It's fine."
"You know," said Harvey carefully. "When a woman says 'it's fine', it's never 'fine'. In fact, I've learned that it is far from 'fine' than possible, like humanely possible."
"I didn't know how you would've reacted." Jim attempted to explain. "Penguin told me how you reacted when your butler left. A butler."
"He wasn't just my butler, James Gordon!"
"Oh, whoa…" Harvey muttered, stepping out of the cross fire. "She just brought out the first-and-last name bit. I'm gonna stay over here, partner. You know…out of the splash zone."
Jim gave him a look that said 'oh, wow, thanks' but returned his attention reluctantly to his sister, who was crossing her arms and looking more than appalled.
"He was my mentor, and a friend." Sylvia said coldly. "He and I were close enough, like family, and I loved him like I was his daughter. He tells me he has cancer, and then he just up and leaves me! Why wouldn't I react the way I did."
"Vee...Oswald told me you picked up Butch and threw him." Jim hissed, an attempt to keep their argument to a low decimal.
"No way!" Harvey guffawed. "You can pick up someone as big as Butch! Man, that is awesome!"
"Harvey!"
"Okay, okay...I'm just standing here. You won't even know I'm here."
Jim and Sylvia turned away from him to glare at each other.
"Okay, look," Jim began patiently, holding his hands out. "I guess Oswald knows you better—"
"—Clearly—"
"—but in my defense, you've always been unpredictable. I never know how you're going to react and after Oswald told me what happened, there was no way I could have predicted how you'd have reacted when you found out our mother never wanted us."
"Eesh, ouch." Harvey muttered, wincing.
Sylvia gave him a look, and he cleared his throat, choosing to become more interested with the wallpaper.
"You should know me by now. You should be able to predict what I'll do. Mom never meant much to me...if anyone mattered to me, it was you. It still is you."
"Aw, that's touching." Harvey drawled from the sidelines.
Jim sighed, "Bullock, I swear to god, one more word—"
"How about I just get a coffee? I feel like my energy is going down, anyway. Why don't I just, yeah, that's what I'll do. Excuse me, Little Sister." Harvey said, politely squeezing past Sylvia to head downstairs for his cup of Joe.
Sylvia watched him leave, shaking her head as though she couldn't see how Jim continued to put up with him. Her smile outlasted her derision as she looked at Jim, her expression changing from an angry one to that of a familial softness.
"I appreciate you looking after me. You and Oswald. But what happened to you not wanting to lie to me anymore?"
"Vee, it's hard when it comes to you."
"And you're a complicated nut case yourself."
"Well, I'm glad we had this discussion."
"I'm glad too. So, what monster beat you down this time?"
"Some prehistoric buffoon, what the hell do I know. And he didn't beat me down."
"Is that why you're here? To collect your bounty?"
"Maybe."
"Why else would you be here? You're not here to get your badge back, are you?"
"Is that hope I hear in your voice, Vee?"
"Hope? Perhaps it was dread."
"Ha-ha. Real funny."
"By the way, I'm pregnant."
"Well, that's—what!"
"Oh, look, Harvey's back. Heyyyy!" Sylvia greeted, leaving Jim to stare after her as she greeted Harvey happily, wrapping her arms around him.
"Now, that's more like it!" Harvey said loudly. "So, we like old Harvey again, huh?"
"I've always liked you. I just can't stand it when you butt into conversations that are meant to be one-on-one. When you do, it's like you're a third wheel while my brother and I are trying to have a moment."
"If you ever need a moment, Liv, you know you can tell me."
"Tried it, did it, never worked—try something else, Harvey." Sylvia said, clicking her tongue.
"So, what are you up to now?"
"The usual."
Jim gritted his teeth, grabbed Sylvia by the arm and pulled her aside, clearly out of Harvey's hearing.
"I was in the middle of a discussion," She reminded coolly.
"I'm aware. What the hell do you mean 'you're pregnant'."
"I meant it in the way it sounds."
"Who's the father?"
Sylvia stared at him and said dangerously, "I'm going to pretend you did not just ask me that."
Jim seemed to realize his mistake and he let go of her quickly, saying just as swiftly, "You know what I meant."
"Yeah, I know what you meant…still, you might want to watch how you word things. I would have been in my right to slap you and no one would have said anything to me about it." Sylvia said harshly. "And to answer your question—however stupid it was—of course, it's Oswald… 'who's the father', what kind of idiotic question is that. Jackass."
She gave him a hard slap to the back of his head, but Jim took his punishment easily.
