Chapter Thirty-One: The Search for Ivy
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for your reviews and messages. They've been really motivating me to write more. I get a little sad around the holidays (family deaths, drama, that sort of thing) so I appreciate the uplifting messages, and the praise for the stories I've written so far. I plan on getting some more done, so keep an eye out :) Muah!
Paying Jim to find someone might have been enough to grant anyone else peace of mind. But Jim would only work as hard as he decided to.
That wasn't enough for Sylvia. Not at all.
She wouldn't leave it up to Jim to look. Instead, Sylvia had other places to look for Ivy Pepper, however small the inclination or possibility that the girl would be there.
On a list of priorities, this was the first. And her first stop just happened to be a certain Manor where a certain child was staying home from school because he was allegedly 'feeling below the weather'. As it was…
Sylvia presented to the manor with a grocery bag of a variety of items to include cough medicine, a get-well card, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. To fend off the welcome of the new Fall weather, she gathered her coat closer to her, smiling evenly when the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth, who returned her expression with a surprised one instead.
"Mrs. Cobblepot!" He greeted. He opened the door a little wider, adding, "Well, this is a most pleasant surprise."
"Yes, I thought I'd pop in." Sylvia returned, and she offered him the bag candidly. "Word of mouth says Mr. Wayne has a cold. I thought I'd bring a few things to pepper his spirits…so to speak."
"Aw, there was no need to go through all of that trouble."
"Considering, I'm sure, Bruce isn't sick and he's just not going to school?"
Alfred chuckled, "Nothing gets past you, does it?"
"You'd be surprised what can, honestly. May I come in?"
"Oh good heavens, yes, please, you must be freezing," Alfred said, stepping aside and hurrying her into the manor.
She passed him, entering, and he closed the door as she did. She followed him into the kitchen, frankly surveying her surroundings until Alfred turned, and placed the bag of groceries on the counter nearest to the refrigerator.
"How have you been?" asked Alfred. "It's been a while since we've last seen you…I don't even remember when..."
"Strange had us all locked in some godforsaken room while a time bomb was counting down," She reminded. "Same day, you and I were stuck in a similar godforsaken elevator."
"Ah yes. Well, that was a long time ago, wasn't it?"
"More than a few months, actually."
"It seems longer."
"It seems that way, doesn't it," Sylvia agreed, grinning widely. "How's Bruce?"
"Chirpy and stubborn, as ever."
"I hoped his experience with Strange hadn't dulled his spirits."
"I think he's become more brazen actually."
"That wouldn't surprise me."
"I doubt anything would, considering the ruthlessness of your job," Alfred minded, unable to sanctify a small passive-aggressive streak before it slipped out.
A small moment of silence passed between them, a moment where Sylvia happened to notice that on the counter were a pair of boxing gloves.
"Were you and Bruce sparring?" Sylvia asked.
Alfred glanced at the item in question and said embarrassedly, "Yes, I'm afraid we were."
"I interrupted, then."
"Yes, I'm afraid so. To be quite honest, I wasn't expecting anyone to call on Master Bruce until a few days later, but…"
"Well," Sylvia said lightly, "If we're being honest, I didn't come here to check on Bruce's wellness…at least, not whole-heartedly."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I'm actually trying to find someone. I was hoping he may know where she is."
"Are you looking for Selina Kyle, by chance?"
"No. I know where she is." Sylvia chuckled. "It's one of her friends. Ivy Pepper."
"Oh…oh, I see." Alfred muttered. He cleared his throat, patting the counter shortly with his right hand, and said spiritedly, "Let me see if I can't find Master Bruce. You'll get your answer, sooner than later. How about that?"
"I'd appreciate it, thank you."
"Give me one moment."
"Sure thing." Sylvia relinquished, and she followed Alfred into the living room where he left her there to wait, insisting that she have a seat because 'god-only-knows where that boy has ventured off to'.
Instead of sitting, Sylvia observed the different artifacts, hung pictures, and antiques that gave the Wayne Manor its own slice of antiquity. The Waynes—all of them, not just Bruce or his parents—had a taste for the flair and drama that always came with being an old family in Gotham.
