2. The Dark Duo Rises

Valentine's Day drew ever closer, and Harley Quinzel became more elated as time passed. First of all, she had that exclusive interview with Bruce Wayne that most other television hosts would murder in order to get. Second, the Valentine's Day special she was planning for her show was going to blow every other episode she'd ever recorded out of the water. Until then, she had to maintain composure; she still had a slew of run-of-the-mill episodes to film until she could get to the juicy bits.

"You're on Heart 2 Heart with Harley!" she greeted as she switched on her speaker.

"Hello, Harley," a familiar voice greeted. "This is Peter. You might remember me."

"Peter!" Harley cried in pleased recognition. "Of course I remember you! How're things goin' with the hot guy?"

"Well enough," Peter answered. "I've decided to see him again."

"Good for you!" Harley squealed. "And how's that goin'?"
"That's why I'm calling. I'm standing outside his apartment building right now. And for some reason, I haven't gone up to his apartment yet. I don't know why I haven't gone up to his apartment yet. I don't know why the first thing I thought of was to call you instead. Why was the first thing I thought of to call you instead, Harley?"

"Awww, Peter," Harley answered, "you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Peter insisted. "I'm not a nervous person. That can't be right."

"You know what this means?" Harley asked. "If you're nervous to go up to his door and knock – "

"But I'm not nervous – "

"It means he's the one!" Harley insisted.

A pause. "You really think so?"

"If I'm hearin' ya right," Harley reiterated, "ya wouldn't have any problem goin' up to the door of any old friend, would ya?"

"No."

"That's how much the hot guy means to ya," Harley concluded. "He's the only one who's got ya this head over heels. You know whatcha gotta do now, right?"

"Hang up the phone, march right up to his apartment, and knock?" Peter filled in.

"You got it!" Harley confirmed. "You go get him, Peter! I'm still rootin' for ya!"

"Thank you as usual for your incredibly, one might say insanely helpful advice," Peter replied. "And on that note…toodles!" The line disconnected.

"I really hope he calls back so we can hear the conclusion of the hot guy saga," Harley told her audience. "But don't worry; that's not the only saga we've got goin' for us! Next caller! You're on the line with Harley Quinzel, and this is a Heart 2 Heart!"

...

Garfield Lynns, known in most supervillain circles as Firefly, was in the midst of a streak of days off. No one had contacted him for any jobs – or, for that matter, to try and get him to join any teams. At first, he'd enjoyed the chance to kick back, relax, and play some video games. But now it was just getting boring. He spent the most of the morning taking a long, hot shower in order to kill time. After that, he wrapped a towel around his waist, remembering he'd left the sweatshirt he wanted in the living room, and proceeded there to find that Ragdoll had climbed into his apartment through the open window and was standing in the middle of the room.

"WHAT THE HECK, R.D.?" Garfield screamed, having gone bloodless with shock.

"Your window was open," Ragdoll said innocently. "Saved me the trouble of knocking."

"DO YOU HAVE TO SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT? AND CAN YOU AT LEAST WAIT UNTIL I'M WEARING PANTS?"

"All right," Ragdoll replied casually. "Go get pants. Then I want to talk."

"Sure," Garfield sighed, his heart rate slowing back to calm. "Just…actually knock next time, okay? Also, can you throw me that sweatshirt on the back of the couch?"

Ragdoll scooped up the indicated sweatshirt and flung it through the air; Garfield reached out to catch it but missed, ending up with the fabric draped over his face. He staggered into his bedroom to find a suitable pair of jeans with the shirt still over his head.

There were particular reasons seeing Garfield all but naked didn't get Ragdoll as hot and bothered as it would have done for most who felt similar attraction toward him, but all the same, it wasn't a bad sight to have glimpsed. He shrugged it off and waited for Garfield to return. He was glad Garfield had been there to begin with. While Ragdoll's escape from Arkham had been easy as usual – every time the staff circumvented whatever scheme he'd used the last time, there was always another way around them – he had half expected to find Garfield's apartment empty due to the latter having not arranged an escape from his own prison.