"Well, how far along are you?"
"A couple of weeks."
"Are you leaving Gotham?"
"Why would I do that?"
"It's dangerous here."
"It's dangerous everywhere." Sylvia reasoned, gesticulating to the entire GCPD. "The safest place in Gotham has become a war zone a few times. And don't you think I know that? I wasn't born yesterday; I don't have 'stupid' written on my face. Even if I was born yesterday, it doesn't matter. Gotham is just as safe as any place else in the world, and, furthermore, it's my home. So, if you think about using this" (She touched her belly) "against me, you've got another rant coming, buddy."
Jim held up his hands cautiously.
"I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Yeah, well, I'm just fucking peachy."
"How does Penguin feel about you staying in Gotham?"
"He and I have spoken. We're fine with Gotham. Gotham is…Gotham."
"You're not scared that someone will find out about your pregnancy, use it against you? You're the 'Lark', after all. He's the Penguin."
Sylvia glared at him: "Why did you say it in that tone?"
"What tone?"
"That sarcastic one. You said 'Lark' like it's some stupid remark."
"I said it normally."
"Pfft, you did not say it normally."
"I did!" Jim hissed.
"You so did not. That's like me saying your 'who's the father' comment was smart. Yeah, it's smart."
"Vee, I know—"
"Trust me, Jim. If anyone—and I do mean 'anyone'—tries to hurt my baby, I will cut off their arms and legs, and watch them bleed to death, right before I cut off their head." Sylvia said darkly. "And that's not just a bluff or a threat, sweetheart. That's a fucking promise."
Jim cleared his throat as Captain Barnes alerted the rest of the GCPD that a press conference was being held, and that the 'Honorable' Mayor James would be in attendance.
"So, I guess you'll be leaving," Harvey sighed unhappily.
"Leaving?" Sylvia asked, meeting him at the balcony once more. "Why would I be leaving? I love watching Aubrey James talk out of his hairy butt."
"How do you know it's hairy?" Harvey asked uncomfortably.
"You've not seen the pictures?"
"What pictures?" Harvey and Jim voiced simultaneously.
She shrugged mysteriously. Captain Barnes looked at the balcony, noticed that Sylvia was presiding there, and he shouted for her to come down.
"Well, she'll be going now," muttered Harvey as he and Jim watched Sylvia stalk down the stairs." There's no way Barnes'll let her stay for the conference."
Sylvia approached their captain, who looked at her with little respite.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded.
"Good evening to you too, Captain," She greeted sarcastically. "Is that how you greet every civilian?"
"Don't act like you're innocent, Mrs. Cobblepot. You've been having behind-the-scene conversations with the Commissioner," Barnes stated, glaring at her. "As much as he talks highly about you, I'd hope you'd be more respectful. Courteous, even."
"You greet me with 'what the hell are you doing here', and you want me to give you respect?"
"Oh shit…" Jim mumbled, putting his head down on the wooden railing.
Barnes' veins in his forehead protruded suddenly, like he might blow a gasket. Sylvia crossed her arms.
"I've not disturbed what little peace you have going on here, Captain Barnes. I've not said a fucking word of disrespect—to you or anyone else. You shout at me from the ground floor, then question my reason for being here, not knowing why I've come here at all." She reprimanded. "I may talk to your Commissioner—god knows he's more goddamn respectful than you'll ever be—but you could use a little self-discussion yourself, mister."
Barnes said unhappily, "I think it's best that you leave, Mrs. Cobblepot."
"On a contrary, I think it's better if I stay." Sylvia argued. "I came to talk to my brother, check on him, seeing as he's the only fucking person in this goddamn building doing a single fucking thing about the fucking monsters doing only god-knows-what outside. Now, if you'll excuse me!"
She stomped up the stairs, like a bratty girl going through the phase of her teenage years, but that was to prove a point. As long as she wasn't causing any (more) disturbances, she had the freedom and the right to be inside the station.
Gritting his teeth, holding down his temper, tightening his fist, Barnes growled before leaving to his office so he could soften his anger before the press arrived.
"You're going to give our Captain a stroke if you're not careful," Harvey cautioned gently. "You know, he used to be a Marine."
"Military or not, he should be a professional. Jim is the only person doing anything about Strange's fucking strays, and I wanted him to know it."
"So, he knows it. There's nothing else to be done."
Sylvia smiled inwardly and said softly, "Isn't there?"
Jim and Harvey glanced at one another uneasily.