Large pictures that might as well had been photocopied from a museum. Knick knacks of a golden variety placed on the mantle of a fireplace, the surface of a recently stain-finished coffee table, and those that lined like bookends on a large set of bookshelves.
Sylvia idly touched the frail tapestry that hung towards the back of the living room, then the drapes that casually hid the room from the outside world.
What was it like to be a Wayne? To be a rich kid, inheriting all the knowledge, finances, and responsibilities of a family that one hadn't the time on Earth to yet discover?
"Poor kid," Sylvia mumbled. "Poor thing."
"Who are you?"
Sylvia startled at the sound, but she grew even more wary when she turned to see that the voice of Bruce Wayne came from someone who, granted, did look a lot like him, but wasn't comparable to the boy she'd only interacted with on occasion. Even while she didn't see Bruce casually, Sylvia could tell the difference between the sophisticated, intelligent lamb, and…this.
This boy that spoke to her was identical to Bruce, and yet, he wasn't. A tress of long black hair lined his neck, tangled, disheveled. His eyes, although the same color and shape as Wayne's, held no joy or vital structure of hope. His lips were chapped, dry as a desert. And the way he held himself as he slowly but cautiously approached her was not in the same confident way Bruce Wayne would usually greet her.
"Who are you?" The boy asked again, growing more curious with each passing second.
"Sylvia Cobblepot," She answered. "Most people seem more comfortable calling me 'Lark' anymore, but I'll leave it up to you, kid. Who the hell are you?"
"I don't know." He answered numbly. "I'm…still trying to figure that out. I don't know who I am…but I know who I look like."
"Well, at least you know that much."
"Oh my goodness," Alfred came into the room, gasping, while Bruce Wayne (The Bruce Wayne) quickly followed him into the living room, looking more alert and overtly unhinged as they saw the other Bruce standing in plain sight.
Sylvia gestured to the other Bruce, while saying to Alfred, "I guess I've interrupted a little more than just 'boxing sessions', haven't I?"
"Mrs. Cobblepot, you don't understand—" Bruce began.
"Don't I?" She returned, smiling, which made Bruce and Alfred blink.
"This young man" Sylvia said to Bruce, gesturing to the clone, "is a spitting image of you. From his own confusion and bewilderment, he came searching for the only person who may have an answer, the only person who likes him—ergo: you, Mr. Wayne. Like a candid, soft-hearted man, I imagine you took him, fed him, clothed him, and—stop me if I'm wrong—I bet you're going to try and find out where and why and how he came to be, by sheltering him here, in your own, until you can be sure. Provided that no one else find out."
Alfred and Bruce exchanged glances, not at all uncertain, but more perplexed. Meanwhile, the Other Bruce observed Sylvia with a small amount of admiration and curiosity.
"She's right on the money," chuckled Alfred, placing his hands behind his back. "Isn't she, Master B?"
"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Bruce asked hopefully. "If they find out—"
"Who would I tell, Mr. Wayne?" Sylvia returned pointedly, extending a hand to him and then to everyone in the room. "And if I had anyone to tell, who on Earth would believe me?"
"Point taken," Bruce considered, but he added, "Still…?"
"Your secret is safe with me."
"Thank you."
"Dare I ask, what have you found out so far?"
"He was one of Strange's experiments," Bruce confided. "Why him—or, I suppose, 'me'…That's still unclear."
"Mm." Sylvia sighed. "I can't imagine it was so that you could expand and double your charity ball arrivals."
"Yes," Alfred agreed with a smile, "I can't imagine it was for that purpose either. However helpful it might seem now."
Bruce glanced at them unhappily—how dare they joke about something so critical!
"Thank you for understanding, at least," Bruce said warmly.
"You're welcome. Now, as to why I'm here," Sylvia said softly, "I need your help, Mr. Wayne."
"Yes. Alfred told me," Bruce said, nodding in the direction of his butler. "But I'm sorry. I've not seen Ivy in a while."
"Well, that's a pity."
"If you don't mind me asking, why are you trying to find her?"
Sylvia crossed her arms plainly, saying, "It's too early in the game to say, but I'd like to say we were 'friends'. She's a sweet girl—troubled, but who isn't these days, you know?"