Now fully dressed, Garfield came back to where Ragdoll kept his patient vigil. "How'd you find my place, anyway?" he asked.

"I put out a good bribe," Ragdoll answered. "You did a VERY good job of covering your tracks, but I got the location eventually."

"Apparently I didn't do a good enough job," Garfield muttered.

"What, you're not happy to see me?"

"I'm happier to see you than I would the commish of the Gotham PD," Garfield grumbled. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"You recall when you said you would be interested in teaming up again?" Ragdoll reminded him.

"Yeah," Garfield responded.

"Does that offer still hold today?"

"Actually, yeah," Garfield confirmed, brightening a bit. "What'd you have in mind? Do you have another crazy team waiting in the back of the ice cream truck?"

"Actually, I was hoping this venture could just stay between you and me," Ragdoll suggested. "What do you say we split the profits fifty-fifty?" Not an offer he would have made to most potential partners, he added to himself.

"You got a particular job in mind?" Garfield asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The original Gotham city charter," Ragdoll said without missing a beat. "The one written in the founders' own hands."

"You serious?" Garfield was taken aback. "The underworld I fly in has a pathetically incredible number of history buffs who would pay through the NOSE for that. I've tried to get it before, but, this being Gotham, they've got it supervillain-proofed. I've been able to get through the walls, but the thing's guarded by literally the most cliché thing you can think of: lasers. The kind that make a web you'd have to be triple-jointed to even think…about…getting…around." Realization hit him. "And you knew that, didn't you?"

"Triple-jointed, I can handle," Ragdoll confirmed. "Breaking though the wall is another story. It's almost as if this crime were tailor-made for us, isn't it?" He extended his right hand, resisting the temptation to bend it in some impossible position first. "So, do we have a deal?"

Garfield didn't hesitate to clasp his business partner's hand tightly; "We've got a deal. Just give me a minute to suit up, and we'll be in business." He let go of Ragdoll's hand – which he never could get enough of Garfield touching – and turned away to retrieve his battle gear. Before he could disappear from the room entirely, he turned back to look at Ragdoll over his shoulder. "Garfield Lynns."

"Come again?" Ragdoll tilted his head in curiosity.

Garfield turned around and backtracked. "My name," he explained. "It's Garfield Lynns. If we're going to be partners on this…and if we're going to be friends…you might as well know."

"I've heard that name!" Ragdoll realized. "…I thought it was Yellowjacket's civilian name."

"No, that's me!" Garfield was incensed. "There IS no Yellowjacket! Not in this city, anyway!"

"Oh," Ragdoll realized. "Well, then, you've done a lot more impressive crimes than I've given you credit for."

"Thanks…? I think…?" Garfield shook his head. "Anyway, thanks for not making any wisecracks about cats, lasagna, or Mondays. The other reason I hate this town: they either get my villain name wrong or turn my real name into a joke."

Ragdoll put out his hand one more time. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Garfield."

Garfield took Ragdoll's hand one more time. "Same – "

"Peter Merkel."

"Who?"

"You told me yours, so that's mine."

"Well, that figures," Garfield muttered.

"What figures?"

"We worked on a team with an Oswald, a Waylon, and a Drury," Garfield clarified, "and I'm Garfield. But of course, the weirdest guy on the team is named PETER. Literally the ONLY normal name."

Ragdoll teasingly placed both hands over his heart. "You really think I'm the weirdest person to come from Team Penguin? Why, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Garfield."

Garfield clapped him on the shoulder playfully. "I'm gonna go suit up now. Catch you downstairs."

Once both Firefly and Ragdoll were field ready, Firefly decked out in armor with his fuel tank glowing, Ragdoll started out around the corner. "I've parked the truck – "

"Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, no," Firefly interrupted. "We are NOT taking the ice cream truck. Don't get me wrong. I love the ice cream truck. But I was thinking this time, we'd travel in style."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"No," Ragdoll replied, beginning to suspect what Firefly was driving at.