The press arrived, alongside Mayor James. As promised to Jim prior to their arrival, Sylvia remained quiet, standing in the dark sidelines with him and Harvey, looking on. Barnes took the lime light, standing at what was serving as something of a podium, his hands on the railing as he addressed the flashing lights, microphones, and audio tape recorders.
"At eight-fifteen this evening," Barnes said coolly, "an individual robbed a pharmacy and attacked its owner. While we don't have an I.D. as of yet, we believe that this individual is another escapee from Indian Hill."
The reporters clamored, trying to talk over one another.
One shouted, "Are these monsters dangerous?"
Another tried to get his attention, shouting, "Captain Barnes! Captain Barnes!"
A young tanned, Asian woman with doe eyes pushed through the other reporters, determined, as she introduced herself: "Valerie Vale, 'Gotham Gazette'. Why can't we see the escapee?"
"Because crews are still picking up the pieces."
"This isn't the first time that a bounty hunter has apprehended an escapee from Indian Hill. Is the GCPD incapable of handling the threat themselves?" Vale questioned.
Sylvia glanced at Jim, who tried not to look her way, but he figured she was smirking knowingly.
"Whoa!" Barnes said carefully. "Only a handful of these escapees were brought in by bounty hunters—"
Sylvia leaned into Jim, and whispered, "Ha…bounty hunters. I like the plural. Gives it more 'finesse'."
"Hush, Vee."
"—The vast majority were apprehended by the GCPD," Barnes finished.
Vale looked less than convinced as she transcribed what was being reported.
As though ready to take some questions and relieving Barnes of the heat, Mayor James stepped forth. Sylvia rolled her eyes, muttering, "Oh, here we go."
"Vee!"
Harvey muttered, "She's got a point, Jimbo."
Mayor James said strongly, "I take issue with the word 'threat'. These escapees are themselves victims of Huge Strange."
"Hugo Strange," Sylvia mumbled. "Yet another fucker I'd like to see hang by his—"
"Shh!" Jim said, tapping her arm impatiently.
Mayor James continued in spite of the murmurs from above and below: "Now if any ordinary, hard-working citizen wants to help get these poor souls off the street, so that they may receive proper treatment, well these citizens should be lauded and rewarded financially."
"Mr. James," Vale said strictly. "Before they were taken to Indian Hill, these 'poor souls' were all criminally insane inmates at Arkham Asylum, were they not?"
Mayor James looked at her for a second then said quickly, "Next question."
"This is fucking ridiculous," Sylvia grumbled, emitting an inhuman, almost lion-like growl, before she sat down on the edge of Harvey's desk.
"You hear that?" Harvey joked. "You could be lauded."
"I prefer the cash." Jim returned.
"How many escapees have you brought in now? Five? Six? Five grand, a pop? That's not bad."
"Yeah."
"And what happens when Gotham runs out of monsters?"
"There are always monsters in Gotham," Jim relayed confidently.
"I really can't get you to come back, huh? Look," Harvey began once he sat at his desk, leaning forward, minding Sylvia's presence for a moment before turning to Jim seriously. "Whatever happened when you went to see Lee—"
Sylvia suddenly turned around, raising her eyebrows: "You went to see Lee?"
"What happened to just one-on-one conversations, doll?" Harvey asked pointedly.
"Shut your face, Harv. Jim, how come you never told me you went to see her?"
"Guys..."
"You know I don't want to pry…" Harvey continued.
Jim flashed him a sarcastic smile, saying just as cynically, "Oh, I know you don't."
"That's because you don't tell me anything! You know? A man's not supposed to be alone. You've got family here," Harvey attempted to persuade. As an afterthought, he put a hand on Sylvia's thigh, adding, "And you've got Little Sister!"
Sylvia picked up Harvey's hand and moved it to his desk, smiling politely but her eyes said all he needed to know. He sent her an apologetic glance before he addressed Jim.
"You don't have any problem chasing down Hugo Strange's freaks."
"Whoa, Harvey. Watch who you call a 'freak'. That's a fightin' word." Sylvia warned.
"Well, we all know you're a freak in the sheets, baby doll."
"How the hell would you know."
"All redheads are, including myself."
"Again. Shut your face."
"Considering I know how mouthy you get," Harvey said smoothly, "I think that's a pretty good compliment, don't you think, Jim?"
Jim rolled his eyes again.
"You're a cop in everything, but name."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But I don't have to listen to Barnes. I can go home when I want, get drunk when I want…And I don't have him breathing over my shoulder the entire time. And at the end of the day, I sleep. Because I know Gotham's not my responsibility anymore."