Alfred and Bruce nodded in agreement.
"She did something for me before, something that I wouldn't normally have asked a child to do, but she did it and she did it well. Shortly after the breakout of Strange's monsters and Fish's short-lived take-over, Ivy vanished," said Sylvia, concerned. "I know you hang around with Selina; she's a survivor. Ivy isn't like that. So, you can see why I'm worried."
"She sometimes turns up," Bruce offered halfheartedly.
"So, she does." She conceded. "But Strange's monsters are unpredictable, and dangerous. I would pit myself against them any time, even Jim, but never a little girl. I'm a monster, myself, but…even I know where to draw the line."
"Understandable. Well, if we see Ms. Pepper, we'll call on you." Alfred offered helpfully.
"Thank you, to the both of you." Sylvia said gratefully.
She shook hands with the both of them, and she was about to leave until she stopped and decided to turn to the Other Bruce, who peered at her curiously, still intrigued by her presence as a whole.
"You're in good hands," Sylvia assured, touching his shoulder.
"Thank you." He returned.
Sylvia addressed the other two: "Have a good one. Be careful. It's Gotham, after all."
By this time, it was the afternoon. So far, she'd come up empty-handed.
She stopped by a Pizza John's restaurant, walking out with a to-go box of pepperoni pizza. As she took the keys out of her pant pocket, and looked up to put said key into the car door, she wasn't surprised to see that there was already someone in her passenger seat.
Noticing him, Sylvia sighed, opened the car door and put the keys in the cup holder just beneath the radio. Comfortably sitting in the driver's seat, she handed the pizza over to her unfounded guest, smirking at him pointedly.
"You could have called," Sylvia told him.
"I could have," Victor Zsasz returned stoically. Then he grinned, adding, "But you knew I was coming."
"When I said 'meet me at Pizza John's', I didn't mean 'break into my car and sit there for thirty minutes'."
"I've not even been sitting for five minutes."
"But you knew my meaning…"
"Yes, I understood what you meant."
"So..?"
Victor sighed, "I decided to do this instead. Sue me."
"Just eat the goddamn pizza. And put your seat belt on." Sylvia chastised, but even while she shook her head disapprovingly, she cracked a smile.
Victor did as she instructed, putting on his seatbelt. He opened the box, smiling when he saw that she'd purchased his favorite, and he took a slice for himself, contentedly watching her drive back to her club. Upon arrival, he got out of the car first, opening the driver's door with a gentleman's flair to which Sylvia sent him an overly dramatic roll of her eyes.
They strolled up to her club, entered, and Victor seemed surprised to see that there were only a few contenders there—no one big in name or vast in wealth. A few nobodies who were having a drink, eating some peanuts and cashews, while shooting the breeze with the barmaids and waiters who greeted them with another beer.
"Business is slow today," Victor commented.
Sylvia gestured to the table where she and Victor presumed to sit, the box of pizza between them.
"It'll get busy soon." Sylvia promised. "Fridays are always busy."
"No surprise there." Victor returned, smirking at her. "Friday evenings have always been your most profitable. What song are you singing?"
"Do you even care?"
"Of course I do."
"It's not a commonly known one."
"Tell me."
"It's called 'Torn Between Two Lovers," said Sylvia. " Mary McGregor covered it, and it was beautiful. I thought I'd try to do it some justice, and perform it myself. But we'll see."
"What happened to your 'dancers'?" Victor chuckled. "Salt and Pepper, and whatever the other two call themselves."
"They're still practicing."
"You're going to fire them, aren't you."
"You're not far from the truth," Sylvia muttered as she put her hands on her face and rubbed her eyes. "They bicker so often, I can't tell if they're in the trade for entertainment or debate."
"I thought you said you were going to have some illusionist or magician come to the club," Victor said idly, taking another slice of pizza and savoring the flavor. He added, with a mouthful, "I'd come to see that."
"He's booked for next week."
"Why not this week?"
"I have my hands full this week."
"Full of half-ass performers," Victor jabbed, smirking at her. "They're really bringing the place down."
"If you're trying to vex me, you're succeeding," Sylvia warned, lowering her hands to the table. "The club itself is holding up—never have I ever been more successful."