"Well, hold on." Firefly looped one arm around Ragdoll's waist, clutching him tightly. Ragdoll had barely enough time to put his own arms around Firefly's shoulders before Firefly took off into the skies.

It was another crime to be committed by day, and now Ragdoll was treated to what Firefly was used to seeing on such excursions, the sun reflecting off the glass and metal of Gotham with the intensity it had reflected off the waters of Gotham harbor. This method of transport was probably greatly unsafe, and would likely frighten those with weaker constitutions, Ragdoll realized, but he had a bit of a taste for danger, and besides, how could he possibly be afraid when he was that close to Firefly? He was absolutely confident in Firefly's grip, that he wouldn't be dropped by accident as they sped faster and faster. "Really, when you see the city from this view," he posed, "how can you hate it?"

"You get used to this," Firefly replied. "But if you're that easily impressed, you should try doing this by NIGHT. Seeing all the lights come on…I almost DON'T hate it."

Ragdoll tightened his grip on Firefly slightly. This exhilarating method of transport beat out an ice cream truck any day of the week.

Once City Hall was in view, Firefly slowed and made his descent, carefully planting both his and Ragdoll's feet on the roof. "I don't think anyone saw us," he observed, "knock on wood." He let go of Ragdoll and surveyed the roof for his target destination. "Now, if I remember right, the room where they have the charter is riiiiiiiight…" He paced out the distance, calling to mind each landmark on the roof. "Here." He planted his foot firmly on a particular spot. "You ready to crack this thing open, R.D.?"

Ragdoll was at Firefly's side in an instant; "Whenever you are."

Firefly expertly seared a hole in the roof, catching the plaster before it could cave inward. He pried away the circle to reveal the room below. A glass case containing an aged parchment rested in the center, and around it, barely visible in the afternoon light, was an absolute cluster of alarm lasers cutting through the air of the room every which way.

"Is that cliché or what?" Firefly groaned. "Anyway, trip a single one of those and we'll have the Batman breathing down our – "

"I know."

"You got this?"

"I have definitely got this."

"But are you SURE you – "

Before Firefly could voice any more doubts, Ragdoll had dropped into the room, twisting in midair to narrowly avoid contact with even a single laser. He landed softly, fixing eyes upon the glass case containing the charter, then began to weave through the lasers, better able to see them once immersed in the room's natural lighting.

From above, Firefly could barely even comprehend what he was watching. Ragdoll's movements were nothing short of impossible. He bent his limbs at tight angles, slipping through gaps that seemed impassable, all the while conducting it as a graceful dance that required little to no calculation. Every move was fluid and natural. At last, he reached the case, gently lifting it to ease out the papers within; he held them aloft to signal his victory to Firefly. Firefly flashed him a thumbs-up through the hole in the roof.

That was when two city councilors, on their way to reference something against the original charter, entered the room through the door intended for authorized personnel use and were greeted by the sight of Ragdoll holding up the charter. They stared at him. He stared at them.

"Oh, crud," Firefly muttered.

"YOU!" one of the councilors yelled. "PUT THAT BACK!"

The other waved a hand through a nest of lasers, setting off all the alarms.

"Well," Firefly muttered to himself, "can't make things much WORSE…" He dropped into the room, barreling through the lasers without regard. "Sorry, boys," he taunted as he wrapped his arm back around Ragdoll. "Gotta fly!" He blasted off, taking Ragdoll and the charter with him back up and out of the roof.

Ragdoll leaned over to call "TOODLES!" back through their exit point before the pair rose out of hearing range of the councilors.

"Not quite flawless," Firefly remarked, "but hey, at least we got our hands on the loot before we got found out. By the time the Bat shows up, our trail will be stone cold. Now, if I could have just thought of a good pun around the word 'charter' as a parting shot…"

"I hope you had your course in mind," Ragdoll suggested, "because we're taking your charter."

"That was bad, even for YOU."

They landed a few blocks away from Firefly's apartment; better to be safe than sorry. "So," Firefly asked as he removed his arm from Ragdoll's waist, "I'm guessing we both have connections. How are we gonna sell this thing: through your people or mine?"