"Not to poop on your party," Sylvia mused, "but Gotham never was your responsibility. You took it under your wing. You—and only you—claimed it for your own."
"Like your hubby did, huh." Harvey said, chuckling. "'King of Gotham'…that still gives me a nice, evil chuckle. Mwuahahaha!"
"Third time: Shut your fucking face."
"I love poking you, doll. You make it too easy."
"Well, you'll poke too much one day and I'm going to end up shoving a fork into your winking eyeball."
"Phew! That's a little strong, don't you think?"
"Only one way to see."
Harvey raised his eyebrows at Jim incredulously while Jim shook his head.
"In all seriousness, I love you like a brother. But you've gotta stop blaming what happened between you and Lee on the job. And do you really think I don't get drunk when I want," Harvey said smoothly, grinning pointedly as he knocked back a few gulps from his flask.
A few footsteps were heard coming from behind her; Sylvia stood, seeing Lucius Fox. She grinned idly, considering the first time they'd met was back when they all were amped up, armed, and ready to go after Galavan. The most recent included the lot of them being trapped in a holding room where all of them had been drugged in some shape or form by either Strange, Ed, or his orderlies.
"Detective Bullock," He said professionally. "I looked into the drug that escapee was after. It's a powerful immune suppressant."
He noticed both Jim and Sylvia.
"Gordon…Mrs. Cobblepot." Fox greeted.
"See," Harvey continued. "Look at Lucius, here. Our new resident expert on all things scientific. He said 'sayonara' to Wayne Enterprises robots, hmm, and he loves it here."
Jim peered at Fox skeptically. The latter smiled in response.
"Wayne Enterprises," He stated factually (much like he always sounded), "revealed itself as morally corrupt. Here, despite the primitive facilities, casual violence, fascistic meathead culture—"
"—Lucius—"
"—I love it here."
"So, in essence, you're Ed's replacement." Sylvia pointed out, looking at him.
"Right, I see how awkward this might be for you."
"Not awkward at all." She reassured.
"Well, I know how he's your friend and all…"
"He tried to poison you and Bruce Wayne. And he framed my dear brother for a crime that I committed."
"Careful, Little Sister," Harvey whispered. "You're still in a police station."
"And, yet," Fox said lightly, "Mr. Nygma did save us all by letting us into Strange's basement."
"Point taken. Still: your position here seems well-deserved, as is Ed's current predicament."
"He's quite a complicated man, isn't he?"
"Ed? Oh yes, quite."
"You seem like a complicated person yourself."
"Oh, yes, I am." Sylvia agreed, flattered. "I can't take all the credit though; it's a Gordon trait."
"I must agree with you."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Fox."
"By all means, you're very welcome. And how have you been?"
"Just peachy," Sylvia said, smiling genuinely at him. "And you?"
"Well, Harvey just summarized the past six months for me, actually." Fox said generously, gesticulating to the detective, who, alongside Jim, watched Fox and Sylvia converse with odd but satisfied expressions on their faces.
"Anyway," Fox continued, smiling at the lot of them. "That drug is only sold at three pharmacies in the city, and the other two pharmacies were both robbed in the last month. The question is: Why are Indian Hill escapees robbing pharmacies now?"
"Good question," Harvey humored. He turned to Jim: "So, what do you say just like the old days, you and me run it together, huh, partner?"
Jim considered it for a moment before he said finally, "You get a hard lead on an escapee and the price is right, I'll bring him in. Thanks for the drink. Lucius. Vee…" He walked away.
Harvey sighed in defeat.
"How come you don't ask me to go along with your adventures?" Sylvia questioned curiously. "I know how to carry and use a gun, and it's not like I've not been roped in these police matters in the past."
"Please. The last time you and I did anything together, we were riding in the backseat of a truck with Butch Gilzean, Don Falcone, and your insane husband, dodging Fish and Maroni—something I'd like to avoid, but—"
"First things first, my husband isn't crazy." Sylvia snapped. "Second: Maroni is dead; Falcone's retired, and Butch is on my side—not much else can happen."
"There's still Fish."
"Fish hasn't been seen for months."
"Still…You attract chaos."
"What can I say. It likes the way I taste." Sylvia drawled, smirking at him.
Harvey rolled his eyes, looking at Fox pointedly: "'Fascistic meathead culture'? I mean, you couldn't try to be a little more positive?"
"Oh, I was being positive."
"Uh-huh."