"And look how bored you are."
Sylvia gave him a look. Victor held up a hand in calm surrender, adding, "Am I wrong?"
"You're not wrong." Sylvia muttered, grimacing when he sent her a knowing smirk of his own.
He finished his lunch, closing the box, and looked at her pointedly.
"You remember the contracts we used to go on together," Victor said nostalgically.
"Hard to forget."
"You seemed to enjoy it."
"I did enjoy it."
"You miss it."
"Mm-hmm."
"So break out of this dull routine," Victor encouraged. "Come with me. We'll do a contract, kill a few people, and then you'll be back to yourself in no time."
Sylvia leaned forward, saying, "You know I can't do that."
"Because of the election coming up."
"Because of the election that's currently in progress," She corrected. "I can't be going around, killing people, only to pop up on a podium and try to sell that my husband is the best candidate for mayor despite his wife massacring a thousand of Gotham's civilians."
"Ooh, a thousand," Victor joked, grinning. "Man, you really do need a vacation, don't you."
Ignoring him, Sylvia continued: "Even if Oswald wasn't pitting himself against Aubrey James for the mayoral candidacy, I'm still—you know—pregnant. I can't put myself in harm's way if it means putting her life in danger too."
"So you're having a girl?" Victor questioned suddenly.
"What?"
"You said 'her'."
"I did."
"So you're having a girl."
"Oh…well, yes. I didn't tell you?" Sylvia asked incredulously.
"No."
"Oh." Sylvia mumbled. "I've been so busy…"
Victor smiled and he touched her arm, saying, "Don't worry about it, Liv. So…any names?"
"Do you really care about that, Victor, or are you just pretending because we're friends?"
"The last one."
"Then don't ask."
"Fine, I won't."
"Fine." Sylvia sighed.
Victor and Sylvia were silent for a moment.
"So you asked me to come see you for a reason other than to catch up," Victor offered, business-like.
Sylvia chuckled, "I guess I did. To be honest, I almost forgot."
"That's why I reminded you."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"You haven't happened to come across a girl named Ivy Pepper, have you?" Sylvia asked.
Victor blinked. Amusedly, he said, "You're concerned about a kid?"
"Yes, I am. Is that so outlandish?"
"No, I've seen you do more outrageous things than be concerned about some orphan." Victor resounded notably. "It's kind of funny, actually."
"What is?"
"You. Getting your hairs crossed over a kid. You've gone up against some of the nastiest people Gotham has to offer, beaten up people for lesser reasons, but when a kid goes missing, you're up in arms," Victor said humorously. "It's funny."
"Have you or haven't you seen her recently," Sylvia demanded curtly.
"No. I've not seen her. But between you becoming the next First Lady and on the verge of having a kid of your own…" Victor reasoned, "If I were you, I'd start focusing on those two things…and maybe start planning a mini vacation for yourself. Not worrying about—"
"I know what I have to focus on," Sylvia snapped. "Don't think I don't?"
"Priority check. That's all I'm saying."
"My priorities are in order."
"Fine. They're in order. If you say so." Victor said calmly. "I'm looking after you. Always have been. Remember, Liv? I walked you down the aisle at your wedding."
"An odd time to bring that up, don't you think?" Sylvia responded, cocking her head to the side.
"Just trying to lighten the mood with nostalgia. Is it working?"
"Kinda."
"Good. Now, that said, I'm about to hunt down a man who owes a lot of money to Penguin," Victor said, standing up. "I'll happily extend the invitation if you want to come along for the ride…"
"…But I'd have to decline," Sylvia said whole-heartedly. "So have fun for the both of us, okay?"
"Don't have to tell me twice." Victor said, grinning from ear-to-ear.
Sylvia stood and walked him out. Before he left, Victor turned and hugged her around the shoulders. Surprised by the sudden display of affection, Sylvia let out a small laugh, not before hugging him back. He kissed her forehead, and then left the club.
As cheerful as she felt a moment ago, a looming dread replaced it.
No one had seen Ivy. Not a soul.
In fact, the people she had spoken to could barely recollect just who Ivy was until she had jogged their memory. Perhaps she'd have to face the music on this one.
It was likely that Ivy was gone for good.