"I believe you were the first to suggest connections who would pay through the nose for it," Ragdoll reminded Firefly. "The honor is yours."

Firefly nodded. "I call up a connection and we make the trade together. Sound fair?"

"Extremely."

"You ever been to the Fourth Circle?"

Ragdoll tilted his head, confused. "Of the Inferno?"

"No, but that's what it's named for," Firefly explained. "It's a nightclub at the back of Weisman Street. And it's almost exclusively our kind of crowd. It's where I pick up most of my contracts ever since GothCorp dropped me. You go there, you can almost always find somebody who needs something burned down. Or somebody who wants something stolen. Or somebody looking to buy something stolen. I have an old client who's talked about the charter before; I can have him at the Fourth Circle by nine tonight. We split up, we clean up, we show up in our own rides and meet up at 8:45. We go in civvies, not costume. Everybody in the Fourth Circle has an understanding that at the very least, if the cops show up to bust us, we're not gonna LOOK like the guys they're trying to bust. Also, I probably don't have to tell you this, but bring something to put the cash in. You follow?"

"I follow."

"8:45. Weisman. Fourth Circle."

"I follow, Firefly."

"Until then…" Firefly nodded. "You can hang onto the charter. Since we're selling it to my guy and all."

Ragdoll nodded in return. "Fair enough."

"So, uh…see you later tonight, then?" Firefly suggested.

"I suppose," Ragdoll replied.

As Firefly turned away, Ragdoll gave him a very earnest "Toodles."

That got Firefly to turn back around. "Do you have to say that every time?"
"Yes."

"It's pretty hilarious," Firefly informed him. "In the good way. Don't ever change, R.D."

"I won't if you don't, Firefly."

As they parted, Firefly wondered if perhaps he should have invited Ragdoll back to his apartment to hang out for a bit: play video games, watch a movie, anything. After all, they were definitely friends, and if Firefly was being honest with himself, friendship was something he had a very hard time coming by. Maybe it was because most people he bumped into on the street annoyed him. Maybe it was because arsonists for hire, by description, didn't have good social lives. Maybe it was something to do with his personality or the way he went about things. He'd convinced himself he didn't really need to have bosom companions in order to get along, but now that he had an actual friend, he found himself liking the prospect. He simply wasn't used to keeping company.

And he remained blissfully unaware that Ragdoll would have jumped on any excuse for the two to spend more time together. But Firefly had insisted they part until their later rendez-vous, so they did exactly that.

...

At 8:44 p.m., Garfield stood on the sidewalk outside the nightclub known as the Fourth Circle, or at least it was proclaimed to be by the violet neon lights over its entryway. Bass boomed from the building, almost shaking Garfield's skeleton within his skin. Garfield had shown up dressed in a black tee emblazoned with the logo of one of his favorite rock bands, offset by a pair of black jeans; a duffle bag was slung over one shoulder for transportation of his payment. He glanced at a wristwatch just as the time ticked from 8:44 to 8:45. He hadn't thought to synchronize clocks with his partner, and so was left to guess what time it was in the Ragdoll-sphere. When his own watch struck 8:46, he began to wonder about the possibility of being set up. He was sure Ragdoll was an opportunist, but he'd trusted him to keep a hold on the valuable charter all the same. What if he went behind Garfield's back and sold it to one of his own connections? What if -
"Fancy meeting you here, Garfield."

The voice jolted Garfield out of his paranoid reverie, and he looked in the direction from which it had come only to realize this was literally the first time he'd seen Ragdoll out of costume, with no hood to hide his face. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected, but the sight caught him off guard. If it weren't for the unmistakable voice, Garfield might not have been able to guess the man standing before him, with his dirty-blond hair and angular face, was Ragdoll. He certainly hadn't expected the man to turn up wearing a full three-piece suit and carrying a briefcase. The elegance of his attire seemed a jarring contrast to his intentionally shabby-looking villainous ensemble.

"You clean up nice," Garfield commented. "Actually, you're kinda makin' me feel underdressed."