Steadily, the clamoring below was starting to get amped. Harvey, Fox, and Sylvia exchanged knowing looks and they moved to the balcony, peering over the railing to see how Valerie Vale was rousing the Mayor and Captain Barnes.
"Why is Hugo Strange the only one that's been arrested?" Vale questioned loudly.
Mayor James answered, "The situation—"
"—And what about the rumors that Indian Hill is a Wayne Enterprises facility? And how many more of these escapees are at large? Are we talking twenty—"
"—Excuse me—"
"—Thirty—"
"—Excuse me—"
"Come on, just give me a blink if I'm close," Vale insisted.
Mayor James even gesticulated with a single hand as he said, "The situation is firmly in hand!"
"LIAR!"
The crowd murmured. The news reporters turned their lights and audio recorders, and cameras in the direction of the voice, while Mayor James and Captain Barnes looked onward in dread.
On the stands, Fox and Harvey groaned, glancing at Sylvia, who smirked at them knowingly. She moved to the side, heading down the stairs to arm her husband with her presence, but it was Jim who kept her from moving any further.
"Stay here. Trust me." Jim insisted quietly.
"You know how the media works more than I do, is that it?" Sylvia dared.
"Trust. Me."
There was a quiet plea in his voice. It was only for this reason that Sylvia stayed, and Jim's hand, which had been held up in front of her, keeping her still, finally dropped. Together, they stood on the stairwell.
The crowd had parted like the Red Sea. Butch Gilzean stood alongside Oswald, who approached the reporters with finesse, charisma, and confidence that Sylvia would have admittedly dropped in the lime light. After all, the media intimidated the shit out of her.
Sylvia smiled in spite of herself; apparently, her brother did know her.
"My name is Oswald Cobblepot," Oswald announced to the crowd.
"We know who you are, Penguin," Barnes said rudely. "What do you want!"
"What do I want?" Oswald repeated, almost as though he was surprised by the demand. "I want you to tell the truth to the people of Gotham."
He moved through the crowd, all the while, he spoke: "They would have us believe that there is no danger. But I was there that night, when the creatures broke out of Indian Hill. I saw them. And I know who's leading them."
He stood in front of Vale, who smiled. A small, faint, reporter's greedy smile who was just about to receive the best information that a young reporter would ever hope to get, and was just on the brink of breaking a new story for her Gotham Gazette.
"Are you saying these escapees are organized?" asked Vale.
"Hello! That is what I am saying."
Mayor James heatedly declared, "There is absolutely nothing to support that!"
Over Vale's head, Oswald spoke directly to Mayor James and Captain Barnes, saying, "I told the police who to look for! I begged them, time and again. And they have done nothing. So, I am here to speak directly to the good people of Gotham." He turned to address them as such. "The enemy's name is Fish Mooney."
"Fish Mooney?" Barnes questioned skeptically. "She hasn't been spotted in over six months. She's either long gone, or she's dead."
A trace of irritation torqued his jaw before it was covered up quickly as Oswald glanced over his shoulder at Barnes as he said, "I wish I shared your simple belief."
He turned to the people: "She is a criminal. She is a murderer. And now God knows what kind of monster Hugo Strange has turned her into. I implore every citizen of Gotham, if you love your family, if you love your children, find Fish Mooney. Until then, no one is safe."
Without another glance to the police, Oswald finished and he started to walk away, leaving the reporters greedily searching for more answers, to berate the Mayor and Barnes for more information, and they even shortly followed Oswald before they realized they wouldn't get any more information out of him.
Sylvia glanced at Jim pointedly, waiting for his permission so that she could move. Jim sensed her sarcastic inquiry and, with much resignation, stepped aside and allowed her to pass him on the stairway. As she came down the stairs, Oswald saw her in his peripheral and happily greeted her.
He took her hand in his, and kissed the back of it.
The reporters, apparently, found this newsworthy. They were avaricious for any type of news.
Sylvia smiled at him: "You were fantastic, Ozzie. Very charismatic."
"I'm so glad you enjoyed it."
"So serious," She lowered her voice to that of some manly timbre, jokingly.
"I was serious."
She kissed his cheek, and smiled at Butch who accompanied him. She greeted him with a smile; he returned it.
As Jim waited around for Harvey—for whatever reason—he stiffened when Oswald started to pass him.
"Hello, Jim."
"Oswald."
"I'm surprised you haven't found Mooney. Being a bounty hunter, and all."
Jim looked him straight in the eye and said coolly, "You haven't made it worth my while" and he strode on ahead.
Oswald looked deeply insulted by that, while Butch chortled, "Ooh, tough guy, now."
"But he makes a point." Oswald commended moodily.
Butch and Sylvia glanced at one another as Oswald started forward and they shook their heads, now abject to whatever Oswald had on his mind left for the evening.
As Delilah stepped out of her car and headed into her home after a night working at Lean on Vee's, Ivy Pepper slowly stepped out of the bushes, ducking down just below the window sill of the worker's first-floor apartment. Thankful that the window to her kitchen was concealed between the building itself and a weedy fence, Ivy was happy to crouch and watch Sylvia's second-in-command talk loudly on the phone.
She didn't catch much of the one-sided conversation. Anything that was related to the business; however, she made a mental note.
Ivy's main concern was that even as this Delilah woman spoke on the phone, she was constantly moving. From the kitchen, to the living room, to the dining room—she was all over the place. At first, Ivy believed that the woman knew she was being spied on…for a second, she did. Then, once she calmed her thoughts—just as Lark had told her how to do it—she realized that Delilah just paced a great deal while she was on the phone.
"Come on…come on…" Ivy grumbled.
She needed something to tell Lark. Anything. Even if Lark didn't expect anything the night of, how great would it be if Ivy watched her target for just a night and came back with something so useful, something so plot-worthy!
"Come on…"
"Come on, baby…" Delilah spoke, running her hands lightly over the kitchen counters like they were newly imported silk covers. "Did you find out anything…What is it? That's nothing." An impish grinned twisted Delilah's features. "You should hear what I know about our 'wonderful' boss lady."
Whoever she spoke to on the other line evidently could not wait to know because the woman spit out the news all too eagerly.
Delilah smirked: "She's pregnant."
She listened to the alternate likely spill out all kinds of enthusiasm, however wicked.
"Sylvia's such a mother hen, you know. I pretended like I was scared. 'I'm scared to go to the mean gynecologist, wah'. 'Oh, my boyfriend and I are trying to get pregnant, boo-hoo.' I couldn't stand it…it paid off though."
Ivy frowned. Lark had mentioned to her that she'd grown suspicious of Delilah.
What had she said? 'The one she replaced betrayed me, I suspect she will too'.
But Ivy didn't want to tell Lark what her client already knew. She wanted to give her more than just what she needed to hear. Ivy shifted her weight that lied heavily on her toes; she had to nearly go full ballerina stance just to see over the window sill; and she quickly glanced left and right to make sure no one was watching her.
"Are you really certain you want to go through with this?" Delilah asked uncertainly, drawing Ivy's attention. "I mean, I want it just as much as you do, but…look at everything she's done for me, for you, even."
Whatever the other person said on the other line obviously made Delilah unhappy. She frowned. As the woman was dishing out some coffee grounds into the maker, a few spilled over when she passionately placed the bag of coffee onto the counter.
"You and I have both worked hard to get where we are, that's not a lie." Delilah said harshly. "I've taken more crap from these people than I can possibly take for the rest of my life, but there's a line, you know. I'm not happy that we have to do this. Having a baby should be a great thing, you know? It should be Liv's moment. And she deserves it! And she has done so much for me."
There was a pause as Delilah's angry face became one of guilt, as she responded to the caller: "She likes for me to call her that…whether she is or isn't, she's like a friend."
Ivy shifted in her position, her feet starting to fall asleep from crouching too much. When she did, the window sill made a creak. Delilah's eyes shot in her direction. Ivy hadn't been fast enough to duck down just in time. Instead, she heard the woman's heels storming out of the apartment, boots to the ground.
"Shit!" Ivy squeaked.
She started running. Delilah ran after her.
She ran faster.
Delilah quickened her pace.
It wasn't until Ivy was halfway down to the Flea when her side started hurting. By then, Delilah had gotten in her car, the ignition roaring to life.
A few more minutes too late and Ivy might have been run over!
The wheels screeched the pavement.
Then there were gun shots. Loud like thunder.
Ivy's heart beat quickly as she ducked into the alley.
Delilah searched the area. Her features shifted to an expression to that of defeat and reluctance. To preserve her right to rule, she'd have to gun down a little girl. As she approached the alley, she had already made up her mind, knowing what she would have to do. With her gun drawn, she edged towards The Flea, side-stepping the front door.
Then to the alley.
She found Ivy, all right: She stood behind a woman whose crimson hair was just as red as her face as Delilah came face to face with her boss.
Seeing her, Delilah dropped her gun.
"Liv—" She began.