"Nonsense, Garfield," Peter replied. "You look perfectly fine." Better than fine, but he wasn't about to go there. "Now, shall we?"

"You have the thing, right?"

Peter held up the briefcase and opened it just enough that Garfield could see the charter resting safely inside.

"Good," Garfield said with a nod. "Let's do this."

The music inside the Fourth Circle was all but deafening. The clientele seemed to be divided in two camps: those who were making use of the strobe-lit dance floor and those who lingered at the tables on the sides. The former caught Peter's attention briefly, and he nudged Garfield; "Care for a dance before we make our transaction?"

Garfield gave a dry laugh; "I don't dance."

"Whyever not?"

"Because I don't. Besides, we'll lose track of the thing. I see our guy; c'mon." Garfield did have to admit he was a little curious to know what Peter was like on the dancefloor. After seeing him move with such grace through the laser network in City Hall, he was convinced there wasn't a better dancer in Gotham, perhaps the world. Not even close to a claim Garfield could make for himself; he was well aware that if he even attempted to move to a rhythm, he would end up knocking over at least three other dancers and completely losing the professional image he had cut for himself among this crowd.

Peter, on the other hand, was adding "Dance with Garfield" to his bucket list.

Garfield's contact, a rather-nervous looking individual who kept glancing fitfully about, exuded an aura that suggested he didn't have the mettle to do his own supervillainy. He recognized Garfield upon his approach, but was confused as to why he wasn't alone; Firefly didn't generally go in on heists with partners. The first words the nervous man blurted were "Who's he?"

"Business partner," Garfield replied sternly. "You got the payment?"

The nervous man nodded fervently, holding up a briefcase of his own.

"Good," Garfield stated. "Then let's do business."

Garfield, Peter, and the man with all the money arranged themselves around a table at the very edge of the club. The contact opened up his briefcase, giving Garfield and Peter a glimpse of the stacks of dollar bills contained within. Peter responded by opening his own briefcase, revealing the charter.

"On three," Garfield commaned, "we switch. One. Two."

The nervous man briefly made eye contact with Peter, as though daring him not to hold up his end of the bargain. He quickly shied away upon seeing the solidness of Peter's gaze.

"Three."

The briefcases went sliding past each other and into the arms of their recipients. The contact slammed the case holding the charter shut, a smile breaking out over his face as he realized what exactly it was he now owned. Peter, on the other hand, was busy dividing the stacks of bills he'd been paid in evenly down the middle so Garfield could begin stuffing his half into his duffle.

"Good doing business with you," the contact said hurriedly before shuffling off as quickly as he could.

"Aren't you glad we're holding actual money and not a bird statue?" Peter asked with a smirk.

"You have no idea," Garfield sighed. "Not bad for our first duo heist."

"First of many?"

"I'm thinkin'."

A muscle-bound man in a dark suit approached their table from across the room, tapping Garfield on the shoulder. "You Firefly?"

"I might know him," Garfield said as he turned to face the newcomer. "I might not. Depends on who's asking."

"A guy who needs something burned," the bulky man responded. "And is willing to pay big time for it."

Garfield nodded. "I might be able to hook you up with something. What's the gig?"

The potential customer's eyes alit on Peter and fixed him with a glare. "I'd rather not discuss it around eavesdroppers."

"He's not an eavesdropper," Garfield insisted sternly. "He's a partner." Though he wasn't quite sure what part Peter could play in an arson hit. It wasn't exactly the sort of profession that required great physical flexibility.

"No, no." Peter rose from the table, briefcase in hand. "Don't pass up a job on my account. We'll just have to arrange for another time." He clapped Garfield lightly on the shoulder. "Toodles."

Then he was off, walking briskly until he cut across a corner of the dance floor, at which point, he pirouetted gracefully toward the exit, resuming a typical walk once he was closer to the door. Garfield watched him all the while, feeling slightly let down that their alliance was temporarily dissolved.

"You paying attention?" the burly man asked.

"Yeah," Garfield replied, fixing his attention upon his new customer. "So tell me more about what you want to go up in flames."