Sylvia's arm was wrapped around Ivy's shoulder; the latter was still breathing so hard, not just from running but from fear. She didn't spare a moment's mercy; instead, she aimed her own gun at Delilah, shot her right between the eyes, and watched her body fall over, lifeless.
Ivy yelped, pushing her face into Sylvia's hip.
"Come with me, my girl." Sylvia cooed, rubbing her shoulder. "It's okay. You did what I asked of you, and you did beautifully. Come along, now."
People from The Flea scurried out to see who'd died tonight. Seeing Sylvia, some of them backed down immediately.
"She's yours." She said apathetically, waving to the dead woman. "Take what you want."
Ivy watched as the lot suddenly swarmed around Delilah, like vultures around road kill. She walked with Sylvia to the end of the road.
"I want to give you something, dearest."
"What?" Ivy asked. "I-I told you what she did, what she said. You said I did okay, you said I was—"
"I'm not going to kill you."
"Oh…okay, then what…?"
Sylvia held out a necklace to her. Ivy took it curiously, looking it over with little interest until she saw the pendant. It appeared to be a single rose (no stem) trapped inside ceramic filling.
"Why would you give me this?" asked Ivy, holding the necklace out to her. "It's dying."
"It's made of paper, I swear. I would have given you a real one, but I know how you feel about your vegetative friends. And I know you like plants, so I thought I'd give it to you."
"Is it a tracker?"
"Nothing like that."
"Is it a bomb?"
"Of course not." Sylvia said, looking at her, taken aback. "My god, child, what do you think I am, a monster?"
"That's what people say about you." Ivy reminded practically. "And you did just…" She glanced back where a few scavengers like her were picking everything from Delilah's corpse, from her jewelry, to her wallet, even to her boots.
"I'm many things, but if it's any consolation, I don't kill kids."
Ivy smiled and she put the necklace around her neck, touching the pendant and peered up at her: "Are you really pregnant?"
Sylvia hesitated with good reason before she whispered, "I am."
"Can I touch?"
"You won't feel much of anything. I'm not far along."
"Still…?"
"Sure."
Ivy touched Sylvia's belly, and smiled up at her: "We should bet on whether it'll be a boy or a girl."
"Ms. Pepper!"
"Call me 'Ivy'." She said, grinning. "And I think it'd be a fun game. If I win, you buy me a hamburger."
"And if I win?"
"I get to watch you buy me a hamburger."
"That's not much of a bet, Ivy."
"It is for me. Win-Win."
"That's not…sure, fine. A bet's a bet." Sylvia said, holding out her hand.
"Boy or girl?"
"Does it matter?"
Ivy shook her hand and said, "Now you're getting it."
Sylvia rolled her eyes.
"Stay somewhere. Not here, though."
She handed the little girl a little velvet bag. Ivy took a look inside, and she grinned gratefully.
"When will I see you again?"
"If I need you to spy on someone else, probably. You did well, Love."
Ivy grinned proudly at herself and then ran off to find the closest hotel so she could sleep in a comfy bed. Sylvia watched after her until she couldn't see her anymore.
Sylvia came back to the mansion that night, dragging her feet. She climbed into bed, still wearing her day clothes.
Oswald was somewhat asleep. When there was a substantial shift of weight in the bed, he stirred, mumbling something she couldn't understand, and turned on his side, looking at her tiredly. Now, she sat on the edge of the mattress, taking off her shoes.
"You're back." He mumbled.
With an attempt of humor, she responded, "I've returned, yes."
"Good. Get under the covers with me."
Sylvia slipped out of her clothes, pulled on her night slip, and joined Oswald in bed. When he felt her body next to him, Oswald, still with his eyes closed, cuddled up to her.
She lied on her back; he, on his side, snuggled close.
"I killed Delilah tonight."
"Am I to guess that your suspicions were correct, then?"
"Betrayal," She confirmed stoically. "Just like Brittany. I'm beginning to think that position is tabooed."
"We really have to start doing background checks on our staff," Oswald exhaled sleepily.
"I know. I keep having to buy new ammunition; it's really starting to burn a hole in my wallet."
Oswald chuckled quietly, opening his eyes so he looked at her: "That's not exactly what I meant, but that's a fair point, too."
"I know what you meant, sweetheart. It was a half-baked attempt at humor."
She almost resisted him when he touched the side of her face, so her mouth moved closer to his. When he moved the rest of the way for a kiss, she slowly relaxed into it, smiling even, returning it.
"I expected it, I think." Sylvia said quietly. "On some level, I wouldn't have thought it would be Delilah. She was smarter, more outgoing. She was the last person who I thought would betray me."
"Finding a protege is a challenging task."
"Finding one shouldn't be this difficult."
"It comes with time, Pet."
Sylvia murmured sadly, "It shouldn't be this painful either."
Oswald heard the slightest emotional hitch in her voice and he looked at her plainly to see that she was mulling the betrayal over in her head. He cleared his throat, and sat up. She mirrored him, doing the same.
"Pigeon, you and I—and perhaps, others too—know how attached you are with the staff. It's a trait that I think is not only unique, but I believe it's also one of your greatest weaknesses."
"You'd prefer that I keep everything professional? No informality, what so ever? You know I don't operate that way. It can't be all business."
"It's not always business."
"The clubs, the meetings, the bargains, negotiations, even speeches—all of it is business," Sylvia said tiredly. "I've told you before, I'm not that type of person. That's why I joke, and I cut up with people—staff, enemy, friend, who cares. I didn't grow up…like that."
"I know. It's what I love most about you."
"Oh, so is that it, hm? I have the chip on my shoulder, and you're the business-like architect."
"It's not uncommon knowledge between us, Pigeon. I'm a builder, you're a destroyer. We've known that from the word 'go'. Personally, I think we complement each other."
"Right. You: a wine-and-dine, five-star, Bed and Breakfast hotel. Me: casual as a diner. It appears that way, doesn't it?" Sylvia said, smiling contentedly.
"A diner, perhaps, but with a lot more sophistication than any of which I have ever visited."
Oswald kissed her forehead and Sylvia beamed.
"I'd recommend managing your club solo for the moment," He suggested. "If Delilah did as she had planned, I wouldn't know how—"
She sensed his worry.
"It didn't happen." She consoled, smiling at him lovingly. "She's dead. I'm not. I think that's a good sign, right?"
Hearing her words, Oswald put the terrible image of a dead Sylvia out of his mind and basked in the present.
"Obviously true, but now you've yet another worrisome factor to consider." He advised.
"And that is?"
"Your spy said she was talking on the phone."
"Mm-hmm."
"This is a person with whom she felt comfortable discussing plans to betray you."
Sylvia frowned, and her eyes flickered from Oswald to the covers as she took a few handfuls and muttered, "Ooh, you're right…I hadn't considered that before. There's someone else, then."
"It would seem so."
She turned completely to him; the motion alone made Oswald look at her unexpectedly. She took his hand in her trembling one, and said uncertainly, "Tell me. How do I find that out?"
"If you allowed Delilah to live, you might have found out from her."
"She chased my spy through four different alleys," Sylvia said defensively. "Delilah threatened to kill her, after everything she's done for me so far. I wasn't about to let that happen!"
"I can understand that, Pigeon, but the fact is: you let your emotions get the best of you."
"Oh, this coming from someone who's driven by their own emotions." She pointed out, crossing her arms.
Oswald rolled his eyes, unable to keep himself from doing it. Not because she hadn't a point, but because he knew she was right. A little hypocrisy in the night to ripple the waters of an oncoming storm, and yet, he was surprised to see that despite it, Sylvia appeared calmer. She looked at him with doleful eyes, of innocence that he'd not seen for years.
"With her dead, I can't find out who she was conspiring with, can I?"
"You can, but it'll be much more difficult."
Sylvia cocked her head to the side, saying, "Oz, how do you know how to do any of this? This conspiracy, these wars…this constant paranoia—it's driving me mad. I'm up to my ears in stress, and that's before the baby. I don't even know how to…"
Oswald took her hands in his and she startled at the romantic gesture; granted, he was always the romantic, but the sudden motion disarmed her.
"Worry about this…" Oswald said, moving her hands to her own stomach. "You let me worry about everything else."
"Honey…"
"Trust me. Everything will be fine."
"You're saying that so I'm not fretting needlessly, right? You're not saying that just so you can go back to sleep, are you?" Sylvia asked with a little smile.
Oswald quirked a little smile of his own as he admitted, "Half-and-half, really."
He lied on his back. She did the same, then she turned on her side. Lying down as such, she patted the area of the bed that was in front of her.
"Come be my little spoon, Ozzie." Sylvia said; her voice was now calmer, and warm.
Oswald didn't need much coaxing. It was his favorite sleeping position, after all.
Author's Note: Phew! This is the longest chapter I've ever written, but it is probably one of my most favorite. Feel free to leave a comment if you like or didn't like. I like to know what the readers think:) Enjoy the next few chapters as I've been dishing them out!